Ronald Farquhar
Ronald Farquhar, 'Jock Zero'
Thursday 26 January 2012
Being wayward in my contacts with The Baron, I read only a few days ago of the passing of Ronnie Farquhar last April. I have to get on the record what Ronnie meant to me.
I was posted to Geneva in 1976 and Ronnie was the chief corr. My dear friend Peter Hulm (who had given me my first overseas job seven years earlier at the Swiss Broadcasting Corporation) made up the trio of correspondents.
Ronnie and I both being Scots, we addressed each other as “Jock Zero” (Ronnie) and “Jock One” (me). Having fought in the war – his face was badly burnt from a tank battle, but he never ventured to talk about it and I never dared to ask – Ronnie was to be respected. “Don’t be long,” he’d say, with that ironic frowny-smiley thing, when I asked if I could nip down the corridor for a coffee (the Press Bar at the Geneva Palais des Nations). When he realised I was hanging out with the dreaded opposition (a UPI correspondent called Arlette Baudet whose office was two doors down (only TASS and the Swiss news agency ATS were between us, as I recall), he’d give me that look – twinkly-eyed, though – as though I was fraternising with the enemy.
As it turned out, he was instrumental in convincing Arlette that, although I wasn’t a quarter the journalist I liked to think I was, and I was a Jock, marrying me wouldn’t be a total disaster. (Whether he was right or not is a matter of debate but we did marry and Arlette remains the love of my life).
Ronnie and Vera were mentors to Arlette and me and our visits to their home, or meals together by the lake, are vivid memories.
I can see, as though “live” and in HD, Ronnie walking up the corridors of the Palais – maybe coming from “Human Frights” (officially known as the UN Commission on Human Rights) – shuffling his wee feet like a ballet dancer, then putting up his fists as though he wanted to spar.
Workaholic: he, Peter and I could be in the office into the wee hours. Funny to think of it now, since, to be honest, nothing ever happened in the Palais. Arlette and her chief corr at UPI, John Callcott, would be out of the office and in the Press Bar at 6.
Lovely man, Ronnie. War hero. And God knows what I’d have become without watching, listening and learning from him.
Miss you, Jock Zero.
Don’t be long ...
Phil Davison
nbnbn
I was posted to Geneva in 1976 and Ronnie was the chief corr. My dear friend Peter Hulm (who had given me my first overseas job seven years earlier at the Swiss Broadcasting Corporation) made up the trio of correspondents.
Ronnie and I both being Scots, we addressed each other as “Jock Zero” (Ronnie) and “Jock One” (me). Having fought in the war – his face was badly burnt from a tank battle, but he never ventured to talk about it and I never dared to ask – Ronnie was to be respected. “Don’t be long,” he’d say, with that ironic frowny-smiley thing, when I asked if I could nip down the corridor for a coffee (the Press Bar at the Geneva Palais des Nations). When he realised I was hanging out with the dreaded opposition (a UPI correspondent called Arlette Baudet whose office was two doors down (only TASS and the Swiss news agency ATS were between us, as I recall), he’d give me that look – twinkly-eyed, though – as though I was fraternising with the enemy.
As it turned out, he was instrumental in convincing Arlette that, although I wasn’t a quarter the journalist I liked to think I was, and I was a Jock, marrying me wouldn’t be a total disaster. (Whether he was right or not is a matter of debate but we did marry and Arlette remains the love of my life).
Ronnie and Vera were mentors to Arlette and me and our visits to their home, or meals together by the lake, are vivid memories.
I can see, as though “live” and in HD, Ronnie walking up the corridors of the Palais – maybe coming from “Human Frights” (officially known as the UN Commission on Human Rights) – shuffling his wee feet like a ballet dancer, then putting up his fists as though he wanted to spar.
Workaholic: he, Peter and I could be in the office into the wee hours. Funny to think of it now, since, to be honest, nothing ever happened in the Palais. Arlette and her chief corr at UPI, John Callcott, would be out of the office and in the Press Bar at 6.
Lovely man, Ronnie. War hero. And God knows what I’d have become without watching, listening and learning from him.
