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It was 30 June 1938, John Reith's last night as the founding director general of the BBC. There was no dinner, no ceremony. He had forbidden staff contributions towards a present and vetoed speeches. Instead, with a couple of colleagues, he drove up to the Midlands, to the high-power transmitter at Droitwich. He fulfilled the nightly task of shutting down one of its oil engines with his own hands – with his engineer's training, no one had to show him how to do it. Then he went on to Daventry, to the other great transmitter, which he had inaugurated a dozen years before. As night faded to dawn, he watched as the mast lights dimmed.	It was 30 June 1938, John Reith's last night as the founding director general of the BBC. There was no dinner, no ceremony. He had forbidden staff contributions towards a present and vetoed speeches. Instead, with a couple of colleagues, he drove up to the Midlands, to the high-power transmitter at Droitwich. He fulfilled the nightly task of shutting down one of its oil engines with his own hands – with his engineer's training, no one had to show him how to do it. Then he went on to Daventry, to the other great transmitter, which he had inaugurated a dozen years before. As night faded to dawn, he watched as the mast lights dimmed.
"A new day was breaking for Daventry and the BBC. In it I was nothing and nobody to Daventry and the BBC," he recalled in his memoir. Then he drove back to Broadcasting House, arriving at 6.45am. His diary records: "Went to my room to collect the last of my gear and that's the end of that." The flatness of it all is somehow unbearable.	"A new day was breaking for Daventry and the BBC. In it I was nothing and nobody to Daventry and the BBC," he recalled in his memoir. Then he drove back to Broadcasting House, arriving at 6.45am. His diary records: "Went to my room to collect the last of my gear and that's the end of that." The flatness of it all is somehow unbearable.
He left the BBC in a mood of frustration, convinced he had not been fully stretched, clear in his view that television was a waste of time. (He called the opening night of the service in 1936 "a ridiculous affair … I was infuriated by the stuff they put out".) He went on to run another youthful projector of the glories of the British empire, Imperial Airways, and longed for a task of great responsibility during the war, but he believed Winston Churchill's hostility – they had fallen out over the BBC's coverage of the General Strike – stunted his career.	He left the BBC in a mood of frustration, convinced he had not been fully stretched, clear in his view that television was a waste of time. (He called the opening night of the service in 1936 "a ridiculous affair … I was infuriated by the stuff they put out".) He went on to run another youthful projector of the glories of the British empire, Imperial Airways, and longed for a task of great responsibility during the war, but he believed Winston Churchill's hostility – they had fallen out over the BBC's coverage of the General Strike – stunted his career.
Being director general of the BBC rarely ends well, even when there has not been an execution, as in the case of George Entwistle (resigned in 2012 after 54 days), Greg Dyke (forced out in 2004 after clashing with the Labour government) and Alasdair Milne (cast out in 1987 by the Thatcher-appointed Marmaduke Hussey). For those who have left as younger men, it has been hard to find their career's second act: like being prime minister, nothing quite equals it.	Being director general of the BBC rarely ends well, even when there has not been an execution, as in the case of George Entwistle (resigned in 2012 after 54 days), Greg Dyke (forced out in 2004 after clashing with the Labour government) and Alasdair Milne (cast out in 1987 by the Thatcher-appointed Marmaduke Hussey). For those who have left as younger men, it has been hard to find their career's second act: like being prime minister, nothing quite equals it.
