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Peter Preston: readers and colleagues remember the former Guardian editor	Peter Preston: readers and colleagues remember the former Guardian editor
2018-01-08 16:15:12 UTC	2018-01-08 16:50:07 UTC (35 minutes later)
Guardian readers, media figures and former colleagues have paid extensive tributes to the former Guardian editor Peter Preston, who died at the weekend, aged 79. Preston oversaw significant changes to the newspaper while in the role between 1975 and 1995, including a move to Farringdon, the addition of the G2 daily supplement, the famous Hillman redesign, and an early decision to publish on the web. He guided the title to record circulation figures, and was editor when the paper alleged that then-MPs Neil Hamilton and Tim Smith had been paid to ask questions in parliament. Hamilton launched a libel action against the Guardian but eventually dropped his case in 1996.	Guardian readers, media figures and former colleagues have paid extensive tributes to the former Guardian editor Peter Preston, who died at the weekend, aged 79. Preston oversaw significant changes to the newspaper while in the role between 1975 and 1995, including a move to Farringdon, the addition of the G2 daily supplement, the famous Hillman redesign, and an early decision to publish on the web. He guided the title to record circulation figures, and was editor when the paper alleged that then-MPs Neil Hamilton and Tim Smith had been paid to ask questions in parliament. Hamilton launched a libel action against the Guardian but eventually dropped his case in 1996.
From Guardian colleagues	From Guardian colleagues
Katharine Viner, the editor-in-chief of the Guardian and Observer, said: “At 10am on Monday morning, as usual, we had the Guardian’s editorial conference – our daily meeting which is hosted by the editor but which, unlike at most other news organisations, is open to all colleagues. It was Peter Preston who introduced the idea of making this meeting open to everyone, and on Monday the discussion focused, quite naturally, on him. His vision. His innovation. His pipe. His rare ability to admit when he got things wrong. His kindness, which was discreet and thoughtful and experienced by so many of us.	Katharine Viner, the editor-in-chief of the Guardian and Observer, said: “At 10am on Monday morning, as usual, we had the Guardian’s editorial conference – our daily meeting which is hosted by the editor but which, unlike at most other news organisations, is open to all colleagues. It was Peter Preston who introduced the idea of making this meeting open to everyone, and on Monday the discussion focused, quite naturally, on him. His vision. His innovation. His pipe. His rare ability to admit when he got things wrong. His kindness, which was discreet and thoughtful and experienced by so many of us.
“Every email he sent me included words of encouragement, from ‘more power to your elbow’ to ‘hope you’re in good heart’. You always felt that Peter had your back. He was excited about the Guardian as it is today – he loved the membership scheme, how we’ve put journalism at the heart of it, and he was thrilled that we decided to go tabloid on 15 January. I wish he could have seen it.”	“Every email he sent me included words of encouragement, from ‘more power to your elbow’ to ‘hope you’re in good heart’. You always felt that Peter had your back. He was excited about the Guardian as it is today – he loved the membership scheme, how we’ve put journalism at the heart of it, and he was thrilled that we decided to go tabloid on 15 January. I wish he could have seen it.”
Alan Rusbridger, who followed Preston into the role of Guardian editor in 1995 said: “Fleet Street editors tended to have their favourite dining haunts. Over the years I enjoyed breakfasts, lunches and dinners with colleagues on other papers at a fine collection of deferential five star restaurants and whisperingly-exclusive members’ clubs.	Alan Rusbridger, who followed Preston into the role of Guardian editor in 1995 said: “Fleet Street editors tended to have their favourite dining haunts. Over the years I enjoyed breakfasts, lunches and dinners with colleagues on other papers at a fine collection of deferential five star restaurants and whisperingly-exclusive members’ clubs.
