Hugh Pain
Hugh Pain
Tuesday 09 March 2010
I worked with Hugh on the Business desk in 1993-94 and soon came to realise he was an incredibly warm and entertaining person. He had just recovered from his injuries in the former Yugoslavia but was always modest about what happened then. It was an eye opener to read Corinne’s account here that shows Hugh really went the extra mile, at great risk to himself, out of concern for his colleagues. I shall mostly miss his humour that came in subtle forms. I am still to this day unsure whether he was joking when he told me that his real name was Humphrey. With a straight face, he told me that he’d been named Hugh by an editor at the BBC, who thought it sounded better on-air. Left unsaid was the fact that his new name sounded quite like Huge Pain.
Alex Ferguson
Alex Ferguson
Hugh Pain
Wednesday 03 March 2010
Very sorry to hear of Hugh’s death. I was just a fresh-faced London equities sub when I first met Hugh back in 1987. He had written a feature on escaping Kabul on a Soviet cargo aircraft under fire from the Mujahideen. This made quite an impression on me, stuck as I was with the Bombay stock market report and half year profits at Dixons. That piece and other first person account summed up what journalism was supposed to be about, and a few months later when I was introduced to him at 85 Fleet Street, I told him so. He was quite self-deprecating about it then, and I think he always was. He remained a funny and cheerful colleague, even when a decade later he and I met again, this time both under the yoke of subbing market reports. I won’t say he never complained, but no more than the rest of us did. That is the measure of the man.
Nick Louth
Nick Louth
Hugh Pain
Tuesday 02 March 2010
Hugh was a kind and generous friend, who welcomed me as a colonial to the London World Desk. He was a wonderful raconteur whose anecdotes from the field were vivid, instructive, warm and helpful to a new colleague on the Desk. Reading Corinne's account of the land mine explosion, I remember visiting Hugh in hospital in Hammersmith – his broad smile and a wry comment that maybe now Andrew Tarnowski, or even I, could beat him at tennis. In a world where many become jaded, Hugh exuded a positive can-do, will-do air, with enduring goodwill, strong leadership and the sincerity of a valuable friend.
Paul Mindus
Paul Mindus
Hugh Pain
Monday 01 March 2010
I first met Hugh in 1975 shortly after I began an assignment in East Africa. He was then, believe it or not, a correspondent for Radio Voice of the Gospel, a US outfit, in Addis Ababa and a stringer for Reuters. He had previously, I believe, done a safari right through Africa. He was an excellent colleague and guide, especially as I gingerly felt my way in Ethiopia under the Dergue, and of course wonderful intellectual company. We covered several stories together in ET including an AU summit presided over by Idi Amin and an African Nations Cup. We had to fly to Dire Dawa to cover one match and fly back to Addis before we could file. I remember Hugh's famous rage when a bunch of Sudanese officials with their characteristic white turbans sat right in front of us, blocking the view. I believe there was one reference to people wearing table cloths on their heads in a fearsome tirade which did persuade them to leave the press box rather sharpish.
As most people will recall, Hugh's intellect sometimes led to him being called Huge Brain, I believe to his annoyance, but the speed with which he did the Times crossword every day was very daunting.
A great colleague and friend.
Barry Moody
As most people will recall, Hugh's intellect sometimes led to him being called Huge Brain, I believe to his annoyance, but the speed with which he did the Times crossword every day was very daunting.
A great colleague and friend.
Barry Moody
Hugh Pain
Monday 01 March 2010
I was so sorry to learn of Hugh's passing. After receiving the news I spent a good time thinking about the time we spent together covering the Bosnian armed conflict, including, of course, our wee mishap with the land mine in Gorny Vakuf in 1993.
When I think of Hugh what comes to mind is this: not only courage, but also grace, insight and humour under fire.
In late January 1993, we – Hugh, UPI journalist Kevin Sullivan and I – set out to cover the fighting in Gorny Vakuf from our base in Sarajevo. We'd spent the night at the British base there and ventured into the deserted town in the Reuters armoured car. We'd been well advised about where the front lines between the Croats and Bosnians were, but unbeknownst to us, the lines had changed during fighting the previous evening. We drove through the town past row upon row of houses on fire, or smouldering in the early morning mist, a few zingers of AK rounds breaking the eerie silence. We turned right into a small street with debris on it and discussed amongst ourselves whether to continue. We did, and about 30 seconds later hit the anti-tank land mine.
