Ronald Farquhar

Ronnie was my first bureau chief (Geneva 1973-76). Nigh on four decades later we were still in touch as good friends.

Despite our shared Scottish provenance I wasn’t Ronnie’s choice as No. 2 correspondent and he told me so. He thought my German wasn’t up to scratch. He was right though I improved, even if, unlike the then accountant in Zurich, the late Geoff Weetman, I never managed to conquer the intricacies of Swiss-German.

Others have paid tribute to his encylopaedic knowledge, persistence, attention to detail and dedication.

I’ll remember all these attributes too but also treasure the personal side of a man who possessed the most delightful dry wit. It was pure entertainment to hear him speak fluent French and German with a Scottish accent you could cut with a dagger.

He and Vera (often referred to by Ronnie as ‘My Government’) were kindness personified to Maureen and me when we arrived in Geneva and we became very fond of them. Some years ago we had the pleasure of dinner with Ronnie, daughter Katia and his grand-daughter in Edinburgh after his final trip to his ancestral homeland in North West Scotland.

Working in the Palais des Nations in the evening or at weekends you would suddenly be confronted by Ronnie who was supposed to be having some time off. “Just here to tidy my mess,” he would say. Or “It’s not me. Just my ghost.”

His ghost lingers in many places and hearts.

For Auld Lang Syne. ■