The Guardian du lieu suivant : London, Greater London, England • 43

Personal Keeper of the treasure Obituary Frank Singleton RANK SINGLETON, who in has Guardian's died Manchester aged chief 67, for was more librarian the than 35 years until his retirement in 1992. He was one of the now dwindling company who joined the paper when it was still the Manchester Guardian, ensconced in its Cross Street headquarters, and he became happily, if often sceptically, absorbed in its lingering air of bookishness and detachment. He was a popular and witty companion, whether presiding over his battery of cuttings cabinets from his large oak desk or striding through the labyrinthine editorial department, along the famous Corridor and through the reporters' room in brisk pursuit of files left in cavalier disorder. Books were his special passion. With his wide knowledge of the secondhand market, he would go to great lengths to trace a volume sought by a colleague.

But his passion was always governed by a sense of humour and proportion. In the late sixties when the Guardian was preparing to leave Cross Street for new premises in Deansgate, he would walk solemnly along Scott's old, mahogany Corridor, tap the glass on one of the bookcases and urge: "Keep your eye on Monypenny and Buckle. God knows what will become of B's" monumental six-volume work on Disraeli somehow seemed at one with the weight of Guardian history and, as such, usually gave him an impish chuckle. Over the years Singleton had access to the bulk of Guardian archives, and his research proved invaluable to the late David Ayerst in writing The Guardian- Biography of a Newspaper and to Geoffrey Taylor in his recent update Changing Faces- A History of the Guardian 1956-88. Singleton also made an important contribution to an exhibition in 1971 recalling the Guardian's first 150 years and he played a vital role enabling the former chairman, the late Laurence Scott, to hand over the contents of the Cross Street library and archives to Manchester University the following year.

In many ways he was a private person, often self-deprecating. He was a stylish writer, with a sharp wit, but apart from some early work in literary weeklies and an occasional letter to a newspaper, he wrote little and regarded his efforts as simply "a bit of much to his friends' regret. He never drove a car, but preferred to travel always by bus and train, often spending long periods in waiting rooms where, he said, he could get on with his reading. Computer technology, on the whole, he managed without. He was born in Bollington near Macclesfield and went to King's School, Macclesfield, where friends remember him playing double bass in a jazz band.

He was given some kind of award to go to Oxford, but claimed to have spent all the money on books in the first few days, found himself penniless and returned home. Before joining the Guardian in the mid-fifties, he worked in public libraries in Yorkshire, becoming friendly for a brief spell with Philip Larkin at Hull. Dennis Johnson Robin Thornber adds: The irony is that it's at times like this that you really miss Frank. He would be there with cuttings, contacts and his own wry anecdotes. Computer databases, however extensive, are no substitute for a lively, curious mind and apparently endless erudition.

He would practically write the piece for you, out of his head. Frank's library was an Aladdin's cave of arcane information and the warmth of its welcome could be a dangerous distraction. It was a haven not only for journalists dodging deadlines but for a local baglady who benefited from Frank's friendship and cups of tea. Yes, it was a fire risk but a very 1 Frank Singleton presiding over cuttings and pursuing stray files PHOTOGRAPH: DENIS THORPE civilised one. Not even an appeal for books to be donated to "the colonies" could persuade Frank to part with the gentlemanly collection of 1930s books on Alpinism, rarely consulted.

He also hoarded books by Guardian journalists. Frank always denied that the old Cross Street library was the model for Michael Frayn's newspaper cuttings room in Alphabeti- Putting polish on the clogs Appreciation it THEN Alf Roberts, the CoronaW tion mayor Street 20 years grocer, ago, he became asked Annie Walker, landlady of The Rovers, to be his mayoress. (Alf's wife had suffered one of those sudden exits common to soap operas.) Annie was in her element, public life being more her style than pub life. Now it so happens that Mrs Thatcher's father was not only a mayor, he was a grocer. And his name was Alf Roberts.

It's not weird, it's good writing. If writing is true to life, it will hit the cal Order -even writing a letter to the paper to dissociate it after one reviewer claimed to recognise the set in a Manchester Library Theatre production of the play in 1978. Michael Frayn confirms that the library in his play was a fictional place. "The only overlap," he says, "is that it was a very friendly place where people like myself liked to go." Her careful vowels made the glasses ping. You could have played God Save The Queen on her perfect perm.

She ran a tight ship. Too tight and you were barred. Nobody answered her back and stayed to finish their pint. Everybody called her Mrs Walker except her husband and he called her the missus. She thought that was common.

It is a potent, persistent creation. Who does Annie Walker remind you of? That firm hair, that careful elocution, that backbone and a certain understandable confusion between her job and Her Majesty's? Mrs Walker, the iron landlady, had one weakness, one touch of metal fatigue, her only son. Billy could have hidden at will behind a conger eel. While Annie was mayoress, he gambled away the pub's takings. Just good writing.

Nancy Banks-Smith He was an elegant and witty writer himself his internal memos were one of the joys of the office. It seems much longer than a couple of years that we have had to manage without his knowledge, support, advice, humour, gossip and friendship. Frank Singleton, born March 3, 1927; died November 13, 1994. nail on the head and, if acting is true, will drive it home. Doris Speed's Annie Walker was such a truthful piece of work that I recognised my mother at once.

She was also a Lancashire landlady. Everyone else called our place t' new pub but my mother called it the Mill Hill Hotel, giving every unaccustomed aitch a firm whack on the head like a boiled egg. It was a tough area and she struggled to put a spot of polish on its clogs. She would say with satisfaction that the billiard room, where you paid an extra twopence for drinks brought on a tray, was for a better class of person altogether. The better class of person altogether wore a shifty trilby and, when the police raided, shoved his betting slips in the aspidistra.

If it had been watered, the bets melted. It was a comic and heroic battle to raise the tone of a hopelessly tonefree zone. When Bet Lynch, now the landlady, was a barmaid, Annie Walker considered she lowered the tone of The Rovers. Those long legs like- -all too appropriately dividers. That nylon hair.

You wouldn't find Annie Walker putting a one-night smile on the face of a one-legged mini cab driver as Bet did. Annie, being a Victorian, had Victorian values. Her standards were like the corsets which she clearly wore and Bet as clearly didn't. They kept her upright. Death notices BEALES, John Michael (Mick).

Died without pain at home on 19th Novembor, aged 75, after a short illness born with characteristic dignity and courage. Loving and much loved husband of Joan, lather, grandfather and friend ot Jeremy and Peter, Nick, Zoe, Jennifer and Laura, Jane and Roz. Cremation service on Monday 28th November at Golders Green Crematorium, Hoop Lane, London, NW11. No flowers please but any donations to Impatrial Cancer Research Fund, Loverton Sons Ltd, 212 Eversholt St, NW1 18D. HALL On November 18th 1994.

peacefully at home after an illness, June Patricia Annable, A.R.M.C.M. Much loved by her family and by all who knew her, Funeral service at St. Bartholomew's Ripponden, Halifax. on Friday November 25th 12.30pm, followed by private cremation. All welcome at home alter the service.

Family flowers only. Donetions, it desired, to the Dr. Hadwen Trust for Humane Research, 22 Bancroft, Hitchin, SG5 1JW. In Memoriam RAMSAY Alan Russell 1911-1091 Socialist, Human19t, dearly loved husband of Grace. Thank you for those wonderful years and your selfless love of Mankind.

Love you for ever. To place your announcement telephone 071-611 9000 or 061-834 8686.