A huge ball of fire lit up the windshield and that was it. I headed off in one direction, ears ringing and blood spurting out from what I later realised was a deep facial wound. Hugh got out from his side of the car and headed off to the right; Kevin’s legs were shattered; he couldn’t move so remained there in the cabin while the engine burned.
I remember clearly how quickly Hugh pulled it together and helped ensure both Kevin and I were safe. I’d wandered down the street in semi-conscious state and after my legs gave out, collapsed about 20 meters down. As I lay there, the Croats started sniping from the hill above – playing. We were sitting ducks; they could easily have killed us. But with all this, and suffering himself from a shattered heel and other bones – Hugh ventured down, picked me up and led me to a safe place, were he set me down behind a wall and ordered me to stay put. Then he went after Kevin who was draped halfway out of the car. Just next to the door was another pie-shaped land mine which Hugh carefully manoeuvred his way around while he extracted Kevin from the car and set him down next to me. All the while he was calm, determined, clear-headed, and remarkably courageous.
After this, the Bosnian fighters came for us, and again, under a hail of bullets, helped the three of us through a labyrinth of small streets, to a makeshift hospital they’d set up in a garage. There, they gave us strong coffee and spirits and called the Brits, who eventually evacuated us in their armoured carrier to hospital. Through it all Hugh was as composed and responsible, as he was insightful and just so damn funny. He joked about how the rather unbecoming [read: large] gash on my face signalled a decisive end to my modelling career, and about how funny he’d look playing tennis with two shattered feet. As we were being evacuated over bad roads – each bump left us seething in pain – he, Kevin and I, started giggling, then laughing, from a weird combination of pain and relief that we were still alive. As we recuperated in hospital, Hugh was terribly good company. He was full of stories, anecdotes, and quirky and witty observations as much about the war and where it was going, as about the nursing staff. He spoke a lot about his family and the love he felt for his girlfriend; when we lost touch I’d hoped they’d remained together.
I’m so sorry about losing Hugh. I will cherish my memories of him.
Corinne Dufka
When I think of Hugh what comes to mind is this: not only courage, but also grace, insight and humour under fire.
In late January 1993, we – Hugh, UPI journalist Kevin Sullivan and I – set out to cover the fighting in Gorny Vakuf from our base in Sarajevo. We'd spent the night at the British base there and ventured into the deserted town in the Reuters armoured car. We'd been well advised about where the front lines between the Croats and Bosnians were, but unbeknownst to us, the lines had changed during fighting the previous evening. We drove through the town past row upon row of houses on fire, or smouldering in the early morning mist, a few zingers of AK rounds breaking the eerie silence. We turned right into a small street with debris on it and discussed amongst ourselves whether to continue. We did, and about 30 seconds later hit the anti-tank land mine.
A huge ball of fire lit up the windshield and that was it. I headed off in one direction, ears ringing and blood spurting out from what I later realised was a deep facial wound. Hugh got out from his side of the car and headed off to the right; Kevin’s legs were shattered; he couldn’t move so remained there in the cabin while the engine burned.
I remember clearly how quickly Hugh pulled it together and helped ensure both Kevin and I were safe. I’d wandered down the street in semi-conscious state and after my legs gave out, collapsed about 20 meters down. As I lay there, the Croats started sniping from the hill above – playing. We were sitting ducks; they could easily have killed us. But with all this, and suffering himself from a shattered heel and other bones – Hugh ventured down, picked me up and led me to a safe place, were he set me down behind a wall and ordered me to stay put. Then he went after Kevin who was draped halfway out of the car. Just next to the door was another pie-shaped land mine which Hugh carefully manoeuvred his way around while he extracted Kevin from the car and set him down next to me. All the while he was calm, determined, clear-headed, and remarkably courageous.
After this, the Bosnian fighters came for us, and again, under a hail of bullets, helped the three of us through a labyrinth of small streets, to a makeshift hospital they’d set up in a garage. There, they gave us strong coffee and spirits and called the Brits, who eventually evacuated us in their armoured carrier to hospital. Through it all Hugh was as composed and responsible, as he was insightful and just so damn funny. He joked about how the rather unbecoming [read: large] gash on my face signalled a decisive end to my modelling career, and about how funny he’d look playing tennis with two shattered feet. As we were being evacuated over bad roads – each bump left us seething in pain – he, Kevin and I, started giggling, then laughing, from a weird combination of pain and relief that we were still alive. As we recuperated in hospital, Hugh was terribly good company. He was full of stories, anecdotes, and quirky and witty observations as much about the war and where it was going, as about the nursing staff. He spoke a lot about his family and the love he felt for his girlfriend; when we lost touch I’d hoped they’d remained together.
