>>but they also have totally fond memories of Malcolm<<

Sorry dad, but my main memories of Malcolm are of him swearing at me during the cricket matches. I wouldn't mind, but I was playing alongside him for Yorkshire at the time.

But to be serious (just to stress: the above isn't serious. I genuinely don't remember anything but good-natured banter during the highly enjoyable cricket matches in the decade or so I played in them. I do remember, however, John O'Hagan once catching me after he'd strolled onto the pitch for a spot of fielding while out walking his dog. Oh the shame...), Whitby Folk Festival has always been and remains about as enjoyable week as you can spend in a folk setting in my opinion. And this is down to the way that Malcolm and others built up the festival, and subsequent organisers have thankfully carried it on (though I do miss the Bop Till You Drops. And Roy Atkinson's wonderfully bonkers fringe competition. And the Salami Brothers. And... ah, you get the idea). Being a 14-year-old in a rough Hull senior school explaining to your friends why you were going to a folk festival for a week instead of joining them in the rush to get to Torremolinos or Benidorm was never easy but always well worth it, as Whitby was, without fail, special. Malcolm is the chief reason for that and will always have my eternal thanks. Though I'd never tell him to his face. Obviously.