Sir Michael Parkinson’s inaugural address as Chancellor

It is with great joy and pride that I stand before you as First Chancellor of this University. But I must tell you I feel slightly fraudulent. My education consisted of attending school for the minimum time required by the law. I was encouraged in this enterprise by Sir Winston Churchill, who once said: “My education was interrupted only by my schooling.”

I didn't so much leave Barnsley grammar school as flee the premises. Once, when asked about my time at that establishment, I said it did for my education what myxomatosis did for the rabbit. So why did I accept this great honour? Well of course, I was flattered for one thing. But I also felt that in a curious way my lack of qualifications made me the ideal candidate. I arrive at the job without a preconceived opinion of what is involved, and if the starting point of education is ignorance then I am the perfect choice, the willing pupil, which is what I want to be.

I want to find out what I missed, to maybe speculate on how my life would have changed had I not left school at 16. As it was, I spent what would have been my university years serving an apprenticeship as a reporter on a local newspaper while dreaming, like Michael Vaughan, of playing cricket for Yorkshire.

When I wasn't playing cricket, nor studying at university, I was pursuing another ambition to write about sport while at the same time demonstrating to my bosses I was a cut above the average as a sports writer. In other words, I showed off - always a dangerous conceit.

So I wrote of a Barnsley player called Roy Cooling, that he bore a distinct resemblance to the American novelist Scott Fitzgerald - thereby revealing to my public and my employers my intimate knowledge of both soccer and contemporary American literature.

Alas, when published in The Barnsley Chronicle my report read: “The inspiration of the Barnsley team was Roy Cooling who bears a distinct resemblance to Scott of the Antarctic.” When I complained I was told nobody in Barnsley knew who Scott Fitzgerald was but everyone had heard of the great Arctic explorer, even if he looked not a bit like Roy Cooling.

Then I was claimed by national service as part of this apprenticeship and sent to a war. That was definitely a time when I would have much rather been at university. Ever after, during my career in the media, I often entertained the thought of becoming a mature student. And, in a sense, that is how I see myself now. A very mature student, with a fascinating role to undertake at this university.

The point is, I intend to take out of this experience as much as I put in. I believe young people and old people have a special link, being as they are at the beginning and the conclusion of life's mysteries. It is that bit in the middle, the bit between youth and old age, that's the problem – surviving that. How do we negotiate that journey; what is it we are seeking? How do we get there?

That's where I might come in handy, only because I've spent a lifetime asking people what was the secret of their success. How did they become the best at their chosen profession?

I had some interesting answers.

Roald Dahl said he believed the golden rule was not inspiration but hard work, making the most of what you had. He gave as an example the great composer Stravinsky's reply when an interviewer asked him: “Maestro, where do you get your inspiration? Walking in the woods, in the bath, while shaving?” Stravinsky replied: “At the piano.”

Gary Player, the great golfer, was once asked what part luck played in success. He replied: “What I have noticed is the more I practise, the luckier I get.”

The best definition of a life well spent came during my favourite interview of them all, which occurred in 1974 with an academic called Professor Jacob Bronowski. He was a scientist, part of the team that developed the atomic bomb, and the author of the documentary series The Ascent of Man, which remains to this day one of television's towering achievements.

At the end of a long and fascinating interview I asked him a deliberately provocative question. I said: “Why should we take any notice of anything you have told us tonight?” His reply has remained with me ever since. “My life has been happy because I never had any uncertainty about the meaning of the word ‘good', the meaning of the word ‘true', the meaning of the word ‘beautiful' and the meaning of words like ‘original' and ‘new'.

“I've always had a tremendous pride in being a human being and being born into the 20th century. I'm terribly sad that 30 years from now I shall be dead, not because anybody will miss me, but because so many more marvellous things will be known. Now, should you listen to me? Yes, you should.

“Not because you have to believe any single thing I say, but because you have to be pleased that there are people who have lived happy and complete lives, who feel that they can speak out of a full heart and a full mind, all in the same frame.”

It is that thought of a properly fulfilled life, a life well spent: a full heart and a full mind all in the same frame that I find so attractive. An idea worth pursuing – worth leaving university with. That thought will define my position as Chancellor, as much as hopefully it will inspire the ambition of every young person of every person graduating from this establishment.

Vice Chancellor, Mr Chairman, my fellow graduates, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for making today such a memorable and splendid one in my life. I look forward to it being a long and fruitful relationship.