Miss you, Jock Zero.
Don’t be long ...
Phil Davison
nbnbn
Ronald Farquhar
Saturday 24 December 2011
At this Festive Season, I thought I would share with you, and the many colleagues who contributed to the tributes read at Ronnie Farquhar’s funeral in Geneva earlier this year or wrote appreciations for The Baron, the following note just received from his daughter Katia.
It was so good to have all those kind words from Reuter colleagues on my father’s death. It is going to be my first Xmas without him. I miss him a lot. We brought his ashes to Scotland in September and scattered them over Loch Morar the day of his 89th birthday. We had a very moving ceremony with the people he knew in Morar. A piper played a tune for him and it was a beautiful sunny day. I am sure he approved. I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.
Kind regards
Katia
Bob Evans
nbnbn
It was so good to have all those kind words from Reuter colleagues on my father’s death. It is going to be my first Xmas without him. I miss him a lot. We brought his ashes to Scotland in September and scattered them over Loch Morar the day of his 89th birthday. We had a very moving ceremony with the people he knew in Morar. A piper played a tune for him and it was a beautiful sunny day. I am sure he approved. I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.
Kind regards
Katia
Bob Evans
nbnbn
Ronald Farquhar
Friday 29 April 2011
Ronnie was my first bureau chief (Geneva 1973-76). Nigh on four decades later we were still in touch as good friends.
Despite our shared Scottish provenance I wasn’t Ronnie’s choice as No. 2 correspondent and he told me so. He thought my German wasn’t up to scratch. He was right though I improved, even if, unlike the then accountant in Zurich, the late Geoff Weetman, I never managed to conquer the intricacies of Swiss-German.
Others have paid tribute to his encylopaedic knowledge, persistence, attention to detail and dedication.
I’ll remember all these attributes too but also treasure the personal side of a man who possessed the most delightful dry wit. It was pure entertainment to hear him speak fluent French and German with a Scottish accent you could cut with a dagger.
He and Vera (often referred to by Ronnie as ‘My Government’) were kindness personified to Maureen and me when we arrived in Geneva and we became very fond of them. Some years ago we had the pleasure of dinner with Ronnie, daughter Katia and his grand-daughter in Edinburgh after his final trip to his ancestral homeland in North West Scotland.
Working in the Palais des Nations in the evening or at weekends you would suddenly be confronted by Ronnie who was supposed to be having some time off. “Just here to tidy my mess,” he would say. Or “It’s not me. Just my ghost.”
His ghost lingers in many places and hearts.
For Auld Lang Syne.
Scott Thornton
Despite our shared Scottish provenance I wasn’t Ronnie’s choice as No. 2 correspondent and he told me so. He thought my German wasn’t up to scratch. He was right though I improved, even if, unlike the then accountant in Zurich, the late Geoff Weetman, I never managed to conquer the intricacies of Swiss-German.
Others have paid tribute to his encylopaedic knowledge, persistence, attention to detail and dedication.
I’ll remember all these attributes too but also treasure the personal side of a man who possessed the most delightful dry wit. It was pure entertainment to hear him speak fluent French and German with a Scottish accent you could cut with a dagger.
He and Vera (often referred to by Ronnie as ‘My Government’) were kindness personified to Maureen and me when we arrived in Geneva and we became very fond of them. Some years ago we had the pleasure of dinner with Ronnie, daughter Katia and his grand-daughter in Edinburgh after his final trip to his ancestral homeland in North West Scotland.
Working in the Palais des Nations in the evening or at weekends you would suddenly be confronted by Ronnie who was supposed to be having some time off. “Just here to tidy my mess,” he would say. Or “It’s not me. Just my ghost.”
His ghost lingers in many places and hearts.
For Auld Lang Syne.