The backdrop to a meal with PP [as he was known] was usually the opposite. You’d saunter out of the office in (the then-not-very-fashionable) Clerkenwell and find yourself in an obscure eatery that did not feel long for this world. He and I discussed prototypes of the first Weekend Guardian over an early evening half pint in a pub then best known for its lunchtime strippers. When he took me out to lunch in January 1995 to tell me he’d be stepping down as editor it was over a mediocre ham sandwich in a basement spit-and-sawdust café that no-one else on the staff had ever noticed.	The backdrop to a meal with PP [as he was known] was usually the opposite. You’d saunter out of the office in (the then-not-very-fashionable) Clerkenwell and find yourself in an obscure eatery that did not feel long for this world. He and I discussed prototypes of the first Weekend Guardian over an early evening half pint in a pub then best known for its lunchtime strippers. When he took me out to lunch in January 1995 to tell me he’d be stepping down as editor it was over a mediocre ham sandwich in a basement spit-and-sawdust café that no-one else on the staff had ever noticed.
He could be very good company; but he was entirely unclubbable. He was an outsider to his core – and the Guardian was, geographically, historically and spiritually, the outsider paper. However you defined the establishment, Peter wanted no part of it. His work on parliamentary sleaze grew out of the same slightly puritanical soil. Westminster was another club he never wanted to join.	He could be very good company; but he was entirely unclubbable. He was an outsider to his core – and the Guardian was, geographically, historically and spiritually, the outsider paper. However you defined the establishment, Peter wanted no part of it. His work on parliamentary sleaze grew out of the same slightly puritanical soil. Westminster was another club he never wanted to join.
He was dogged, stubborn, tough-minded – and was always the first to slip away from the (frugal) Christmas drinks to get back to a half-written editorial. But he was also amused and humane. Under his leadership, the Guardian was place where great characters thrived; great fun was had, and great journalism happened.”	He was dogged, stubborn, tough-minded – and was always the first to slip away from the (frugal) Christmas drinks to get back to a half-written editorial. But he was also amused and humane. Under his leadership, the Guardian was place where great characters thrived; great fun was had, and great journalism happened.”
Martin Kettle, columnist and leader writer for the Guardian, observed that “Preston turns out to have been the last editor of the Guardian who wrote Guardian editorials regularly. This is largely because in those days the job of editing still allowed time for that. And it was partly because he was a 24/7 journalist long before 24/7 journalism was invented. He loathed not to be working. He often said he felt twitchy if he hadn’t written each day. He always gave the impression that he could do most jobs in the paper better than the person who was doing it – with the possible exception of Hugo Young. He may have been right about that. There were certainly jobs he coveted – film critic and Washington correspondent high among them.	Martin Kettle, columnist and leader writer for the Guardian, observed that “Preston turns out to have been the last editor of the Guardian who wrote Guardian editorials regularly. This is largely because in those days the job of editing still allowed time for that. And it was partly because he was a 24/7 journalist long before 24/7 journalism was invented. He loathed not to be working. He often said he felt twitchy if he hadn’t written each day. He always gave the impression that he could do most jobs in the paper better than the person who was doing it – with the possible exception of Hugo Young. He may have been right about that. There were certainly jobs he coveted – film critic and Washington correspondent high among them.
“Peter’s readiness to write cut both ways with the leader writers. The up side was that it took some of the daily pressure off us, so that we didn’t have to write all the time and could get out of the office to read, interview and (those were the days) lunch, hopefully for the good of the paper and the leader column. The down side was that it inevitably led to a characteristically warm but withering remark as he summed up the discussion: ‘Martin, you get a well-deserved input day’ – the words emphasised sufficiently for his gently censorious point to be made. Input, it was clear, was not Peter’s idea of journalism. What mattered, to him and to the readers, was output.”	“Peter’s readiness to write cut both ways with the leader writers. The up side was that it took some of the daily pressure off us, so that we didn’t have to write all the time and could get out of the office to read, interview and (those were the days) lunch, hopefully for the good of the paper and the leader column. The down side was that it inevitably led to a characteristically warm but withering remark as he summed up the discussion: ‘Martin, you get a well-deserved input day’ – the words emphasised sufficiently for his gently censorious point to be made. Input, it was clear, was not Peter’s idea of journalism. What mattered, to him and to the readers, was output.”
Polly Toynbee recalls her appointment to the paper by Preston: “The call from Peter Preston came out of the blue. Would I write a 2,000-word column on the famous/infamous Guardian women’s page? I was a reporter on the Observer, writing mainly about industrial disputes and working life – it was 1977 – and I’d written a book on unskilled work.	Polly Toynbee recalls her appointment to the paper by Preston: “The call from Peter Preston came out of the blue. Would I write a 2,000-word column on the famous/infamous Guardian women’s page? I was a reporter on the Observer, writing mainly about industrial disputes and working life – it was 1977 – and I’d written a book on unskilled work.
