Some people have more to remember than others. A life that’s 96 years long, as Harry Franz’s was, has room for a host of memories.

There was much in Harry’s life that was far from happy. At the age of two, the son of a German immigrant who had become a butcher in Bradford, Harry (pictured) was interned on the Isle of Man for the duration of the First World War.

In the next conflict he had the terrible misfortune to arrive in Singapore in 1942 mere days before it fell to the Japanese. For the rest of the war he was their prisoner, enduring much suffering as a slave labourer in Changi camp, on the Burma railway and in Japanese mines – harrowing experiences he recounted many years later, without a hint of self-pity, in his book Bamboo Treadmill which he self-published with the proceeds (typical of him) going to charity.

And seven years ago he lost his beloved wife of 63 years, Ruby, after having to witness her distressing decline with Alzheimer’s Disease.

Yet despite all that, every encounter with Harry was an uplifting one. Perhaps because he was blessed with an optimistic and resilient disposition, perhaps because he was secure in his Christian faith, Harry managed to keep smiling through. He was always a joy to talk to and a pleasure to be with.

He retired more than 30 years ago after a long and distinguished working life as a journalist, first on the T&A and then on the Yorkshire Post, where he was a much-respected wool trade correspondent. It was a career which earned him an MBE for services to journalism.

Last week I was at his well-attended funeral at Elland (he had lately moved from Wrose to sheltered accommodation in Brighouse). It was our turn to remember the man and his life and to salute someone who was a fine human being and a thorough professional.