Reporting the Election
Joe Murphy, who followed the campaign as a print journalist with a major newspaper, draws comparisons between this and other general elections he has covered. His chapter contrasts the ability of the press to cross-examine leading politicians in previous
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Reporting the Election Joe Murphy
“What would you like? We’ve got Haribo and KitKats or you could have fruit.” Opting for a banana and some Starmix to go with my early morning coffee, I settled into a leather seat on David Cameron’s battle bus in a state of confusion. It wasn’t the eclectic breakfast served by perma-cheerful press officers that baffled me, but the fact that the bus was virtually empty. Where were the journalists? As the Union Flag bedecked (although Spanish-built), Irizar coach purred from Westminster towards a factory floor in Enfield for a speech and interview, it was virtually empty. There was the Press Association man, who had heard Cameron’s stump speech so many times he could recite it while asleep, and a few hacks like me who had been invited on board for a day or two for colour and interviews. Many times the 2015 general election has been compared with the contest between John Major and Neil Kinnock in 1992. There is certainly a striking likeness in the result: a surprise Tory victory against a Labour leader who suffered a severe image problem. But there were many more differences—and the disappearance of the old-fashioned battlebus after many decades of faithful service was one of them.
J. Murphy (*) Evening Standard, London, UK e-mail: [email protected]
© The Author(s) 2017 D. Wring et al. (eds.), Political Communication in Britain, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-40934-4_20
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J. MURPHY
I will remember 2015 not so much for the stories—although the 10 p.m. drama of the exit poll will never, ever be forgotten—but as the election when newspapers and broadcasters found their traditional means of scrutinising, challenging and testing the would-be leaders under greater threat than ever before. Cabinet ministers seemed to have been put under house arrest by Lynton Crosby, they gave so few interviews. For all the bigger parties, caution was the watchword, which meant more stage- managed events and fewer press conferences. Back on Cameron’s luxury coach, I nostalgically contrasted it with the first battlebus I joined: Neil Kinnock’s in 1992. It was more like boarding a busload of mixed Spurs and Arsenal supporters. About 20 or so combat- ready journalists—tabloids, heavies, TV and radio—spent thousands of pounds of their companies’ money to travel in convoy with the Labour leader’s scarlet Rover for the entire campaign. A week before it began, I asked an experienced reporter from the Express what to expect. “Well, we spend three weeks sticking our legs out and wait for Kinnock to trip over them,” was the reply. When the Labour leader took off in his election plane (which we inevitably dubbed Hot Air Force One) we occupied the rear half. We stayed in the same hotels, toured the same hospitals and company HQs (where we had unfettered freedom to chat with staff and managers), ingratiated ourselves with him in fag breaks and then battered him daily at press conferences in far-flung cities. It was a gruelling trip, with a few fights and lots of tantrums, but it produced real scrutiny. W
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