tree and became associate editor of the Sun , working alongside the new deputy editor – a sharp, sassy, ambitious young woman called Rebekah. They already knew each other a bit. Now, the two of them bonded. People guessed they must be sleeping together, though nobody was sure. They made a team – they were both young and clever, they had both started with nothing and they both shared an intense ambition. And together they made it.
In May 2000, Rupert Murdoch moved Rebekah Brooks to the editor’s chair at the News of the World . She immediately recruited Coulson as her deputy. He worked hard for her, set up a new investigations department, handled the detail of stories for her and made sure the staff were happy. He had a good reputation in the newsroom. While Brooks was off in the clouds, making contacts among very important people, Coulson would turn up at the staff parties, and say hi to people in the newsroom. He rewarded himself with a Porsche Boxster with a top speed of 165 mph and a price tag of £35,000. But people began to notice that the more powerful he became, the more names he forgot. After a while, he was reduced to calling most of the men ‘mate’ and most of the women ‘sweetheart’.
Three years later, in January 2003, Rupert Murdoch gave Brooks the Sun to edit and made Coulson boss at the News of the World . His new position gave him power, and he was happy to use it against those who crossed him. For example, he didn’t like Roy Greenslade, the former editor of the Daily Mirror who had become a professor of journalism at City University, London. So he withdrew the funding for two student places which the News of the World had been sponsoring. The head of the City journalism department, Adrian Monck, had lunch with Coulson and sweet-talked him into restoring the funding. But, as he got up to leave, Coulson added: ‘One thing, mate. I want you to give me Roy’s head on a plate.’ Monck refused: City lost its funding.
It was not simply that he was himself capable of being cold. More important, he was required to be ruthless. From his proprietor and the board of News Corp 3,500 miles away in New York, through the chief executive of News International, Les Hinton, who sat in the same building in Wapping, east London, the unstated message to him and to Rebekah Brooks, editing the Sun in the same building, and to every other editor in every other part of the empire was constant and simple: ‘Get the story – no matter what.’
The previous month, March 2005, Coulson had been to the Hilton Hotel to pick up his big award, for Newspaper of the Year. Afterwards, when he was interviewed by the Press Gazette , he had shrugged off the sneering disdain of outsiders who seemed to think his kind of journalism was not really respectable.
‘I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,’ he said. ‘And this goes for everyone on the News of the World . The readers are the judges. That’s the most important thing. And I think we should be proud of what we do.’
* * *
It is an odd thing about newspapers, that they live by exposure, yet they keep their own worlds concealed. A little of the truth about Andy Coulson’s newspaper begins to emerge in evidence provided by one of his former staff – hundreds of notes and emails and memos which his executives wrote for each other in 2005 as they strove to repeat the triumphs of the previous twelve months.
It begins with the readers. The friends of tabloid newspapers often point out that their journalism exists only because millions of people choose to pay money to read it. The internal messages go one step further, disclosing the fervour with which readers stepped forward to provide a paper like the News of the World with the information which it craved.
Take one week early in 2005. The internal messages record that a male prostitute had contacted them to report ‘romping’ in a sauna with a male TV presenter – ‘He wants to do kiss-and-tell and says his
In May 2000, Rupert Murdoch moved Rebekah Brooks to the editor’s chair at the News of the World . She immediately recruited Coulson as her deputy. He worked hard for her, set up a new investigations department, handled the detail of stories for her and made sure the staff were happy. He had a good reputation in the newsroom. While Brooks was off in the clouds, making contacts among very important people, Coulson would turn up at the staff parties, and say hi to people in the newsroom. He rewarded himself with a Porsche Boxster with a top speed of 165 mph and a price tag of £35,000. But people began to notice that the more powerful he became, the more names he forgot. After a while, he was reduced to calling most of the men ‘mate’ and most of the women ‘sweetheart’.
Three years later, in January 2003, Rupert Murdoch gave Brooks the Sun to edit and made Coulson boss at the News of the World . His new position gave him power, and he was happy to use it against those who crossed him. For example, he didn’t like Roy Greenslade, the former editor of the Daily Mirror who had become a professor of journalism at City University, London. So he withdrew the funding for two student places which the News of the World had been sponsoring. The head of the City journalism department, Adrian Monck, had lunch with Coulson and sweet-talked him into restoring the funding. But, as he got up to leave, Coulson added: ‘One thing, mate. I want you to give me Roy’s head on a plate.’ Monck refused: City lost its funding.
It was not simply that he was himself capable of being cold. More important, he was required to be ruthless. From his proprietor and the board of News Corp 3,500 miles away in New York, through the chief executive of News International, Les Hinton, who sat in the same building in Wapping, east London, the unstated message to him and to Rebekah Brooks, editing the Sun in the same building, and to every other editor in every other part of the empire was constant and simple: ‘Get the story – no matter what.’
The previous month, March 2005, Coulson had been to the Hilton Hotel to pick up his big award, for Newspaper of the Year. Afterwards, when he was interviewed by the Press Gazette , he had shrugged off the sneering disdain of outsiders who seemed to think his kind of journalism was not really respectable.
‘I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,’ he said. ‘And this goes for everyone on the News of the World . The readers are the judges. That’s the most important thing. And I think we should be proud of what we do.’
* * *
It is an odd thing about newspapers, that they live by exposure, yet they keep their own worlds concealed. A little of the truth about Andy Coulson’s newspaper begins to emerge in evidence provided by one of his former staff – hundreds of notes and emails and memos which his executives wrote for each other in 2005 as they strove to repeat the triumphs of the previous twelve months.
It begins with the readers. The friends of tabloid newspapers often point out that their journalism exists only because millions of people choose to pay money to read it. The internal messages go one step further, disclosing the fervour with which readers stepped forward to provide a paper like the News of the World with the information which it craved.
Take one week early in 2005. The internal messages record that a male prostitute had contacted them to report ‘romping’ in a sauna with a male TV presenter – ‘He wants to do kiss-and-tell and says his
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