Armstrong smiled, but said nothing until Sir Paul Maitland moved on to the second item on the agenda, and called on him to brief the board on his latest American trip. Armstrong brought them up to date on his progress in New York, and went on to tell them that he intended to make a further trip across the Atlantic in the near future, as he believed it would not be long before the company was in a position to make a public bid for the New York Star.
Sir Paul said he was anxious about the sheer scale of such an acquisition, and asked that no commitments should be made without the board’s approval. Armstrong assured him that it had never crossed his mind to do otherwise.
Under Any Other Business, Peter Wakeham brought to the attention of the board an article in the Financial Times which reported that Keith Townsend had recently purchased a large block of warehouses on the Isle of Dogs, and that a fleet of unmarked lorries were regularly making late-night deliveries to it.
‘Has anyone any idea what this is all about?’ asked Sir Paul, his eyes sweeping the table.
‘We know,’ said Armstrong, ‘that Townsend got himself landed with a trucking company when he took over the Globe. As his papers are doing so badly, perhaps he’s having to diversify.’
Some members of the board laughed, but Sir Paul was not among them. ‘That wouldn’t explain why Townsend has set up such tight security around the site,’ he said. ‘Security guards, dogs, electric gates, barbed wire along the tops of the walls — he’s up to something.’
Armstrong shrugged his shoulders and looked bored, so Sir Paul reluctantly brought the meeting to a close.
Three days later, Armstrong took a call from the Howard Hotel, and was told by the junior porter that Townsend had spent the whole afternoon and most of the evening locked in the Fitzalan Suite with three officials from one of the leading print unions, who were refusing to carry out any overtime. Armstrong assumed they were negotiating for improved pay and conditions in exchange for getting their members back to work.
The following Monday he flew to America, confident that as Townsend was preoccupied with his problems in London, there couldn’t be a better time to prepare a takeover bid for the New York Star.
When Townsend called a meeting of all the journalists who worked on the Globe, most of them assumed that the proprietor had finally reached a settlement with the print unions, and the get-together would be nothing more than a public relations exercise to prove he had got the better of them.
At four o’clock that afternoon, over seven hundred journalists crammed onto the editorial floor. They fell silent as Townsend and Bruce Kelly walked in, clearing a path to allow the proprietor to walk to the center of the room, where he climbed up onto a table. He looked down on the group of people who were about to decide his fate.
‘For the past few months,’ he began quietly, ‘Bruce Kelly and I have been involved in a plan which I believe will change all our lives, and possibly the whole face of journalism in this country. Newspapers cannot hope to survive in the future if they continue to be run as they have been for the past hundred years. Someone has to make a stand, and that person is me. And this is the time to do it. Starting at midnight on Sunday, I intend to transfer my entire printing and publishing operation to the Isle of Dogs.’
A small gasp was audible.
‘I have recently come to an agreement,’ Townsend continued, ‘with Eric Harrison, the general secretary of the Allied Printworkers, which will give us a chance once and for all to rid ourselves of the stranglehold of the closed shop.’ Some people began to applaud. Others looked uncertain, and some downright angry.
The proprietor went on to explain to the journalists the logistics of such an immense operation. ‘The problem of distribution will be dealt with by our own fleet of trucks, making it unnecessary in future for us to rely on the rail unions, who will undoubtedly come out on strike in support of their comrades in the print unions. I can only hope that you will all back me in this venture. Are there any questions?’ Hands shot up all around the room. Townsend pointed to a man standing directly in front of him.
‘Are you expecting the unions to picket the new building, and if so, what contingency measures have you put in place?’
‘The answer to the first part of your question has to be yes,’ said Townsend. ‘As far as the second part is concerned, the police have advised me not to divulge any details of what they have planned. But I can assure you that I have the backing of the prime minister and the Cabinet for this whole operation.’
Some groans could be heard around the room. Townsend turned and pointed to another raised hand.
‘Will there be compensation for those of us who are unwilling to join this crazy scheme?’
That was one question Townsend had hoped someone would ask.
‘I advise you to read your contracts carefully,’ he said. ‘You’ll find in them exactly how much compensation you’ll get if I have to close the paper down.’
A buzz began all around him.
‘Are you threatening us?’ asked the same journalist.
Townsend swung back to him and said fiercely, ‘No, I’m not. But if you don’t back me on this one, you’ll be threatening the livelihood of everyone who works for the Globe.’
A sea of hands shot up. Townsend pointed to a woman standing at the back.
‘How many other unions have agreed to back you?’
‘None,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I’m expecting the rest of them to come out on strike immediately following this meeting.’ He pointed to someone else, and continued to answer questions for over an hour. When he finally stepped off the table, it was clear that the journalists were divided on whether to go along with his plan, or to join the other print unions and opt for an all-out strike.
Later that evening, Bruce told him that the National Union of Journalists had issued a press release stating their intention to hold a meeting of all Townsend employees at ten o’clock the next morning, when they would decide what their response would be to his demands. An hour later Townsend issued his own press release.
Townsend spent a sleepless night wondering if he had embarked on a reckless gamble that would in time bring the whole of his empire to its knees. The only good news he had received in the past month was that his youngest son, Graham, who was in New York with Kate, had spoken his first word, and it wasn’t ‘newspaper.’ Although he had attended the child’s birth, he had been seen boarding a plane at Kennedy three hours later. He sometimes wondered if it was all worthwhile.
The following morning, after being driven to his office, he sat alone awaiting the outcome of the NUJ meeting. If they decided to call a strike, he knew he was beaten. Following his press release outlining his plans, Global Corp’s shares had fallen four pence overnight, while those of Armstrong Communications, the obvious beneficiaries if there was to be any fall-out, had risen by two.
A few minutes after one o’clock, Bruce charged into his office without knocking. ‘They backed you,’ he said. Townsend looked up, the color rushing back into his cheeks. ‘But it was a damn close thing. They voted 343 to 301 to make the move. I think your threat to close the paper down if they didn’t support you was what finally tilted it in your favor.’
Townsend rang Number Ten a few minutes later to warn the prime minister that there was likely to be a bloody confrontation which could last for several weeks. Mrs. Thatcher promised her full backing. As the days passed, it quickly became clear that he hadn’t exaggerated: journalists and printers alike had to be escorted in and out of the new complex by armed police; Townsend and Bruce Kelly were given twenty-four-hour protection after they received anonymous death threats.