Most of the blogs I have posted over the years have been connected with either my family history or the history of Sheffield.
But I came across an article in the Guardian dated 23rd April 1973 which refers to the exploits of a newspaperman from Huddersfield Gilbert Lawton.
When I checked on-line I found that Gilbert had died in 2005 and an amazing obituary was placed in the aforementioned Guardian. He deserves a lot more recognition for his exploits
Gilbert Lawton by David Ferguson
Tue 29 Nov 2005 23.58 GMT
John Gilbert Lawton, who has died aged 95, introduced himself to me when we moved to our Huddersfield street. A small, smartly dressed man in tattersall check shirt, paisley cravat and cardigan, he looked to be in his 60s. My prejudices suggested a conservative figure, but I could not have been more wrong: Gilbert was a lifelong communist.
As we got to know him, a remarkable life was unveiled. He had lived in his house since it was built in the 1930s. His father had been a piano tuner, and Gilbert seems to have written music. On leaving school, he went to work on his local newspaper. It was a time of poverty, unemployment and the rise of fascism, and he joined the Communist party. He was soon in London, on the Daily Worker, covering stunts organised by the National Union of Unemployed Workers, among them a sit-in at the Savoy hotel. At the end of the Spanish civil war, he helped look after refugee children in Huddersfield.
Gilbert was working on the Press Association desk in London in December 1941 when news of the bombing of Pearl Harbour came through. He was probably the first person in England, outside government circles, to learn of the Japanese attack. He spent the rest of the war in Huddersfield, working in local engineering factories. After the conflict, he worked as a subeditor on the Yorkshire Evening Post in Leeds, where he continued to compile the crossword for 27 years after retirement, until his eyesight failed in 2002.
Aside from politics, Gilbert's first loves were cycling and walking. He was an ardent member of the local cycling club, keen on time trials and long-distance touring - some club members turned up at his funeral in their road-gear. He took his adopted stray dog, Jasper, walking on the moors (on one occasion catching a hare, which Gilbert skinned and cooked) and into work, where the animal performed tricks at the news desk.
Another love was France, which Gilbert toured in a Morris 1000. In his garden is an oak tree grown from an acorn brought back from a French trip. Beer was another passion, and he collected pub names. He amassed thousands, and would go cycling off to collect more. Until last year, he could often be seen making his way to the Liberal Club - for a beer, of course.
He remained an unreconstructed communist and faced death with equanimity. "Death, where is thy sting, Oh grave thy victory," he sang when I visited him in hospital, and laughed when I said that even he was not old enough to have sung that in Flanders.
And here is the 1973 article that list some of his exploits - not a bad life at all!
