That irony is that after a period from the end of World War II until, in the mid-1980s, Rupert Murdochs’s battle with the print unions over his new plant in East London, the ranks of the Fleet Street nationals were being increasingly being pruned by circumstance and economics.
With Wapping and the tiresome unions finally being sent off with a flea in their ear, the ‘press barons’ believed that Rupert Murdoch decisive victory would usher a renewed era of making oodles of moolah as once they had and they would not longer be required to piss some of it up the wall to ensure their papers hit the streets.
As it turned out, it soon all went down the toilet after all, courtesy of the ‘world wide web’, the ‘information superhighway’, the ‘internet’ or whatever you care to call it. ‘New technology’ as in ‘direct input’ by editorial staff
Newspaper circulation, in Britain at least, though I’m sure the story was being repeated overseas, began going down the tubes fast.
In 1992, though, when Leapman published his book, the internet had still not taken shape and ‘Fleet Street’ had no inkling how its once soaring print sales would be – to use the word legitimately in its literal sense – decimated.
In The End Of The Street, former Sunday Times Insight hack – and unlike many, I use the word as a mark of respect not contempt – Linda Melvern charts Murdoch’s ‘Wapping’ campaign and how, pretty much at a stroke, an overwhelming number of print production staff became redundant as journalists, notably the paper’s sub-editors, would from then on format copy and pages themselves.
There was no need any longer for the the legions of Linotype operators who had set reporters’ copy once sub-edited into lead slugs, the compositors then assembling those slugs in a page according to a layout, producing a papier maché ‘flong’ from that page which was then used as a mould to produce a semi-circular metal ‘flange’.
There was no longer need for ‘the readers’ who read an imprint of each ‘chase’ and compared it to the original ‘copy’ supplied by the sub-editors to spot possible errors.
All those jobs were gone for ever, overnight: ‘direct input’ allowed sub-editors at a computer screen to do all that digitally – formatting the story, headline and captions and laying out each page – with photo-composition used to make the semi-circular flanges which were then fitted to the press rollers to print the papers.
The only print jobs that survived the decimation were the few needed to operate the presses. In Wapping, from the start of the whole dispute, this was done by electricians and not as hitherto in Murdoch’s Bouverie Street and Grays Inn Road print-works by members of the unions, NGA (National Graphical Association), Sogat (Society of Graphical and Allied Trades) and, until at a second attempt it merged with Sogat, NATSOPA (National Society of Operative Printers and Assistants).
Those unions were done for and, far more to the point, Murdoch and all the other newspaper proprietors who all followed his lead and adopted direct input saved themselves millions in wages.
Typically, the editorial staff who took on more responsibilities in the direct input system saw very little to almost none of the money the bosses were saving, despite huffing and puffing and grand talk of principles, precedents and such from their own union the NUJ. National newspaper journalists perhaps a little, but hacks in ‘the provinces’ were rewarded with the thin end of fuck-all. Plus ça change . . .
The NUJ (National Union of Journalists) was – it is still limping on – in the opinion of this writer who was a member for many years, less useful than a chocolate teapot, far more accustomed to experiencing the British tradition of honourable defeat: ‘We bloody showed ‘em!’ We can’t be pushed around! Next time!’ Yeah, right.
In The End Of The Street, former Sunday Times Insight hack – and unlike many, I use the word as a mark of respect not contempt – Linda Melvern charts Murdoch’s ‘Wapping’ campaign and how, pretty much at a stroke, an overwhelming number of print production staff became redundant as journalists, notably the paper’s sub-editors, would from then on format copy and pages themselves.
There was no need any longer for the the legions of Linotype operators who had set reporters’ copy once sub-edited into lead slugs, the compositors then assembling those slugs in a page according to a layout, producing a papier maché ‘flong’ from that page which was then used as a mould to produce a semi-circular metal ‘flange’.
There was no longer need for ‘the readers’ who read an imprint of each ‘chase’ and compared it to the original ‘copy’ supplied by the sub-editors to spot possible errors.