Dyke left surrounded by his own news crews and employees waving "save Greg" placards, finding out, or so he imagined, "what it was like to be an American presidential candidate or Madonna". John Birt (director general 1992-2000) wrote in his memoir that when he re-entered ordinary life, "I had to learn how to use a cash machine, how to cope with the horrors of helplines, how to navigate London by bus and tube". Entwistle, the Lady Jane Grey of the dynasty, announced his resignation while standing outside New Broadcasting House, just as he had done when he was proclaimed DG. He spoke in a clear but somehow faintly disconnected fashion, as if reading the lines of a play: "… I have decided that the honourable thing to do is to step down from the post of director general." He then collected his overcoat and went home to his son's 18th birthday.	Dyke left surrounded by his own news crews and employees waving "save Greg" placards, finding out, or so he imagined, "what it was like to be an American presidential candidate or Madonna". John Birt (director general 1992-2000) wrote in his memoir that when he re-entered ordinary life, "I had to learn how to use a cash machine, how to cope with the horrors of helplines, how to navigate London by bus and tube". Entwistle, the Lady Jane Grey of the dynasty, announced his resignation while standing outside New Broadcasting House, just as he had done when he was proclaimed DG. He spoke in a clear but somehow faintly disconnected fashion, as if reading the lines of a play: "… I have decided that the honourable thing to do is to step down from the post of director general." He then collected his overcoat and went home to his son's 18th birthday.
Since the BBC's beginnings in 1922 the 16 directors general – and all the broadcaster's chairs – have been men. Reith is the longest serving; none has managed more than his 16 years (by contrast, there have been only 10 editors of the Guardian since 1821). Bright boys, from solidly middle-class or aspirant working-class backgrounds, good grammar schools, academically successful: that has been the prevailing pattern. Tony Hall the current DG (since 2013), is absolutely typical: the son of a Birkenhead bank manager, he studied politics, philosophy and economics at Oxford. The BBC has always been the natural home of the meritocratic middlefolk of Britain, rather than the upper classes. Reith himself, though a son of the manse, was not deemed suitable material for university and resented it. In his autobiography he described his engineer's apprenticeship tersely: "For four and a half years rising at 4.45am, travelling from the west to the east end of Glasgow, a 56-hour week in the locomotive shops. For much of the time evening classes from 7pm to 10pm." His austere gaze was schooled there. "When I presented myself at the shops it was with a ferocity of countenance designed to advertise a nemo me impune lacessit [nobody harms me with impunity] admonition."	Since the BBC's beginnings in 1922 the 16 directors general – and all the broadcaster's chairs – have been men. Reith is the longest serving; none has managed more than his 16 years (by contrast, there have been only 10 editors of the Guardian since 1821). Bright boys, from solidly middle-class or aspirant working-class backgrounds, good grammar schools, academically successful: that has been the prevailing pattern. Tony Hall the current DG (since 2013), is absolutely typical: the son of a Birkenhead bank manager, he studied politics, philosophy and economics at Oxford. The BBC has always been the natural home of the meritocratic middlefolk of Britain, rather than the upper classes. Reith himself, though a son of the manse, was not deemed suitable material for university and resented it. In his autobiography he described his engineer's apprenticeship tersely: "For four and a half years rising at 4.45am, travelling from the west to the east end of Glasgow, a 56-hour week in the locomotive shops. For much of the time evening classes from 7pm to 10pm." His austere gaze was schooled there. "When I presented myself at the shops it was with a ferocity of countenance designed to advertise a nemo me impune lacessit [nobody harms me with impunity] admonition."
Directors general are often defined against the labels attached to their predecessor. Therefore Michael Checkland (1987-92) was importantly an accountant and not a programme maker, as Milne was characterised as a brilliant programme maker who had not understood money. Birt was marked as the outsider who could shake it up and reform it, drag it forth from its complacent ways. Dyke (2000-04), though another outsider, was seen as warm-hearted and egalitarian,"full of emotional and spiritual generosity", according to Mark Damazer, who was deputy head of news under him; the man with the human touch to soothe the wounds caused by Birt's machete slashes through the corporation.	Directors general are often defined against the labels attached to their predecessor. Therefore Michael Checkland (1987-92) was importantly an accountant and not a programme maker, as Milne was characterised as a brilliant programme maker who had not understood money. Birt was marked as the outsider who could shake it up and reform it, drag it forth from its complacent ways. Dyke (2000-04), though another outsider, was seen as warm-hearted and egalitarian,"full of emotional and spiritual generosity", according to Mark Damazer, who was deputy head of news under him; the man with the human touch to soothe the wounds caused by Birt's machete slashes through the corporation.
