John Newell, for many years the mainstay of the World Service science unit, has died.  This obituary appeared in Ariel:

John Newell, who died unexpectedly last Wednesday morning (February 19), was the first science
correspondent of the BBC World Service and its science editor until his retirement in 1993. To those
privileged to work with him, his enthusiasm for promoting the public understanding of science was
exceeded only by his genial personality and his passion for real ale. John’s career spanned virtually the
entire space age and the whole of molecular
biology at a time when science broadcasting was still a novelty. It was a determination to press often
reluctant scientists and medical researchers for further elucidation that was the secret of John’s clear and
incisive journalism.


He never minded admitting publicly that there were things he didn’t fully understand, and conversely, when
he suspected obfuscation on the part of others, he was fearless in the pursuit of truth. He would never
repeat anything without investigating it fully — an enduring lesson to many a lesser journalist. ‘Never heap
ignorance upon ignorance,’ was his motto.


Typical of his professional commitment was a willingness to sleep overnight in the office during any
technical crisis. Those of us who followed the nail-biting Apollo 13 moon mission for the World Service have
deeply incised memories of a more nerve-wracking incident — the appearance of John at 7am in the Bush
House canteen wearing nothing but a fluffy pink dressing gown.


He was not just a practising journalist; he was a towering influence on a generation that followed him. As
editor of the World Service science unit, he encouraged from the front. Never too senior to brandish a
microphone, he continued to broadcast until nearly a decade after his official retirement. It was his
willingness to try anything, combined with his avuncular and genuine affection for his staff and students, that
encouraged, and perhaps helped create, a new generation of science communicators.


Ultimately, John’s claim to affectionate remembrance will be not so much for his professional skills as for
his eccentric, but deeply human, personal qualities. In the office, he persisted with his aggressive, highly
inaccurate, two-fingered manual typing, years after everyone else had embraced the world of computers.
Those colleagues who had problems understanding his handwriting found little solace with what emerged
from the keyboard.


For a man of penetrating intellect, John made no effort to disguise his problems adapting to computers. On
the day before his death, he was still at work, struggling hard to download some images from the internet.
Unlike many lesser mortals, he didn’t mind anyone knowing. Nor, as someone who understood biology
better than most, was he remotely uncomfortable practising his profoundly held Christian faith.


John Newell had recently celebrated his 70th birthday when he died in his sleep.


He is survived by his partner Rosalind to whom we send our deepest sympathy.