All to Play For

by Heather Peace

  She turned and smiled bravely through loose hair which fell across her face. She looked as if she had been crying.

  “Oh, surviving,” she said. “Actually, not surviving.” She turned back to the sink.

  Ever the gentleman, Jonathan gently enquired what she meant.

  “I’m out at the end of the month,” Sally explained, trying to sound bright but ending on a semi-strangulated sob. “Morag just told me. I suppose I knew it was coming, but I thought, you know, something would turn up… ”

  “I’m really sorry, Sally,” said Jonathan convincingly. He put a hand on her shoulder but she withdrew from him.

  “You’re awfully sweet, Jon, but you’ll only make me howl. I refuse to give the fat old bitch that satisfaction.”

  “Was she brutal?”

  “She was like that woman screw in Prisoner Cell Block H,” said Sally bitterly. “Do you know the one I mean?”

  Jonathan thought he did, and tried hard not to smile. Surely Morag couldn’t have been so melodramatically cruel, this must be Sally’s disappointment talking.

  “You’d think she would at least pretend to be sorry about it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, you would,” agreed Jonathan. “Don’t worry Sally, there’s life outside the BBC you know. You’re sure to get another job somewhere.”

  “Do you think so?” Sally’s distraught eyes beseeched him.

  He answered with all the sincerity he could muster, “Of course.”

  “Thanks Jonathan. I won’t forget you. Selina’s a very lucky woman.”

  Sally kissed him on the cheek and walked out like Greta Garbo.

  Jim finished his second draft in a couple of weeks. Peter still wanted Jonathan’s brother Roger to direct, and he was keen to do it. Jon seemed oddly unexcited though. Something seemed to have sapped his enthusiasm. He told me he had every confidence in Roger, and that he might even be a great director in the making. He was just worried about the corporate end of things, he said. He wondered, in his down moments, whether the show would ever get made.

  At the time of course I had no idea what was going on between him and Selina. Mr Discretion had never gossiped about his fiancée and he was hardly likely to start now. He seemed to enjoy my company, and would often come by my office for a chat. He said it was really helpful to talk things over with me, and that he appreciated my honest reactions. I began to enjoy chatting with him myself, having realised that my first impressions had been very shallow. He was really clever, and one of the least judgemental people I’ve ever met. Best of all he listened very carefully to whatever I said, and was always open to changing his mind. How many people like that do you know? And to top it all off, he was very easy on the eye. If he hadn’t been spoken for I might even have wasted time wondering whether there was any chance he’d go for me, but men like him don’t, on the whole. Not because they don’t like short dark Welsh women – I’m quite pretty, some people think so anyway – but all men like tall slim blondes best, don’t they? And women like that make a bee-line for men like Jonathan, so the rest of us never get a look-in.

  A week or two after this a memo came round instructing each of us to attend a one-day workshop. It said that the management had noticed staff morale in drama was suffering, and an independent consultant had been brought in to run a series of workshops. The staff approached it with scepticism as we didn’t know what to expect and there was much muttering at the strain it must be adding to the department budget. Jonathan had little enthusiasm for it but didn’t want it to show. He had to go to the first one, I didn’t, but Maggie came up to London for it, so I was looking forward to seeing her afterwards.

  It took place in the Centre House conference room. The leader was a very friendly lecturer with several books out on the fashionable new subject of ‘people management’, which were displayed on a table by the door. Being asked to work here was a feather in his cap, and he was keen to rise to the considerable challenge presented by the BBC in flux, and hoped ultimately to become a famous consultant. He welcomed his new clients enthusiastically and thanked them for finding the time to come, as if he thought attendance had been voluntary.

  The rest of the group was composed of Donald Mountjoy, who stayed only ten minutes before his mobile phone conveniently summoned him away to urgent business; producer Gillian Makin from Pebble Mill, a dozen editors, production executives and associates whom Jonathan barely knew, and Maggie. She had mellowed considerably, and Jon now appreciated her knack of seeing straight to the heart of the problem, even if she did still tend to stick the knife in with indelicate Yorkshire bluntness. He now recognised that actually she was just like him in her commitment to high standards and ideals, and merely expressed herself differently.