According to Sir Christopher Bland, the chair of the BBC in the last days of Birt and the appointer of Dyke: "One's a roundhead and one's a cavalier. If you could clone the right characteristics of both of them you'd wind up with the perfect director general."	According to Sir Christopher Bland, the chair of the BBC in the last days of Birt and the appointer of Dyke: "One's a roundhead and one's a cavalier. If you could clone the right characteristics of both of them you'd wind up with the perfect director general."
Mark Thompson (2004-12) was clever, strategic and thick-skinned. Entwistle was, according to Professor Jean Seaton, the BBC's official historian, "chosen incredibly particularly to not be a grand planner, to be a man that came in on the tube, to be straightforward, to be creative". And where Entwistle – at least with the benefit of hindsight – is seen to have been lacking in experience, the present DG, Hall, is the old hand – unbesmirched by the latest crisis, but a battle-worn BBC man to the bone, having worked his way through the corporation over 30 years, from trainee to director of news. At the same time, having worked at the Royal Opera House for a decade, Hall is deemed capable of understanding what the BBC projects of itself to those outside the citadel.	Mark Thompson (2004-12) was clever, strategic and thick-skinned. Entwistle was, according to Professor Jean Seaton, the BBC's official historian, "chosen incredibly particularly to not be a grand planner, to be a man that came in on the tube, to be straightforward, to be creative". And where Entwistle – at least with the benefit of hindsight – is seen to have been lacking in experience, the present DG, Hall, is the old hand – unbesmirched by the latest crisis, but a battle-worn BBC man to the bone, having worked his way through the corporation over 30 years, from trainee to director of news. At the same time, having worked at the Royal Opera House for a decade, Hall is deemed capable of understanding what the BBC projects of itself to those outside the citadel.
Like the aristocrats of ancient Rome, who revered the imagines maiorum, the wax masks of their forefathers that hung in the atria of their mansions, directors general need to invoke the right ancestor figures. (As it happens, the great array of DG portraits in the council chamber at Broadcasting House – now complete up to Greg Dyke though missing the wartime leaders – has been removed, but Hall says he would like to reinstate them.) There were many BBC old hands who glanced back at the control and order of Birt's regime with a certain wistfulness, from the ruins of Entwistle's; James Purnell (once head of BBC corporate planning under Birt, then Labour culture secretary, now back at the BBC as head of digital and strategy) conjured Birt's shade: "We have been here before," he wrote in the Financial Times in 2012, referring to the embattled BBC of the late-1980s. "The BBC was saved by Lord Birt's boldness."	Like the aristocrats of ancient Rome, who revered the imagines maiorum, the wax masks of their forefathers that hung in the atria of their mansions, directors general need to invoke the right ancestor figures. (As it happens, the great array of DG portraits in the council chamber at Broadcasting House – now complete up to Greg Dyke though missing the wartime leaders – has been removed, but Hall says he would like to reinstate them.) There were many BBC old hands who glanced back at the control and order of Birt's regime with a certain wistfulness, from the ruins of Entwistle's; James Purnell (once head of BBC corporate planning under Birt, then Labour culture secretary, now back at the BBC as head of digital and strategy) conjured Birt's shade: "We have been here before," he wrote in the Financial Times in 2012, referring to the embattled BBC of the late-1980s. "The BBC was saved by Lord Birt's boldness."
Looking back over 90 years, it is Reith and Birt who loom largest as the BBC's ancestral spirits. Reith, the founding father, built it up from 36,000 licences to 8.7m and from four employees to 4,000, forging the ideals at its heart. Birt wrestled it into a post-Thatcherite shape, creating new financial controls, setting the digital strategy in train, and tightening journalistic controls in the news operation.	Looking back over 90 years, it is Reith and Birt who loom largest as the BBC's ancestral spirits. Reith, the founding father, built it up from 36,000 licences to 8.7m and from four employees to 4,000, forging the ideals at its heart. Birt wrestled it into a post-Thatcherite shape, creating new financial controls, setting the digital strategy in train, and tightening journalistic controls in the news operation.