All those jobs were gone for ever, overnight: ‘direct input’ allowed sub-editors at a computer screen to do all that digitally – formatting the story, headline and captions and laying out each page – with photo-composition used to make the semi-circular flanges which were then fitted to the press rollers to print the papers.
The only print jobs that survived the decimation were the few needed to operate the presses. In Wapping, from the start of the whole dispute, this was done by electricians and not as hitherto in Murdoch’s Bouverie Street and Grays Inn Road print-works by members of the unions, NGA (National Graphical Association), Sogat (Society of Graphical and Allied Trades) and, until at a second attempt it merged with Sogat, NATSOPA (National Society of Operative Printers and Assistants).
Those unions were done for and, far more to the point, Murdoch and all the other newspaper proprietors who all followed his lead and adopted direct input saved themselves millions in wages.
Typically, the editorial staff who took on more responsibilities in the direct input system saw very little to almost none of the money the bosses were saving, despite huffing and puffing and grand talk of principles, precedents and such from their own union the NUJ. National newspaper journalists perhaps a little, but hacks in ‘the provinces’ were rewarded with the thin end of fuck-all. Plus ça change . . .
The NUJ (National Union of Journalists) was – it is still limping on – in the opinion of this writer who was a member for many years, less useful than a chocolate teapot, far more accustomed to experiencing the British tradition of honourable defeat: ‘We bloody showed ‘em!’ We can’t be pushed around! Next time!’ Yeah, right.
Sorry, but unless I have a good reason to lie, I prefer to call it as it is. It’s not a moral or ethical thing, just pragmatism, though I use the word in its everyday sense, not its philosophical sense. Herding cats into tidy ranks is easier than organising hacks.
Melvern published her account of the ‘Wapping dispute’ that began in January 25, 1986, and lasted must over a year until February 5, 1987, on October 1, 1986, and hers is an astonishing achievement.
It was published just eight months after the Wapping strike began and in those eight months she interviewed 57 – she lists them at the end of her book and I counted – management and union bods involved. Then she wrote it.
Though, albeit unavoidably, top-heavy on job titles and acronyms, Melvern manages to give a detailed, comprehensive, informative and, above allm interesting account of how it all came together.
Sadly, I doubt many will be reading it now, in 2026, as it is history. Those who do will, perhaps, be more drawn either to the ‘plucky/greedy unions [deleted as applicable]’ or the ‘progressive/bastard proprietors [ditto]. I belong in neither camp, and please bear that in mind when I suggest that broadly the print unions involved only had themselves to blame.
Within just four years of the Wapping dispute ending in defeat, the NGA and Sogat no longer existed as, licking their wounds, they had merged to form the GPMU (Graphical, Paper and Media Union). That union itself only lasted eight years before it’s loss of members persuaded it merge with the union AMICUS which later went on to merge with the TGWU (Transport and General Workers Union) three years alter to form Unite The Union.
The list of unions above might seem like a word salad to you, dear reader, and you would be right, but – going back to Merlvern’s book, she is a talented journalist and does manage to keep it all under control (though it helps to have a natural interest in the subject matter. Although concise, well-written and always to the point, her book is not an easy read. If you want that, head for one of Katie Price’s many autobiographies.
To get a good take on ‘Wapping’ and Murdoch’s extraordinary achievement transferring production of his papers – the Sun, the News of the World, The Times and the Sunday Times to his new print plant in East London, some background and context is useful, and that is where Leapman and his book Treacherous Estate is useful, even though in 2026 it is in many ways irelavent to the current state of the British newspaper industry.
The invention and adoption in the mid-to-late 19th century of the rotary press and the even more significant invention in Baltimore in America of the Linotype machine by a German immigrant, the former clockmaker Ottmar Mergenthaler, sparked an explosion of the popular press in the world.
Both markedly speeded up the process of typesetting and printing, and thus also helped to bring down production costs.
In the mid-19th century, for ten years The Times held the exclusive patent for the rotary press before other newspapers could get in on the act, and it was able to print and distribute tens of thousands of copies overnight where the other papers were restricted to 10,000 or fewer.
The extra income this brought in – and using the then ‘new technology’ of telegraphy – allowed The Times to work a large network of correspondents around the world, vastly improving its news coverage over its rivals and building the – eventually quite spurious – reputation of ‘the best paper in the world’ as ‘The Thunderer’.