I’m so sorry about losing Hugh. I will cherish my memories of him.
Corinne Dufka
Hugh Pain
Sunday 28 February 2010
Hugh's erudition and dry wit were obvious to all who had the pleasure of working with him, as did I on the business news unit while he was recovering from being blown up in Bosnia.
Perhaps less well known is that as well as taking pride in his large collection of first editions of Hardy, Orwell, and others, Hugh was tickled by the risqué rhymes crafted by Ian Dury, English rocker and quotidian lyricist. He did a convincing impression of Dury, faux Essex accent and all, singing about conquests (“I’m not a blinking thicky/I'm Billericay Dickie/And I'm doing very well”). Such delights brightened our days on the desk.
Barry May
Perhaps less well known is that as well as taking pride in his large collection of first editions of Hardy, Orwell, and others, Hugh was tickled by the risqué rhymes crafted by Ian Dury, English rocker and quotidian lyricist. He did a convincing impression of Dury, faux Essex accent and all, singing about conquests (“I’m not a blinking thicky/I'm Billericay Dickie/And I'm doing very well”). Such delights brightened our days on the desk.
Barry May
Hugh Pain
Saturday 27 February 2010
I stayed a few days with Hugh when he was bureau chief in India in 1986. The Reuters bureau chief lived in some splendour in those days in the diplomatic district of New Delhi (the office was upstairs), and Hugh, with his immense height and unforced charm, carried the part off with some style – he hosted an upmarket, semi-formal reception while we were there which was much more Satyajit Ray than Bollywood. I remember there was a cricket net in the corner of the garden.
Quentin Bryar
Quentin Bryar
Hugh Pain
Saturday 27 February 2010
Very sad to hear of the death of Hugh, a scholar and gentleman. I first met him on World Desk in 1977 where he arrived from the BBC where he had been a radio producer. He rapidly established a reputation for fast and accurate editing, but Reuters alone could not occupy all of his considerable ability and he studied for a biology degree in his spare time, when he wasn’t taking part in organised crossword competitions. His collection of rare books was already comprehensive when I visited him at his home in Crystal Palace.
Tony Austin
Tony Austin
Hugh Pain
Saturday 27 February 2010
I will remember him mainly for his humour and erudition. I had him marked down as my "phone a friend" if I'd ever got onto "Millionaire", never having met anyone else who could converse in classical Greek, effortlessly complete the Times crossword, expound knowledgeably about science and demonstrate a deep understanding of books and publishing. And he was NEVER boring!
Naomi Wimborne-Idrissi
Naomi Wimborne-Idrissi
Hugh Pain
Saturday 27 February 2010
I never saw bibliophile Hugh's prized collection of first editions, but I often listened with pleasure and some envy to his stories of hunting around the second-hand bookshops of Bloomsbury for hidden gems – some extraordinarily arcane – which he would snap up for a couple of pounds to sell later for a couple of hundred. Hugh clearly loved his books, could turn his hand to repairs and restoration, and went to great lengths to protect his treasures. I recall him chuckling with glee sometimes at how he would occasionally spend more than was wise on a journalist's salary on some “must have” Thomas Hardy. In my book, Hugh's love of English literature and his antiquarian bent marked him out as a proper English gentleman of the old school, for whom I always had the highest regard.
Ron Askew
Ron Askew
Hugh Pain
Saturday 27 February 2010
Hugh enjoyed his family, friends, first editions, food and wine. He was a serious man but never took himself too seriously. His laugh was infectious, his knowledge of Homer to Hardy impressive. He was above all a genuinely good man.
Dale Faulken
Dale Faulken
Hugh Pain
Saturday 27 February 2010
When I joined Reuters in Asia in the late 80s, Hugh was a renowned figure as Chief Correspondent, South Asia. He had one of the classic Reuters careers, combining distinguished desk stints with time as a correspondent in the field.
David Schlesinger
David Schlesinger
