I thank the noble Baroness the Leader for her marvellous tribute. Like her, I convey our sincerest sympathy to Herbert’s family and friends.
I never heard Herbert raise his voice. Perhaps he did if he ever had a recalcitrant dog, but I doubt that, because Herbert would have calmed the dog, as he calmed every situation, however difficult—and there were quite a few in his life. As the Leader said, he has left a legacy that goes far beyond anything that most of us could ever even aspire to. As she said in her notable tribute, he did outstanding service in chairing two of the most harrowing and important inquiries and reports ever undertaken in the United Kingdom, in the Climbié and the baby P cases. In his typically painstaking, ever-listening and ever-giving to others way, his work revolutionised child care. I can only underline everything that the Leader said about those reports and recommendations. They have come to define the best of modern, professional and inter-agency standards.
He was a consummate professional, though he believed, and said so, that career paths could be closed because of too tightly prescribed routes in life. Much of Herbert’s career actually happened by accident, as he acknowledged. He said:
“We are writing off a huge amount of human potential”,
telling young professionals that
“qualifications had got us through the door, but from now on it was what we did that mattered”.
He was a practical man, with an every-open ear and eye. What you did for others was what he saw.
Some of his greatest insights into the need for inter-agency co-operation came from a very varied career. He started work as a probation officer in Nottinghamshire, near Stanton Ironworks, where my parents met—something we used to joke about quite often. In probation, he went on to study mental health, becoming a psychiatric social worker, and that informed his long, magnificent service in Hertfordshire, which the Leader referred to.