I heard on BBC World Service tonight that new BBC
management will compel the BBC World Service to
vacate historic Bush House after 80 years
there. A Google search found this nice
retrospective homage to the work that went on
there. Perhaps fittingly, George Orwell's
description of the organization might also be aptly applied to the SWLfest ;-)
-Ed Cummings
http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/opinion/2012/0614/1224317876323.html
An Irishman's Diary
Paul Clements
Thu, Jun 14, 2012
The Irish Times
WHEN he worked at the BBC World Service then
called the General Overseas Service in the
1940s, George Orwell, using his real name Eric
Blair, memorably described the organization as a
mixture of whoreshop and lunatic asylum. The
Ministry of Truth and its canteen which are
depicted in his final novel Nineteen Eighty-Four
are believed to be a satire on his experiences of the time he spent there.
Set up in 1932, the World Service has been based
in Bush House in central London for 80 years. At
its inception, the BBC director-general John
Reith announced: The programmes will neither be
very interesting nor very good. Nonetheless,
despite drastic cuts in recent years, it has
survived and those who have worked there in
many cases for a lifetime are now saying
goodbye to their historic home as they prepare to
migrate and amalgamate with the wider BBC in Broadcasting House.
A huge rambling building on an island site
between the Strand and Fleet Street, Bush House
was named after the man who built it, Irving T
Bush of the Bush Terminal Company, New York. At
the main front entrance in the Aldwych stand two
imposing male figures carved from Indiana
limestone representing Anglo-American links.
Between them they hold the torch of human
progress, and over a Celtic altar at the centre
of the portico, is the motto To the friendship of English-speaking peoples.
When it was completed in 1935 at a cost of $10
million, it was declared the most expensive
building in the world. Built of Portland stone,
the front and back entrances as well as internal
staircases are clad in Travertine marble and are
listed by English Heritage. Looking down Kingsway
at the floodlit building at night, it is one of
Londons most impressive landmarks exuding an
almost pagan effect. The buildings genius loci
was the canteen a veritable polyglot that gave
a new meaning to eavesdropping. Amongst the
babblative chatter of this town hall of the
world, as it was sometimes called, it was hard
to distinguish the individual languages.
During my sojourn there in 1989 a fascinating
year marked by the Central European annus
mirabilis the newsroom was mostly staffed by
elderly men in cardigans padding around in
slippers; it was a fun place to work. The
corporations soft shoe allowance was still paid
which meant journalists could tiptoe into radio
studios to deliver late-breaking news to the
presenters from far-flung corners of the globe.
To walk the corridors, wander through the
newsroom, peer into some of the 54 studios, or
stray into one of the wings, was to experience a
linguistic tour of the world. Catch the right
time and you could hear snatches of Pashto,
Persian, Swahili or Hausa, as well as the
distinctive strains of Lilliburlero, originally
written as a skit on the Irish Catholic
supporters of King James and which since 1955 has
been used as a famed news signature tune.
More than 100 journalists worked shifts in the sprawling newsroom.
Many were hard-bitten hacks who had been seasoned
reporters in the field with a wealth of
experience but were still mildly excited at
reports of a ministerial reshuffle in a
little-known African republic. Aside from its
reputation for accuracy, the newsrooms proudest
boast was that it was open all year.
In the late 1980s smoking was common and the air
was perfumed with a mix of Havana cigars and the
fog of Benson Hedges. One of the chief-subs, a
Scotsman nicknamed Jimmy two fags had a
cigarette permanently on the go. His journalistic
claim was that there was no complicated story
that he could not sub-edit in the time it took to smoke two fags.
In some of the language sections occasional
misinterpretations in the meaning of stories
produced lighter moments. The grammar of the
English language, its phrasal verbs and nouns,
often proved challenging for the translators. On
one occasion, when Margaret Thatcher suffered a
serious loss of face during a House of Commons
vote, the Serbo-Croat mistranslation suffered a
severe disfigurement to her head, caused hilarity.
The mens singles championships at Wimbledon once
became the mens bachelors championships, and
politicians in America, who were taking stock of
a White House drama, were reported to be raiding
cattle. It was not always easy to explain to the
HUBs (Hindi, Urdu, Bengali) translators certain
terms that to them seemed anomalous. For example,
I was asked how a building can speak and what
meaning was being conveyed when my stories
started with the words: Downing Street said . .
. or Buckingham Palace has just issued a
statement . . . One of the more notorious tricks
played on new sub-editors who joined, or like me,
were on attachment (not as painful as it
sounds) from a mother department, was to
pretend there had been a coup in Suriname.
The senior duty editor would approach the lowly
sub and hand over a news flash from an agency
quoting unconfirmed reports of the coup. The
subs job was to find out about it and establish verification from two sources.
After much hand-wringing, the raw recruit no
Google, Wikipedia or non- user-generated content
then could be seen a few minutes later slipping
discreetly to the back of the newsroom to peruse
the magisterial Times Atlas of the World and
check on the exact location of Suriname. Most
would turn, without success, to Asia, flick
through to Africa, and in desperation eventually
discover it on the northern tip of South America,
in between French Guiana and Guyana. He, or she,
would then set about the daunting task of trying
to find out what was happening in the capital
Paramaribo, only to be told 10 minutes later that
it was a World Service joke to test their geographical knowledge.
The journalistic initiation of the new sub
complete, drinks were served in the club, and a
toast proposed to the friendships of the peoples
of the world and to all would-be Surinamese coup planners.
© 2012 The Irish Times
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