When he knew he was dying of liver cancer, my brother, John Nichols, said he didn't want to leave any enemies behind. His packed funeral was an indication that he may have achieved this. John, who has died aged 58, worked for most of his life in public service, as a systems analyst in local government in London and then, after moving to Edinburgh in his 20s, for the Scottish government.
He was passionate in his support of public servants. After a lifetime of union activism, John was recently seconded to a role with the Public and Commercial Services Union, his perfect job at last. I learned during his illness and at his funeral of the respect people had for him. He gave speeches at conference, was respected as a skilled, honest and reasonable negotiator and was loved as a friend and colleague. He told me that when he learned that his condition was untreatable, his first thought had been: "No. I'll never work there again."
John was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire, to Winnie and Derek Nichols, and became big brother to Anne-Marie, Paul, Clare and me. One of my earliest memories of him is as he tried to record something from a borrowed LP. I can see him standing guard over a huge "portable" record player and push-button tape recorder. He had surrounded them with a wall of books, in an attempt to deaden the sound of a gang of smaller children on the loose. One of us would burst in and he would swear and start the process all over again.
After school in Bradford, John went to the University of Lancaster to study English. I can remember showing him stories and poems I had written and being shocked when my teacher didn't rave about them like John did: "Well, my brother said it was very good and he's doing English at university."
His love of literature continued to influence me and he introduced me to many novelists. In his last days, we trawled through his enormous bookshelves remembering those writers.
John is survived by our father and his siblings. Reported by guardian.co.uk 16 hours ago.
He was passionate in his support of public servants. After a lifetime of union activism, John was recently seconded to a role with the Public and Commercial Services Union, his perfect job at last. I learned during his illness and at his funeral of the respect people had for him. He gave speeches at conference, was respected as a skilled, honest and reasonable negotiator and was loved as a friend and colleague. He told me that when he learned that his condition was untreatable, his first thought had been: "No. I'll never work there again."
John was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire, to Winnie and Derek Nichols, and became big brother to Anne-Marie, Paul, Clare and me. One of my earliest memories of him is as he tried to record something from a borrowed LP. I can see him standing guard over a huge "portable" record player and push-button tape recorder. He had surrounded them with a wall of books, in an attempt to deaden the sound of a gang of smaller children on the loose. One of us would burst in and he would swear and start the process all over again.
After school in Bradford, John went to the University of Lancaster to study English. I can remember showing him stories and poems I had written and being shocked when my teacher didn't rave about them like John did: "Well, my brother said it was very good and he's doing English at university."
His love of literature continued to influence me and he introduced me to many novelists. In his last days, we trawled through his enormous bookshelves remembering those writers.
John is survived by our father and his siblings. Reported by guardian.co.uk 16 hours ago.