Both trained as engineers. Both have lent words to the English language, neither – like their inheritances – unambiguous: "Reithian" conveys all that is lofty in broadcasting, but comes with an atmosphere of puritanism and paternalism, of Auntie-Beeb-knows-best; "Birtism", notwithstanding its rehabilitation as an idea, with its overtones of control and strategic farsightedness, suggests almost totalitarian levels of managerialism. Cognates include Birtspeak (convoluted workplace jargon, often expressed by "croak-voiced Daleks", as the writer Dennis Potter memorably described Birt and Hussey), and Birtistas, the cadre of loyal shock-troops.	Both trained as engineers. Both have lent words to the English language, neither – like their inheritances – unambiguous: "Reithian" conveys all that is lofty in broadcasting, but comes with an atmosphere of puritanism and paternalism, of Auntie-Beeb-knows-best; "Birtism", notwithstanding its rehabilitation as an idea, with its overtones of control and strategic farsightedness, suggests almost totalitarian levels of managerialism. Cognates include Birtspeak (convoluted workplace jargon, often expressed by "croak-voiced Daleks", as the writer Dennis Potter memorably described Birt and Hussey), and Birtistas, the cadre of loyal shock-troops.
It was Reith's great achievement to shape the pragmatic decisions that went into the creation of the BBC into an ideology, which he outlined in 1924 in his book Broadcast Over Britain.	It was Reith's great achievement to shape the pragmatic decisions that went into the creation of the BBC into an ideology, which he outlined in 1924 in his book Broadcast Over Britain.
The BBC's powers as an educative tool were sketched out ("to have exploited so great a scientific invention for the purpose and pursuit of 'entertainment' alone would have been a prostitution of its powers and an insult to the character and intelligence of the people"). It was activated as an equalising, democratic force: "It carries direct information on a hundred subjects to innumerable men and women who will after a short time be in a position to make up their own minds on many matters of vital moment." (Reith importantly invoked women, newly enfranchised.)	The BBC's powers as an educative tool were sketched out ("to have exploited so great a scientific invention for the purpose and pursuit of 'entertainment' alone would have been a prostitution of its powers and an insult to the character and intelligence of the people"). It was activated as an equalising, democratic force: "It carries direct information on a hundred subjects to innumerable men and women who will after a short time be in a position to make up their own minds on many matters of vital moment." (Reith importantly invoked women, newly enfranchised.)
"The whole service … may be taken as the expression of a new and better relationship between man and man," he wrote, a wonderfully hopeful thing to say. Its purpose was, he declared, to carry "the best of everything into the greatest number of homes". This ringing statement has been refined and rethought over the years – as in Huw Wheldon's famous chiasmus about making the good popular and the popular good. As a founding idea, it lies deep in the BBC's psyche. Hall himself referred to it in his first speech as DG in October 2013. "At the core of the BBC's role is something very simple, very democratic and very important – to bring the best to everyone," he said.	"The whole service … may be taken as the expression of a new and better relationship between man and man," he wrote, a wonderfully hopeful thing to say. Its purpose was, he declared, to carry "the best of everything into the greatest number of homes". This ringing statement has been refined and rethought over the years – as in Huw Wheldon's famous chiasmus about making the good popular and the popular good. As a founding idea, it lies deep in the BBC's psyche. Hall himself referred to it in his first speech as DG in October 2013. "At the core of the BBC's role is something very simple, very democratic and very important – to bring the best to everyone," he said.
