John Roberts 1941-2026

One phone call and he had the full story - there was an air of amazement

- Matthew Engel

John Roberts (left) and his wife, Phyllis, with George Best in 1968

(IMAGE COURTESY OF THE ROBERTS FAMILY)

In my mind’s eye I remember it all. John Roberts, the Guardian’s northern-based football writer, had come down on a rare visit to the sports desk in London.

I was a new boy on the subeditors’ desk. Everyone was pleased to see John: he was that kind of bloke. While he was there, the chief sub wondered, could he perhaps look at a news agency story from his beat that had just come in. It could have been anything: the latest signing by Bob Paisley or Malcolm Allison or the latest misadventure of George Best.

Instead of giving it the once-over or adding a sentence or two, he walked over to a quiet corner, picked up an office phone and started a long call. By the end he had the full story. There was an air of amazement in the room.

It was nearly 50 years ago and the details are hazy; maybe I wasn’t there, but had just heard the story time and again. Either way, John, who died last Wednesday aged 84, was not a normal recruit to the Guardian; he had already spent nearly two decades on the mighty Daily Express, which then still measured its circulation in millions not dozens.