Harold Evans recalls his glory days, and it is glorious

This is the first of a series of book reviews I will be doing as the new semester goes by. I will solemnly admit that my commitment to reading in the past has been awash with procrastination, never mind getting caught up in three or more books at once and deciding to drop them all because of the mounting pressure on a mind thirsty for words. I find it's much better, more effective even to settle for one focused read and have others on hold till the rhythm of the one you're on calms into its conclusion. But as we all know, at university our predilections are overridden by mandatory tasks to certain material, and thus it becomes likely that we can drift into different literary horizons than those we leisurely choose.

And so I have directed to you a cursory thought of the migraine-inducing sentences of jargonised words and terms, paragraphs containing numerous queries, musings and hypothesises, and whole compilations that render the eye lazy and the brain numb. But regardless of the cyclical 'cruelty' of such assignments and our sometimes mechanical contempt for it, there's always time for a good little off-topic read in the comfort of an evening's peace.

I recently finished reading a captivating account of the progress of the news industry in the 20th Century by ex-editor of the Sunday Times, Harold Evans, who brought together knowledge and anecdotes of his past to produce his autobiography, My Paper Chase: True Stories of Vanished Times, released last year. As well as this, his latest non-industry publication, Evans has marked his wholesome career with various other writings such as Good Times, Bad Times, a record of his tenure as editor in the stormy 60s and 70s for the Sunday Times (including his experiences under Murdoch as an editor of The Times) and one those on the journalism course at Winchester may have already read, Essential English for Journalists, Editors and Writers (I myself have yet to obtain a copy!)

What is most striking about the broadly inclusive yet occasionally introspective world of Evans' journalistic quest is the contrast of how news was to be acquired and reconfigured into conveyable print then, as opposed to how it is now with the benefits of technological support and investment in the industry. Towards the end of his account he raises the issue of rivalry between the fading role of manual typesetters, who were already a minority since the installation of the Linotype typesetting instruments, and the introduction of computerised, electronic alternatives into the industry, which, unsurprisingly, he says Rupert Murdoch spurred on with typical iron-willed resolve.

His recollections, reignited and sustained through collections of documents covering the span of his career - from his days at Brookdale High School in Manchester, to his degree at Durham University and beyond - illustrate what it means to become and be part of an industry that he signifies as tough, but rewarding. The experience for Evans, as far as I could tell, was as exciting as it was frustrating and apprehensive; however, in light of his mentioning of the dangers and thrills, I'd be inclined to believe that, at least in journalism, excitement, frustration and apprehension are melded into one form: an insatiable drive towards a headline. I can recall thinking plenty of times how exuberant his tales were when concerned with the fast-paced, sharp-tipped nature of complying with the whims and orders of his editor at the Manchester Evening News, shown as the acronym MEN, which I spotted as an ironic twist of fate, as women were yet to make their mark in the field of journalism at that time.

He includes delightful personal reminders of how the improbability of fortuitous opportunities can be wiped away with the very occurrence of one (he highlights how an inadvertent pun on criminology in an interview for a Harkness Fellowship in the 60s led to one of his first proper tastes of American culture, which undoubtedly sealed for him a love for the country and its diversities from state to state).

Among his other tests of memory and revelations of his dynamic past in print and prose, he paints a vivid and uplifting picture of independent journalists drawn together and bonding in the rigorous efforts of investigative journalism; I presume from his affectionate leanings that camaraderie is a quality of this particular branch of journalism that he holds close to his heart.

Indeed his passion for raising the flag of justice and commitment to the eminent role of the fourth estate were conducive to mesmerising exposure of events, figures and prolonged injustices over the years. Among them: the thalidomide scandal (compensation proportionate to damages for those affected by the subsequent deforming effects of the drug only manifested after dedicated campaigning by the Sunday Times team), Kim Philby (notorious infiltrator of MI6 and CIA) and source-based evidence of the atrocities committed by Pakistani military in the Indo-Pakistani War of 1971.

As a prospective journalist and a supporter of investigative journalism on a global scale, I admire the work done by Evans and his previous associates in the business, to the effect that I would highly recommend this book, not just as an important and exemplary resource to journalists, but also as a testament to the honourable work done in the past by consummate professional journalists, and doubly as a pledge for future continual efforts by those to come in ensuring that news is conveyed the way Evans and those of his vanished times did.

My next forthcoming review will be on Iris Chang's The Rape of Nanking - brace yourselves for this one, believe me.