Eulogy - Jack Heald

Eulogy: Jack Heald

Delivered (at length) by Vicky and John. Grandad’s funeral, Wednesday 6th August 2014.

Birth and Early Years

Jack was born on 30th March 1928 in Denton Street, Barnoldswick, to parents Annie and William Heald. He moved with his parents to Skipton when he was three. He attended Brougham Street School and then Ermysted's Grammar School, returning to Barnoldswick with his parents and sister Brenda when he was 12.His father died, after a brief illness, when Jack was 16; a loss which affected him deeply.

After leaving Ermysted's, a school with which he maintained a life long association, serving as a governor in later years and remaining a proud Old Boy, Jack was called up for National Service, serving in the RAF. He never got into an aeroplane, but learnt to "fly" a typewriter which served him well in his later career. Despite not seeing active service, he liked to claim that he "ended the war" as the final victory over Japan was announced just a few weeks after he was called up. His oft-repeated claim that the news of his impending call up terrified Hitler into submission became something of a standing joke and he would have greatly appreciated the choice of the RAF Hymn with which we opened today’s service.

Making the right career choice – starting at the Craven Herald

Following his national service, Jack went to work at Rolls Royce. He was not suited to the work and described this as “the 12 most miserable months of my life”. When a job came up at the Craven Herald, he jumped at it, joining the Herald as a junior reporter and was immediately given his own post as West Craven reporter. For more than 30 years, he covered events in the district, from personal celebrations and family tragedies to major events like the firebug which struck many mills, causing millions of pounds of damage.

Jack was the original ambulance chaser – hopping in the car (sometimes with a child or two in tow) whenever he heard a siren, to follow ambulances, police cars and fire engines to capture the story as it happened. His prompt appearance at the Dotcliffe Mill fire, hot on the heels of one of the first fire engines on the scene, led to him becoming a suspect in the subsequent investigation. However, his family, having witnessed him huffing and puffing in front of the grate morning after morning in an attempt to get a feeble blaze started, knew that he couldn’t possibly be the arsonist.

He didn’t always get his facts right. On one occasion proudly composing an obituary only to bump into "the deceased" the following morning as the Herald hit the streets.

The "victim" took it in good part and some 30 years after publishing his obituary Jack kept a promise by turning up for his 100th birthday party!

Jack had opportunities to move on to bigger and supposedly better things - In the late 1950s, he was offered a job in the Manchester office of the Daily Sketch national newspaper, but turned down the offer preferring to remain working for his home in Sough, where he lived with his wife, Jean, and growing family.

Family Life: Rules, regulations and the music of the typewriter

Jack attended Sunday School at Rainhall Road Methodist Church, where he met his future wife, Jean. Their courtship began on VJ night and they married almost 5 years to the day on August 12 1950. They began their married life in a non-too palatial cottage in Earlham Street Earby, moving from there to Barnoldswick, where their eldest children Jaqueline and John were born, and then to Colne Road in Sough, which became home to a rapidly expanding family. John was born in 1953, followed by Janet, Angela, Iain, Jill and finally Anthony.

Family life in such a large household was regulated by a rota, typed by Jack and taped to a kitchen cupboard, in which every member of the family was assigned a household task. Meal times, with the exception of Sunday lunch, took place over two sittings. Ever the stern disciplinarian, Jack vetoed the making of chip butties whenever chips were served up, but then would help himself to a chip from each child’s plate to make one for himself.

As a local reporter, Jack maintained that one of the best places to pick up the local news was in the pub, therefore he diligently attended many local hostelries. One Christmas Eve, early in their marriage, Jack was dispatched by Jean to her parents’ house, to collect the presents that had been stored there for the children. Subsequent delivery of the gifts to the family home was delayed, as the budding Santa stopped off at the pub for a swift half or five. On Christmas morning John unwrapped his train set and, on setting it up, discovered that the engine was missing. Horrified, Jean started a search and on finding it on the drive said 'O dear it must have fallen out of Father Christmas' sack - giving Jack a look that could kill!

