Yesterday, when Sam Munson related the sad news of George MacDonald Fraser’s death, he pointed readers to the Telegraph‘s obituaries page. Fraser was memorialized in a number of British papers—here are the Independent and the Guardian—but I’m glad Sam settled on what is, for my money (or at least for my free online subscription), the most brilliant obit page that the dead beat has to offer on either side of the pond. With its taste for humor, its nose for the salacious, bizarre, or simply telling detail, and its scalpel-sharp yet utterly deadpan prose, it outshines all the competition, and I can’t think of a more fitting end to a memorable life. (I should also note that in her recent book The Death of the Grown-Up, Diana West praises the page for honoring little-known but often jaw-droppingly daring war heroes. Those obituaries are, of course, more subdued and respectful, but they are every bit as spellbinding.)

Hugh Massingberd, the obituaries editor of the Telegraph from 1986 to 1994 and the man who made it what it iss, died on Christmas Day. He ought to be remembered as fondly as any of the great men and women whose lives he celebrated—or, if not celebrated, at least rendered with astonishing vividness.

Massingberd later wrote, “I determined to dedicate myself to chronicling what people were really like through informal anecdote, description and character sketch.” Laughter, he added, would be by no means out of place.

His ambition took many years to come to fruition. When, in 1979, during the strike at The Times, Massingberd sought to convince the Telegraph‘s editor, Bill Deedes, to venture upon a more expansive obituaries section, he was given to understand that it would be rather poor form to exploit the difficulties of a rival publication.

Finally, in 1986, Max Hastings gave Massingberd his opportunity. Immediately, Telegraph readers found themselves regaled by such characters as Canon Edward Young, the first chaplain of a striptease club; the last Wali of Swat, who had a fondness for brown Windsor soup; and Judge Melford Stevenson, who considered that “a lot of my colleagues are just constipated Methodists.”

The holidays have come and gone, but there’s no excuse not to make yourself a present of one of these collections.