Ian Jack, Fleet Street's last autodidact who never had a dull sentence in his columns

 

Ian Jack was a magnificent writer. His prose reflected his insatiable curiosity and masterly hold over the written word. I never missed Ian's column in the Guardian because they were a delight to read. I had the fortune of knowing him, but it was not difficult to imagine what kind of a person Ian was reading his columns.

  

Soft spoken, humble, well read, railway aficionado, ship gazer, distinctive ability to evoke nostalgia, Islington resident, special affection for Scotland, deep connection with India (Calcutta), foreign correspondent, autodidact, hired as a sub by the legendary Harold Evans. 

 

A long spell as Guardian columnist somewhat obscured his superb innings as the Sunday Times's foreign correspondent in India in the 1980s. Guardian had become his natural home and it was almost impossible to see him write anywhere else. Although, I would like to believe that that's not how he would like to see himself.  

 

Having heard (and also seen some reporters) in my initial days in Bombay that a university degree was not a prerequisite to land a job in journalism (it had become a rarity though), becoming the Editor of Granta was a spectacular achievement. Although I must say, he had some stories of those-who-thought-of-themselves-as-exceptionally-gifted-writers-because-they-went-to-Oxbridge. Ian didn't, not to any university. That also made him the last in the tradition of those who worked on Fleet Street without a university degree.

 

Industrial Britain was of special interest to him. That provided him the entry point for the elegy to the vanished ship industry, the mighty factories, and the communities and cities that hosted them. And inevitably it would have colonialism and empire featuring prominently. Not only did he teach the press coverage of the Bengal famine, but also wrote about Madusree Mukherjee's book on Churchill. 

 

Curiously, Ian remarkably stayed away from the culture wars that readers are regularly inflicted by both the tabloids and broadsheets. That also perhaps explains why someone like Ian couldn't get the top attention or a better updated landing page on the Guardian. But then there aren't many who could write about Brexit and Nirad Chaudhury in the same piece, expound on Sat Isabgol, closely examine the street trees in London, and write on the politics of remembering in the wake of the killing of Lee Rigby. 

 

I came in touch with him when I was doing my MA at King's India Institute. He taught one module, but I remained eager to continue that process. Sunak's not from the Richmond you think, he corrected me, his constituency is in Yorkshire. Over the years, I kept in touch over mails, meeting very rarely. Sporadic text messages from me would be answered even more sporadically. He took my call when I sought his views on the night when the Scottish referendum votes were to be counted.      

 

He invited me for lunch a few years ago, where his friends Nasreen Munni Kabir and Urvashi Butalia were there along with his wife Lindy. On another occasion I had gone to interview him, and he was kind enough to drop me and the cameraperson to Highbury station as it was pouring and cold. When I was in Glasgow to cover the Commonwealth Games (well, not actually the games, but the arrest of a member of the Indian contingent on charges of sexual assault), I called him as he had said he would be in the city. I couldn't meet, but he reminded me of the timing of the last train to London!

 

I found it odd that he had his email with a very obscure provider. He didn't use a smartphone (at least not when I last saw him) and preferred to be called on the mobile and not on the landline. 

 

I did call him on the landline though when I spoke to him sharing the news of the passing away of Vinod Mehta - no, I didn't know Vinod Mehta, neither was I someone in a position to reminisce with Ian about his comradeship with Vinod, I had called to get his comments for a news channel, which he gave.

 

I gathered that Ian also admired V S Naipaul for the books that he wrote, of course. As someone who spent time in India as a foreign correspondent, he admired Naipaul's prose on Indian society. I remember discussing his description of Dharavi. And it was with some flourish that he recounted the meeting with Bal Thackeray that never happened, and the flight to Pakistan from Delhi in very interesting circumstances. 

   

As the Spectator noted: "Jack goes, sees, looks and thinks; and his subsequent reflections are of timeless interest." It is remarkable that Ian didn't write a book - all that he published were collections of his columns, news reports, unpublished writings. Four such marvellous books were published and are testament to a rich spectacle of how his columns and news reports effortlessly transcended journalism, attaining the status of literature and history. 

 

There was never a dull sentence in Ian Jack's columns. 

 

Ian Jack born 7 February 1945, died 28 October 2022

Ian Jack in Guardian

Ian Jack in Independent on Sunday  

Ian Jack in London Review of Book