Donald Forbes - a secret friend to trainees

Those of us lucky enough to join Reuters as graduate trainees in the 1980s had the privilege – and fun - of being taught by George Short. Towards the end of the training course, when it was time for us to leave the classroom and start rotating around the London-based desks, George drew on the board a series of cartoons of some of the major figures whom we might encounter at 85 Fleet St. It was a way of tipping us off as to who might be helpful – or less so. One of these cartoons was of Donald Forbes, then head of London Bureau.

Don was, George told us, “a secret friend to trainees.”

Like all of George’s other bits of wisdom, this turned out to be true. At first Forbes seemed enigmatic, and rather intimidating, not least because there were some confusing half measures. The door to his office was always half open – was that to invite us in? Or to set a boundary? Then there were those half-lens glasses he wore, which made conversations with him seem a bit like going to see the headmaster, or Mr Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. But he quietly sent us off to do interesting things and then afterwards (we discovered later) wrote complimentary feedback to George about our time with his team.

Later, as a fully-fledged correspondent, I worked with Don in Romania immediately after the events of 1989, then in Belgrade during the war in former Yugoslavia. He helmed an orderly ship – essential in Belgrade at a time of violence, corrosive propaganda and a Weimar Republic-style inflation that turned the office’s petty cash box into a daily casino.

The Belgrade bureau’s locally-engaged staff were a team of remarkable and brave colleagues and it was quietly clear that Donald valued each and every one of them personally as well as professionally. The headmasterly aura persisted, and we were glad of it: he was fair, quietly observant and always had our backs. If he ever took a much-needed screen-break, we might see him swivel around in his chair and open something by Anthony Trollope (who wore similar glasses). Don also kept a small statuette of a historical disciplinarian on his desk - either Napoleon or Lord Nelson – which made us all laugh.

Above all, Don was incredibly kind. He continued to take an interest in my trainee year group long after we’d cycled through 85 Fleet St. If we managed to coax him out for a drink in a Belgrade bar, he would talk with great fondness and pride about Irena and his children. Beyond the half-open door and the half-lens glasses Don was indeed a good friend to trainees, or rather, as Colin McIntyre once put it, ‘a big softie.’ I liked him immensely. ■