Harry Browne

From 1969 to 1982 my father, Harry Browne, who has died aged 90, was head of arts and languages at Cambridgeshire College of Arts and Technology (CCAT), steering it towards awarding degrees, which led to the college becoming Anglia Ruskin University in 2005. Indeed it owes its name to his discovery of John Ruskin's connection to the art department, the origins of which lay in the art school Ruskin opened in 1858.

Born in Birmingham, the son of a postman and a cleaner, Harry came from poverty to graduate from Emmanuel College, Cambridge. His Birmingham accent disappeared when he was young, but the Aston boy was always there, as indelible as the memory of his adored mother scrubbing the post office steps to provide bikes and an encyclopedia for her twin boys. Harry won scholarships to a private school, but the bus fares were unaffordable. He qualified for London Extension College, but his headteacher advised him that it was pointless to continue his education. Travelling was a passion, and he cycled across Ireland. He left with the school certificate, worked in an electrician's shop and a tyre factory and joined the Peace Pledge Union.

During the second world war, Harry was twice jailed as a conscientious objector before working on the land. There, he met educated men and women, and decided to study for A-levels. After the war Harry impressed an Emmanuel history don enough to overcome the prejudice against him - as a working-class "conchy". The admissions tutor offered Harry his finger to shake, the hand being reserved for gentlemen. After Cambridge, he took a teaching diploma. He arrived at CCAT in the early 1950s by which time he had also met, and married, a German-Jewish refugee Evie Goldschmidt. Together they went to Spain for a period. He later published Spain's Civil War (1983). The clanking typewriter would signal to his children that he was writing another history book.

In retirement he learned to cook, and travelled round Europe, learning languages and tasting wines. Loyal and supportive, he enjoyed music, revelled in conversation, was dismayed and fascinated by politicians and irritated when fellow academics dismissed popular culture and Hollywood movies.

He is survived by four children - Jessica, Martin, Nicholas and myself - and three grandchildren, whom he would impress with his encyclopedic knowledge, as he never forgot a thing.

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