horror …” Yesterday’s murder benefitted from “Detectives today
searched London for the man who …” Arthur’s problem had given birth to
scores of cliches. In a civilized society, he thought, when there was no
news there would be no newspapers. It was an old thought, and he brushed
it out of his mind impatiently.
Everyone accepted that the first edition was rubbish three days out of
six. But that gave no comfort, because it was the reason Arthur Cole had
the job of producing that edition. He had been deputy news editor for
five years. Twice during that period the news editor’s chair had fallen
vacant, and both times a younger man than Cole had been promoted.
Someone had decided that the number two job was the limit of his
capabilities. He disagreed.
The only way he could demonstrate his talent was by turning out an
excellent first edition. Unfortunately, how good the edition was
depended largely upon luck. Cole’s strategy was to aim for a paper which
was consistently slightly better than the opposition’s first edition. He
thought he was succeeding: whether anyone upstairs had noticed, he had
no idea; and he would not let himself worry about it.
George came up behind him and dumped a pile of newspapers on his desk.
“Young Stephen’s reported sick again,” he grumbled.
Arthur smiled. “What is it, hangover or a runny nose?”
“Remember what they used to tell us? “If you can walk, you can work.”
Not this lot.”
Arthur nodded.
“Am I right?” George said.
“You’re right.” The two of them had been lads together on the Post.
Arthur had got his NUJ card after the war. George, who had not been
called up, had remained a messenger.
George said. “We were keen. We wanted to work.”
Arthur picked up the top newspaper from the pile. This was not the first
time George had complained about his staff, nor the first time Arthur
had commiserated with him. But Arthur knew what was wrong with the Lads
of today. Thirty years ago, a smart Lad could become a reporter;
nowadays, that road was closed. The new system had a double impact:
bright youngsters stayed at school instead of becoming messengers; and
those who did become messengers knew they had no prospect, so they did
as little work as they could get away with. But Arthur could not say
this to George, because it would call attention to the fact that Arthur
had done so much better than his old colleague So he agreed that the
youth of today were rotten.
George seemed disposed to persist with his grouse. Arthur cut him off by
saying: “Anything on the overnight wire?”
“I’ll get it. Only I’ve got to do all the papers myself–”
“I’d better see the wire copy first.” Arthur turned away. He hated to
pull rank. He had never learned to do it naturally, perhaps because he
took no pleasure in it. He looked at the Morning Star: they had led with
the industry bill.
It was unlikely that there would be any national news on the teletype
yet; it was too early. But foreign news came in sporadically during the
night, and more often than not it included one story which could be the
splash, in a pinch. Most nights there was a major fire, a multiple
murder, a riot, or a coup somewhere in the world. The Post was a London
paper and did not like to lead with foreign news unless it was
sensational; but it might be better than “Cabinet Ministers today held
an inquest..
George dumped a sheet of paper several feet long on his desk. Not
cutting the sheet into individual stories was his way of showing
displeasure. He probably wanted Arthur to complain, so that he could
point out how much work there was for him to do with the early Lad off
sick. Arthur fumbled in his desk for scissors, and began to read.
He went through a political story from Washington, a Test Match report,
and a Middle East roundup. He was halfway through a minor Hollywood
divorce when the phone rang. He picked it up and said: “Newsdesk.”
“I’ve got an item for your gossip column.” It was a man’s voice, with a