MEDIA STUDIES
A grammar school judge, and having to be in Woolwich on a Friday. Is Max to be spared nothing?
STEPHEN GLOVER
It was a year ago that he gathered up the reins at the Standard, and the anniversary might have provided a justification for dusting off the old chap and setting him back on his plinth. But then a very much better reason presented itself — indeed so good a reason that I could hardly believe the turn of events. Last Friday Mr Hastings appeared in court in Woolwich. After- wards he apologised to the entire British public.
This is a fascinating tale which will com- mend itself to all of us who revere Mr Hast- ings as one of the great comic figures of our time. His court appearance took place on a Friday, which at this time of the year is the day on which, around lunchtime or possibly a little before, Mr Hastings normally leaves the Evening Standard's offices in Kensing- ton to head for the country and a spot of shooting. On this occasion he found him- self instead in the strange surroundings of Woolwich, where the only shooting that takes place is the sort carried out by the Royal Artillery. Mr Hastings was not in court as a result of anything which he had done, or not done, personally. He was there because two days earlier his newspaper had published a feature about Belmarsh Prison by a jour- nalist called Mark Honigsbaum. This arti- cle identified three men, on trial for break- ing out of Whitemoor Prison in 1994, as members of the IRA. Unfortunately, this contravened a contempt of court order imposed by Mr Maurice Justice Kay of which the Evening Standard had been bliss- fully unaware. So the judge in his infinite wisdom abandoned the trial of the IRA prisoners.
It was probably of little comfort to Mr Hastings that no personal law-breaking was implied. He might have been a great deal happier to have been arraigned for shooting a lone snipe out of season. To have found himself in Woolwich on a Fri- day was bad enough. But to be represented as the editor of a vulgar tabloid was much, much worse. Imagine the scene. Max Mac- donald Hastings, Charterhouse and Uni- versity College, Oxford, associate of Tory grandees and a man who has shot with dukes, stands before the aforementioned Mr Maurice Justice Kay (a mere grammar school lad) and Mr David Eady, QC (a minor public school boy) and finds himself being patronised as though he is an irre- sponsible common fellow who goes about publishing things he ought not to, as might the editor of the Sun!
The shame of it. And the fact that he had had very little, if anything, to do with the piece cannot have made things any easier for him. Like most editors, he expects underlings to ensure that libels are not committed and that contempt of court orders are not broken. Associated Newspa- pers, publisher of the Evening Standard, has an excellent in-house legal team to deal with such matters. The trouble is that the features department, for reasons only known to itself, did not show the piece to the paper's lawyers. Poor Max could not say this. He had to bear the supercilious scrutiny of Mr Maurice Justice Kay and Mr David Eady, QC, in painful silence.
And this humiliation came after another snub. Not very many days before, A. N. Wilson, the brilliant author and novelist who edits the Evening Standard's books pages, had tendered his resignation to Mr Hastings. This was a heavy blow, since Mr Wilson is the paper's greatest symbol of respectability; his very presence proclaims that the Evening Standard stands above the common nick of tabloids. For a time it seemed that Mr Hastings had secured the services of Miriam Gross, the distinguished literary editor of the Sunday Telegraph and in her own way as elevated as Mr Wilson, but then, alas, she withdrew.
Did Mr Hastings wonder, as he stood under the withering gaze of Mr Maurice Justice Kay and associates, how he had got himself into this game? Did he consider whether the salary of £300,000 a year was fair compensation for editing a paper which was regarded by the good judge and Mr Eady and Mr Wilson and even by Mrs Gross as somewhat below the salt? We may never know. But he took his punish- ment almost like a man. Outside the court he said that 'We' — that's the newspaper, not the editorial first person plural `have apologised to the judge and, of course, any newspaper must apologise to the public when something like this hap- pens.'
Now the matter has been referred to Sir Nicholas Lyell, the Attorney-General. Mr Hastings could be fined. My God, he could be sent to prison. I implore Sir Nicholas to be merciful. Low cynics will say that he will not dare prosecute the Tory editor of a politically wavering newspaper a few months before an election. I don't believe it. I think that Sir Nicholas will be breath- ing fire and brimstone, and that, strong and determined as he undoubtedly is, he will want to show that even so great a man as Mr Hastings must bend to the great leveller that is the Law. Let us hope he will show mercy nonetheless, and that he will remem- ber that when poor Max went into journal- ism he can never have expected that things would end up like this.
Ihave received a letter from Dominic Lawson, editor of the Sunday Telegraph, following my defence of Peregrine Worsthorne two weeks ago. I had said that Mr Lawson dismissed Sir Peregrine — who had served the Telegraph group for 44 years — with 'a curt letter'. Now Mr Law- son writes that he unsuccessfully attempted to secure a berth for Perry at the Daily Telegraph before sacking him. 'I think it might be an interesting point to append to your next column. Why am I so certain that you won't?'
Well, I have. My enquiries reveal that Mr Lawson did indeed discuss Sir Peregrine with Charles Moore, editor of the Daily Telegraph. It seems that, much as he esteems Sir Peregrine, Mr Moore was reluctant to sack one of his five recently acquired weekly columnists to make way for him. As I am one of those columnists, I suppose I should be grateful. But Mr Moore has asked Sir Peregrine to do a monthly essay, and probably knew that The Spectator was going ask him to write a fort- nightly column. Mr Lawson certainly emerges as more solicitous than had been thought, but the manner of sacking Sir Peregrine remains his alone.
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