From the last decade of the 19th century, however, until Murdoch bought the paper in 1981 The Times did not turn a profit. Even Alfred Harmsworth, who became Lord Northcliffe and had successfully turned around several failing newspapers and bought The Times in 1908 couldn’t turn it around and sold it again in 1922.
In Britain, the early 20th century was very much a golden age for the press, both newspapers and magazines. Before the start of World War II several newspapers, which all worked out of London’s Fleet Street or nearby, were selling well into the millions. Certainly figures of several million copies sold each morning were often achieved with very expensive circulation drives which saw readers bribed with household gifts and even a set of Encyclopaedia Britannia to subscribe. These efforts did push up circulation but cost the proprietors dearly.
Pertinently, the early 20th century was also a time then ‘the working class’ and especially the growing trades union movement found their voice and developed real muscle. Possibly, the First World War which ended in ‘victory’ but was otherwise a disaster all-round helped ‘the great unwashed’ find their confidence to speak out. The General Strike in 1926 might well have seemed like a defeat but it succeeded in showing the unions and their members where their strength lay.
Certainly, in the years after World War II as heavy industry in Britain began its slow slide to irrelevance as did ‘the British Empire’, the unions and their members made themselves heard: the old world of forelock-tugging ‘deference’ and ‘I know my place’ was coming to end and more and more strikes began to plague British industry.
Especially odd were fallings out between unions themselves in ‘demarcation’ disputes over which member of which union should or should not be doing this and that, while piggy in the middle – and losing money – were management who in that particular dust-up were powerless and simply left holding their dicks.
This was also true of the Fleet Street unions producing Britain’s newspapers, though one difference was that management were, by necessity, pushovers. Given that a day’s paper lost because of industrial action meant a lot of money lost, management were always desperate to get the paper out and invariably caved in and bought off the unions with pay rises and a shorter working week.
For example (quoted by Melvern in her book), by 1981 Linotype operators in the Daily Express union chapel were raking in £1,100 (£3,973 in 2024) for a 16-hour week. Admittedly this was a little more than other chapels were being paid, so chapels were inclined to keep such matters to themselves. There was also little love lost between print union members in London and those in the same union in the ‘provinces’ who were certainly not in the clover.
Melvern published her account of the ‘Wapping dispute’ that began in January 25, 1986, and lasted must over a year until February 5, 1987, on October 1, 1986, and hers is an astonishing achievement.
It was published just eight months after the Wapping strike began and in those eight months she interviewed 57 – she lists them at the end of her book and I counted – management and union bods involved. Then she wrote it.
Though, albeit unavoidably, top-heavy on job titles and acronyms, Melvern manages to give a detailed, comprehensive, informative and, above allm interesting account of how it all came together.
Sadly, I doubt many will be reading it now, in 2026, as it is history. Those who do will, perhaps, be more drawn either to the ‘plucky/greedy unions [deleted as applicable]’ or the ‘progressive/bastard proprietors [ditto]. I belong in neither camp, and please bear that in mind when I suggest that broadly the print unions involved only had themselves to blame.
Within just four years of the Wapping dispute ending in defeat, the NGA and Sogat no longer existed as, licking their wounds, they had merged to form the GPMU (Graphical, Paper and Media Union). That union itself only lasted eight years before it’s loss of members persuaded it merge with the union AMICUS which later went on to merge with the TGWU (Transport and General Workers Union) three years alter to form Unite The Union.
The list of unions above might seem like a word salad to you, dear reader, and you would be right, but – going back to Merlvern’s book, she is a talented journalist and does manage to keep it all under control (though it helps to have a natural interest in the subject matter. Although concise, well-written and always to the point, her book is not an easy read. If you want that, head for one of Katie Price’s many autobiographies.
To get a good take on ‘Wapping’ and Murdoch’s extraordinary achievement transferring production of his papers – the Sun, the News of the World, The Times and the Sunday Times to his new print plant in East London, some background and context is useful, and that is where Leapman and his book Treacherous Estate is useful, even though in 2026 it is in many ways irelavent to the current state of the British newspaper industry.