As West Craven reporter, Jack worked from home, writing his stories on a typewriter set up on the dining table. He had a remarkably innovative solution to filing his copy. When he had his week’s complement of stories typed up, he would bundle them into a neat parcel of brown paper and walk the few paces from front-door to bus-stop to wait for the X43 to Skipton. The package would be put on the bus dashboard “to be met at the station in Skipton”.

Highdays and Holidays

Holidays were a real highlight of family life. Jack used his contacts to ensure that his family could take regular holidays, often in borrowed caravans in such locations as Abersoch, Cleveleys and Ings.

Jack was a master at avoiding opportunities for needless expenditure. The route to the beach at Abersoch was down a track used only by the Heald family and mountain goats – thus avoiding any ice-cream outlets or gift shops. He also managed to convince his young family that a small park in Cleveleys that had a ‘helter-skelter’ style slide was actually Blackpool Pleasure beach.

Beach holidays also gave the cricket-loving Jack an opportunity to perfect his lofted drive during longs games of French Cricket. Jack would occupy the crease with the tenacity of Boycott and exhibit the expansive stroke play of Botham as he slogged the ball into the sea and set all the outfielders off after it, while he took the opportunity for a swift cigarette during the brief lull.

Not every holiday required avoidance of gaudy fleshpots. The annual trip to Blackpool illuminations is recalled with fondness, a heady mix of candy floss, toffee apples and ice-cream. Then a ride through the illuminations on a lit-up, open topped tram. The trip was ALWAYS rounded off with a portion of chips, out of the paper, on the journey home.

And as the number of children in tow diminished and budgets got bigger, so the holidays got more exotic. Caravans replaced by guesthouses and children eventually replaced with grandchildren on trips to Llandudno or Scarborough. Jack and Jean were returning visitors at a number of places, always making an impact, always remembered fondly by the proprietors of the various establishments they stayed at.

Public Speaker / Public Man

After turning down the opportunity once, Jack was persuaded to accept the post as editor of the Craven Herald in 1981 following the tragic death of former editor Ian Plant. He revelled in the job and loved encouraging the young reporters in his charge. With the sale of the Herald to Westminster Press in 1988, he steered the paper through some rocky times. He was saddened to oversee the end of an era when on Thursday, April 21, 1988, the old press behind the Craven Herald office on High Street ran for the last time. Westminster brought in computers, printed a fatter paper in Bradford and, much to Jack’s relief, left the old front page format alone.

Throughout his working life and after retirement, Jack was much in demand as an after-dinner speaker. He had a fund of stories, which grew taller with each telling and a ready wit and showmanship.

His natural gregariousness and lively interest in people drove Jack’s regular voluntary work. His children recalls accompanying their dad as he drove the Barlick & Earby Council of Social Services charity mini-bus, rounding up all the area’s blind folk to take them to their weekly social. For many years Jack made regular rounds for the Skipton and District League of Hospital Friends, again in a minibus that ferried people to visit relatives at Raikeswood Hospital, and then pushing round a trolley of sweets, hailing and hallooing patients and staff alike.

Retirement: Joining the Jet Set

Jack retired at 65, in March 1993 after 44 years, 12 of them as editor, bringing to an end a working life that had brought him immense satisfaction. Jack’s adjustment to retirement was remarkably swift. He adjusted to his new status in his own inimitable fashion, answering the phone with the phrase “Sough home for wrinklies and crinklies”. The typewriter was soon abandoned in favour of the spade as he embarked on ambitious schemes for his garden that rarely reached fruition. The spring spent meticulously double digging, only for planting schemes to be abandoned in favour of the sun lounger as the summer arrived. The newly acquired polytunnel hinted at grand plans for large scale propagation, but the old armchair and radio tucked away amongst the tomatoes in the greenhouse gave a more accurate indication of how much labour really took place at the bottom of the garden.

Jack and Jean also took the opportunity that retirement presented to travel widely.

