Wednesday 28 December 2011

Reggie Collin

Reggie Collin, who has died aged 84, ran Bafta (the British Academy of Film and Television Arts) during the 1980s and as a television producer 20 years earlier revived the fortunes of the popular ITV spy series Callan, starring Edward Woodward.

Reggie Collin

Edward Woodward in Callan 
Collin’s brief had been to kill off Callan, but when his series was broadcast by Thames in 1969 it was such a ratings hit that the show was recommissioned and returned in both 1970 and 1972, as well as spawning a feature film and a range of novels.
In June 1970, when the Labour prime minister (and Callan fan) Harold Wilson called a general election, ITV postponed transmission of an episode called Amos Green Must Live. It starred Corin Redgrave as the eponymous Green, a politician with the combustible view that “coloured immigration is dangerous to Britain and must stop”.
It was obvious that the Amos Green character was a thinly disguised portrait of Enoch Powell, the Conservative MP who had made his notorious “Rivers Of Blood” speech two years earlier and returned to his theme during the campaign, alleging that government officials had falsified immigration statistics.
As a result Amos Green Must Live became the first British television programme to be pulled for political reasons since the cancellation of That Was The Week That Was ahead of the 1964 general election.
Reginald Thomas Collin was born on July 7 1927 in Islington, north London. His father, who designed women’s handbags and also worked as a part-time greengrocer, moved the family to Harrow shortly after the outbreak of war. Leaving Wembley grammar school at 14, Reggie’s first job at the height of the Blitz was that of lab boy at the then Westminster Hospital. A month after the war ended he was called up for military service.
When the RAF trained him as a shorthand typist, Collin embarked on the most enjoyable three years of his life. Posted to Headquarters Bomber Command at High Wycombe, he spent most of his time either playing tennis or running the amateur drama group; happily very little was done by way of work.
On leaving the Air Force he won a scholarship to The Old Vic Theatre School, where Prunella Scales was a fellow student. Three years’ weekly rep in Huddersfield followed, and then several more directing pantomimes and summer shows.
In 1959 Collin was invited to join ABC Television (later to become Thames), becoming a director in the features department and creating the arts programme Tempo before moving into the drama department.
As well as Callan his other credits, mainly directing for Thames, included Sat’Day While Sunday (1967); the series Special Branch (1969); Mystery and Imagination ; and the dramas Man at the Top and The Mind of Mr JG Reeder (both 1971). Napoleon and Love (1974) was a series of plays starring Ian Holm as Napoleon; In Sickness and in Health (1975) starred Patrick Mower as an overworked London GP.
In 1977 Collin was appointed director of Bafta. During his tenure he oversaw the expansion of the organisation’s headquarters in Piccadilly, central London, and the opening of a Bafta office in Los Angeles, since reinforced by another in New York. He retired in 1987.
In the course of his television career, Collin received a number of awards, among them Best Drama Producer for 1969, as well as two Bafta nominations and awards for services to the industry from Bafta and Kodak.
Reggie Collin married, in 1960, Pamela Lonsdale, who won a Bafta for the pre-school children’s programme Rainbow, which she created; she survives him.

Reggie Collin, born July 7 1927, died December 16 2011

Tuesday 27 December 2011

Kenneth Dahlberg

Kenneth Dahlberg, who has died aged 94, was an American fighter ace during the Second World War, later becoming a multi-millionaire and playing a significant, if unwitting, role in the Watergate scandal that brought down Richard Nixon’s presidency.

Dahlberg was the Midwest finance chairman of Nixon’s 1972 re-election campaign. After collecting donations of $25,000 he wrote a cheque which he delivered to the president’s re-election committee in Washington. The cheque then surfaced in a bank account of one of the five Watergate burglars – who had been paid by Republicans to break in and plant listening devices in the headquarters of their political rivals. As a result an article appeared in the Washington Post on August 1 1972 headlined: “Bug Suspect Got Campaign Funds”. The story immediately triggered three separate investigations and helped seal Nixon’s fate. As one Post reporter commented: “It [the cheque] was the first real connective glue between Watergate, its funding and the Nixon campaign.”
As a result Dahlberg became an object of intense scrutiny by federal investigators. Though they cleared him of any wrongdoing, his role in Watergate was turned into a moment of high drama for the film that documented the scandal, All the President’s Men (1976). While Dahlberg admitted the scandal “made good copy”, he thought it was unfortunate that incident overshadowed his many other accomplishments.
Kenneth Harry Dahlberg was born on June 30 1917 in St Paul, Minnesota, and graduated from St Paul Harding High School in 1935. His first job was at the Lowry Hotel washing pots and pans. He rose quickly, and by 1941 was in charge of food and drink at almost two dozen hotels owned by the Pick chain across the United States.
Dahlberg was drafted in 1941, some months before the United States entered the war, and trained as a pilot. One of his instructors was the future Republican presidential nominee, Barry Goldwater, who remained a lifelong friend.
Dahlberg completed his flying training in 1942 and, like many other graduates early in the war, was immediately assigned to be an instructor, serving in Arizona. Finally, however, he was selected to be a fighter pilot in 1944, arriving in England in May. He joined his squadron on June 2 and flew his first mission four days later, on D-Day, having had just 30 minutes flying experience in the P-51 Mustang (he had trained on the P-47 Thunderbolt).
During August he was leading his flight when it encountered a force of 40 Messerschmitt Bf 109s. In the ensuing dog fight he shot four of the fighters down but a fifth hit his Mustang and he was forced to bail out near Paris. He was sheltered by the Resistance and, after donning a disguise, bicycled back to Allied lines, then only 40 miles away.
Rejoining his squadron, his successes mounted until he transferred to a unit equipped with the P-47 Thunderbolt, which he thought much inferior to the Mustang. Attacking enemy tanks in the Ardennes during the Battle of the Bulge, his aircraft was crippled by ground fire and he was forced to crash land. He was picked up by a forward patrol of American tanks.
By early 1945, just six months into his operational flying career, Dahlberg had crashed two aircraft and twice escaped capture by the enemy. But he had also shot down 15 aircraft, placing him 23rd on the list of fighter aces in Europe during the war and making him a “triple” ace.
On February 2 1945, Dahlberg’s aircraft took a direct hit and blew up; he was thrown clear and parachuted down. Despite being wounded he managed to avoid capture; eventually, however, he was taken prisoner and marched more than 100 miles to Stalag VIIa at Moosburg near Munich. Patton’s Third Army liberated the camp in May.
Dahlberg returned to the United States and joined Telex, a maker of hearing aids and hospital communications equipment. Soon afterwards he joined an Air National Guard unit in Duluth and suggested that Telex should use its audio expertise in military flight helmets. The company duly became a leading maker of headsets for aviators.
In 1948 Dahlberg and his brother began their own business. Over the years, he developed and marketed the Miracle Ear hearing aid, a pioneering all-in-the-ear device, which became the largest selling brand of hearing aids in the United States. In 1994, the firm was sold to Bausch and Lomb and he began a venture capital company called Carefree Capital.
In addition to his business career, Dahlberg also became involved in politics – a result of his wartime friendship with Barry Goldwater. Dahlberg was deputy chairman of fund-raising for Goldwater’s presidential campaign in 1964.
Dahlberg remained an active pilot, flying with the Minnesota Air National Guard until 1951 and as a civilian into his 90s. He was a generous supporter of the Museum of Flight in Seattle, and was a director of both the Air Force Academy Foundation and the American Fighter Aces Association.
For his wartime services he was awarded the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross with cluster, the Bronze Star, 15 air medals and two Purple Hearts. In 1945 he was awarded one of the United States’ highest awards for gallantry, the Distinguished Service Cross but, as he was a PoW, he could not collect it. In the end, the medal was presented in 1967 in Washington, DC, by Vice President Hubert Humphrey, with the Joint Chiefs of Staff also present.
Kenneth Dahlberg married Betty Jayne Segerstrom in 1947. She survives him with their son and two daughters.

Friday 23 December 2011

Roy Skelton

Roy Skelton, the actor who died on June 8 aged 79, provided the voices for many characters on British television over nearly 50 years, notably Zippy and George, the much-loved puppets in the popular children’s television show Rainbow; he was also one of the original Daleks in Dr Who.

Roy Skelton

Created by Pamela Lonsdale for pre-school children and presented for most of its run by Geoffrey Hayes, Rainbow centred around the antics of Zippy, a loud-mouthed creature of indeterminate species with a rugby ball for a head and a zip for a mouth; George, a shy, pink and slightly camp hippopotamus; and Bungle, a nosy brown bear (played by John Leeson, then Stanley Bates). The episodes usually involved some kind of squabble between the puppet characters and Geoffrey Hayes’s attempts to calm them down.
Skelton joined the ITV show in the 1970s, performing Zippy and George for 22 years until it came to an end in 1992; he also wrote many of the scripts. He claimed to have based the voice of the domineering Zippy on a cross between Margaret Thatcher and Ian Paisley and remembered many hilarious moments — “like when Bungle had a terrible wind problem and tried to blame everyone else”. Hayes recalled Skelton as being particularly good when Zippy and George were having an argument: “It sounded like he’d double-tracked it as they seemed to be talking over each other. It was a wonderful technique. ”
Although Skelton’s voices were familiar to millions, as his real identity remained hidden behind layers of cardboard, foam and fur, he never became a celebrity. “I can walk down the street and no one knows who I am,” he told an interviewer. “People don’t say, 'There’s Zippy’, or ask me to say, 'Exterminate!’ I sometimes wish they did.”
Born in Oldham on July 20 1931, Roy Skelton joined the National Association of Boys’ Clubs Travelling Theatre straight from school and worked at the Oldham Coliseum before training at the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. After repertory work in Bristol, he appeared in several plays in the West End (including Oh! My Papa! and Chrysanthemum) and got his first television role as Lampwick in Pinocchio. He went on to appear in repertory theatre all over the country before landing parts in Music for You and Quick Before They Catch Us, on the BBC.
An opportunity to voice the grumpy Mr Growser character in the BBC’s rod puppet version of Toytown led to his career providing voice characterisations. Among other roles, he was Sossidge the dog in Picture Book and the Lord Chamberlain and King Boris in Gordon Murray’s Rubovian Legends. Beginning with The Evil of the Daleks, he was a Dalek between 1967 and 1988, uttering such classic lines as “You will be exterminated!” and “That is an order! Obey!” He also provided voices for the Cybermen and the Krotons.