The invention and adoption in the mid-to-late 19th century of the rotary press and the even more significant invention in Baltimore in America of the Linotype machine by a German immigrant, the former clockmaker Ottmar Mergenthaler, sparked an explosion of the popular press in the world.
Both markedly speeded up the process of typesetting and printing, and thus also helped to bring down production costs.
In the mid-19th century, for ten years The Times held the exclusive patent for the rotary press before other newspapers could get in on the act, and it was able to print and distribute tens of thousands of copies overnight where the other papers were restricted to 10,000 or fewer.
The extra income this brought in – and using the then ‘new technology’ of telegraphy – allowed The Times to work a large network of correspondents around the world, vastly improving its news coverage over its rivals and building the – eventually quite spurious – reputation of ‘the best paper in the world’ as ‘The Thunderer’.
From the last decade of the 19th century, however, until Murdoch bought the paper in 1981 The Times did not turn a profit. Even Alfred Harmsworth, who became Lord Northcliffe and had successfully turned around several failing newspapers and bought The Times in 1908 couldn’t turn it around and sold it again in 1922.
In Britain, the early 20th century was very much a golden age for the press, both newspapers and magazines. Before the start of World War II several newspapers, which all worked out of London’s Fleet Street or nearby, were selling well into the millions. Certainly figures of several million copies sold each morning were often achieved with very expensive circulation drives which saw readers bribed with household gifts and even a set of Encyclopaedia Britannia to subscribe. These efforts did push up circulation but cost the proprietors dearly.
Pertinently, the early 20th century was also a time then ‘the working class’ and especially the growing trades union movement found their voice and developed real muscle. Possibly, the First World War which ended in ‘victory’ but was otherwise a disaster all-round helped ‘the great unwashed’ find their confidence to speak out. The General Strike in 1926 might well have seemed like a defeat but it succeeded in showing the unions and their members where their strength lay.
Certainly, in the years after World War II as heavy industry in Britain began its slow slide to irrelevance as did ‘the British Empire’, the unions and their members made themselves heard: the old world of forelock-tugging ‘deference’ and ‘I know my place’ was coming to end and more and more strikes began to plague British industry.
Especially odd were fallings out between unions themselves in ‘demarcation’ disputes over which member of which union should or should not be doing this and that, while piggy in the middle – and losing money – were management who in that particular dust-up were powerless and simply left holding their dicks.
This was also true of the Fleet Street unions producing Britain’s newspapers, though one difference was that management were, by necessity, pushovers. Given that a day’s paper lost because of industrial action meant a lot of money lost, management were always desperate to get the paper out and invariably caved in and bought off the unions with pay rises and a shorter working week.
For example (quoted by Melvern in her book), by 1981 Linotype operators in the Daily Express union chapel were raking in £1,100 (£3,973 in 2024) for a 16-hour week. Admittedly this was a little more than other chapels were being paid, so chapels were inclined to keep such matters to themselves. There was also little love lost between print union members in London and those in the same union in the ‘provinces’ who were certainly not in the clover.
The decline in British heavy industry also saw a slow decline in Fleet Street’s finest and in the decade that within 20 years after the end of World War II several national papers which had thrived in the decades after the First World War had been obliged to shut up shop.
The broadsheet News Chronicle, whose politics were broadly Liberal, still had a healthy circulation of around one million in October 1960, but in that year it was taken over by its fellow broadsheet, the unashamedly right-wing Daily Mail.
From 1956 on it had been losing many readers after it condemned and opposed Britain’s military action in Egypt after President Nasser nationalised the Suez Canal in 1956.
The right-wing Daily Sketch was also a victim of falling circulation. It, too, was selling more than a million copies in 1952 when, then known as the Daily Graphic, it was bought by the Daily Mail which revived the paper’s original name the Daily Sketch. But readers were also deserting it, and in 1974 the paper was merged into the Daily Mail (with the Sketch’s editor David English taking over at the Mail).