Scott Thornton
Ronald Farquhar
Friday 22 April 2011
Ronnie was, far and away, the best bureau chief I ever had. Although self-effacing himself, he inspired by example, doing the routine stuff as well as the big pieces, all with a meticulous eye for detail and balance. He was generous with praise if you did well, and never shouted at you if you didn't, though his face alone told you he was not entirely happy. Although he was good friends personally with several senior Reuters people, he was generally suspicious of management, making it quite clear that his heart lay with the pit-face workers. His reluctance to keep in touch with Head Office meant that he was often overlooked by them. During one of his rare visits to London it suddenly dawned on staff, pressed by the union, that he was at least two grades lower than he should have been, and was immediately upgraded by three. He kept his many talents hidden, including one for languages. I well remember an incident in Vienna when we could not get hold of the Belgrade bureau during a sudden banking crisis, Ronnie got on the phone to one of his old contacts and, in Serbo-Croat, a language he probably hadn't spoken for at least two decades, got the story. There won't be many more like him.
Colin McIntyre
Colin McIntyre
Ronald Farquhar
Friday 22 April 2011
How sad that Ronnie has passed. I never made it to see him again since I retired to thank him for all his kind assistance at the time when I was growing up in Reuters. What a wonderful teacher he was: patient but yet persistent in getting the message across, priorities right. I still hear him say in his terse Scottish accent: “There is never a never. Try again and call every telephone number in the telephone book – someone in there must have witnessed the air crash.” That was in walled-in East Germany. And he was right!
Ronnie was essential in helping set up the German News Service in the early 1970s, exploiting our then exclusive presence in East Germany to give the new service extra value. He himself went from Bonn to East Berlin for the initial period, getting up in the middle of the night to catch an early edition of Neues Deutschland (the official mouthpiece of the communist regime) at the back entrance of the printing works – hours before it was officially available. Reuters and all the colleagues who had the privilege to work with him owe a lot. Thank you Ronnie!
Annette von Broecker
Ronnie was essential in helping set up the German News Service in the early 1970s, exploiting our then exclusive presence in East Germany to give the new service extra value. He himself went from Bonn to East Berlin for the initial period, getting up in the middle of the night to catch an early edition of Neues Deutschland (the official mouthpiece of the communist regime) at the back entrance of the printing works – hours before it was officially available. Reuters and all the colleagues who had the privilege to work with him owe a lot. Thank you Ronnie!
Annette von Broecker
Ronald Farquhar
Thursday 21 April 2011
I fully subscribe to everything that has been said about Ronnie. He was an inspiration and an example to all of us who had the privilege of working with him, an example of the essence of true Reuters without fanfare, although he deserved much. In old fashioned terms: “They don’t make ’em like that any more!”
Michael Reupke
Michael Reupke
Ronald Farquhar
Thursday 21 April 2011
I was saddened to learn of the death of Ronnie Farquhar. He was a great man, the best you could hope to work alongside. Ronnie led by example, characteristically first in the office and last out: I never met a more dedicated and hard-working journalist, nor one as modest and unassuming.
Always down-to-earth and good-humoured, he was the ideal agency colleague, exemplary in dealing even-handedly with everything, from heavy political analysis to the routine weekend sports results. He helped and encouraged me greatly when I was starting out in Vienna and Berlin. We shared, for instance, a love of sport and he would be a reassuring presence at the end of the phone line, still in the office and taking football copy from me from some far-flung East European stadium – stuff he could no doubt have written better himself. He was a good and kind man. Thanks, Ronnie.
Derek Parr
Always down-to-earth and good-humoured, he was the ideal agency colleague, exemplary in dealing even-handedly with everything, from heavy political analysis to the routine weekend sports results. He helped and encouraged me greatly when I was starting out in Vienna and Berlin. We shared, for instance, a love of sport and he would be a reassuring presence at the end of the phone line, still in the office and taking football copy from me from some far-flung East European stadium – stuff he could no doubt have written better himself. He was a good and kind man. Thanks, Ronnie.
Derek Parr
Ronald Farquhar
Thursday 21 April 2011
What an inspiring bureau chief for a young reporter to work with. His standards of dedication, accuracy and persistence, leavened with wry humour and genuine modesty, set an example for a lifetime. He loved the work and the story, and when Vera called up in the evening to see if he had left the office, we would all assure her he was on his way as he sat there rapping out the latest nightlead. His knowledge of Eastern Europe was second to none. My abiding memory is of Ronnie spending all night in the bureau breaking scoop after scoop from the latest multi-volume instalment of Enver Hoxha's memoirs. One of the good things about journalism is that it can bring you close to great men – and Ronnie was among the greatest.
