Harry Whewell's impish spirit inspired his successors in Manchester and helped to keep us cheerful in hard times. As the last northern editor with real resources at his command, he was an oracle of wise advice to the end of his long, rich life, but above all a source of boundless fun.
Brimming with enthusiasm even in the frailty of old age, he would conjure up extraordinary scenes from the Manchester Guardian's past, including the night that a circus elephant stayed in the company garage and pub sessions where he and colleagues would apply for unlikely jobs advertised in the paper. The one that lingers was governor of Bermuda as a job share with a night subeditor.
Harry took a similar sideways view of his own trials in old age. Widowed, recovering from ill-health and struggling to cope without a spin-dryer, he followed a neighbour's advice to dry his laundry by spreading it over the shrubs in his garden. The job was just finished when a woman from social services arrived to check that he was managing. His description over a pint of the look in her eyes matched the undying gleam in his own.