“I wasn’t an obvious choice: I’d written little about women, except at work. Did I want to join the feminist ‘wimmin’, as Private Eye mocked great women’s page columnists such as Jill Tweedie, Mary Stott and Posy Simmons’ dazzling strip cartoon? Other women’s pages were still all woollies, jellies and how to keep your man, while the Guardian’s trailblazing pages wrote about domestic violence, periods, the menopause, oppressive obstetrics, orgasms – and other things that frankly made Preston blench a bit. ‘You don’t have to write just about women,’ he said slightly pleadingly.	“I wasn’t an obvious choice: I’d written little about women, except at work. Did I want to join the feminist ‘wimmin’, as Private Eye mocked great women’s page columnists such as Jill Tweedie, Mary Stott and Posy Simmons’ dazzling strip cartoon? Other women’s pages were still all woollies, jellies and how to keep your man, while the Guardian’s trailblazing pages wrote about domestic violence, periods, the menopause, oppressive obstetrics, orgasms – and other things that frankly made Preston blench a bit. ‘You don’t have to write just about women,’ he said slightly pleadingly.
“He was proud but instinctively alarmed at what he had created, so his remedy was to seek out women writers with no feminist track record. As women’s editors he chose Liz Forgan, then Frances Cairncross, political and economics writers. But we all went native, tugged into the strong feminist slipstream by Jill Tweedie’s radiant wit, raw indignation and soaring refusal to tolerate a male-dominated world. It changed my life, for the better. Liz Forgan says the same. The mark of a great editor is to sow new seeds and let them bloom: Preston came to see this feminist vanguard as one of his many triumphs, and I’m forever grateful.”	“He was proud but instinctively alarmed at what he had created, so his remedy was to seek out women writers with no feminist track record. As women’s editors he chose Liz Forgan, then Frances Cairncross, political and economics writers. But we all went native, tugged into the strong feminist slipstream by Jill Tweedie’s radiant wit, raw indignation and soaring refusal to tolerate a male-dominated world. It changed my life, for the better. Liz Forgan says the same. The mark of a great editor is to sow new seeds and let them bloom: Preston came to see this feminist vanguard as one of his many triumphs, and I’m forever grateful.”
The Guardian’s theatre critic, Michael Billington, was hired by Preston in 1971, having previously worked with him in Oxford and while as a trainee journalist at the Liverpool Post and Echo. He remembers being “in awe of his ability tap out punchy, authoritative leaders on local, national and international issues. In 1971 I got a call from Peter, then features editor, inviting me to become the Guardian’s theatre critic. Since I’d known Peter in Oxford and Liverpool, this might have smacked of favouritism. Only later did I learn that it was Peter who was persuaded by others to appoint me. I took that as the mark of the honesty and integrity of a truly great newspaperman.”	The Guardian’s theatre critic, Michael Billington, was hired by Preston in 1971, having previously worked with him in Oxford and while as a trainee journalist at the Liverpool Post and Echo. He remembers being “in awe of his ability tap out punchy, authoritative leaders on local, national and international issues. In 1971 I got a call from Peter, then features editor, inviting me to become the Guardian’s theatre critic. Since I’d known Peter in Oxford and Liverpool, this might have smacked of favouritism. Only later did I learn that it was Peter who was persuaded by others to appoint me. I took that as the mark of the honesty and integrity of a truly great newspaperman.”