Jonathan Lynn
Jonathan Lynn
Ronald Farquhar
Thursday 21 April 2011
Sad to hear about Ronnie Farquhar, though I’d known for a while he wasn’t in best shape. We still exchanged Christmas cards and notes until fairly recently, when his eyesight became a problem. He was already a veteran when I joined the firm in the late fifties. After years in which you only met certain Reuter colleagues at some international conference or other, I got to know him better when he moved to Geneva. It was there I met Vera too and learned about their very difficult romance in Iron Curtain days. Though he’d retired from active service when I headed the Reuter bureau in Geneva, he was kind enough to help out on occasions, always ready to plough through some intractable document from GATT. But we talked mainly about long-distance walking. It was his account of doing the West Highland Way which inspired me to set out on the Cotswold Way the day after my own retirement. We exchanged experiences on the trail later. Well done, Ronnie, you were a great man, and modesty personified.
John Chadwick
John Chadwick
Ronald Farquhar
Thursday 21 April 2011
Ronnie Farquhar brought me into Reuters’ Geneva office in 1975 after I left the Swiss Broadcasting Corporation, so I owe him a debt of gratitude for opening up a path trodden by many others.
I remember most strongly that it was impossible to get him to glorify his amazing past. He would let slip a joke every now and then: in Prague the local prison put up a banner for a Party Congress saying something like “Prague’s Prison welcomes all members of the Czechoslovak Communist Party”.
He also taught me the most shocking Hungarian swear-word, which I was able to check on the ground during a mission for the United Nations in 1984. Ronnie was right. He made Geneva the second most productive office after Washington with its coverage of any meetings and events that could interest the world outside Fleet Street. I don’t know how many years he worked for Reuters but since he put in twice as many hours as anybody else in the bureau, we should really double that in our homage to him.
But his most proud achievement in Geneva was his imitation of the peacocks who make their home in the grounds of the Palais des Nations. With one gurgling cry he could bring almost any male peacock eagerly to the window below the Reuter office, a feat no-one else could equal, despite continual efforts by others to match his ability.
Like a number of Reuter journalists of his generation and the one after, Ronnie’s impeccable accuracy and unrelenting efforts to “get the story out” first made Reuters’ reputation with younger journalists as the only credible news source, and inspired others to fight to keep to those standards. Of course, this was given voice in the self-mocking motto I first heard from Adrienne Farrell (Peter Jackson’s wife): “We may be last but we are always wrong.”
I’m sure lots of journalists have embraced this philosophy as a result of Ronnie’s example. And of course Ronnie seemed always to be first and never wrong.
Peter Hulm
I remember most strongly that it was impossible to get him to glorify his amazing past. He would let slip a joke every now and then: in Prague the local prison put up a banner for a Party Congress saying something like “Prague’s Prison welcomes all members of the Czechoslovak Communist Party”.
He also taught me the most shocking Hungarian swear-word, which I was able to check on the ground during a mission for the United Nations in 1984. Ronnie was right. He made Geneva the second most productive office after Washington with its coverage of any meetings and events that could interest the world outside Fleet Street. I don’t know how many years he worked for Reuters but since he put in twice as many hours as anybody else in the bureau, we should really double that in our homage to him.
But his most proud achievement in Geneva was his imitation of the peacocks who make their home in the grounds of the Palais des Nations. With one gurgling cry he could bring almost any male peacock eagerly to the window below the Reuter office, a feat no-one else could equal, despite continual efforts by others to match his ability.
Like a number of Reuter journalists of his generation and the one after, Ronnie’s impeccable accuracy and unrelenting efforts to “get the story out” first made Reuters’ reputation with younger journalists as the only credible news source, and inspired others to fight to keep to those standards. Of course, this was given voice in the self-mocking motto I first heard from Adrienne Farrell (Peter Jackson’s wife): “We may be last but we are always wrong.”