  The leader introduced himself as David Stringfellow, no relation, (which no-one else found amusing) and outlined the day’s work, which involved analysing their work practices, discussing what the problems were, and finding possible solutions.

  They divided into groups and sat on the floor with sheets of wallpaper liner and magic markers, making flow diagrams and lists. This generated a great deal of discussion and they soon overcame their initial reluctance as they found collaboration lent power to their private feelings. Truly, there was a lot that could be improved, and they began to feel empowered to do something about it.

  After a break the groups assembled to present their results. They had all come to much the same conclusions, finding bureaucratic structure and lack of money to be the basis of all the problems. David began to play devil’s advocate, challenging their assumptions and encouraging group discussion. Then he asked them to get together again and redraw their work process diagrams, adding in suggestions at every stage for ways in which they could increase their own efficiency.

  “For instance,” he said, “one of my personal problems is time management. I’m a very conscientious worker, but I tend to get on with the first thing on my list and ignore the rest till later, with the result that by Saturday I’ve still got half a dozen things that need doing, and the family wants me to go shopping, watch my daughter diving, and all the rest of it: now I don’t see family life as less important than work, far from it, but I do tend to let it go to the bottom of the list. Does that ring any bells?” he looked round smiling at the semi-circle of faces but only Gillian Makin nodded and smiled back at him. Maggie was frowning.

  “If several of you would like to, we can look at ways of managing your time so that you can do everything, and nothing suffers. Sound good? Maybe. Okay, we’ll come back to that.”He pressed on and finished up with a list of possibilities they could look at, from reorganising your desk and filing system to delegating work. Then he began prioritising them.

  Maggie sat frowning thoughtfully throughout, and finally raised her hand. “I’m sorry David, but can I say something? I don’t mean to be negative, I can see that what you’re doing could be extremely useful to a lot of people, but I’m afraid it has very little bearing on what’s going on here.”

  Jonathan, who had found the meeting more tedious than useful and had been drifting off into contemplation, now focussed his attention on Maggie.

  “The fact is,” she continued, “that people here do an amazing job in the face of extreme difficulty. Their professionalism is infinite. I think I speak for all of us – do say if I don’t, everyone – in that we’re already working as efficiently as it’s possible to work. Most people don’t take lunch hours, they stay late in the office, they do extra work which used to be done by other staff who’ve been got rid of. They juggle work and home life brilliantly. The things which hold us up are not our personal inadequacies.” David immediately gestured that he had never intended to suggest such a thing. “But management inadequacies. They sit on decisions until the last possible minute so we don’t get enough time to prepare properly, or we lose the actors and writers we most want to work with. They don’t know or care what making programmes is really about. They don’t see it as a creative process at all.
There’s a terrible gulf developed which never used to be there in the old days – not that I’ve been here all that long, but that’s what I understand.” Maggie looked to Gillian, who nodded in agreement. “As if programmes are something you turn out by the yard.” She paused, not wishing to proceed unless she was voicing a generally-held point of view, and saw her colleagues nod unhappily.

  “To be honest David you should be running workshops with them. Suggesting that the department’s problems are due to our own inefficiency is frankly very insulting.”

  Jonathan added his support. “I have to agree with Maggie. Without prejudice to you, it’s been useful getting together like this, but low morale can’t be cured by emotional Elastoplast.”

  David looked deeply disappointed, although he was experienced enough to know that Maggie and Jonathan were telling the truth. In fact he had made similar observations to himself already, and had been wondering how to report back to Peter Maxwell. “I’m terribly sorry if I’ve given you the impression that the state of morale at the BBC is in any way your own fault, I know that’s not the case. And I will happily pass your conclusions on to the management, without putting any names in. Do you think that would be a useful outcome?”