Sunday 18 December 2011

Cesária Evora

Cesária Evora, who has died aged 70, won international acclaim as a singer when she brought the haunting music of her native Cape Verde to concert platforms around the world.

Known as the “Barefoot Diva” for her habit of performing without shoes, Cesária Evora was the mistress of “morna” — the guitar-based music of the Cape Verde Islands. The essence of morna is the idea of “sodade”, a profound nostalgia and melancholy which are also features of Portuguese fado, certain South American genres and of the Blues. Cesária Evora’s themes were the vicissitudes of love, the pain of rejection and the suffering of the exile who longs to return home.
Having begun her singing career in the rough bars of Mindelo, the port city on the island of São Vicente, Cesária Evora brought the same informality to her performances on the international stage. On one occasion, in the middle of a concert in New York City, she ignored the rigid ban on smoking to light up a cigarette — to the delight of her audience.
Singing for the most part in the version of creole spoken in her homeland, she toured with a Cape Verdean band which accompanied her on guitars (including the cavaquinho), bass, piano, violin, saxophone and percussion.
“Our music is a lot of things,” Cesária Evora said in an interview in 2000. “Some say it’s like the Blues, or jazz. Others say it’s like Brazilian or African music, but no one really knows. ”
Cesária Evora was born on August 27 1941 and grew up at Mindelo. Her father died when she was seven, and three years later she was sent to an orphanage because her mother, who worked as a cook, was finding it hard to bring up her seven children. Cesária always retained, however, fond memories of her mother, extolling her in one of her songs: “Next to your oven, you raised us with your black skirt and your little scarf. You showed us who we were.”
By the age of 16 Cesária was working as a seamstress. She had also been singing with a local choir, and a friend suggested that she perform in the bars of Mindelo, where the visiting sailors were in search of some invigorating nightlife. Initially she was not paid, simply allowed free drinks — encouraging a fondness for cognac that eventually, in the mid-Nineties, forced her to forswear alcohol .
Cape Verde gained independence from Portugal in 1975 , and fewer ships came to dock at Mindelo. For a time Cesária abandoned singing, and few would have heard of her had not a local musician urged her, in 1985, to try her luck as a performer in Lisbon.
There a Frenchman of Cape Verdean descent, José da Silva, persuaded her to go to Paris, where , in 1988, she recorded an album, La Diva aux Pieds Nus (a reference to her habit of performing without shoes), which won critical acclaim. Her fourth album, Miss Perfumado (1992), took her popularity beyond France, and Cesária (1995) won her a Grammy nomination. Now in her fifties, she embarked on a highly successful series of international tours. In 1996 she gave a sell-out concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall in London.
In 2003 she won a Grammy in the World Music category for her album Voz D’Amor.
Cesária Evora had been suffering from ill health in recent years, and the last of her albums, Nha Sentimento, was released in 2009. In September this year she retired to the house in Mindelo in which she had been brought up, having extended it to include 10 bedrooms to accommodate visiting family and friends.
Cesária Evora had three children by different men, but never married.

Cesária Evora, born August 27 1941, died December 17 2011

Monday 12 December 2011

John Hart

John Hart, who has died aged 75, was the first man to win Mastermind, in 1975; he was also notable, in legal circles, as being a party in the House of Lords case Pepper v Hart, now regarded as a landmark case in English law.

The BBC television quiz show, with Magnus Magnusson as question master, was first broadcast in 1972. But when the first three Mastermind champions turned out to be women it was rumoured that the programme makers were debating whether to change the title of the show to "Mistressmind". There was much idle speculation in the press about whether a man would, or could, ever win the title.
John Hart
John Hart
 
This all proved somewhat academic when Hart, a classics master at Malvern College, romped home to take the trophy in 1975. The balance was subsequently redressed, and tipped in favour of men. (Gavin Fuller, a staff member at The Daily Telegraph, would become the youngest winner, at 24, in 1993.)
It was Hart's knowledge of ancient Greek and Roman history that took him to the title. An hour after his victory, however, he was back in the dreaded black chair as part of the first "Supermind Challenge", in which the first four champions took part in what Magnusson described as a "light hearted joust". The contest was won by the 1972 winner Nancy Wilkinson.
The son of a primary school headmaster, John Thornton Hart was born in Oxford on September 30 1936 and educated at Rugby and St John's College, Oxford, where he read Classics.
After graduation he taught at Stonyhurst College in Lancashire, moving to Malvern College in 1963. He was appointed head of classics in 1967 and remained at the school until his retirement in 1996. In 1982 he published Herodotus and Greek History, which earned favourable reviews.
In 1992 Hart and nine other teachers at Malvern challenged the Inland Revenue over the amount of tax they were being required to pay under the 1976 Finance Act. From 1983 to 1986 they had taken advantage of a "concessionary fee" scheme, which allowed their children to be educated at rates one-fifth of those paid by other pupils.
The Inland Revenue argued that the total cost of their education (which they estimated at £10,000 per pupil per year) should be treated as a taxable benefit; but the teachers argued that the cost to the school was minimal as, since it was not full to capacity, the children were occupying places that would not otherwise have been filled.
A literal interpretation of the Act seemed to support the Inland Revenue's case, and both the High Court of Justice and Court of Appeal had found in favour of the taxman. But when the case was considered by a panel of five judges in the House of Lords, they took into account the debates on the legislation as it made its way through Parliament, which showed that ministers' intention had been that such benefits should be taxed on the marginal cost to the employer, as the teachers had argued. The Lords found in favour of Hart by a 4-1 majority.
Pepper v Hart, as the case has come to be known, is regarded as a landmark in that it overturned a principle of at least 300 years' standing that judges should not refer to "extra-statutory" sources when interpreting the law.
After his Mastermind win Hart became a sought-after after-dinner speaker in and around Malvern, and used these occasions to raise a considerable amount of money for charity. He was a Freemason for 40 years, and after his retirement dedicated much time to running the Masonic Library and Museum in Worcester.
A keen musician, he played the piano at his local church for many years and ran a school jazz band. He also enjoyed touring the village cricket circuit as a member of the Malvern College Masters XI.
He is survived by his wife, Sally, and by their two sons and two daughters.

John Hart, born September 30 1936, died November 15 2011

Sunday 11 December 2011

Shirley Becke

Shirley Becke, who has died aged 94, was the first woman commander in the Metropolitan Police (the equivalent of assistant chief constable), having already carved out a career in what was traditionally a man's world as a gas fitter.

She was not a woman to differentiate between the sexes in the workplace, and believed that women could, and should, function as effectively as men, even in a police force with a "macho" culture. "There is no such thing as a lady policeman," she once ventured. "We are police officers who just happen to be women."
Shirley Becke in Piccadilly Circus, central London, c1970
Shirley Becke in Piccadilly Circus, central London, c1970
When Shirley Becke first joined the force, in wartime London, the few women officers were largely confined to dealing with women prisoners and children. They were forbidden to marry, were paid less than men, and were not allowed to carry truncheons. Women now occupy senior positions throughout the British police, from anti-terrorist commanders to armed response personnel. The Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) has 77 women members, including four chief constables.
In fact, women had been employed as police officers since the First World War, despite opposition from the Police Federation, which in 1924 insisted: "It is purely a man's job alone". When Shirley Becke became head of the Metropolitan Women's Police 40 years later, the same organisation was still complaining that the service was being flooded with women who lacked the necessary physical strength to do the job.
But Shirley Becke had no truck with such attitudes. In the mid-1960s, by then promoted to the senior echelons of the Met, she launched a campaign to recruit more women officers, pointing out that policing was one of the few careers in which a young woman could "come straight in and do something positive and make her own decisions".
She herself had done just that. In the early 1940s Shirley Becke, then in her mid-20s, had resolved that she would contribute to the war effort by making her mark in the police force, and quickly earned promotion from pounding the beat on the streets of war-torn London into the ranks of the CID. As a young woman detective, she played a small but vital role in a murder investigation.
In November 1945 a notorious gangster known as "Russian Robert" was found dead in his car in Chepstow Place, Notting Hill. He had been shot in the back of the neck. A murder squad superintendent briefed Shirley Becke to trace two suspects, both armed, who had hurriedly left their Paddington boarding house.
Dressed in civvies, Shirley Becke went from door-to-door explaining that her "fiancé" had left her "in trouble" and that she had to find him as soon as possible. Eventually she found a woman who had seen the two wanted men, and who gave information that led to an arrest. The two men were hanged in April 1946.
During her time in the vice-ridden West End and Soho of the 1950s, Shirley Becke weathered her fair share of violent confrontations, but she had been trained in self-defence and made many successful arrests. Such experiences merely reinforced her belief that there should be no distinction drawn between men and women officers.
The women's service ceased to exist as a separate branch and was integrated into the main police service in 1969. In the 1970s, promoted to the rank of commander, Shirley Becke was the officer who briefed the couturier Norman Hartnell on the design of a new uniform for policewomen – an outfit that was to be dignified, recognisable, practical and hard-wearing.
Comprising a short cape, velvet-collared "box" jacket, white blouse and bow tie, a figure-hugging skirt and a peaked pillbox hat designed by Simone Mirman, milliner to the Royal family, it was tailor-made for each individual officer and cost £60. To Shirley Becke's great satisfaction, the introduction of the new uniform boosted considerably the recruitment of women.
She was born Shirley Cameron Jennings on April 29 1917 in Chiswick, west London, and educated at Ealing grammar school. Deciding to follow in the footsteps of her father and brother, she tried to enrol as a gas engineer but was told she must be in the wrong room as "we've never enrolled a girl before". She replied: "You have now."
In 1939, after five years' study at Westminster Technical Institute, she qualified, then spent two years working in a gas showroom before applying to join the police.
One of only four women to be chosen from 30 applicants, in 1941 she enlisted as a WPc at £3 a week and found herself one of just 120 women officers of all ranks. Of these, only 11 were serving with the CID.
When she started on the beat in the blitzed streets of London, wearing a cork helmet and knee-high laced boots, she persuaded her chief at Savile Row to let her join the men on regular squad duties. She soon got a taste of the rigours and risks of front-line policing. By 1945 she had joined the CID.
In 1948 she was promoted to detective-sergeant, and over the next 15 years rose to the rank of detective chief inspector. By 1959 she was based at Scotland Yard as the Met's senior woman detective. Two years later she was back in uniform as superintendent in charge of the women's force in south-west London.
She held this post for 18 months before returning to the Yard as deputy to Winifred Barker, the chief superintendent in charge of women officers. When Miss Barker retired in 1966, Shirley Becke took her place and ran a separate department for women officers known as A4. She became a commander when the rank was upgraded in 1969.
As the Met's first woman commander, and the highest ranking policewoman in Britain, she was also the first woman to join the Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO).
With the coming of equal pay legislation, the new Commissioner, Sir Robert Mark, abolished A4 in 1973 and ruled that women could serve in any branch of the Met. Shirley Becke retired the following year.
Shirley Becke was awarded the Queen's Police Medal in 1972 and appointed OBE two years later.
She married, in 1954, Justice Becke, a chartered accountant who later became a vicar in Surrey; he predeceased her.

