My father, Steve Sutcliffe, who has died suddenly, aged 75, worked for the Guardian for nearly 20 years, becoming administration manager in 1980. The highlight of his career was the move of the paper’s printing operations from Gray’s Inn Road to the Isle of Dogs, in east London – the contract for the new print site was agreed in 1984 and the first papers rolled off its presses in 1988.
Steve was born in Lees, Oldham, the only child of Edith (nee Schofield) and Frank Sutcliffe. His father worked as a mechanical engineer and served in the army as a sapper. After school, Steve studied for A-levels at St John’s College, Manchester. There he met Panayiota Antoniou, a fellow student, charming her with the sweets he carried in his pocket, especially Bounty bars (even though she preferred green apples).
He proposed to Panayiota when her studies were coming to an end, worried that she would return to her native Cyprus for good. They married in 1969, at the Greek Orthodox church in Manchester, before moving to Kent so that he could complete his teacher training at Avery Hill College. Dad embraced the Greek culture and loved Mum’s enormous family, whom he was happy to visit often and help during the Cyprus invasion.
Teaching proved to be a short-lived experience. Instead, he got a job in London with the Guardian, as a finance clerk. Over the following 19 years, Steve advanced through several posts before being appointed administration manager. During the course of his work, he was proud to have met Prince Charles.
For much of his time with the Guardian, Dad commuted, daily, by car, from our family home in Simpson, Milton Keynes. He enjoyed driving and was always willing to give lifts to family and friends, no matter the time or distance. He once drove his niece to Glasgow, where she was a student, together with her parents who were visiting from Cyprus.
Dad left the Guardian in 1989 to work as a financial adviser for Legal and General, before becoming an independent mortgage broker.
He loved games and team sports, especially cricket - he was an effective and respected bowler. He was competitive, without being boastful, inclusive without compromise. And he was patient, teaching his five daughters how to play badminton, basketball and chess, never complaining if we weren’t any good, just encouraging us and celebrating our wins, no matter how small.
In 2008, when he was 62, Dad suffered a bleed to the brain. After three months in hospital, two of them in intensive care, he came home with a wheelchair and a walking frame. He spent only one day in the wheelchair; by the second day he was using a walking stick and holding mum’s hand. He was as strong as he was persistent.
He is survived by Panayiota, me and my four sisters, Samantha, Sarah, Emma and Christina, and three grandchildren, India, Jasmine and Caleb.