I’m sure lots of journalists have embraced this philosophy as a result of Ronnie’s example. And of course Ronnie seemed always to be first and never wrong.
Peter Hulm
Ronald Farquhar
Wednesday 20 April 2011
This is such sad, sad news. I worked with Ronnie on numerous international conferences, etc and learned so much from his integrity, patience, moral and physical courage and above all his journalistic objectivity. He quietly, determinedly followed Schopenhauer's rule of objectivity: unhinge the self until you feel no fear or hate.
We also had our war-time days in common and one will not see the like of him again.
As WH Auden said, the quality of the affection – in the end – is in the trace it leaves in the mind. Love for Ronnie will always remain deep in my mind and heart. May his soul rest in peace.
Mohsin Ali
We also had our war-time days in common and one will not see the like of him again.
As WH Auden said, the quality of the affection – in the end – is in the trace it leaves in the mind. Love for Ronnie will always remain deep in my mind and heart. May his soul rest in peace.
Mohsin Ali
Ronald Farquhar
Wednesday 20 April 2011
I never worked with Ronnie Farquhar but I recall that when John Freeman and I were working on the 1972 breakthrough union agreement, Ronnie was one of two senior overseas correspondents we uncovered who had slipped through upgrading in the company’s secret grading system. Getting the system into the open helped both of them jump up the scale which even an embarrassed management thought he deserved.
Colin Bickler
Colin Bickler
Ronald Farquhar
Wednesday 20 April 2011
I was so sorry to hear of Ronnie's passing. He was a great man and, as a journalist, the ultimate, unflappable pro. I first met him in Bonn in the early 70s. Ronnie was the news editor of a busy bureau at a time when West Germany was in the forefront of efforts to ease Cold War tensions in Europe. He was a kind and generous colleague with a lovely sense of humour.
Bernard Melunsky
Bernard Melunsky
Ronald Farquhar
Wednesday 20 April 2011
The death of Ronnie Farquhar is very sad news. For many years he epitomised the lone Reuters correspondent behind the Iron Curtain. He was an example to all of us who followed in his steps. I think back to the months in 1971 when we collaborated intensively in East Berlin on the German détente treaties. I can still see him working late into the night, night after night, in the grimy old East Berlin office. He lived in a tower block hotel in a room so high he was practically never out of the winter clouds.
Marcus Ferrar
Marcus Ferrar
Ronald Farquhar
Wednesday 20 April 2011
As a conscientious, enterprising and hard-working correspondent Ronnie Farquhar became a professional role model par excellence for a generation of Reuter journalists. Barbara and I first met Ronnie and Vera in 1965 when they welcomed us on arrival for our posting to Geneva. (As telegraphist in the Bonn wire room, Barbara used to tape-relay RF dispatches from Eastern Europe to London.)
Ronnie, who had a dry sense of humour, was usually first in the office and last to go home, often only after being summoned by Vera. His meticulous attention to detail, helped by his mastery of shorthand, was proverbial, his reliable, skilful and fast reporting of breaking stories most impressive.
An example: When at the 1972 Olympics in Munich police announced that captured Israeli hostages were safe, Bonn staffers left the office for a midnight dinner, but his prudent instinct kept Ronnie (news editor) behind. Thus he became instrumental in covering the subsequent killing of the hostages.
Manfred Pagel
Ronnie, who had a dry sense of humour, was usually first in the office and last to go home, often only after being summoned by Vera. His meticulous attention to detail, helped by his mastery of shorthand, was proverbial, his reliable, skilful and fast reporting of breaking stories most impressive.
An example: When at the 1972 Olympics in Munich police announced that captured Israeli hostages were safe, Bonn staffers left the office for a midnight dinner, but his prudent instinct kept Ronnie (news editor) behind. Thus he became instrumental in covering the subsequent killing of the hostages.
Manfred Pagel
Patrick Massey
Tuesday 17 March 2009
There are some people in your life who once you meet, and are aware of them – like a favoured beloved byline – you always turn to.
