Martin Townsend: Family pay tribute to Sunday Express legend | UK | News

Having the Editor of OK! magazine and as a father the Sunday Express meant we did not have an ordinary childhood; It was a cornucopia of completely unique activities that produced endless anecdotes. The three of us – Benedict, Oliver and Cordelia – knew the word “journalist” before we could walk, and our family home was always stocked with every newspaper on the market.

It’s hard to remember when we first questioned what exactly Dad was doing in his career, but we were so used to seeing the Beckhams doing well! The first wedding page of the magazine in our hallway. Our father’s work ethic was unwavering. The nature of being Sunday Express Editor meant we quickly adapted to his unusual Sunday-Monday weekends.

Sometimes he had to leave family holidays early or spend long periods on the phone with his staff because some breaking story, such as the death of the Queen Mother and Margaret Thatcher, caught his attention.

My father’s ever-popular “A Word from the Editor” column — his commentary on all things news and current events — often dealt with our family’s daily dilemmas. It’s always fascinating to see our stories, our trials and tribulations, presented to a national audience just days after they happen.

Whether it’s not being able to find a cozy cup of tea after moving house, or highlighting payphones not working in London after a tube strike resulted in 11-year-old Oliver having to walk five miles home.

Just as his dedication to his work never wavered, so did his pride in his work.

The best-selling Sunday Express advert to date is “Red Arrows Face Axe”.

it is still framed and displayed proudly in the family home.

He was a man who truly loved what he did and approached every newspaper.

each column with boundless enthusiasm and creativity.

It was like it never shut down. We can remember the days when he took it upon himself to quiz local shopkeepers in Blackpool, Reading and York with copies of the Sunday Express on how well or poorly they were stocking, or whether they had any problems with their suppliers.

Even though he worked 24 hours a day, he never found the time to make us feel loved and appreciated.

We’ve lost count of how many Sundays he’s dutifully taken us to our local steam museum to look at the same exhibits and ride the same miniature railway.

He often read to us; The book series Cordelia chose was “Horrid Henry”; We had my dad do different voices for various characters.

Wanting to relive some of his own childhood, his father decided to read “Bill Badger’s Winter Cruise,” one of his all-time favorite books, which combined two of his favorite things: badgers and canal boats.

Every time he took out the book we moaned and groaned at having to listen to him – our mother eventually had to intervene by saying “stop torturing them with the boring badger book”.

Music was one of his greatest passions and he enjoyed introducing us to all the different sounds, genres and emotions that music had to offer.

Some of our fondest childhood memories are of the three of us running around the room and our father playing music for us from his record or CD player. As teenagers, all three of us embraced the “vinyl revival” of the early 2010s.

And it was hard to fathom that our father could tell anecdotes about nearly every known musician from the 1960s to the 1990s; whether he was insulted by Prince or which member of Pink Floyd he felt “really good” to talk to.

There were so many weird, crazy and wonderful benefits for us kids; random PR packages that could give us a Virgin Cola-branded pen, tickets to a press screening of a yet-to-be-released film, or best of all, the chance to see Bond fanatic Benedict attend the Casino Royale premiere.

Growing up, it was a common occurrence for my dad to receive a message or email from a strange celebrity (mostly based on their name) that would pop up on his home screen. A quick glance at the phone book shows Jim Davidson rubbing shoulders with Nick Heyward; This reflects his father’s long and successful career in music journalism.

Despite my father’s accomplishments and the wide variety of travel and event opportunities that opened up to us as a family, such as cruises or movie premieres, he never let his status in journalism confuse him.

He always found himself among ordinary people.

Just a few days after dining at a VIP dinner atop Cinderella’s Castle at Disney World Florida, we could head straight back to the family home in Harrow, listen to troubles around her mother’s fence or shed, or investigate the local car boot sale or charity shops. But not once did he boast: “I got their number” or “I interviewed them” when handing over £1 for a scratched copy of the Led Zeppelin IV LP.

“The Dad I Had” (then titled “The Dad I Had” at the suggestion of his wife Jane) was being written in 2006.

The three of us, then aged 12, 10 and 6, got our first role in journalism – we were tasked with keeping his family’s memoirs secret from his mother and brother, two of the book’s main characters, for over a year, and we succeeded.

Despite having a computer and mobile phone internet before the rest of the world, our father remained one of the most technologically illiterate people who ever lived.

“What’s my login information again?” it was a daily occurrence and he never understood why “martin1” was such an easy password to guess when it came time to reset.

Luckily, Oliver was on hand to help on Dad’s last day as Editor, when 17 years of emails and personal contact lists needed to be backed up in a matter of hours.

In April 2024, our world as a family was turned upside down with the news that our father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Suddenly, we weren’t sure if it was our last family vacation or our big birthday together.

After tireless struggles and countless hospital stays, we had the privilege of welcoming him on his 65th birthday, 15 months after his diagnosis. When it came time to say his final goodbyes to friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances, our father’s illustrious career was not the main focus.

His ultimate legacy, and what generated 99% of the messages from well-wishers, was not what the man did, but who he was. He was an incredibly kind, generous, open-hearted and extremely funny man, and that’s what people loved most about him.

RIP, Dad – one of a kind, taken from us too soon.

We would like to thank Chelsea, Westminster and Royal Marsden hospitals for their interest and support from the very beginning.