Shirley Becke, born April 29 1917, died October 25 2011

Friday 9 December 2011

Sir Zelman Cowen

Sir Zelman Cowen, who has died aged 92, worked to heal the wounds left by the departure of his immediate predecessor as Governor-General of Australia, Sir John Kerr; later he became Provost of Oriel College, Oxford.

Cowen’s appointment as Governor-General in 1977 was, he said, “totally unexpected”. In 1975, to break a stalemate within the government which threatened to bankrupt it, Kerr had controversially used his authority to dismiss the Prime Minister of Australia, Gough Whitlam, and to appoint the Liberal leader, Malcolm Fraser, in his place.
Sir Zelman Cowen
Sir Zelman Cowen with the Prince of Wales on his visit to Australia in 1981
The dismissal provoked outrage (the residents of the street in which Kerr was born reputedly posted him 30 pieces of silver), and Kerr resigned early in December 1977. Cowen, entirely unaware of the resignation, was summoned to Canberra from Brisbane by Fraser and offered the post. He later vividly described his shock at the proposal, recalling: “My head was like a split atom.” He was sworn in as Australia’s 19th Governor-General on December 8 1977.
Cowen regarded the role as being “to interpret the nation to itself”. Asked shortly after his appointment what he hoped to achieve in the post, he quoted the first Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, replying that he wanted to “bring a touch of healing” to the office. He was widely regarded as succeeding in this aim, and was asked to serve a further three years when his initial term ended in 1982 (he declined the offer). He cited representing Australia at the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer, and at the funeral of Lord Mountbatten, as two of the highlights of his tenure.
He also enjoyed telling the story of his aunt, who, hospitalised during his tenure with a head injury and unable to remember her address, firmly told doctors, in a thick eastern European accent, one fact of which she was sure: “My nephew is Governor-General of Australia”. The doctors, convinced that she was delirious, refused to release her until this was confirmed by Cowen’s cousin.
Zelman Cowen was born in St Kilda, Melbourne, on October 7 1919, the son of Russian immigrants whose families had fled to Australia to escape persecution. He was educated first at St Kilda synagogue, then at Brighton Road State School, and finally at Scotch College in Victoria, where he was Dux (Head) of School. The headmistress at Brighton Road recalled Zelman’s frequent visits to her office to show off a piece of work, each trip ending with his asking her: “Aren’t I wonderful?”
During his teenage years he paid close attention to events in Europe and to the arrival of the first German refugees in Australia. He remembered the culture shock they caused, and the hostile reception they received from some in Australian society. Many years later, Justice Michael Kirby said that Cowen had “felt an obligation to stand up against fascism and to interpret its evils, on a human level, to Australian school friends for whom it all seemed so far away”. The refugees, Cowen believed, “added a valuable cultural strain to Australian life”.
Cowen studied Arts and Law at the University of Melbourne, and was awarded a Rhodes Scholarship in 1940. His studies, however, were postponed by the Second World War, during which he served as a naval intelligence officer; he survived the Japanese attack on Darwin in 1942. After the war he moved to New College, Oxford, to resume his studies, revelling in “the blazing richness of life, in intellectual and cultural terms” that the University offered. In 1947 he became a Fellow of Oriel, a position which he held until 1951, when he returned to Melbourne to become Professor of Public Law .
He presided over a revolution in Australian legal education, characterised by the use of full-time teachers, the introduction of the American casebook system, and closer ties with American law schools. During these years he also advised the British Colonial Office on constitutional matters, and advised the governments of Hong Kong and China on legal issues.
From 1966 to 1970 he was Vice-Chancellor of the University of New England in Armidale, New South Wales and, from 1970 to 1977, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Queensland. During his time in the latter post, Cowen gained praise for the “firmness and dignity” of his handling of issues arising from growing student radicalism and discontent over the Vietnam War. He was also Emeritus Professor of Law at Melbourne and the Tagore Professor of Law at the University of Calcutta.
He was appointed CMG in 1968 and knighted in 1976. He was appointed GCMG and a Knight of the Order of Australia in 1977, and GCVO in 1980.
Long before his appointment as Governor-General, Cowen had written the biography of Australia’s only other Jewish Governor-General (and the first Australian to hold the post), Sir Isaac Isaacs. He regarded his own commitment to tolerance and freedom as stemming in part from his Jewish roots, and stressed: “I have been conscious all my life of being a Jew. I have been conscious all my life of being a sharer in and a lover of the non-Jewish British world, but my Jewishness is deep i n me.”
He became a patron of the Council of Christians and Jews, the Jewish Museum of Australia, and the Friends of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. He was also a governor of the Hebrew University, Tel Aviv University and the Weizman Institute of Science. Two of his sons adopted ultra-Orthodox Judaism, which came as something of a surprise to their more progressive father; but, as he gladly admitted, the diversity within the family “makes for interesting conversat ions”.
After retiring as Governor-General, Cowen remained active in Australian political life, especially in the debate over whether or not Australia should move towards becoming a republic, an idea which he supported in principle as “an evolutionary decision ... not a matter of disloyalty or disassociation”, though he disliked the anti-British sentiment that often went w ith it.
He served for five years on the board of Fairfax newspapers, publishers of the Sydney Morning Herald, including three as chairman, and became a patron of St Kilda football club. Cowen also returned to Oriel, as Provost, between 1982 and 1990. Shortly after he left he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, but he remained intellectually active, considering that he had lived “a long and interesting life in a good and free country”.
He married, in 1945, Anna Wittner, with whom he had three sons and a daughter.

Sir Zelman Cowen, born October 7 1919, died December 8 2011

Thursday 8 December 2011

David Langdon

David Langdon , who has died aged 97, was a cartoonist whose work (notably for Punch and The New Yorker) spanned some 60 years; he was best known for a famous wartime series of advertisements for London Transport entitled “Billy Brown of London Town”.

David Langdon
David Langdon at work 
In Britain in the Second World War, humour contributed in numerous contexts to the construction of the British national character at war as improvisational, rural and suburban, lovable and human (if somewhat class-obsessed), in contrast to the mechanised inhumanity of the enemy. In one of Langdon’s wartime cartoons a wife is seen telling her husband: “I’ve invited the Hendersons over for the air raid, George.”
“Billy Brown of London Town” was created for the then London Passenger Transport Board for a series of cautionary posters aimed at helping travellers on public transport during the Blitz. The board was concerned that passengers on underground trains were removing the criss-cross tapes that had been applied to the windows to limit blast injuries, and asked Langdon to design a cartoon to warn them of the dangers.
Billy Brown, a city gent in pin stripes, bowler hat and umbrella, appeared in his first poster pointing to the tape being peeled off and saying: “I trust you will pardon my correction, that stuff is there for your protection” – to which one wag graffitied the reply “Thank you for your information but I can’t see the b***** station”.
Another poster, designed to discourage bus passengers from clustering around the exit, had Billy Brown saying: “Kindly pass along the bus and so make room for all of us”. A graffitied reply read: “That’s alright without a doubt, but how the Hell do we get out?”
Billy Brown caught the public’s imagination, helping to raise people’s spirits, and continued even after the war had ended. Indeed, such was his popularity that he was even included in a song by Noel Gay: “Who stood up and saved the town when London Bridge was falling down? Mr Brown of London town — Oi! Mr Brown!”
In the foreword to his first book of cartoons, Home Front Lines (1941), Langdon wrote: “To me it is the British sense of humour which is still the fount of ideas, and in paying my tribute to it and to the marvellous way it has persisted undaunted through the darkest hours, I raise my tin hat to those faintly ridiculous but wonderful people, the men, women and children of the blitzed areas whose sense of humour will carry through to victory.”
Born in London on February 24 1914, David Langdon was educated at Davenant Grammar School, where he contributed sketches to the school magazine. In 1931 he left school to work in the Architects’ Department of the London County Council, where he sent occasional cartoons to the LCC staff journal.
In 1936 he sold his first cartoon — a joke about Mussolini — to Time and Tide, and the following year he was invited to contribute to Punch at a time when the magazine was moving away from the stylised, detailed drawings and laboured jokes of an earlier era to crisper, simpler drawings and short, snappy captions. Langdon’s pared-down style and quick wit (he once described his method of working as “controlled mind-wandering”) suited the moment, and in 1937 he began contributing to the new magazine Lilliput. Among other things, he claimed to have introduced the “open mouth” into humorous art, to indicate who is speaking.
On the outbreak of war in 1939 Langdon became an executive officer in the London Rescue and Demolition Service, and it was during his time with the service that he produced his Billy Brown series. In 1941 he joined the RAF, eventually becoming a squadron leader and, in 1945-46, editor of the RAF Journal, to which he also contributed a strip entitled “Joe” featuring a naive new recruit known as Joe the Erk.
During the war years Langdon acquired an observant eye for the incongruities and absurdities of service life, the social comedy of class and a sympathy with the ordinary airman and soldier. These were reflected in his prolific output both during and after the war, when he became a leading humorous (gentle, rather than satirical) commentator on the British social scene,
As well as providing cartoons for Punch and Lilliput, Langdon founded a weekly cartoon column of topical gags with the Sunday Pictorial (later the Sunday Mirror) and continued to work for Mirror Group Newspapers until 1990. His work appeared frequently in The New Yorker from 1952; and for the children’s comic Eagle he created Professor Puff and His Dog Wuff.
He also pursued a lucrative sideline in advertising — providing cartoons for Bovril, Shell and Schweppes, among others. From 1959 he produced an annual racing calendar for Ladbrokes. In 1958 he was elected to the Punch “Table”.
Langdon published many collections of his cartoons and brought humour and wit to publications by others, such as Basil Boothroyd’s Let’s Move House (1977); George Mikes’s The Best of Mikes (1962); and Fred Trueman’s You Nearly Had Him That Time (1968). He exhibited widely around the world and was the official cartoonist for the Centre International Audio-Visuel d’Etudes et de Recherches in Saint-Ghislain, Belgium, from 1970 to 1975.
Langdon continued producing cartoons into old age, beginning an association with The Spectator in 1997 when he was in his 80s.
He lived finally at Amersham, where he played golf at Harewood Downs and was a devoted supporter of the Wycombe Wanderers football team.
In 1988 he was appointed OBE and elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts. In 2001 he was presented with a Lifetime Achievement Award by the Cartoon Art Trust.
He married, in 1955, April Sadler-Philips, who survives him with two sons and a daughter.

