Keith Harper

Mischievous industry and labour reporter

Keith Rex Harper, journalist: born Manchester 8 April 1937; married 1965 Eileen Ripley (two daughters; marriage dissolved), 1980 Janine Thomason (one son, one daughter); died London 13 May 2002.

Keith Harper's enthusiasm for journalism was remarkable. When most had either fled the field, or donned the editorial slippers in a gentle backwater, Harper, at the age of 65, was in the front line as a Transport Editor. Even more remarkable was that his relish for a story seemed to be increasing after more than 44 years in the business.

A casual glance at the Guardian man "in action" however might have given the opposite impression. One anecdote which will always be told about Harper concerns his appearance in The Sun newspaper.

During the 1985 Labour Party conference in Bournemouth, Harper, then the Guardian's Labour Editor, was sitting through a characteristically lengthy speech by Neil Kinnock. Finding his powers of concentration beginning to waver, he lapsed into a snooze only for a Sun photographer to spot him and take a picture. Next day his photograph duly appeared in the Sun – a paper which delighted in drawing attention to Mr Kinnock's loquacity. The caption referred to "delegates" falling asleep during the Labour leader's peroration. On seeing the picture the Sun's Charles Rae rang his office and told them, in the industrial language favoured by Rae and by most reporters who covered the trade union beat, that one of the people in the picture was not a delegate, but Keith Harper.

Next day a much larger and more prominent version of his picture was published in the paper with an apology explaining that the person in question was in fact the Labour Editor of The Guardian.

Harper's capacity for afternoon naps and the lunches which preceded them were legendary. He saw white wine as one of life's pleasures and an important journalistic lubricant. Both practitioner and potential source benefited from it, he thought. He would often come back to the office from the Gay Hussar in Greek Street, Soho, replete with comestibles and exclusive information. He would prepare himself for the act of creation by dropping off to sleep. Younger members of the staff deferentially kept their voices down so that they did not disturb the great man's slumber.

Some time later Harper's head would lurch upwards and he would embark on his endeavours refreshed. Sometimes he would ring colleagues and giggle about the journalistic mischief in which he was engaged. Actually it was not so much a giggle as a prolonged effusion of air from his chest followed by a falsetto "hooooo!". Few journalists have the self-confidence or sang-froid to take a nap before writing a front-page lead, but then few journalists have his talent.

His seemingly languid approach belied his unerring professionalism. The Guardian man – he spent 40 years on the paper – was the best in his field and arguably the most talented specialist reporter in Fleet Street. When one of his scoops was provided by someone whose job might be on the line, the source of the information was never divulged – even to his closest colleagues.

The newspaper trade ran in Harper's blood. Both his father and grandfather were printers. His father, Jack, was a linotype operator with the Daily Mail in Manchester, where Keith was born in 1937. Jack Harper joined the army in the Second World War and Keith's mother, Olive, moved to London where her son gained a place at Marylebone Grammar School.

Harper went from school into journalism, working successively at the magazine National Builder, Bucks Free Press, in Buckinghamshire, Express and Echo, in Exeter and then the Bristol Evening World. In 1961 he was taken on by The Guardian as its West of England and Wales correspondent. Subsequently he became a reporter in the London office. In 1968 he began his 27-year association with industrial and labour reporting, becoming the paper's Transport Editor in 1995.

As a man who appreciated mischief, he would not mind my pointing out that his journalistic obsession with public transport was matched by his preference for avoiding such inconvenience himself. Luncheon permitting, he often used his car, the "Guardianmobile", to get round London. "Bazza, let's face it, public transport simply isn't up to it," he would say.

Unjustly he never won a "gong" for his journalism. Last month, however, he was commended at the London Press Club awards for his scoop – shared with The Independent – revealing Jo Moore's notorious e-mail on 11 September. The Independent won the top award because it placed the story on page one, while The Guardian "buried" Harper's story on page nine.

While he supported the Labour Party, his political affiliation did not stop him tearing into ministers in the present government: the Transport Secretary Stephen Byers was one such victim. Harper was naturally charming and courteous, but always sharp and he never let his personal affection for someone impede his journalistic endeavours. He always liked Norman Willis, General Secretary of the TUC from 1984 to 1993, but he never let that get in the way of a one-man campaign to get rid of him. He would alert his colleagues to a story on the subject by announcing: "I'm afraid I'm going to have to sack Norman again."

He was much loved by his colleagues. Paul Marston, transport correspondent of The Daily Telegraph, said: "It's hard to think of anyone in our business for whom there was such a wide degree of affection. He must have upset people by some of the things he used to write about them, but he never seemed to make enemies. He was such a charming man."

Perhaps the most fitting epitaph for Keith Harper as a journalist is a comment by Charlie Whelan, the former spin doctor to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who worked as a union press officer when he first met Harper 20 years ago: "He was infuriating. He would never write what I wanted him to."

Barrie Clement