  They all agreed that it would, although some were very nervous that such a move might rebound back on them. Nonetheless they spent the last hour telling David all their grievances, which he listed and promised to collate and circulate to them before reporting back to Peter and his superiors.

  Jonathan and Maggie left the workshop having rather enjoyed it after all. They had got a lot off their chests in the safe environment of a closed discussion, and felt fired with something akin to the spirit of revolution.

  “I don’t suppose it’ll make a fat lot of difference, will it?” asked Maggie.

  “I doubt it,” replied Jonathan. “It’s all gone too far. I’m looking forward to seeing what David comes up with all the same.”

  “Yeah, if I’m still here. Anthea Onojaife offered me a job as producer with her new company. It’s only a series for Channel 5, but I’m going to take it.”

  Jonathan was surprised. “Have you had enough of Casualty?”

  “It’s been almost a year now,” replied Maggie. “And I really want a change. I came up to see if there was anything else available, but Morag’s warned me there isn’t enough to justify renewing my contract. I’m sick of the BBC. It feels like a long slow process of selling out. So I’m speeding it up – I’m getting out while the going’s good. I was never a corporate player anyway. It’s just not me.”

  Maggie’s determined expression belied the disappointment in her voice. Jonathan surmised that it had been a much more difficult decision than she was letting on.

  “It’s all very well having principles, but they don’t pay the bills,” he remarked.

  “That’s just it, but I figure I can probably do some good stuff. Maybe my show will be the one that puts Channel 5 on the map!”

  Jonathan smiled and tried to nod convincingly. They both knew that Channel 5 was an unknown quantity, a real gamble.

  “Jill Watkins is going to be the lead writer on it,” continued Maggie. “So at least we’ll have a good time, even if we can’t change the world.”

  He was both pleased and disappointed for Maggie; she clearly felt she had failed to make her mark at the BBC. Jonathan had been fortunate to become established in the department just before the axe began to fall. Maggie probably wouldn’t be so lucky. She was making the right choice, given the state of the industry.

  “Anthea’s done really well for herself, hasn’t she?” mused Jonathan.

  “Yep. Hats off to the secretary bird, she’s making waves.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Catherine Briggs switched on the new fifty-inch widescreen television, drew the curtains and plumped up the sofa cushions as Jeremy Paxman’s lugubrious face filled the flat screen and, it seemed, most of the wall.

  “… her theme is that the BBC risks remaining stuck in its past, hobbled by the imperialist culture which originally gave birth to it. She claims there’s no true pluralism in the organisation, merely colonial compromise, and that attitudes inside the BBC are hopelessly old-fashioned. I’m joined in the studio by the article’s author, Anthea Onojaife; Chris Briggs, Managing Director of the BBC; and Barry Goodman, Chief Executive of the latest terrestrial channel to be launched in the UK: Channel 5. Welcome to Newsnight, everyone.

  “Anthea. You joined the BBC as a secretary in 1985. Twelve years on, you’re running your own independent production company, Sisters in Synch. So… what’s the problem?”

  “Good evening, Jeremy. The problem, in black and white terms, if you’ll pardon the pun, is that ethnic minority citizens are desperately under-represented at the editorial and managerial levels of the BBC, and this is reflected in the faces we see on the screen. In fact, if you don’t mind me saying so, this interview arrangement is absolutely typical.”

  An ironic smile lurked behind her interviewer’s stern frown, but he conquered it. Watching together in Crouch End, Jill and Carmen chortled and cheered. “You tell him, Anthea. Bite the dog!”

  “Three white men and one black woman: that’s 25% black, a rather better proportion than you’d find in the population as a whole, I suspect.”

  “I’m Jewish, as a matter of fact, so you could say we’re 50% ethnic minority,” offered Barry Goodman smugly.

  “You could hardly assemble an all-male, all-white panel to discuss this particular issue, could you Jeremy? The entire media would come down on you faster than a ton of bricks.”