David Langdon, born February 24 1914, died November 18 2011

Wednesday 7 December 2011

Harry Morgan

Harry Morgan , who died aged 96, was best known for playing Colonel Sherman T Potter in the highly popular television series M*A*S*H.

Harry Morgan
Arguably the most successful sitcom in the history of American television, M*A*S*H (1972-83) portrayed the reality of life and death at a US mobile army surgical hospital during the Korean War of the early 1950s, offsetting it with the gallows humour of the medical team led by Col Potter and assorted nurses and ancillaries.
M*A*S*H was adapted from Robert Altman’s 1970 film of the same name, which itself had been based on a novel by Dr Richard Hornberger, writing as Richard Hooker.
Three years into the series Morgan made a guest appearance as a visiting colonel in an episode directed by the show’s creator, Larry Gelbart. His performance was nominated for an Emmy award, and so impressed the producers that when McLean Stevenson, the actor playing the original Colonel Potter, decided to leave, Morgan was offered what he described as his “best-ever part”. He played Potter as an authoritative but good-humoured army surgeon, and a father figure to those under his command. The portrayal finally won him an Emmy in 1980.
Henry Morgan was born Harry Bratsberg on April 10 1915 in Detroit, where his Norwegian father worked in the motor industry. His family moved to Muskegon, Michigan, and he graduated from high school there in 1933, having been a schoolboy debating champion.
For two years he studied Law at the University of Chicago, but after dropping out because he was short of funds, went to work for a firm selling office equipment. This took him to Washington, DC, where he became involved in the fledgling Civic Theatre and realised that he preferred a life on the stage to selling rubber stamps and paper clips.
Assuming the name Morgan, which he felt was more euphonious than Bratsberg for an acting career, he made his stage debut in The Front Page before joining a repertory company at Westport, Connecticut. One early part cast him opposite a young Henry Fonda in a stage production of The Virginian.
On the big screen Morgan appeared in more than 100 films, making his debut in To the Shores of Tripoli (1942), a jingoistic film about the US Marines, and following it up with Crash Dive (1943); A Wing and a Prayer (1944); and A Bell for Adano (1945).
Early in his career he also featured with Glenn Miller and his band in Orchestra Wives (1942) and later in The Glenn Miller Story (1954) in which he played the pianist Chummy MacGregor, offering support to Miller’s wife after the bandleader’s mysterious wartime disappearance.
Having discovered that an abrasive television comedian also called himself Henry Morgan, he was billed from 1955 as Harry Morgan. Though in no way typecast, he was mostly in demand for friendly and reliable characters — and his voice and manner of speaking were unmistakably reassuring. When needed, however, he could stretch into menace, a talent he displayed in the thriller The Big Clock (1948) . Later, in Appointment with Danger (1951) he was the weak, expendable link in a criminal gang. His partner in crime, played by Jack Webb, picks up a child’s boot, a cherished memento of Morgan’s lost son, and beats him to death with it.
Nearly two decades later, Jack Webb and Morgan were reunited on the right side of the law when Morgan replaced Ben Alexander as Officer Bill Gannon, Sgt Joe Friday’s sidekick, in the 1967 remake of the celebrated Dragnet television series from the 1950s.
Morgan occasionally escaped the noir genre to appear in major films like Madame Bovary (1949), in which he played Hippolyte; High Noon (1952); and notably How the West was Won (1962), in which he played General Grant, who is shown discussing the morals of war and life with General Sherman, played by John Wayne. Morgan appeared again with Wayne in the Duke’s last film, The Shootist (1976).
Morgan appeared in several other television series, including Pete and Gladys (1960-62), a spin-off of December Bride (1954-59) in which he played Pete Porter; The Richard Boone Show (1963-64); and, latterly, Blacke’s Magic (1986), as the father of a magician who is drawn into solving crimes.
Morgan’s last films were for Disney – two Apple Dumpling Gang pictures (1975 and 1979) and The Cat from Outer Space (1978).
Harry Morgan was twice married, first to Eileen Detchon, from 1940 until her death in 1985, and then, in 1986, to Barbara Bushman Quine, granddaughter of the silent film star Francis X Bushman. Three of the four sons of his first marriage survive him.

Harry Morgan, born April 10 1915, died December 7 2011

Tuesday 22 November 2011

Danielle Mitterrand

Former first lady of France and human rights campaigner

Danielle Mitterrand in 2005.
Danielle Mitterrand in 2005.
In the last interview Danielle Mitterrand gave before her death at the age of 87, the former French first lady recalled berating her friend Fidel Castro for the torturing and killing of Cuban political prisoners. Surprised he did not tell her to shut up or throw her out, she asked why he put up with her nagging. "Because I like you a lot," replied the Cuban president.
Mitterrand was liked and admired by many, as much for her ability to take world leaders to task as for her unwavering support for minority and humanitarian issues, from the death penalty and discrimination to the lack of water or education in impoverished African villages. She was also respected for breaking the first lady mould and refusing to be defined by either her husband's role as head of state or the humiliation he heaped on her through his infidelity.
She was born Danielle Gouze in Verdun, the daughter of two leftwing academics. During the second world war, her father, by then a secondary school headteacher, was sacked by the Vichy administration after refusing to hand over a list of names of Jewish pupils and teachers in his school to the Nazis.
While her family harboured men being hunted by the Gestapo, Danielle joined the French Resistance at the age of 17, with her elder sister Christine, and was later awarded the prestigious Resistance Medal. In 1941, she helped François Mitterrand, a fellow member codenamed Captain Morland on the run from the Gestapo, by pretending to be his girlfriend, and the pair promptly fell in love. They married in 1944. The couple had three sons: Pascal, who died aged two months, Jean-Christophe and Gilbert.
When her husband was elected in 1981 for the first of his two seven-year terms, Danielle, devoted herself to human rights work and humanitarian causes. She became the French Foreign Office's favourite "bête noire", as, armed with good intentions, she rode roughshod over their diplomatic manoeuvres: the plight of the Kurds became a particular obsession. After nearly being blown up in a car bomb in Iraqi Kurdistan in 1992, which killed seven and wounded 17 others in the convoy, she vowed: "I will continue fighting until my death."
Her campaigning was somewhat overshadowed by the publicity that surrounded the many betrayals she suffered at the hands of her husband. When her husband's mistress, installed in a large apartment a stone's throw from the Elysée Palace, gave birth to a daughter, Mazarine, in 1974, Danielle later described it as "neither a discovery, nor a drama". She was, however, deeply shocked in 1994 when the existence of this second family, which was widely known in French political and media circles but protected by an unofficial conspiracy of silence, became public knowledge. At the time, also unknown to her, François had been diagnosed with the prostate cancer that would eventually kill him.
Danielle earned respect for her elegance and dignity, when at her husband's state funeral in January 1996, she allowed Mazarine to stand between her two sons in front of his tricolor-draped coffin. A final humiliation was still to come. Again, unbeknown to her, the former president had asked not to be buried in a joint grave in the Morvan national park in Burgundy, as the couple had planned, but with his family at Cluny in the Saône-et-Loire region.
"There was nothing banal or mediocre," she wrote of their life together. "For all those who loved us, François and Danielle were inseparable," she wrote afterwards.
She showed she had lost none of her fight by supporting anti-globalisation campaigners. "I fight for a new society. Money makes us mad, and yet it is only a tool ... today we are afraid of losing our house, our work, our health, of walking down the street, of meeting our neighbours. We are afraid of everything. And we are wrong. We have to construct a world based on solidarity."
After a spell in hospital in September, Danielle insisted on attending the 25th anniversary of her non-profit making humanitarian organisation France Libertés in October. She is survived by Jean-Christophe and Gilbert.
• Danielle Émilienne Isabelle Gouze, former first lady and human rights activist, born 29 October 1924; died 22 November 2011

Monday 21 November 2011

Shelagh Delaney

Shelagh Delaney, the playwright, who died on Sunday aged 71, wrote – at the age of 17 – A Taste of Honey (1958), which was to place her at the heart of what became known as the kitchen sink movement in Britain's post-war dramatic revival.

