It is hard to convey the deep personal effect that someone’s journalistic writing has on you, least of all someone like Ian Jack (Obituary, 30 October) who appeared only occasionally, was almost a generation apart, and had an entirely different cultural profile.
Yet whenever his articles appeared, whatever they were about – and the topics were wide, varied and sometimes obscure to me – I would see his byline and a sunbeam would hit me. I would smile, shuffle into my chair a bit more and be absorbed by his depth of knowledge, his beautiful, fluid writing style and his unstinting generosity of spirit and kindness in everything he wrote about.
I would always come away feeling a little bit better about the world and a lot more informed. Many of my fantasy dinner party guests have frequently changed over the years, but he always remained. I shall miss him greatly.
Maraia Renwick
London
• Ian Jack’s insights into changes in society over the past 50 or so years were illustrated by wonderful detail and sublime craftsmanship in his writing. The detail was often of a domestic nature and instantly recognisable to readers of a certain vintage. We shall miss those train journeys, ship-spotting along the Clyde, and so much more. Everything he wrote was subtly linked to political, industrial and sociological shifts taking place today; his journalism was grounded in the lives led by ordinary folk. It was this that gave it a resonance and directness that so appealed.
Gillian and Duncan Reid
Cheltenham, Gloucestershire
• I have been reading the Guardian since 1972. The first time I cried because of the death of a journalist was on the demise of James Cameron. The second was Ian Jack. They were two very different journalists, but both had an intimate connection with their readers. I can still recall some of Cameron’s columns written in the 1970s. Like Cameron, Jack could summon elegiac rumination to make sharp observations of current events. He will be greatly missed.
Philip Clayton
London
• In a world where opinions blare ever louder, Ian Jack’s humane perspective was an oasis of calm. Railways, ships, seaside holidays, India, the Victorians, the Scotland of his childhood – his recurring topics came to feel like old friends. When he had a regular column in the Saturday Guardian, my husband and I often used to read aloud to one another his beautifully crafted phrases, in admiration of his understated eloquence.
Susan Tomes
Edinburgh
• How dreadful to hear the news of Ian Jack’s death. I am quietly pleased that I have not only his Guardian essays, but also all his books, including Mofussil Junction – Indian Encounters 1977-2011, which was published for sale only in India. Thank you, Ian, for that unparalleled ability to allow history to inform your observational brilliance.
David Harvie
Dumbarton, West Dunbartonshire
• In 1973, I wangled a work experience fortnight on the Sunday Times. Ian Jack was then a subeditor. He further wangled me an invitation to the newsroom’s Saturday night Chinese meal. His nostalgic pieces in the Saturday Guardian always evoked precise memories of Scotland in the 1950s. I vaguely hoped that some day, on a visit to my home town of Ayr, I’d take the ferry to Bute, bump into him in his bolthole there and buy him a pint. A truly great writer and a man who will be much missed.
Kenny Wright
Saffron Walden, Essex
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