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The Herald Scotland

Father who led powerful campaign after the murder of his daughter

Died: April 16, 2025 Hu Jones, who has died aged 87, epitomised the very best of what it means to be human. A devoted father, husband, teacher, and quiet force for good, Hu lived a life defined not by its sorrows, though he endured them, but by his grace, strength, and unwavering commitment to love and community. Hu was a mathematics teacher whose love of education was matched only by his love for people. He could hold a conversation about anything – from astrophysics to the nuances of STEM – yet always circled back to what mattered most: children, learning, and kindness. A man of sharp intellect and deep humility, he taught not just algebra and equations, but empathy and encouragement – and his memory for his former pupils' names was undimmed, despite the years. With his beloved wife Bea, Hu raised two children in Weston, Staffordshire: Moira, who settled in Glasgow, and Grant, who lived in Australia. Their lives revolved around the gentle routines of family life: work, long-distance calls to keep in touch across time zones, visits to Moira's bright, welcoming flat in Queen's Park, and the ordinary joys of shared meals and laughter. Hu delighted in the life they built together: a simple, grounded joy that would be forever changed. In 2008, their world was shattered when Moira was murdered in Queen's Park, Glasgow. It is impossible to comprehend such a loss – a tragedy that tore through everything they knew and loved. The moment of the knock on the door, the delivery of the "death message," marked a line in their lives: a before and an after. But Hu and Bea chose not to let despair have the final word. Out of their unimaginable grief, they created The Moira Fund, a charity dedicated to supporting families who have lost loved ones to murder and culpable homicide. It was an act of pure courage, to take pain and forge from it something enduring and meaningful. Backed by Elaine C Smith and Dame Elish Angiolini, Hu and Bea campaigned tirelessly for victims' rights and were instrumental in the establishment of Scotland's national homicide support service. Bea was often the public face of the Moira Fund – warm, articulate, deeply committed – but Hu was the foundation: steady, organised, thoughtful, always present. A man with a twinkle in his eye and a heart big enough to hold the sorrow of others alongside his own, he listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, it mattered. He challenged injustice, questioned complacency, and never let anyone feel unseen. Read more Scottish farmer who pioneered a new way of doing dairy dies | The Herald Scots-Norwegian industrialist with one of UK's best-known brands dies | The Herald They kept Moira's flat in Queen's Park, afterwards. On one visit, Hu walked me back to my car and gently remarked that the spot where I'd parked was the same place where Moira had left her car the night she was taken. Such details – quietly carried – are the threads of trauma that never truly leave. And yet Hu kept going, never retreating from the world, but walking through it with grace. Eleven years ago, the Moira Fund launched the Moira Run, a 5K in Queen's Park that quickly became a fixture in the community. Hundreds turned out year after year - some to run, some to remember, some simply to show solidarity. Elaine C Smith would warm up the crowd, volunteers buzzed with energy, and Hu would be there - thanking stewards, walking and talking with the runners. He loved the group from Neeson's bar who turned up every year dressed in absurd costumes – dinosaurs, clowns – and brought levity to the day. It is a joyful event and he loved the camaraderie, the way people came together in Moira's name. And yet, before every run, Hu and Bea would begin the day quietly, at the spot where their daughter's body had been found. From that place of private grief, they stepped into the bustle of public remembrance, always bridging the two. Over the years, they were joined by other families who had also lost loved ones to violence – people who ran with photos pinned to their shirts, who joined in wholeheartedly with the day and perhaps healed a little. Through their fundraising, the Moira Fund has helped over 5000 people, a legacy not just of Moira's life, but of Hu and Bea's determination to turn pain into purpose. Though Hu and Bea lived in Staffordshire, his heart never left Scotland. Moira was there. And so, eventually, was Grant, who returned from Australia and made Scotland his home once more, becoming an award-winning landscape photographer, another way of honouring the land and the people they loved. Every day, Hu walked to the cemetery where Moira is buried. On the way, he'd talk to neighbours, learn their names, remember their stories. Cards have flooded through the letterbox since his death. One woman wrote to say that she'd met him while pregnant; her child is now six, and Hu had remembered both their names, every time. That was the man he was – present, engaged, sincere. Everyone he met mattered to him. Relationships and our connection to each other mattered to him. It was what made life meaningful. To see Hu and Bea together was to witness a partnership forged in love, assailed by sorrow, and sustained by the deepest mutual respect. Hu adored Bea. The way he spoke about her, looked at her, walked beside her, it was love that carried weight, history, humour and heartbreak. In the darkest of times, they found light in each other. Hu Jones was a man who never asked for recognition, but who quietly changed the world around him. He carried tragedy with dignity, met strangers with warmth, and built a legacy that will outlive us all. His was a life of gentle strength – not loud, not boastful – but utterly extraordinary in its humanity. He is survived by his wife Bea, his son Grant, and a community that is immeasurably better for having known him. In remembering Hu, we remember the importance of kindness, of showing up, of listening, and of love – fierce, enduring, and full-hearted. To know Hu was to be cared for, to be remembered – to be seen. And that was his greatest gift. Karyn McCluskey is chief executive of Community Justice Scotland At The Herald, we carry obituaries of notable people from the worlds of business, politics, arts and sport but sometimes we miss people who have led extraordinary lives. That's where you come in. If you know someone who deserves an obituary, please consider telling us about their lives. Contact