Prompted by her contempt for traditional, decorous West End drawing room dramas about the love lives of well-bred people, Shelagh Delaney spent a fortnight furiously writing a play of such arresting, authentic and seedy social realism that it became one of the most influential works of its generation.
Set in a grimy industrial Lancashire lodging house, the action centres on a gawky, adolescent schoolgirl who is preparing to have a child by a black sailor who promptly abandons her. Other characters include the girl's tarty, devil-may-care mother and her sleazy lover, as well as a gentle, homosexual art student who befriends the girl during the pregnancy.
Staged in distinctive, semi-music hall style by the radical and controversial director Joan Littlewood, of the Theatre Workshop at Stratford, east London, the play created a stir with its strident honesty, emotional integrity, exuberant humour and touches of poetry.
It opened at Stratford just three weeks after John Gielgud's production of Terence Rattigan's Variation On A Theme arrived in the West End. The latter play, about a much-married elegant socialite and a young ballet dancer, had been witnessed by Delaney during its tour of the provinces, driving her to compose A Taste of Honey. The theatrical clash could hardly have been greater.
"Two styles of theatre were at war across London," observed Rattigan's biographer Geoffrey Wansell. "And there was little doubt who would win." Within four months, Variation On A Theme had closed at the Globe, while the following February A Taste Of Honey opened at Wyndham's.
After transferring to the West End and then to Broadway it became, in 1962, a successful film directed by Tony Richardson, with Rita Tushingham as the girl, Dora Bryan as the mother and Murray Melvin as the motherly art student, a part he also played on stage.
What gave A Taste of Honey its theatrical impact was Littlewood's dynamic staging and Shelagh Delaney's sympathetic view of her working-class characters and their predicaments.
Coming from the pen of a Lancashire shop girl who had left school at 16, the play's matter-of-fact defiance of social and sexual convention, its open-minded attitude to racial miscegenation, and its acceptance of the prospect, for unmarried women, of a life without men, were as refreshing and bracing as John Osborne's Look Back in Anger had been two years earlier.
But A Taste of Honey was free of Osborne's rage and rebelliousness. Apart from its sexual politics, the play evoked human relationships with warmth and humour, providing an invigorating contrast to its gloomy theme; the heroine seems to accept the surrounding squalor: "I really do live at the same time as myself, don't I?"
Why Shelagh Delaney, considered the most promising playwright of her time, never wrote anything else of comparable importance for the stage was a mystery. A second play, The Lion in Love (1960), also dealt with an unhappy family, this time composed of market-stall traders. The play again portrayed the relationship between a daughter and her wayward – this time drunken rather than promiscuous – mother, but the daughter was more mature and the mother more central to the play's interest. While not without quality, it was not a notable success.
None the less she remained – at 22 – feted by the public and by the critics. "Surely no dramatist can ever have got farther on a smaller body of work," noted the critic John Russell Taylor.
Shelagh Delaney was born on November 25 1939 into a working-class family in the northern industrial town of Salford, near Manchester. On failing her 11-plus she went to Broughton Secondary School and, while there was talk of her being moved to a grammar school, she left at 16 with no special qualifications.
It was during a stint with an engineering firm that she visited a Manchester theatre to see Variations on a Theme, starring Margaret Leighton. If that was drama, Delaney decided, she could do better herself. She set about A Taste of Honey and sent it to Littlewood, who accepted it for production. After the usual Theatre Workshop process of adaptation and elaboration with the inclusion into its lively northern idiom of nursery rhymes, songs, rhythmical repetitions, jazz and vaudeville gags, the author was summoned to attend a late rehearsal at the Theatre Royal, Stratford, where she failed to notice any changes to the text until they were pointed out.
A Taste of Honey had two separate runs in the East End of London, in 1958 and 1959, before it transferred to Wyndham's for 350 performances. It was celebrated as the epitome of kitchen-sink dramaturgy 10 years before the abolition of official stage censorship. While it won critical respect, Littlewood's jaunty style of musical staging was not universally accepted.
Lindsay Anderson, writing in Encore magazine, called it "a work of complete, exhilarating originality. A real escape from the middlebrow, middle-class vacuum of the West End." To The Spectator's Alan Brien, though, it was no more than "a boozed, exaggerated, late-night anecdote of a play which slithers unsteadily between truth and fantasy, between farce and tragedy, between aphrodisiac and emetic. Each character swells into focus through a different distorting lens.
"The play is written," Brien added, "as if it were a film script with an adolescent contempt for logic or form or practicability upon a stage, and Miss Joan Littlewood has produced it with the knockabout inconsequence of an old-fashioned Living Newspaper tract."
After The Lion in Love, Shelagh Delaney turned to writing scripts for film and television. These included the adaptation of A Taste of Honey for Tony Richardson's film; Albert Finney's Charlie Bubbles, about a writer who learns that professional success is no consolation for a failed emotional life; and Mike Newell's Dance With A Stranger about Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be hanged in Britain.
Among other film credits were The White Bus (1966) for Lindsay Anderson; Winter House (1986); and Love Lessons (1987), from the book by Joan Wyndham. Television credits included Did Your Nanny Come From Bergen? (1970); St Martin's Summer (1974); The House That Jack Built (1977); and Find Me First (1979). The House That Jack Built, adapted from several of her television playlets, was staged on Broadway in 1979.
She also wrote a novel – Sweetly Sings The Donkey (1964) and several radio plays.
Shelagh Delaney had a daughter, who survives her.

Shelagh Delaney, born November 25 1939, died November 20 2011

Sunday 20 November 2011

Jamie Pierre

Jamie Pierre, who has died aged 38, was known as “skiing’s most dangerous man”, “the Gravity Research Skier” or “The King of Big Air” for his delight in skiing off clifftops; his most lunatic escapade saw him fall 255ft, the height of a 24-storey office block.

Jamie Pierre
It was, he admitted, an all-too literally death-defying stunt. Having skied towards the precipice, at Grand Targhee Resort in the Teton mountains of Wyoming, Pierre tucked his skis underneath him in an attempt to remain upright. “I prefer to land in the slouch position so you spread out the impact,” he said afterwards. But about half way through his four-second freefall he lost control, and footage of the jump shows him plunging headfirst into the powder snow at the cliff’s base.
As his support crew rushed to extricate him from the 10ft impact crater, it was unclear whether he was still alive. Then a voice crackled over the radio: Pierre was unscathed but for a cut lip. It had, he admitted, been “way scary landing on my back”, but moments later he was celebrating a world-record breaking feat that – even in the adrenalin-soaked world of extreme sports – won him plaudits for unparalleled daring. His wife Amee, at home with their baby daughter, took a dimmer view, and refused to speak to him for several days.
Matthew Jamison Fredric Marie Pierre was born at Minnetonka, Minnesota, on February 22 1973, the third of eight children of Gerard Pierre, a Frenchman from Aix-en-Provence, and his wife Pam. Always known as Jamie, the boy stared skiing at the age of 10, and immediately displayed a zest for speed and jumping. According to his mother he was “fearless” and, after leaving High School, Pierre pursued life as a “ski-bum” – working casual jobs at resorts in order to fund his increasingly risky adventures on the slopes.
He entered his first extreme skiing competition in 1995, but it was his willingness to throw himself off precipices that marked him out. In 1997 he jumped 50ft. As the drops grew bigger, and Pierre flipped head over heels in front of ever larger cliffs, photographers and sponsors began to take notice. On many occasions he landed on his skis and continued down the mountain as though descending a well-groomed piste.
In 2003 he launched himself off a 165ft cliff in Utah’s Wolverine Cirque. Then, the following year, he took on a 185ft fall in Switzerland. “People thought he was a little unhinged,” said the skiing writer Sam Moulton.
In 2005 Pierre married and this, combined with a new-found Christian faith, inclined him to limit his stunts. But there was still one jump he wanted to make. So, at dawn on January 25 2006, he caught the first chairlift of the day at Grand Targhee, and made his way off-piste. “Everyone’s looking at me like I’m a nut job,” he said, no doubt with some justice, before propelling himself into the void.
With the record under his belt, Pierre settled down a little. “The plan is to ski more, fall out of the sky less,” he said. This did not prevent his taking risks, however, and he was snowboarding off-piste on early season snow on November 13 when he apparently triggered an avalanche. This dragged him across rocks and a small cliff – precisely the kind of dangers over which he had so often soared clear.
Jamie Pierre is survived by his wife and their two daughters.

Jamie Pierre, born February 22 1973, died November 13, 2011

Saturday 19 November 2011

Sir David Jack

Sir David Jack, who has died aged 87, was the scientific brain behind the rise of the pharmaceuticals company Glaxo and credited with the discovery of no fewer than seven highly important drugs, among them salbutamol (marketed as Ventolin), which has saved the lives of millions of asthmatics, and Zantac, used to treat peptic ulcers.

