My Mentor: Sarah Sands on Stewart Steven

'His everyday character was mr pickwick, a genial lovable father figure'

His baritone voice ("that's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard") and his red braces popped up in corners of the office. If you caught his eye, his expression was one of huge amusement, some sadness and a glitter of intelligence.

Restlessness is a social failing but a journalistic skill. As Stewart padded about the office telling jokes or stories he was also on the search for new diversions. These could be people or gadgets. He created an office atmosphere of benign uproar.

He was the only one of the editors that I have worked for who encouraged me to believe that I could one day do the job. He made me do foreign and political reporting and plonked me down on the back bench. He got me to write columns. He encouraged independent thinking even when it backfired on him. He once sent me to interview a swanky friend of his and I wrote a wilfully satirical piece. "Ah, I see," he said, and disappeared into his office.

It was from Stewart and from Peter McKay, who was then on the Standard, that I acquired an 18th-century view of journalism - that it was a vaguely disreputable trade and more fun than anything.

Stewart's keen sense of the absurd and indulgence of foible are unusual in a moralist. He also had a scorching sense of social justice and his campaigns were deeply felt. He was the most human of journalists. When I was appointed editor of The Sunday Telegraph I selfishly regretted that the phone would not ring and there would be no more gossip and laughter.

Sarah Sands is editor of The Sunday Telegraph