  Anthea won the bout with this skilful blow, and Jeremy acknowledged it gracefully for a nanosecond before moving in with a fresh question. “You didn’t like working at the BBC, then. Why not?”

  “I found it very hard to move up the career ladder here, so eventually I gave up and left.”

  “That simple?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Chris Briggs. Do we block our ethnic minority staff from promotion?”

  “Well Jeremy, I have to say that we value all our staff very highly indeed.”

  “Hmm,” said Jeremy, “I’ve certainly noticed that there are posters all over reception saying exactly that. Which seems odd at a time when so many staff are being laid off.”

  Chris let this pass with a pained expression. At home, Catherine sighed and put her feet up. Come on Chris, she urged mentally. Don’t be a weed. It seemed to work.

  “Modernisation and progress entail difficult decisions. Very many excellent scribes were put out of work when the printing press was invented, I think you’ll find!”

  “Let’s get back to the point. Why are all the top jobs held by middle class white men?”

  “It’s historical, basically. I don’t like it any more than you do, or Anthea does, but it takes time for these things to change. We have changed our attitudes, and given time, I have every confidence – ”

  “How long do you want?”

  “No-one can put a time limit on a thing like this – ”

  “Ten years?”

  “You know I can’t put a figure on it, Jeremy.”

  “Alright,” said Jeremy, unhooking him and allowing him to flop back in his chair.

  Over in Wapping, Nik Mason arrived home, bolted the entrance to his loft, hurried to the television and switched on just in time to see Barry Goodman set off at his usual eighty words per minute.

  “Thank you Jeremy,” he smiled. “At Channel 5 we pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of the market. We’re bang on the button with dynamic, desirable entertainment. Our staff reflect this. Watch Channel 5 and you’ll see we’re way ahead of the other channels in terms of representing Britain in 1997.”

  “Are you referring to your attractive blonde newscaster or the explicit sexual material you broadcast?” asked Jeremy peremptorily.

  “Ha!” Jill and Carmen clapped. Catherine smiled. Nik sneered, and poured himself a Jack Daniels as Barr
y attempted to weasel his way out of that one. Jeremy’s attention was already on his next question.

  “What do you propose then, Anthea? How is the BBC supposed to represent everyone, equally, all the time? Aren’t you asking for the impossible?”

  “No-one expects an overnight transformation, but I do believe you need to speed up the rate of change.” Anthea looked Chris in the eye. “The BBC’s lagging behind. The unions have been making this argument for years, decades even. Equal opportunities have been standard in some fields for ages, in theatre companies, for example. Why not here? There’s no excuse. The BBC’s not just white and male-dominated, it’s Oxbridge and home counties-dominated. Outrageously so. Look at you guys!” Jeremy and Chris were both silenced by this, which their viewers all enjoyed. Even Nik agreed with Anthea on this one. Barry nodded enthusiastically but was ignored. Anthea continued, “The BBC’s like the NHS, state schools, even the Scouts – it’s free, it’s marvellous, it’s for everyone – but it’s also pompous and patronising. A bit like you, Jeremy. I’m sorry.” Everybody watching held their breath at Anthea’s nerve. “There’s no equivalent anywhere abroad, it’s really important, especially the World Service, which is being cut back as we speak.” She paused, hoping Jeremy wasn’t offended. She hadn’t really intended to be so personal. She needn’t have worried, he took it on the chin, and allowed her to carry on, “If we’re not careful we’ll lose everything worth watching, all the new, experimental shows, our television will be exactly the same as in the US: unwatchable rubbish, wall-to-wall mindless nonsense sponsored by corrupt Bible-bashers, with a five-minute advertising break every five minutes.”

  Jeremy leaned back and turned to Chris. “Is that what we’re going to get?”

  “Of course not,” smiled Chris. “It’s a wild exaggeration, and it could never happen while we have the license fee.”

  “Which happens to be under threat.”

  “The license fee’s a complete anachronism!” Barry leaped in. “The future of television is more choice: many many channels, offering a wide, wide range – ”