Glaxo is perhaps the greatest success story in post-war British industry. From unglamorous beginnings as a producer of powdered milk for infants ("Glaxo builds bonnie babies"), it transformed itself into one of the world's largest and most profitable manufacturers of prescription medicines. The company's corporate success is often attributed to Sir Paul Girolami, the company's financial controller from 1965, then chief executive and chairman during the 1980s. But he would not have been able to effect the transformation in the company's fortunes without the scientific ingenuity of Jack and his team.
Sir David Jack
Sir David Jack
 
A Scottish pharmacologist, Jack joined Allen and Hanburys (an old-fashioned druggist, famous for its blackcurrant pastilles, which had been acquired by Glaxo three years earlier) as head of research in 1961. Operating from a small laboratory in Ware, he created and led what proved to be an extraordinarily productive group of research scientists.
Jack's strategy was based on some simple truths: that Glaxo's traditional strategy of licensing foreign products would no longer be enough in an increasingly multinational industry; and that investment would be wasted unless it was directed at the relief of common disorders. His team therefore concentrated on treatments for respiratory, cardiovascular and alimentary tract diseases.
The Ware team embraced all the latest advances in drug "design", especially receptor theory (by which drugs are used to influence the body's chemical messenger system); but they also used well-established techniques and were quite happy to improve upon the work of others.
Their first big success came in 1966 with the development of a new treatment for asthma – the bronchiodilator salbutamol. Launched as Ventolin in 1969, the drug was an instant success, and the product (with its successors) still turns over nearly $1 billion a year for GlaxoSmithKline (as the company subsequently became).
Encouraged by this success, Jack began looking at the market for duodenal and gastric ulcers, which in those days had no treatment but surgery. He made little progress until 1972, when James (later Sir James) Black, another brilliant Scottish-born scientist working for the British arm of the American company Smith Kline and French (SKF), published a paper in Nature that showed how a chemical known as a histamine H2 antagonist could switch off acid secretions in the stomach.
Jack immediately assembled a team of two dozen chemists and pharmacologists to investigate H2 antagonists. But it was a race which SKF appeared to have won when, in 1976, Black (who would win a Nobel Prize for his drug research) came up with the first effective anti-ulcer drug (called cimetidine), which went on to huge commercial success after it was launched as Tagamet in 1978.
In May 1976, however, Jack's team produced a compound that appeared to outperform Tagamet in tests on animals. The compound, known as ranitidine hydrochloride, was taken into development that December and, in just five years, passed through its toxicity and clinical trials, launching in 1981 under the name Zantac.
Helped by a clever marketing strategy that proved especially effective in America, Zantac soon overtook Tagamet and became the first drug to notch up sales of more than $1 billion a year.
Henry Wendt, the then chief executive of Smith Kline and French, was gracious in defeat, later acknowledging that Tagamet had "really lost the advantage to Glaxo in development. Glaxo won regulatory approval for a twice-daily dose of Zantac, in contrast to Tagamet's four-times-a-day dose, and at a lower overall total dose in milligrams. Physicians drew the obvious inference: Zantac appeared to be a more potent and longer-acting agent."
But Jack was equally gracious in victory, admitting that the development of Zantac had not been in the same order of inspired breakthrough as the research which produced Tagamet. Zantac, he explained "was the result of a simple piece of applied medical chemistry. It's not necessary to shake the earth on its axis to make money in this industry. We simply improved on James Black's product by choosing a substance with a cleaner reaction."
The youngest of six children of a coal miner, David Jack was born at the Fife mining village of Markinch on February 22 1924 and educated at Buckhaven Grammar School.
He began his career as an apprentice in pharmacy at Boots the Chemists in Cupar, then took a joint honours degree in Pharmacy and Pharmacology at Glasgow University and the Royal Technical College (now Strathclyde University).
After a brief appointment as an assistant lecturer at Glasgow University, followed by National Service when he taught at the Army School of Health, in 1951 he joined the pharmacy research department of Glaxo at Greenford.
Two years later he moved on to the pharmaceutical company Menley and James, which was later taken over by Smith Kline and French. There he worked on the product development side, formulating waxes used in coating drugs. But a developing interest in chemistry led him to take a part-time PhD at London University, supervised by Professor Arnold Beckett, and in 1961 he was appointed research director of Glaxo's subsidiary Allen and Hanburys.
Jack remained at Glaxo until his official retirement, serving as Glaxo's research and development director from 1978 to 1987.
As well as Ventolin and Zantac, Jack's research team developed several further treatments for asthma and other respiratory ailments, including beclomethasone dipropionate (an anti-inflammatory steroid inhalant launched as Becotide in 1972 – its concurrent use with Ventolin has transformed the treatment of asthma); salmeterol (a version of salbutamol with a longer duration of action, launched as Serevent in 1990); and fluticasone propionate, a synthetic corticosteroid marketed under a variety of names, which is used in inhalant form to treat asthma and hay fever and (as a cream) eczema and psoriasis.
Exploiting developments in receptor theory, Jack's team went on to develop new drugs to treat migraine and the side effects of chemotherapy, notably the anti-emetic ondansetron (launched as Zofran in 1991), which works by reducing the activity of the vagus nerve and blocking certain serotonin receptors, and has proved highly effective in preventing chemotherapy-induced nausea and vomiting; and sumatriptan (launched in 1991 as Imigran), the first truly specific treatment for migraine which works by activating receptors which cause constriction of the intracranial arteries.
Jack continued to carry out research work after his retirement from Glaxo. In August this year the drug development company Verona Pharma announced that it was seeking commercial licensing agreements for RPL554, a new anti-asthma and hay fever treatment developed by Jack as an alternative to conventional steroids and beta-agonists. The drug has nearly completed a programme of clinical trials.
Jack, who listed his recreations in Who's Who as "asthma therapy, gardening, golf", was appointed CBE in 1982 and knighted in 1993. He won several Queen's Awards for Industry and numerous scientific prizes, including the Royal Society's Mullard Medal. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1992, having been elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh in 1978.
David Jack married, in 1952, Lydia Downie Brown, with whom he had two daughters.

Sir David Jack, born February 22 1924, died November 8 2011

Friday 18 November 2011

Michael Garrick

Michael Garrick, who has died aged 78, was a composer and pianist whose work extended well beyond the usual confines of jazz; in a career spanning more than 50 years he employed techniques from the genre to create music for choirs, string quartets, symphony orchestras, and even the organ of St Paul's Cathedral.

Born in Enfield, Middlesex, on May 30 1933, Michael Garrick took piano lessons as a child but was dropped by his teacher after playing In The Mood at a pupils' concert. In later life he recalled feeling a "magnetic attraction" to jazz as a child, but having "no means of getting near it". As a result he was largely self-taught.
Michael Garrick
Michael Garrick
 
On leaving school he took a job with the Meteorological Office before being called up for National Service in the RAF. He then read for a degree in English Literature at University College London.
While still a student he formed his first band, a frank imitation of the Modern Jazz Quartet, and secured a few bookings at the Marquee Club as support band to the powerful Jamaican saxophonist Joe Harriott and his quintet. Harriott's bold originality inspired Garrick to abandon imitation and develop a style of his own.
In 1961 he joined the poet and publisher Jeremy Robson in presenting Poetry and Jazz in Concert, a travelling event featuring, at various times, Laurie Lee, Spike Milligan, Dannie Abse, Adrian Mitchell and Vernon Scannell reading their own work. The musical settings were provided by Garrick's trio, plus Harriott and the trumpeter Shake Keane. In this, Garrick was a pioneer of what was about to become a distinctively British subbranch of music: jazz composition inspired by literary works.
During the 1960s Garrick rose to prominence in a remarkable crop of young British jazz composers, which included Mike Westbrook, Neil Ardley, Howard Riley and Mike Taylor. Some of his best work of this period, including Dusk Fire (1965) and Black Marigolds (1966), was written for the Don Rendell-Ian Carr Quintet, with which he was the pianist between 1965 and 1969.
In 1966 he also formed his own, semi-regular band of six or seven musicians, incorporating the vocals of Norma Winstone. At the same time he started writing liturgical works. The first, and still best known, was Jazz Praises (1968), recorded in St Paul's with the sextet, a large choir and Garrick himself at the organ. He always vehemently rejected any suggestion that this work was influenced by Duke Ellington's first Sacred Concert, recorded two years previously, or that he had even heard it when he conceived Jazz Praises.
Some idea of the nature and range of Michael Garrick's music in the years that followed can be gained from the titles of a few miscellaneous works: Mr Smith's Apocalypse (1970); Cantata on the theme of the Silence of God; A Hobbit Suite, or Gemstones (1973); A Zodiac of Angels (1988), for symphony orchestra, jazz soloists and singer, chorus and dancers; Hardy Country (1990); and Green and Pleasant Land (2002), for string quartet.
Garrick took every opportunity to introduce others to the delights of music in general and jazz in particular. Quite early in his career he began taking small bands into schools. This gradually developed into a regular programme, which he called his "Travelling Jazz Faculty" (later "Jazz Academy"), to which were added courses for young players at summer schools and, eventually, formal teaching posts at the Royal Academy of Music and Trinity College of Music. In 1970 he became a student himself, when he took up an open fellowship at Berklee School of Music in Boston. By his own admission, he was perhaps the most hyperactive student in the school's history, attempting to study every subject on the curriculum.
Garrick's discography is enormous, stretching from a vinyl EP recorded in 1959 to Tone Poems, the latest CD by his big band, recorded last year. He continued composing and playing almost to the end.
He was appointed MBE in 2010.
Michael Garrick was married twice. He is survived by a daughter of his first marriage and a son and daughter of his second. He also had three sons with a former partner.

Michael Garrick, born May 30 1933, died November 11 2011

Thursday 17 November 2011

Joe Frazier

Joe Frazier, who has died aged 67, was one of the great heavyweight boxers of his era, and will forever be remembered for his epic trilogy of fights with Muhammad Ali in the 1970s, the third of which — the so-called “Thrilla in Manila” — is widely regarded as the best fight of all time.