Hadley Freeman recalls how Preston continued to support and mentor younger journalists joining the Guardian. “It takes an enormous generosity of spirit to be an older journalist who looks at the younger ones coming up behind you, ones who write about things in which you have absolutely no interest, and support them. Preston did that for me. There was no reason for him to be so kind to me. After all, I started at the Guardian long after he stopped editing the paper, and I wrote about fashion, a subject in which I’m sure he had minimal interest. And yet he often sent me encouraging emails and even praised me in his own column sometimes, much to my astonishment. I can only hope that I’ll be half as open-minded and open-hearted at 40 as he was at 79. An inspiration on so many levels.”	Hadley Freeman recalls how Preston continued to support and mentor younger journalists joining the Guardian. “It takes an enormous generosity of spirit to be an older journalist who looks at the younger ones coming up behind you, ones who write about things in which you have absolutely no interest, and support them. Preston did that for me. There was no reason for him to be so kind to me. After all, I started at the Guardian long after he stopped editing the paper, and I wrote about fashion, a subject in which I’m sure he had minimal interest. And yet he often sent me encouraging emails and even praised me in his own column sometimes, much to my astonishment. I can only hope that I’ll be half as open-minded and open-hearted at 40 as he was at 79. An inspiration on so many levels.”
Deborah Orr‏ posted on Twitter to describe Peter as “a brilliant, complex, kind and lovely man” whom she hadn’t recognised when she first met him in a lift in the Guardian’s offices. She also recalled how in the early 1990s, when she was editor of the Guardian’s Weekend magazine, after the acquisition of the Observer, Preston called her into his office, which she described as “a big thing”. “I’m wracked with guilt”, he said, “The man who edits the Observer magazine is paid £5k more than you. I have to give you a £5k raise.”	Deborah Orr‏ posted on Twitter to describe Peter as “a brilliant, complex, kind and lovely man” whom she hadn’t recognised when she first met him in a lift in the Guardian’s offices. She also recalled how in the early 1990s, when she was editor of the Guardian’s Weekend magazine, after the acquisition of the Observer, Preston called her into his office, which she described as “a big thing”. “I’m wracked with guilt”, he said, “The man who edits the Observer magazine is paid £5k more than you. I have to give you a £5k raise.”
Matthew Engel speaks of a unique editor’s tactic that Preston employed during the 1980s: “Potential defectors were often kept in the Guardian fold by the offer, not of a slap-up meal and a huge pay rise, but Peter’s own favoured lunch, ‘a cheese and tomato sandwich’. It could be surprisingly effective: confronted with his integrity and devotion to the paper, it was very hard to be disloyal.”	Matthew Engel speaks of a unique editor’s tactic that Preston employed during the 1980s: “Potential defectors were often kept in the Guardian fold by the offer, not of a slap-up meal and a huge pay rise, but Peter’s own favoured lunch, ‘a cheese and tomato sandwich’. It could be surprisingly effective: confronted with his integrity and devotion to the paper, it was very hard to be disloyal.”
Moving people in the other direction, Simon Hattenstone says “Preston was the first editor to sack me from the Guardian.”	Moving people in the other direction, Simon Hattenstone says “Preston was the first editor to sack me from the Guardian.”
“I was a 27-year-old casual subeditor,” he explained. “The arts editor, Helen Oldfield, kindly suggested I wrote a weekly diary– gossip, upcoming movies, crap jokes, that sort of thing, It was the tiniest column on the paper. Weirdly it became popular(ish). Except with Peter Preston. What I didn’t know back then was that he was mad about films, formidably knowledgeable, and had history as a diarist himself. After a few months, he told Helen that she had to get rid of the column because it was awful. I barged into his office uninvited to ask me why he hated me so much. Any other editor might have called for help. He simply said that he didn’t hate me, just my writing.	“I was a 27-year-old casual subeditor,” he explained. “The arts editor, Helen Oldfield, kindly suggested I wrote a weekly diary– gossip, upcoming movies, crap jokes, that sort of thing, It was the tiniest column on the paper. Weirdly it became popular(ish). Except with Peter Preston. What I didn’t know back then was that he was mad about films, formidably knowledgeable, and had history as a diarist himself. After a few months, he told Helen that she had to get rid of the column because it was awful. I barged into his office uninvited to ask me why he hated me so much. Any other editor might have called for help. He simply said that he didn’t hate me, just my writing.
