



Clive Barrow spent his career on the Telegraph's subs' desk during the hot metal era, reworking copy that ranged from brief items to sprawling features into print-ready shape.
Colleagues remembered his editorial philosophy as a careful calibration of taste: vulgarity should be dosed only enough to raise, at most, the ghost of a smile in a cathedral deanery.
The trade he practiced belonged to a print production process now largely extinct, and his obituary serves as a small marker for a vanished newsroom craft.
The full dispatch is available from the source below.