Joe Frazier who died from cancer aged 67

Joe Frazier who died from cancer aged 67
Early in the seventh round of the bout — which took place in the Philippines on October 1 1975 – Ali and Frazier went into a clinch during a momentary lull in the breathtaking action. “They told me Joe Frazier was washed up,” murmured Ali through bleeding lips. Frazier, his swollen eyes reduced to mere slits, grinned mirthlessly. “They lied”, he replied — delivering another monstrous hook to the champion’s body.
Known as “Smokin Joe” because of his relentless all-action style, Frazier was not a great knockout artist but wore opponents down with his remorseless attacking approach. The most famous weapon in his arsenal was his feared left hook. It was one such blow which floored Ali in the final round of their first encounter – which itself had become known as “The Fight Of The Century” – at New York’s Madison Square Garden on March 8 1971.
Frazier never forgave Ali for branding him “an Uncle Tom” in the build-up to these contests, nd remained convinced that his time spent in his great foe’s shadow meant he never earned the respect he deserved.
Despite repeated attempts to heal their rift, Frazier’s deep enmity towards Ali frequently resurfaced in later decades. After watching his great rival, by now stricken by a form of Parkinson’s Disease, struggle to light the Olympic flame at the 1996 Atlanta Games, Frazier commented: “I think it was a slap in the face for boxing. He [Ali] was a draft dodger. If they’d asked me, hell, I’d have run all the way up there and lit the flame.” To his obvious disappointment, Frazier had never been asked.
In 1978 Frazier appeared on a This Is Your Life tribute to Ali in which he referred to him as “a great guy”. But Frazier’s autobiography, published in 1996, revealed his true feelings: “People ask me if I feel bad for him,” he wrote. “Fact is, I don’t give a damn.”
The youngest of seven sons born into a poor Baptist family at Beaufort, South Carolina, on January 12 1944, Joe Frazier’s first job was picking vegetables grown by prosperous, white landowners; he had learned to drive a tractor aged seven, and drove a car from the age of eight. Although as a child he was a feared streetfighter, his mother refused to allow him to play American football for fear of his being injured.
Having dropped out of high school and married at 15, he migrated north and was working in a Philadelphia slaughterhouse when he took up boxing in order to lose weight.
Having been spotted by the veteran trainer “Yank” Durham, as an amateur Frazier enjoyed a run of successes which finally came to an end when he was defeated by Buster Mathis in the US Olympic trials of 1964. Mathis broke his thumb, however, so it was Frazier who journeyed to the Tokyo Olympics, where he won the gold medal at heavyweight. Turning professional on his return, he fought his way up the rankings after winning his first 11 fights by knockout. On March 4 1968 he knocked out Mathis to claim New York’s version of the world title.
On the short side for a heavyweight at 5ft 11.5in and 205lb, Frazier was nevertheless sturdily built and relentlessly pressurised opponents for every round, never taking a backward step and hooking viciously with his feared left hand. Stopping the white hope Jerry Quarry in seven rounds in New York in June 1969 enabled Frazier to fight for the undisputed world crown. On February 16 1970 he halted Jimmy Ellis in the fifth round at Madison Square Garden to become champion.
Although Ali had been stripped of the crown following his refusal to undertake military service in Vietnam, he was still widely regarded as the legitimate champion. Frazier’s points victory in the first of their memorable battles at Madison Square Garden the following year suggested that the Philadelphia fighter was destined for a long reign. Watched by a massive worldwide television audience, the first of the Ali-Frazier trilogy was a huge event which changed boxing forever.

Although Ali excelled at psychologically unsettling his opponents, Frazier refused to be cowed. The fight was even in the early rounds, but Ali’s cornermen noted with rising alarm that he was taking more punches than ever before.
A searing Frazier left hook in the 11th signalled that the tide had turned. Four more rounds followed – each more savage than the last. In the final round Frazier downed Ali with arguably the most vicious left hook he had ever delivered. Although Ali beat the count and survived to the final bell, the night was Frazier’s.
“When he went down, we were both dead tired,” said Frazier. “Fifteen rounds; that’s how long we’d been fighting. And the only thing going through my mind when he got up was what was going through my mind all night: throw punches – just throw punches.”
Despite his triumph (after the fight both men were admitted to hospital), Frazier remained the bewildered target of some vitriolic criticism. Derided by Ali’s supporters for his apparent reluctance to defend his titles, Frazier came to be regarded by some as the antithesis of his great rival’s black militancy and anti-war views. Much to Frazier’s fury, Boxing Illustrated even posed the question: “Is Joe Frazier a White Champion in a Black Skin?” The champion subsequently found himself alienated from much of the black community.
Humiliatingly dubbed “a gorilla” in public by Ali on several occasions, Frazier rapidly wearied of playing the unwilling stooge. Some of Ali’s stinging rejoinders hurt him until the day he died. “All I ever wanted that man to do was apologise to me,” Frazier once reflected. “He told my son Marvis that he never meant what he said about me, but he never told me.”
Following a brace of easy title defences, Frazier lost both his crown and his undefeated record in sensational fashion in Kingston, Jamaica, on January 22 1973, when the towering George Foreman knocked him out in two rounds — one of his sledgehammer blows actually knocking the champion off his feet. A rueful Frazier, who was floored six times, later reflected: “I fought a dumb fight. I kept getting up.”
Frazier recaptured his winning ways by outpointing Britain’s Joe Bugner at London’s Earl’s Court six months later, and in the run-up to his second fight with Ali ended up wrestling with his rival on the floor of a television studio. On January 28 1974 Ali emerged a clear points victor of their eagerly anticipated rematch at Madison Square Garden, but Frazier’s subsequent knockout victories over Quarry and Ellis set the stage for the “Thrilla in Manila”.

By now Ali had sensationally reclaimed the world crown from George Foreman at the age of 33. Holding up the belt in front of Frazier at a pre-fight press conference, he announced: “It will be a killa, a chilla and a thrilla when I get the gorilla in Manila.” Frazier did not see the funny side, and later recounted how his children were taunted by the nickname at school.
Following a contest of frightening intensity, Ali clinched the deciding match of the rubber when Eddie Futch, Frazier’s trainer, pulled his battered fighter out after 14 rounds. Ali, who later described the fight as “the closest thing to death”, was ahead on points but seemingly on the brink of collapse at the time of Futch’s humane intervention. “Sit down, son, it’s all over,” Futch famously told Frazier. “But no one will ever forget what you did here today.” Frazier never truly forgave him.
“Of all the men I fought,” Ali would recall, “the roughest and the toughest was Joe Frazier. He brought out the best in me and the best fight we fought was in Manila. Joe Frazier is a good man. I couldn’t have done it without him and he couldn’t have done what he did without me. And if God ever calls me to a holy war, I want Joe Frazier fighting beside me.”
Frazier was unable to reproduce the passion of that heroic losing performance. Eight months later he again took on Foreman — only to end up announcing his retirement after being stopped in round five.
For a time he toured and recorded with a singing group called The Knockouts before launching a brief comeback at 37. On December 3 1981 Frazier fought out a lacklustre 10-round draw against the former convict Floyd “Jumbo” Cummings. It was the final act of a 37-fight career in which he had won 32, drawn one and lost only four.
The former champion later steered his son, Marvis, to an unsuccessful heavyweight title challenge against Larry Holmes, in November 1983.
In June 2001 Frazier Snr attended a much-publicised event dubbed “Ali-Frazier IV” at Verona, New York, when his daughter Jacqui fought Ali’s daughter Laila over eight rounds. Frazier watched from ringside as Ali boxed her way to a narrow points win.
Inducted into boxing’s International Hall of Fame in 1990, Joe Frazier, whose marriage was dissolved, is survived by eight children.

Joe Frazier, born January 12 1944, died November 7 2011

Friday 28 October 2011

Colonel Muammar Gaddafi

Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, the former Libyan dictator who has been killed aged 69, liked to promote himself as an instigator of global revolution; for the four decades of his rule, however, this was carried out through the subjugation of his people at home, and the sponsorship of terrorism abroad.