One of the great things about him was that he constantly re-evaluated his opinions and was happy to admit when he thought he’d been unfair. After another three years’ casual subbing – and failing to get the many posts I applied for – he called me into his office to tell me he was offering me a job as a features subeditor. It wasn’t just the fact he offered me the job that made it special, it was the way he did it. ‘Simon, I am particularly pleased to be able to offer you this,’ he said. He meant it, too – I could tell from the way he puffed on his pipe. He apologised and said he’d got me wrong. It said so much about him, and still means so much to me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good.”	One of the great things about him was that he constantly re-evaluated his opinions and was happy to admit when he thought he’d been unfair. After another three years’ casual subbing – and failing to get the many posts I applied for – he called me into his office to tell me he was offering me a job as a features subeditor. It wasn’t just the fact he offered me the job that made it special, it was the way he did it. ‘Simon, I am particularly pleased to be able to offer you this,’ he said. He meant it, too – I could tell from the way he puffed on his pipe. He apologised and said he’d got me wrong. It said so much about him, and still means so much to me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good.”
Jonathan Freedland recalls Preston as someone who worked tirelessly, right until the very end, on supporting the cause of press freedom: “After vacating the editor’s chair, Peter Preston spent much of his time working with organisations defending and promoting journalism abroad, especially in those places unused, or hostile, to a free press. My last message from him came three days before Christmas: it was encouraging to me, as always, but it came from Peter in his capacity as a committee member of yet another organisation advocating for the international press. What I did not know – but he surely did – was that, as he sent it, he was in the final weeks of his life. Even then, facing death, he was mentoring a journalist and championing journalism. It was his life’s work, to the end.”	Jonathan Freedland recalls Preston as someone who worked tirelessly, right until the very end, on supporting the cause of press freedom: “After vacating the editor’s chair, Peter Preston spent much of his time working with organisations defending and promoting journalism abroad, especially in those places unused, or hostile, to a free press. My last message from him came three days before Christmas: it was encouraging to me, as always, but it came from Peter in his capacity as a committee member of yet another organisation advocating for the international press. What I did not know – but he surely did – was that, as he sent it, he was in the final weeks of his life. Even then, facing death, he was mentoring a journalist and championing journalism. It was his life’s work, to the end.”
Nicholas Bannister, who joined the Guardian in 1970 aged 23, and retired in 2003, highlighted both Preston’s attention to detail, and his kindness: “Peter, as editor, was always kind and considerate, especially when I was plagued by epilepsy. He would often come into the City office for a chat after everyone had gone home and I was just double-checking that I had not missed anything. In the morning he would often stop and give me a lift when I was waiting for the bus. Small things like that perhaps but a sign of his very generous and human side. He was undoubtedly a very brave and innovative editor and the world of journalism has suffered a great loss.”	Nicholas Bannister, who joined the Guardian in 1970 aged 23, and retired in 2003, highlighted both Preston’s attention to detail, and his kindness: “Peter, as editor, was always kind and considerate, especially when I was plagued by epilepsy. He would often come into the City office for a chat after everyone had gone home and I was just double-checking that I had not missed anything. In the morning he would often stop and give me a lift when I was waiting for the bus. Small things like that perhaps but a sign of his very generous and human side. He was undoubtedly a very brave and innovative editor and the world of journalism has suffered a great loss.”
Around the media	Around the media
Preston helped found the European Press Prize in 2012. He poured extraordinary energy into building it, despite his declining health and 79 years, striving to honour quality journalism being produced across Europe in increasingly challenging times.	Preston helped found the European Press Prize in 2012. He poured extraordinary energy into building it, despite his declining health and 79 years, striving to honour quality journalism being produced across Europe in increasingly challenging times.
Sir Harold Evans, former editor of the Times and Sunday Times and chair of the European Press Prize jurors, wrote: “He inspired us all with his vision of what it might achieve in uniting the journalists of our diverse continent Europe. He was a journalist imbued with the ideals of Europe and committed all his life to the highest standards of integrity in our ceaseless search for truth.	Sir Harold Evans, former editor of the Times and Sunday Times and chair of the European Press Prize jurors, wrote: “He inspired us all with his vision of what it might achieve in uniting the journalists of our diverse continent Europe. He was a journalist imbued with the ideals of Europe and committed all his life to the highest standards of integrity in our ceaseless search for truth.