Holidays, always a priority, even when budgets were tight, gradually grew more expansive, with frequent trips around Europe and, even, venturing to Australia. In between holidays Jack busied himself with planning the next one, and every place in the house that he liked to sit was marked by piles of holiday brochures. Every holiday gave Jack a new audience to entertain and new friends to be made and kept in touch with. In addition to their trips as a couple, Jack also enjoyed holidaying with as many of his family could be squeezed into a French chateau, Turkish bungalow or Dales bunk barn!

Opportunities to indulge more readily their shared love of music presented themselves, with visits to Glynbourne and Verona, as well as concerts and recitals closer to home. They enjoyed walking in the Dales, and if the walks got progressively shorter as the years passed, their love for the Dales, with Burnsall a particular favourite, remained undiminished.

Family and local reporting

Retirement gave Jack an opportunity to focus on his growing family. As much as he loved to tease and torment his grandchildren, this was combined with a deep love and great pride in their achievements. He revelled in his role as patriarch and loved to have his family assembled around him, the recipients of his sage, often unsought, advice and opinions.

The habits of a lifetime of reporting were difficult to shake, however, and Jack retained his nose for a story and desire to know what was happening around him. This could present a challenge when visiting, as every time you got up to leave the room you were presented with an inquisition about where you were going, why and how long for. I haven't completely rid myself of the habit of announcing my intended movements every time I get up off the sofa.

Years of public speaking left their mark on Jack’s conversational style. Often a conversation with Granddad, conducted over tea and baked goods of dubious provenance, sat amidst the holiday brochures and dead flies in the Wendy House, during which world was put to rights, often by opposing methods; future plans were discussed and the latest ambition examined, concluded with a formal summing up and dismissal, as if he was addressing a public meeting in a large hall, rather than one granddaughter in his conservatory: “Well, thank you for coming today, this has been a most interesting discussion and I wish you well”.

The reporter in him led him naturally into the role of family town crier, regularly ringing round each of his children in turn to rely town or family events. Our own form of pre internet social media. In recent years, the messages were sometimes repeated or Jack would express surprise at finding himself talking to Jackie when he was sure he’d just called Jill!

Later Years

Jack has often remarked that he has been dealt a good hand, but he lost one of his aces in 2002 when his beloved wife Jean died after living with ovarian cancer for many years. During an interview to mark their golden wedding anniversary in August 2000, Jack observed: “Jean has been the most wonderful wife to me in every respect,” and adjusting to life without her was an immense challenge. He turned even more to his family and friends for support and companionship.

He retained his keen interest in people and a strong desire for company, making new friends and discovering very old ones. He continued his regular visits to the café at Burnsall. He had to eventually give up the freedom of the road after what was an apparently hair raising final journey, shepherded to a roadside halt by twin police cars as a he slipped into a hypo-glycaemic delirium.

With the loss of his wheels, Jack’s compass narrowed somewhat. His physical limitations were matched by mental deterioration. In recent years he became increasingly mentally and physically frail and in need of increased support and care. Following a serious fall last year, he was moved to the Andrew Smith nursing home in Nelson.

At times was hard to see Jack’s big character lost to that slight, frail frame. But for all that, it was possible to get glimpses of the real Jack inside. Prior to his move from Airedale to St. Andrews, I took advantage of a work trip to Leeds to pop over for the afternoon to visit. After I’d reminded Granddad who I was and fed him biscuits and pieces of tuna sandwich, I gave him a quick update about my family and career, offering unprompted, the answers to questions he often asked in the past. As I rose to leave, he said, before retreating back under his blanket, in tones almost approaching his public speaking best – well thank you for coming today and I wish you well.

My granddad was a large character: loud, funny, daft, exasperating and often challenging. He loved his life, his work, his family and the places and people of Yorkshire. In the words of the article in last week’s Craven Herald, which, to his no doubt eternal chagrin, announced the news of his death of the FRONT PAGE, “the world is a smaller, duller place without him”. I have missed and will miss him, in all his cantankerousness and silliness and rousing bonhomie.

I wish you well, Granddad.