WikiLeaks: Britain feared Colonel Gaddafi could 'cut us off at the knees' unless Lockerbie bomber was freed
His grip on power always looked solid. But in February 2011 the uprisings in North Africa, which had already seen the fall of the governments of Libya’s neighbours, Egypt and Tunisia, suddenly put his regime in jeopardy.
There were demonstrations in all Libya’s principal cities — including the capital, Tripoli. The east of the country, where Gaddafi’s power had always been weakest, saw an enthusiastic, if chaotic, revolt, and the port city of Benghazi fell to the rebels. Gaddafi loyalists were widely accused of slaughtering civilians as he attempted to reimpose his authority, and with the backing of a UN Security Council resolution, an Allied force which included the Americans, the British and the French imposed a no-fly zone.
Allied aircraft neutralised Libya’s air force and prevented Gaddafi’s troops from advancing into Benghazi. Air strikes then began targeting Gaddafi forces all over Libya, as well as the regime’s command and control structures.
Critics argued that by effectively acting as the rebel air force, the Allies were grossly overstepping their mandate. But the pattern of the conflict was duly established: Nato aircraft cleared the way for rebels to advance westwards along the coast, Gaddafi loyalists then beat them back. The stop-go nature of the fighting endured for six months, but in August the rebels finally encircled Tripoli, and when they successfully captured the town of Zawiya, with its crucial oil refinery, just 30 miles west of the capital, the resistance of Gaddafi’s forces crumbled. On August 21 the rebels entered Tripoli and battle was soon under way at Gaddafi’s own compound.
Gaddafi, however, was not to be found, and mystery surrounded his whereabouts for a further two months. Some suggested he had fled abroad, perhaps to Niger, but the authorities there denied the rumours. Finally rebels ringed his birthplace of Sirte, on the coast midway between Tripoli and Benghazi. Despite the hopelessness of their position, forces loyal to Gaddafi waged a bitter last stand.
When rebels finally captured Sirte on October 20, leaked reports of his capture began to circulate. He had been seized while trying to flee, some rebels said, and had been wounded in both legs. Others said he had been found hiding, like the deposed Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein before him, in a hole. NATO confirmed that it had targeted several vehicles, one possibly containing Gaddafi, in an airstrike at 8.30 that morning. Mobile telephone pictures of a bloodied figure resembling the dictator began to circulate on the internet. Finally, reports came through that he was dead.
It was a suitably chaotic end for a man who could never be easily pigeonholed. Erratic, vain and utterly unpredictable, he always seemed to be enjoying a private joke which no one else could see. His image, plastered on walls all over Libya, seemed a parody of Sixties radical chic — the craggy features, longish hair, the eyes half-hidden behind retro blue-tone shades.
Gaddafi would arrive at summits of Arab leaders in a white limousine surrounded by a bodyguard of nubile Kalashnikov-toting brunettes. At one non-aligned summit in Belgrade, he turned up with two horses and six camels; the Yugoslavs allowed him to graze the camels in front of his hotel – where he pitched his tent and drank fresh camel milk – but refused to allow him to arrive at the conference on one of his white chargers. Several of the camels ended up in Belgrade zoo.
At an African Union summit in Durban in 2002, his entourage consisted of a personal jet, two Antonov transport aircraft, a container ship loaded with buses, goat carcases and prayer mats, a mobile hospital, jamming equipment that disrupted local networks, $6 million in petty cash, and 400 security guards with associated rocket launchers, armoured cars and other hardware, who nearly provoked a shoot-out with South Africa’s security forces.
On his return motorcade through Swaziland, Mozambique, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Malawi, Gaddafi tossed fistfuls of dollars from his car to appreciative crowds, remarking that this way he could be sure they went to the poor.
Gaddafi’s political pronouncements were equally outlandish. He told the Algerian regime that it had wasted the one and a half million martyrs who had died in the war against France because it had not continued across North Africa to “liberate” Jerusalem. He once suggested a binational state for Palestinians and Israelis called Isratine.
Under the banner of pan-Arabism, he offered political unity (under his leadership, inevitably) to Syria, Egypt and Sudan (none of which wanted it), then changed tack to pan-Africanism, calling for a united continent (also to be ruled from Tripoli). As a first step, he threw open Libya’s frontiers to all African citizens; the result was that four million, mainly Muslim, Libyans became resentful hosts to at least one and a half million impoverished sub-Saharan migrants.
Yet the self-styled “Universal Theorist” and “Guide of the First of September Great Revolution of the Arab Libyan Popular and Socialist Jamahiriya” was no joke. In the 1970s and 1980s, while other tyrants were content to repress their own people, Gaddafi seemed hell-bent on bringing murder and mayhem to the whole world.
After Pam Am Flight 103 was blown up over Lockerbie in 1988, leaving 270 dead — the biggest mass murder in British history – a court found two Libyans guilty of planting the bomb on board. In 1984, WPC Yvonne Fletcher was shot dead in London with a machine gun fired from inside the Libyan embassy. Then there was the bombing of a Berlin discotheque, explosions at Rome and Vienna airports and the bombing of a French airliner over Chad.
In addition, Gaddafi sent arms shipments to the IRA, Abu Nidal, and numerous other terrorist organisations and set out to export revolution to his neighbours, perpetuating regional conflicts in Sierra Leone, Zimbabwe, Chad and Liberia. Domestic opponents — the “running dogs” who opposed his dictatorship — were ruthlessly liquidated. In 1984 bomb attacks on seven Libyan exiles living in Britain left 24 people injured; one Libyan journalist opposed to Gaddafi’s regime was assassinated as he walked past London’s Regent’s Park mosque.
In the mid-1980s “taking out Gaddafi” became an American obsession. In 1986, for example, he survived missile attacks ordered by President Reagan – attacks which he claimed had killed his adopted daughter (in fact evidence later emerged to suggest that she remains alive and well).
Indeed, for all his madcap behaviour, Gaddafi was no fool. He survived at least a dozen attempts on his life and remained the longest ruling revolutionary from the Nasserite Sixties. In the 1970s and 1980s he could defy the might of the United States and laugh off UN resolutions, confident that the Arab world, the Third World and the Soviet bloc would back him. But times changed. By the 1990s the Soviet Union was no more, and Arab leaders had had enough of Gaddafi’s troublemaking.
As a result, in the late 1990s he made his most audacious move since coming to power: the reinvention of himself as a peace-loving international statesman. In 1999 Libya finally apologised for the shooting of Yvonne Fletcher, and handed over the men suspected of masterminding the Lockerbie bombing for trial. Gaddafi admitted that some of the “liberation” movements he had assisted were not really “liberation” movements at all; it had all been a terrible mistake. In 2004, following a British diplomatic initiative, he publicly renounced Libya’s weapons of mass destruction programme.
With Libya’s proven reserves of 30 billion barrels of oil as bait, it did not take long for Western leaders to bury the past and beat a path to his tent. The British public was treated to the spectacle of Foreign Secretary Jack Straw praising the colonel’s “statesmanlike and courageous” strategy and Prime Minister Tony Blair offering the “hand of partnership” over a glass of camel’s milk.
The reasons for Gaddafi’s change of heart aroused much speculation. He had certainly been anxious to end the UN sanctions imposed in 1992, which had crippled his country’s economy. But it was the September 11 attacks that appear to have been the catalyst.
Gaddafi was the first Arab leader to condemn the attacks (helpfully suggesting that the United States bomb the safe havens of Islamist militants in London); and the most instantly alert to the implications for his own survival.
For Gaddafi came from a generation of revolutionaries that was motivated by Arab nationalism and the “anti-imperialist struggle”, not by religious extremism. Suddenly he found himself threatened not only by America’s assault on the “Axis of Evil”, but also by the underground religious revolutionaries of al-Qaeda. And it was the latter which he saw as the most potent threat.
Muammar Gaddafi was born in a tent near Sirte, Libya, in 1942 (some sources record June 7 as the precise date). He was the youngest child and only son of a nomadic and illiterate Bedouin family of the Gadadfa tribe. It seems to have been the tribal culture and unstructured democracy of Bedouin life that inspired his revolutionary political ideas.
He was sent away to school at nine years old and then went to secondary school at Sebha, where – like many other Arab students at the time — he was inspired by Nasser’s call to Arab resurgence through socialism and revolution. Early in his teens he seems to have formed a revolutionary cadre with a group of friends.
Imbibing Greek notions of democracy and Islamic notions of equality while studying History at Tripoli University, he went on to the Benghazi Military Academy. In 1966, having reached the rank of colonel, he did signals training with the British Army at Beaconsfield.
In September 1969 he led a bloodless coup that overthrew the royal regime of the charming but weak British-backed King Idris. Libyans were taught that he led the charge not from the turret of a tank, but at the wheel of a blue Volkswagen Beetle. The battered Revolutionary Vehicle came to occupy pride of place in Tripoli’s national museum.
Gaddafi was lucky in his timing. Where Nasser in Egypt and the Ba’athists in Iraq and Syria had to struggle against internal opposition and foreign intervention, Gaddafi was able to remove American and British bases and Italian civilians (who were forced to dig up their dead and take them with them) almost without a murmur. World oil supplies were tightening, and he was able to divide the oil companies and enforce nationalisation and higher prices. Henry Kissinger, eager to see a firm anti-communist in position, actually welcomed his arrival.

Gaddafi established a Revolutionary Command Council with himself as leader and commander-in-chief of the armed forces. Two years later he formed the Arab Socialist Union as the only political party in Libya, though it was not until 1976 that the true nature of his “revolution” became clear.
Changing the country’s name to “Popular Socialist Libyan Arab Jamahiriya”, he implemented his Third Universal Theory of governing laid out in his Green Book (1976), an indigestible jumble of economic and political theories which became the official law of the land.
Conventional political institutions, including the government and head of state, were abolished (Gaddafi had no official title), to be replaced by a “direct democracy” of popular congresses served by people’s committees. The result was a system of administrative chaos counterbalanced by a centralised regime of terror and absolute political control.
Opportunistic, idealistic and mercurial, Gaddafi launched a series of attempts to take his revolution forward at home and abroad. While his economic policies — banning wages and private ownership — had disastrous results, he remained genuinely popular because oil revenues enabled him to supply even the poorest peasants with education, health care and imported food.
Meanwhile, state-controlled media elevated him to the status of demi-God. “His teeth are naturally immune to stain, so that when he releases a full-blown smile, the naturally white teeth discharge a radiation pregnant with sweet joy and real happiness for those lucky ones who are fortunate to be around him,” fawned the Al Zahf Al Akhdar newspaper.
Abroad, though, his campaigns ended in failure. For the first decade he spent most of his time trying to achieve union with Egypt, Tunisia and the Sudan, followed by Morocco, Tunisia, Niger and Chad. All came to nought, as did his failed invasion of Chad in 1972. It may possibly have been in frustration that, in the 1980s, he became such a ready sponsor of anti-Western terrorism.
In Libya much was made of Gaddafi’s many cultural achievements. He was the author of a book of allegorical short stories, and the inventor of a car, the Saroukh el-Jamahiriya (Libyan rocket), launched in 1999 on the 30th anniversary of the Libyan revolution. When Tony Blair paid his visit in 2004, the two leaders apparently swapped ideas about their own versions of the “third way”. Gaddafi illustrated his version by drawing a circle with a dot in the middle, the dot being himself.
Libya’s new status in the world was graphically illustrated in August 2009, when the Lockerbie bomber Abdelbaset Ali Al Megrahi, who had been serving life in a Scottish prison and been diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer, was released from prison by Kenny MacAskill, the Scottish justice minister, ostensibly on “compassionate grounds”.
Megrahi returned to Libya to be greeted by scenes of jubilation, with some of the crowd waving the Scottish Saltire. Gaddafi, apparently oblivious of the huge embarrassment he was causing in Scotland, publicly embraced the bomber.
In 2000 or thereabouts, Gaddafi himself was said to have contracted cancer. In Libya the question of who would succeed was taboo, but still the subject of intense behind-the-scenes debate, some suggesting that he would hand power to Saif al-Islam Gaddafi, his son, who had been groomed to present a moderate image to the West — an image that was swiftly dispelled when his father’s regime came under threat in early 2011.
Muammar Gaddafi had two wives, Fatiha, whom he married in 1968, and Safiya, whom he married in 1969 and with whom he had a daughter and six sons.