Preston also started the Guardian’s environmental supplements, placing Melanie Phillips, the Guardian’s former home news editor and now a Times columnist, in charge of it. She describes Peter as “a complex, difficult character who hid behind a wall of elliptical utterances and deniable obfuscation. Presiding over the temple of media liberalism, he himself was no ideologue. When I worked as the paper’s social policy editorial writer, there were occasions when he approved the argument I was making even though it was clear he didn’t altogether agree.	Preston also started the Guardian’s environmental supplements, placing Melanie Phillips, the Guardian’s former home news editor and now a Times columnist, in charge of it. She describes Peter as “a complex, difficult character who hid behind a wall of elliptical utterances and deniable obfuscation. Presiding over the temple of media liberalism, he himself was no ideologue. When I worked as the paper’s social policy editorial writer, there were occasions when he approved the argument I was making even though it was clear he didn’t altogether agree.
“He was an editor of genius. One of his great achievements was to spot a cultural trend and use it to attract lucrative advertising. When deep green environmentalism arose as a cause in the late 1980s, he decided to start a new supplement, Environment Guardian. Even though he knew I believed this was a deeply reactionary movement for putting modernity into reverse, destroying the integrity of science and damaging the developing world, he appointed me as its editor – to the fury of Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth. He adored rocking the boat; and for a long time, I adored him.”	“He was an editor of genius. One of his great achievements was to spot a cultural trend and use it to attract lucrative advertising. When deep green environmentalism arose as a cause in the late 1980s, he decided to start a new supplement, Environment Guardian. Even though he knew I believed this was a deeply reactionary movement for putting modernity into reverse, destroying the integrity of science and damaging the developing world, he appointed me as its editor – to the fury of Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth. He adored rocking the boat; and for a long time, I adored him.”
Former BBC Radio 4 Today programme presenter James Naughtie served as chief political correspondent at the Guardian during the 1980s while Preston was in the editor’s chair. “One of the odd things about working at Westminster for PP, as we all knew him, was that we knew he couldn’t stand the place. He once summoned the political staff to a rendezvous in the old Press Gallery bar, and we knew it must be bad news because there was nowhere that he tried more resolutely to avoid. He was indeed bringing tidings that weren’t welcome at the time. The details don’t matter now, but he was characteristically blunt, sharp and determined. They were, of course, the qualities for which we admired him. Even in his more elliptical leaders (you knew it was him when his giveaway words ‘happenstance’ or ‘plangent’ appeared) the thread was strong and iron-clad. His pen raced almost as quickly as his mind, and you were aware that he missed nothing on the way. He could cut a piece like a razor, spot any dodgy construction, and winkle out the fatal weakness in a conclusion. Above all, lurking under the mask of his shyness, was a generosity to his staff – especially to their rampant diversity, which would have destroyed some editors – and to the spirit of the paper, which he treasured so much. His was the newspaper era that moved from complacent security to permanent uncertainty, but he never doubted the purpose, nor lost the gleam in his eye. That’s why so many of us were proud to work for him.”	Former BBC Radio 4 Today programme presenter James Naughtie served as chief political correspondent at the Guardian during the 1980s while Preston was in the editor’s chair. “One of the odd things about working at Westminster for PP, as we all knew him, was that we knew he couldn’t stand the place. He once summoned the political staff to a rendezvous in the old Press Gallery bar, and we knew it must be bad news because there was nowhere that he tried more resolutely to avoid. He was indeed bringing tidings that weren’t welcome at the time. The details don’t matter now, but he was characteristically blunt, sharp and determined. They were, of course, the qualities for which we admired him. Even in his more elliptical leaders (you knew it was him when his giveaway words ‘happenstance’ or ‘plangent’ appeared) the thread was strong and iron-clad. His pen raced almost as quickly as his mind, and you were aware that he missed nothing on the way. He could cut a piece like a razor, spot any dodgy construction, and winkle out the fatal weakness in a conclusion. Above all, lurking under the mask of his shyness, was a generosity to his staff – especially to their rampant diversity, which would have destroyed some editors – and to the spirit of the paper, which he treasured so much. His was the newspaper era that moved from complacent security to permanent uncertainty, but he never doubted the purpose, nor lost the gleam in his eye. That’s why so many of us were proud to work for him.”