That was Patrick J Massey.
In my early early years – months – with Reuters, when I was struggling to work out what the hell was Reuters “style”, Pat was a beacon.
How could you write a lead para that was accurate, interpretative, colourful, sourced, knowledgeable, passionate, stylish and less than 30 words?
Just read Patrick J.
Maybe it is an apocryphal yarn but the greatest lead I have EVER EVER read – not just on Reuters – I credit to Pat for his story on the inaugural flight of Concorde.
“I flew through the sound barrier today and not a ripple crossed my Martini.”
I’m sure they are not the exact words Pat wrote, but my God the mood that the para evoked – the key to any great Reuters writing – has always stuck with me.
It didn’t have to be short like a Pat or Arthur Spiegelman or Jimmy Pringle or Ron Thomson.
It could be long like a Ronnie Batchelor or Nobby Clarke or Ronnie Farquhar who could write a four line intro and it seemed like a two line intro.
It was the words, the positioning, the mood, the control of their craft.
They were all just natural story tellers, whether in words on paper or in conversation, which in a funny way I think is how they wrote, short or long.
And, of course, they all had the humour and insights of kind and loving rascals – how else could they write so magically?
For just a year I worked directly with Pat on London Bureau and fortunately The Sarge, who has known a rascal or two in his time, was the Bureau Chief.
“Where is Mr Massey?” he would inquire.
In true young honest gullible innocence I would reply: “He’s around Allan ‘cos his glasses (always identifiable black rimmed) are on his desk.”
“So he’s at the Golf Club then,” Sarge would answer.
Years – decades – later when Pat had retired, had a pacemaker installed and came through Tokyo to see his son where I was then based I asked:
“So, Pat, what’s it like having a pacemaker?”
“Ah, it’s not a big deal,” he said.
“I just have to watch out when I walk past a refrigerator in case there’s electro-magnetism and I slam into it. It’s generally the fridge that’s out of cycle.”
I always have and always will read a Patrick Massey byline, in cycle or out of cycle.
Brian Williams
That was Patrick J Massey.
In my early early years – months – with Reuters, when I was struggling to work out what the hell was Reuters “style”, Pat was a beacon.
How could you write a lead para that was accurate, interpretative, colourful, sourced, knowledgeable, passionate, stylish and less than 30 words?
Just read Patrick J.
Maybe it is an apocryphal yarn but the greatest lead I have EVER EVER read – not just on Reuters – I credit to Pat for his story on the inaugural flight of Concorde.
“I flew through the sound barrier today and not a ripple crossed my Martini.”
I’m sure they are not the exact words Pat wrote, but my God the mood that the para evoked – the key to any great Reuters writing – has always stuck with me.
It didn’t have to be short like a Pat or Arthur Spiegelman or Jimmy Pringle or Ron Thomson.
It could be long like a Ronnie Batchelor or Nobby Clarke or Ronnie Farquhar who could write a four line intro and it seemed like a two line intro.
It was the words, the positioning, the mood, the control of their craft.
They were all just natural story tellers, whether in words on paper or in conversation, which in a funny way I think is how they wrote, short or long.
And, of course, they all had the humour and insights of kind and loving rascals – how else could they write so magically?
For just a year I worked directly with Pat on London Bureau and fortunately The Sarge, who has known a rascal or two in his time, was the Bureau Chief.
“Where is Mr Massey?” he would inquire.
In true young honest gullible innocence I would reply: “He’s around Allan ‘cos his glasses (always identifiable black rimmed) are on his desk.”
“So he’s at the Golf Club then,” Sarge would answer.
Years – decades – later when Pat had retired, had a pacemaker installed and came through Tokyo to see his son where I was then based I asked:
“So, Pat, what’s it like having a pacemaker?”
“Ah, it’s not a big deal,” he said.
“I just have to watch out when I walk past a refrigerator in case there’s electro-magnetism and I slam into it. It’s generally the fridge that’s out of cycle.”
I always have and always will read a Patrick Massey byline, in cycle or out of cycle.
Brian Williams
