Carmarthen Journal's 200th birthday
Have scribbled some words for the Carmarthen Journal. The newspaper celebrates its 200th birthday this spring.
Robert Lloyd was editor of the Carmarthen Journal from April 2006 to October 2008. During his stint in the editor’s chair, he was also the editor of the Llanelli Star. He started his career in journalism as a cub reporter on the Journal in 1977. Lloyd, 51, now runs his own media consultancy business, a web site at www.rlloydpr.co.uk and a blog at http://sirgarblog.blogspot.com
“If I were a father and had a daughter who was seduced, I should not despair over her; I would hope for her salvation. But if I had a son who became a journalist, and continued to be one for five years, I would give him up.”
The quote is from the 19th century Danish philosopher, theologian, and psychologist Søren Kierkegaard.
I thank my lucky stars that my dad was no great fan of minor Danish philosophers. His ‘philosophical’ approach to careers was -“Find a job you like and go out there and get it.”
For a budding journalist in Carmarthen, with one published article in the Boys Gram school magazine to his name, there was only one place to seek work – “The Journal”.
Fortune smiled brightly on me as an 18-year-old A level pupil. One of the customers at the petrol station and garage run by my father was Godfrey Jones, then the Journal’s photographer.
“The editor’s name is David Edmunds and he works on a Saturday morning,” was his advice. And my dad (sadly, no longer with us) added a less subtle instruction to “get off your backside and get up there”.
“Up there” was the Journal office at 18 King Street which, curiously, resembled a garage with huge drive-through doors front and back.
Mr Edmunds was as precise with his offer as he was with his copper-plate Pitman’s shorthand – “Summer job, £10 a week, boy . . . and that’s it”.
A few weeks later, my A level results arrived in the newsroom and Mr Edmunds made his pitch: “Now then, boy, do you want to waste three years of your life in college, or do you want a proper job?”
The proper job was as an indentured journalist (an apprentice or cub reporter) and paid a magical £27 a week.
The job was an education in the University of Life as I took my place in an office shared by Mr Edmunds, chief reporter Wyndham Rees and newly-qualified reporter Alun Lenny (soon to leave for the BBC).
We shared one Remington typewriter, minus a lid so that you could see the keys hammer their way onto copy paper made up of recycled press releases. The Journal in 1977 could teach the world everything about being economical.
If the Remington wasn’t available, then it was pen and paper and the words were magically turned into type through the old Hot Metal printing process.
They were fun days full of practical jokes; using the press room toilet was often a dice with danger and being handed a slug of hot Linotype was painful rather than amusing.
On Thursdays (after the Journal had been printed the night before on a Cossar press which resembled something out of a Heath Robinson cartoon), most of the printers had time off. The rest of us (receptionists, advertising staff, managers and editorial) were left alone in the office while the resident proof-reader was given the task of recycling the lead for next week’s paper.
As he went about his work, smelting the ink-stained slugs of type and producing new ingots, we marvelled at how he had to wear a protective mask and how he also had to drink two pints of milk (to absorb any lead he ingested).
If it happened today, the Health and Safety Executive would have had a field day!
After those happy days training at the Journal, I ventured into other parts of the Northcliffe newspapers empire in West Wales, the neon-lights of Llanelli and Swansea.
But I was delighted to return, in the editor’s job, in April 2006.
My contract was actually dated for April 1, April Fool’s Day, 2006.
And over the next couple of years, various councillors and chief executives may have got the impression that the joke was on them.
Not everyone saw the funny side of an editor who enjoyed tilting at a few windmills and running a column called Clecs Sir Gar!
There’s a character in the classic Orson Welles movie, Citizen Kane, who declares, “I think it would be fun to run a newspaper!”
Well, take it from me, it was fun running a newspaper.
It was also an honour and a privilege to do the job.
Under the stewardship of Cathryn Ings, I am sure “The Journal” will continue to be a part of our lives for many more years to come.
Robert Lloyd was editor of the Carmarthen Journal from April 2006 to October 2008. During his stint in the editor’s chair, he was also the editor of the Llanelli Star. He started his career in journalism as a cub reporter on the Journal in 1977. Lloyd, 51, now runs his own media consultancy business, a web site at www.rlloydpr.co.uk and a blog at http://sirgarblog.blogspot.com
“If I were a father and had a daughter who was seduced, I should not despair over her; I would hope for her salvation. But if I had a son who became a journalist, and continued to be one for five years, I would give him up.”
The quote is from the 19th century Danish philosopher, theologian, and psychologist Søren Kierkegaard.
I thank my lucky stars that my dad was no great fan of minor Danish philosophers. His ‘philosophical’ approach to careers was -“Find a job you like and go out there and get it.”
For a budding journalist in Carmarthen, with one published article in the Boys Gram school magazine to his name, there was only one place to seek work – “The Journal”.
Fortune smiled brightly on me as an 18-year-old A level pupil. One of the customers at the petrol station and garage run by my father was Godfrey Jones, then the Journal’s photographer.
“The editor’s name is David Edmunds and he works on a Saturday morning,” was his advice. And my dad (sadly, no longer with us) added a less subtle instruction to “get off your backside and get up there”.
“Up there” was the Journal office at 18 King Street which, curiously, resembled a garage with huge drive-through doors front and back.
Mr Edmunds was as precise with his offer as he was with his copper-plate Pitman’s shorthand – “Summer job, £10 a week, boy . . . and that’s it”.
A few weeks later, my A level results arrived in the newsroom and Mr Edmunds made his pitch: “Now then, boy, do you want to waste three years of your life in college, or do you want a proper job?”
The proper job was as an indentured journalist (an apprentice or cub reporter) and paid a magical £27 a week.
The job was an education in the University of Life as I took my place in an office shared by Mr Edmunds, chief reporter Wyndham Rees and newly-qualified reporter Alun Lenny (soon to leave for the BBC).
We shared one Remington typewriter, minus a lid so that you could see the keys hammer their way onto copy paper made up of recycled press releases. The Journal in 1977 could teach the world everything about being economical.
If the Remington wasn’t available, then it was pen and paper and the words were magically turned into type through the old Hot Metal printing process.
They were fun days full of practical jokes; using the press room toilet was often a dice with danger and being handed a slug of hot Linotype was painful rather than amusing.
On Thursdays (after the Journal had been printed the night before on a Cossar press which resembled something out of a Heath Robinson cartoon), most of the printers had time off. The rest of us (receptionists, advertising staff, managers and editorial) were left alone in the office while the resident proof-reader was given the task of recycling the lead for next week’s paper.
As he went about his work, smelting the ink-stained slugs of type and producing new ingots, we marvelled at how he had to wear a protective mask and how he also had to drink two pints of milk (to absorb any lead he ingested).
If it happened today, the Health and Safety Executive would have had a field day!
After those happy days training at the Journal, I ventured into other parts of the Northcliffe newspapers empire in West Wales, the neon-lights of Llanelli and Swansea.
But I was delighted to return, in the editor’s job, in April 2006.
My contract was actually dated for April 1, April Fool’s Day, 2006.
And over the next couple of years, various councillors and chief executives may have got the impression that the joke was on them.
Not everyone saw the funny side of an editor who enjoyed tilting at a few windmills and running a column called Clecs Sir Gar!
There’s a character in the classic Orson Welles movie, Citizen Kane, who declares, “I think it would be fun to run a newspaper!”
Well, take it from me, it was fun running a newspaper.
It was also an honour and a privilege to do the job.
Under the stewardship of Cathryn Ings, I am sure “The Journal” will continue to be a part of our lives for many more years to come.
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