	From the world of politics
	David Steel, former leader of the Liberal Party and Liberal Democrats, said “I have the fondest memories of Peter Preston. When he was still a cub reporter he was sent to cover the by-election in Roxburgh Selkirk & Peebles in the spring of 1965, where I was the candidate. All the major newspapers had reporters embedded full-time in the constituency - changed days! He followed me around much of the time and ended his final report with what was to me a disappointing appraisal that he ‘half expected’ the Liberals to win. I teased him many times about that, and got to know him as one of the paper’s shrewd political correspondents before becoming editor. Two years ago he was kind enough to return to the Borders to open my 50th anniversary exhibition, and wrote a column about it. He was always a witty and erudite companion, surmounting his polio disability, and is a huge loss to the profession of serious journalism.”
	Neil Kinnock, the former Labour leader, wrote: “Peter was perceptive, creative and – above all – brave in thought and deed. His courage had no flamboyance, it was simply a resolute, even relentless, application of enlightened instinct. He did and said what came naturally to his intelligence and he acted and articulated with painstaking determination rather than dashing lunges.
	He was a newspaperman who believed that journalism in the service of the public is a cause and not just a profession, and he rigorously put that conviction into effect as Guardian editor and as an analyst and commentator.
	Peter was enigmatic and reserved, his humour was dry, his manner unassuming. And all of those unpretentious attributes made his unbending dedication to justice, liberty, transparency and accountability hugely impressive and – as his record graphically shows – often productive.
	His values, his work, his sense of purpose advanced freedom and fairness against forces that seek to resist both. Peter was, in short, the best of progressives - clear in his objectives and with the steel needed to achieve them.”
From Guardian readers	From Guardian readers
Sue Wilson, from Gwynedd in North Wales, recalls meeting Peter Preston in 1987, having won the prize of a wine-tasting trip to the Bordeaux region in a Guardian competition, and a visit to the paper to see how it was produced. “I was surprised when Peter Preston took time to come and talk to me,” she recalls. “At the end of our chat he said that had he been eligible to enter the competitions mine was the very prize he would have fancied. I knew he could have afforded as many wine-tasting trips as he pleased but I heard something in his voice that made me think what he really meant was he wouldn’t mind the freedom, just once in a while, to be the carefree Guardian reader without the editor’s responsibilities. Maybe I was just being fanciful. Who knows?”	Sue Wilson, from Gwynedd in North Wales, recalls meeting Peter Preston in 1987, having won the prize of a wine-tasting trip to the Bordeaux region in a Guardian competition, and a visit to the paper to see how it was produced. “I was surprised when Peter Preston took time to come and talk to me,” she recalls. “At the end of our chat he said that had he been eligible to enter the competitions mine was the very prize he would have fancied. I knew he could have afforded as many wine-tasting trips as he pleased but I heard something in his voice that made me think what he really meant was he wouldn’t mind the freedom, just once in a while, to be the carefree Guardian reader without the editor’s responsibilities. Maybe I was just being fanciful. Who knows?”
One website contributor, stokey95, commented: “In a manner somewhat like Dr Who, the editor who was in charge when you first come to the Guardian is always going to be the best. I would like to thank Preston for bringing me into a lifetime of reading and affiliation.”	One website contributor, stokey95, commented: “In a manner somewhat like Dr Who, the editor who was in charge when you first come to the Guardian is always going to be the best. I would like to thank Preston for bringing me into a lifetime of reading and affiliation.”
Another commenter tells of meeting Preston when they were training to be a local radio reporter: “Back in the late 80s I was on a BBC Local Radio training course in London. We were asked to go out and interview someone and bring it back the next day to play to the group. I called the Guardian and asked if I could speak to someone on the paper for a few minutes that evening about how the paper is put together etc. When I arrived I was surprised that the editor, Peter Preston, had asked to do the interview with me. I spent an hour with him as he was taking urgent calls about that night’s paper. He was as interested in my job as I was in his.”	Another commenter tells of meeting Preston when they were training to be a local radio reporter: “Back in the late 80s I was on a BBC Local Radio training course in London. We were asked to go out and interview someone and bring it back the next day to play to the group. I called the Guardian and asked if I could speak to someone on the paper for a few minutes that evening about how the paper is put together etc. When I arrived I was surprised that the editor, Peter Preston, had asked to do the interview with me. I spent an hour with him as he was taking urgent calls about that night’s paper. He was as interested in my job as I was in his.”