Then there was the Daily Herald, one of the very few British national newspapers which took a left-of-centre line and another victim of declining circulation. In 1933 it was selling a daily two million copies a day, but by 1964 when was taken over the Daily Mirror, the only other left-wing British national – the Daily Worker, later the Morning Star was a communist mouthpiece read only by the comrades and doesn’t really – circulation was in steady decline.
At the Daily Mirror, Welshman Hugh Cudlipp who had joined the paper in 1935 and is regarded as the brain’s behind the paper’s post-war success, re-launched the Herald as Sun. Cudlipp, by then chairman of International Publishing Corporation (IPC) which owned the Daily Mirror, hoped to prevent the Herald/Sun from snaffling readers from the Daily Mirror by marketing that early Sun as a respectable, intelligent middle-of-the-road broadsheet, in contrast to the Mirror which revelled in a kind of gor blimey irreverence, typified perhaps by its cartoon character Andy Capp.
The paper never sparked to life, however, limping on until 1969 by when it was losing £2m a year (£55m in 2026) when Cudlipp pulled the plug. He sold it to Rupert Murdoch over Robert Maxwell (who eventually owned the Daily Mirror/The Mirror) as Murdoch had promised he would make fewer production staff redundant.
By the mid-1970s Britain’s national newspaper industry had stabilised and was to remain stable for another twenty years before 20 years on the internet began to evolve and piss on its parade: now in 2026 it would not be too dramatic to claim that Britain’s newspaper industry has died.
Compare the figures for the end of the 1970s with today’s circulation figures and you would both cry and laugh your socks off: the Daily Mirror was selling 3.2 million by the end of the 1970s: now it’s a pitiful 205,332. Murdoch’s Sun, a right-wing tabloid – with bare breasts on Page Three – had overtaken the Mirror by a cool half a million copies in the mid-1970s, but today it even refuses to reveal how many it sells – and that will not be out of modesty.
The Daily Express and it’s arch-rival the Daily Mail – Evelyn Waugh’s Daily Beast and Daily Brute, though I don’t know which was which – saw sales of just under 2 million a day collapse to around 128,551 (!) and 687,063 respectively. Even my subbing ‘alma mater’, Brum’s Evening Mail, one of about seven or eight large provincial evening papers in Britain was shifting 335,281 copies in 1976. Today? A fucking awful 8,628!
To cut those papers a little slack, though it cannot be all of them, the internet has proved useful for some. The Daily Mail, the Guardian, The Times and the Daily Telegraph all have a very readable online presence and will be making money from subscriptions. On the other hand the online efforts of the Express, the Sun and the Mirror, on the other hand are a joke.
Rupert Murdoch had changed all that and although I don’t share his politics, I can’t and don’t deny a sneaking respect and admiration for the man. He knew what he wanted – efficiency and no bullshit – and by 1985 and 1986 he had had his fill of the behaviour or the London unions (and I must again stress the London unions). And if I read Melvern’s account correctly he was, initially, prepared to reach a sensible agreement with the unions, though this certainly involved job losses. Finally, he lost patience.
He had even offered them the Grays Inn Road plant at a very cheap price so that they could launch their own left-wing newspaper. He didn’t need it once he moved to Wapping and he believed it might well work as a sweetener.
But – and this is my take – the unions, or at least most of their leaders – though an exception should be made of Brenda Dean of Sogat, the only female union leader who seems to have had a more realistic take – badly overestimated their hand and had simply not caught on that the world had changed.
Finally, it all culminated in Murdoch and his News International papers successfully moving to Wapping and a year-long siege of the plant by union members, which was at times violent. The plant was heavily fortified and there were strict security checks.
If you are interested in the history of Wapping and Murdoch’s battle, I can highly recommend Melvern’s book. But I suspect it would only interest those who are interested (if that doesn’t sound too Irish).
The broadsheet News Chronicle, whose politics were broadly Liberal, still had a healthy circulation of around one million in October 1960, but in that year it was taken over by its fellow broadsheet, the unashamedly right-wing Daily Mail.
From 1956 on it had been losing many readers after it condemned and opposed Britain’s military action in Egypt after President Nasser nationalised the Suez Canal in 1956.
