Wednesday 18 June 2014

This is the text of a short speech given by me today at BBC Broadcasting House in remembrance of the late Rory Morrison. It is posted here as a tribute and memorial to a very special and talented man.




RORY

Good afternoon, everyone.

It's an honour and a privilege to have been asked to speak about Rory - a wonderful colleague and friend to so many here today. He is a man dearly missed by those of us who knew him personally and by so many loyal listeners in a long, successful and very highly regarded career. Rory left us at the very top of his game.

To those outside the broadcasting industry it’s sometimes difficult to explain exactly what a Radio 4 newsreader and continuity announcer actually does. In my experience this is often also the case inside the broadcasting industry.


The announcers – and the production teams who support them - are the very heart and soul of the network. With programmes as the spokes, they’re the hub around which the network wheels revolve. Never too quickly, never too slowly – with Ships, pips and TIPs marking the journey from opening anno to closing anthem.

They’re the people who guide us through our daily listening routines and calmly make everything right again when idiots like me misread the clock on a live comedy show and come out a minute early. With pros like Pres at the helm no listener need ever know that a half-wit was in charge for a bit.

Rory was “The Announcer’s announcer”.  His voice so familiar to us all and to the listening public was warm, clear and welcoming.  He spoke with an admirable mix of authority and character. So many un-rustled scripts, so many impeccably pronounced multi-syllabled foreign dignitaries and so many perfectly timed pauses. Rory was really bloody good at his job.


They asked me to speak today because of the geographical “cross-over” between my own career and Rory’s. We both made the journey down the M1 from the hotbed of regional journalism that has featured in so many careers: BBC Local Radio and, in our case, BBC Radio Leeds.

I wasn’t exactly sure what a “hotbed” was before it came to writing this, so I looked it up. Apparently it’s “a bed of earth heated by fermenting manure” – which probably describes our shared experience at Radio Leeds fairly accurately.

I was the media student at Leeds University who not only got a job, but also got one in, of all things, the media. My very first job – and they even paid me to do it – was to research and write the scripts for the much-missed daily feature: West Yorkshire Rewind – a look back at the hits and headlines from years gone by, in and around West Yorkshire.  This was all going quite well for the first few months. I turned up at reception once a fortnight with some poorly typed scripts and the following week someone would read it out. Most of it in the right order.  Then they’d send me a cheque for £25.
Then one week it all changed.  There was some new bloke who not only read-out my words on the radio – he read them out really well.

Being a slightly diffident student, grateful for the work but too shy to make much of a fuss, I knew I ought to be making more of an effort to get myself known around the station…  if I wanted a proper job there. I took the opportunity of “saying hello to the new host”, went upstairs to the production office and was introduced to a tall, floppy haired fellow, almost certainly in suede shoes and a beige cardigan.  I'd get used to seeing those.

Such was the sense of community at Radio Leeds – and, I’m sure, at other local radio stations - that colleagues soon became friends… and in some notable cases, rather more than that. It’s a mighty testament to those characters - many of whom are here today - that those friendships have lasted for 20 years and counting.
  

It seemed appropriate that sound might play some part in illustrating my own recollections of working with Rory at Radio Leeds and then at Radio 4. I tried to think of something that might describe that transition which Rory and I both made from BBC local radio – the loved, trusted and reliable “friend of the air” in communities across the UK - to the broadcasting behemoth that was BBC Radio 4 in the mid-90s.

Ironically, perhaps, for speech stations that historical journey is best illustrated musically.


                        IN: [sung] “Rory Morrison…
                        DUR: 1’ 17”
                        OUT: [Music: Land of Hope & Glory] ENDS


It’s like the worst school disco, ever. Or possibly the best – I’m not sure.


I’d like to end with two of my most cherished memories of Rory.

The first took place in this theatre – in fact, on this very stage. As a trainee producer in Radio Light Entertainment I was awarded surely one of the greatest prizes in broadcasting – the reins of the redoubtable music quiz, Counterpoint. And its equally redoubtable host, Ned Sherrin.  As it was my very first network programme I wanted to do something special – so decided to revive the old practice of a live announcer introducing the show.  My first point of call, naturally, was to Rory who was, naturally, brilliant.  It probably goes without saying that Ned took a shine to him, too.  A first show is something you never forget and I will be forever grateful that Rory is a part of that memory.

When I last saw Rory in hospital, last year, I was able to hear from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, his recollection as a witness to one of the most notorious moments in recent broadcasting history.

When James Naughtie spoonerised the then Culture secretary Jeremy Hunt, it was Rory, sitting opposite, who had to read the eight o'clock news with a straight face directly afterwards. And he did.  

He laughed as he told me that while chaos unfolded around him, he fought back the giggles by digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands so hard that it was actually painful.  

He knew that while around him - on both sides of the glass - people were biting their fists and running out of the studio because of what had been said.... He had to sit there and read the news, hopefully without too many of the listeners noticing anything strange.  This, to me, said so much about Rory the man - a wicked sense of humour wrapped up in a towering professionalism.  Come rain, wind or James Naughtie - the news must get through.

The Rory I knew loved a good laugh, a good gossip and a good cup of tea. He was a radioman, through and through. I admired his skills and aspired to his professionalism.  

He is gone too soon – and will never be forgotten.

Rory, you have left us with an under-run that no one will ever be able to fill.

Thank you.

[Steve Doherty]
[18 June 2014]