The observer...

SEVERAL years ago, while studying for a postgraduate degree, I was given a piece of advice by my tutor for which I will always be thankful.

She told us that whatever we do, we should never throw away old diaries, letters and documents. "These are accounts of people's lives," she said, vital for shedding light on foregone times.

This became apparent to me just recently when I discovered my late uncle's diary of 1936. He had bought it from Boots the chemists (40th year of publication). Inside the cover he wrote: "Mr Donald Mulcock, 15 years old, 1935 Xmas, 13 Herbert Street, York."

As I read it, I became increasingly fascinated as well as sentimental. Here I was, reading a day-to-day account of members of my family and their lives in York in 1936. Some of them I was too young to remember; others died before I was born.

Not only was I reading about the lives of my ancestors, but about their friends and acquaintances too - and accounts of historical events which my uncle recorded in his diary on the day they happened.

My only remaining relative who is mentioned throughout this diary is my mother, now 75, who helped to explain some of the things written in the diary.

For example, I never knew what a relay was until my mother told me it was a radio. He had written that they'd had one installed on December 23.

There are even entries in the diary written by my mother in her best seven-year-old handwriting.

In the year in question, 1936, Donald joined the Evening Press as a cub reporter. He was clearly a talented writer. Starting by compiling the nostalgia columns, he quickly moved on to court reports and later film reviews.

He visited the Rialto in Fishergate, the Grand in Gillygate, the Picture House in Coney Street, the Electric (a flea pit) near Walmgate and the Tower, also near Coney Street, where he would write his film pieces for the sub-editor Mr Volans, to be printed in the next edition.

He tells about new films he reviewed such as The Whipsaw, and Keeper Of The Bees at the Grand, or the Invisible Ray at the Electric. One diary entry reads: "Went and bought a pad and wrote out my report. Must be ready for tomorrow's morning Press".

My mother would go with him to the cinemas. She remembers being sent to get the ice creams then scrambling her way in the dark to find her brother Donald.

She also recalls being the only small kid at school being allowed to watch Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolfman at the Tower cinema near Coney Street.

One person mentioned regularly in the diary is Irvin.

I traced him: he still lives in York. Arthur Irvin Naylor was my family's friend and I was surprised to find him. Here I was speaking to a close friend of my uncle's for the first time ever, who although now in his 80s was as clear as a bell in his recounting of the old days.

Never let go of family treasures: nothing can ever replace a person's life.

My uncle had been many things in his life. He had three degrees and two diplomas, had worked at St John's College, been a teacher in York and he had taken guided tours around the city.

He had a thirst for learning which I am only now beginning to appreciate. From what I can gather, he was at the York Press for four years before he volunteered to join the RAF, an event which was reported in the press - I still have the cutting.

The war broke out and four years later he returned a very different man. But he retained his strong will to succeed, a will that had earned him the Burma Star.

Although physically injured in the war and barely surviving malaria, he went on to build an impressive journalism career.

He later became editor at one of the Salisbury regional newspapers and had regular articles published in various medical journals and newspapers throughout the whole of his life.

Donald gained his last postgraduate diploma at 66 years old in 1986. Sadly, he died aged 81 in 2002. Even up to the very day before his death he had been writing his latest article on his old typewriter.

One thing he had worked on throughout his life but never completed was a historical biography of Dr John Snow. He was born at York in 1813 and was the "father of modern epidemiology."

This is one of his projects I intend to complete for him in his memory.

I hope that one day I will be as talented a journalist as he was - and it was the York Evening Press who made him a journalist.

If anyone would like to contact me about any of the things I have written about today please ring 01642 488255 or 07709 028 982.

Extracts from Donald Mulcock's York diary for 1936

Major events:

January 18: Rudyard Kipling died - King ill.

January 21: Last night at 2 minutes to 12, his Majesty George the 5th died after 3 days of illness. The Prince of Wales will become King Edward VIII. Funeral on Tuesday 28th. Picture House shut up, shops not. Flags @ half mast, very quiet. Prime Minister's speech @ 9.30 tonight.

January 28: Went to Mrs Betts to hear service, 2 minutes silence.

June 18: Saw mills on fire off Fossbridge, was a big blaze.

As a cub reporter at the Evening Press:

August 10: Start work @ Press office. Arrived 10 past 8. Office fairly nice, it's old. Queer arrangement of machinery. Phillip Carr, whom I am taking the place of, showed me round the building. Very interesting passages... Showed me how to file the newspapers and photo blocks. Did radio, "25 years & 50 years ago". Totes & daily doubles. Downstairs is the linotype room. It'll take me a day or two to learn all these passages. Left @ 5.0 prompt, one hour for fag and dinner. Brought Herald and Press home, free.

August 11: Have to go to courts on Monday, Wednesday and Thursdays to get reporters' notes. The Fitswillam is the Scarborough train on which are the despatches...

Did bit of printing.

Updated: 09:29 Monday, February 14, 2005