The right-wing Daily Sketch was also a victim of falling circulation. It, too, was selling more than a million copies in 1952 when, then known as the Daily Graphic, it was bought by the Daily Mail which revived the paper’s original name the Daily Sketch. But readers were also deserting it, and in 1974 the paper was merged into the Daily Mail (with the Sketch’s editor David English taking over at the Mail).
Then there was the Daily Herald, one of the very few British national newspapers which took a left-of-centre line and another victim of declining circulation. In 1933 it was selling a daily two million copies a day, but by 1964 when was taken over the Daily Mirror, the only other left-wing British national – the Daily Worker, later the Morning Star was a communist mouthpiece read only by the comrades and doesn’t really – circulation was in steady decline.
At the Daily Mirror, Welshman Hugh Cudlipp who had joined the paper in 1935 and is regarded as the brain’s behind the paper’s post-war success, re-launched the Herald as Sun. Cudlipp, by then chairman of International Publishing Corporation (IPC) which owned the Daily Mirror, hoped to prevent the Herald/Sun from snaffling readers from the Daily Mirror by marketing that early Sun as a respectable, intelligent middle-of-the-road broadsheet, in contrast to the Mirror which revelled in a kind of gor blimey irreverence, typified perhaps by its cartoon character Andy Capp.
The paper never sparked to life, however, limping on until 1969 by when it was losing £2m a year (£55m in 2026) when Cudlipp pulled the plug. He sold it to Rupert Murdoch over Robert Maxwell (who eventually owned the Daily Mirror/The Mirror) as Murdoch had promised he would make fewer production staff redundant.
By the mid-1970s Britain’s national newspaper industry had stabilised and was to remain stable for another twenty years before 20 years on the internet began to evolve and piss on its parade: now in 2026 it would not be too dramatic to claim that Britain’s newspaper industry has died.
Compare the figures for the end of the 1970s with today’s circulation figures and you would both cry and laugh your socks off: the Daily Mirror was selling 3.2 million by the end of the 1970s: now it’s a pitiful 205,332. Murdoch’s Sun, a right-wing tabloid – with bare breasts on Page Three – had overtaken the Mirror by a cool half a million copies in the mid-1970s, but today it even refuses to reveal how many it sells – and that will not be out of modesty.
The Daily Express and it’s arch-rival the Daily Mail – Evelyn Waugh’s Daily Beast and Daily Brute, though I don’t know which was which – saw sales of just under 2 million a day collapse to around 128,551 (!) and 687,063 respectively. Even my subbing ‘alma mater’, Brum’s Evening Mail, one of about seven or eight large provincial evening papers in Britain was shifting 335,281 copies in 1976. Today? A fucking awful 8,628!
To cut those papers a little slack, though it cannot be all of them, the internet has proved useful for some. The Daily Mail, the Guardian, The Times and the Daily Telegraph all have a very readable online presence and will be making money from subscriptions. On the other hand the online efforts of the Express, the Sun and the Mirror, on the other hand are a joke.
. . .
Rupert Murdoch had changed all that and although I don’t share his politics, I can’t and don’t deny a sneaking respect and admiration for the man. He knew what he wanted – efficiency and no bullshit – and by 1985 and 1986 he had had his fill of the behaviour or the London unions (and I must again stress the London unions). And if I read Melvern’s account correctly he was, initially, prepared to reach a sensible agreement with the unions, though this certainly involved job losses. Finally, he lost patience.
He had even offered them the Grays Inn Road plant at a very cheap price so that they could launch their own left-wing newspaper. He didn’t need it once he moved to Wapping and he believed it might well work as a sweetener.
But – and this is my take – the unions, or at least most of their leaders – though an exception should be made of Brenda Dean of Sogat, the only female union leader who seems to have had a more realistic take – badly overestimated their hand and had simply not caught on that the world had changed.
Finally, it all culminated in Murdoch and his News International papers successfully moving to Wapping and a year-long siege of the plant by union members, which was at times violent. The plant was heavily fortified and there were strict security checks.
If you are interested in the history of Wapping and Murdoch’s battle, I can highly recommend Melvern’s book. But I suspect it would only interest those who are interested (if that doesn’t sound too Irish).
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