Reith was a complex person: as a father he was distant; as an employer, terrifying. Richard Lambert, the first editor of the Listener, recalled that when one met him in the corridor, "he would look through you … like a dowager duchess meeting a chimney sweep in her boudoir". Whenever he received a summons to Reith's office, "I had to go apart for a minute in order to control my heartbeats and allow the mist which rose up in my brain to clear away". Once inside, there was a strict hierarchy of spatial arrangements: "a hard solitary chair for nobodies, or offenders; an upholstered armchair for senior subordinates or persons of standing; and a sofa, reserved for high dignitaries, or for individuals whom the interviewer wished to impress by close personal proximity". When interviewed for his job by Reith, wrote Lambert, the first question was: "Do you accept the fundamental teachings of Jesus Christ?" (Lambert made appropriate and unspecific noises.) Reith, all 6ft 6in of him, strode about his office as he conducted the conversation.	Reith was a complex person: as a father he was distant; as an employer, terrifying. Richard Lambert, the first editor of the Listener, recalled that when one met him in the corridor, "he would look through you … like a dowager duchess meeting a chimney sweep in her boudoir". Whenever he received a summons to Reith's office, "I had to go apart for a minute in order to control my heartbeats and allow the mist which rose up in my brain to clear away". Once inside, there was a strict hierarchy of spatial arrangements: "a hard solitary chair for nobodies, or offenders; an upholstered armchair for senior subordinates or persons of standing; and a sofa, reserved for high dignitaries, or for individuals whom the interviewer wished to impress by close personal proximity". When interviewed for his job by Reith, wrote Lambert, the first question was: "Do you accept the fundamental teachings of Jesus Christ?" (Lambert made appropriate and unspecific noises.) Reith, all 6ft 6in of him, strode about his office as he conducted the conversation.
"He reminded me somehow of a giant bird, moving restlessly and jerkily on its perch," recalled Lambert. Like many in the 1930s, Reith had a weakness for a strong, continental leader. In November 1935, Reith noted telling Guglielmo Marconi that "I had always admired Mussolini immensely and I had constantly hailed him as the outstanding example of accomplishing high democratic purpose by means which, though not democratic, were the only possible ones".	"He reminded me somehow of a giant bird, moving restlessly and jerkily on its perch," recalled Lambert. Like many in the 1930s, Reith had a weakness for a strong, continental leader. In November 1935, Reith noted telling Guglielmo Marconi that "I had always admired Mussolini immensely and I had constantly hailed him as the outstanding example of accomplishing high democratic purpose by means which, though not democratic, were the only possible ones".
I arranged to meet Lord Birt in the House of Lords. When he met me at the peers' entrance I was momentarily flustered – a tall man, he none the less seemed to materialise silently behind me – and when, after walking a great distance through the corridors of the Lords, we reached the room he had reserved, a resplendent chamber decked in elaborate Pugin wallpaper, I realised I could not find my digital recorder. Birt politely but firmly instructed me: "Be systematic. Empty your handbag." He may as well have asked me to remove my clothes as turn out that intimate cavern of scuffed paperbacks, topless Biros, dubious tissues and worse. But it struck me that this is precisely the approach he has adopted in professional life; and if it seems a bathetically domestic analogy, then he himself in his own memoir twice describes his work at London Weekend Television (LWT) – where he worked before the BBC – as "tidying the drawer".	I arranged to meet Lord Birt in the House of Lords. When he met me at the peers' entrance I was momentarily flustered – a tall man, he none the less seemed to materialise silently behind me – and when, after walking a great distance through the corridors of the Lords, we reached the room he had reserved, a resplendent chamber decked in elaborate Pugin wallpaper, I realised I could not find my digital recorder. Birt politely but firmly instructed me: "Be systematic. Empty your handbag." He may as well have asked me to remove my clothes as turn out that intimate cavern of scuffed paperbacks, topless Biros, dubious tissues and worse. But it struck me that this is precisely the approach he has adopted in professional life; and if it seems a bathetically domestic analogy, then he himself in his own memoir twice describes his work at London Weekend Television (LWT) – where he worked before the BBC – as "tidying the drawer".
Birt was born into a working-class family in 1944 and raised in Bootle and Formby; his memoir describes a world of whippets and terriers, football and redtops, polished doorknobs and scrubbed front doorsteps. He was educated a Catholic, was a bouncer at an early Beatles concert, and was the first member of his family to study at university when he went up to Oxford in 1963.	Birt was born into a working-class family in 1944 and raised in Bootle and Formby; his memoir describes a world of whippets and terriers, football and redtops, polished doorknobs and scrubbed front doorsteps. He was educated a Catholic, was a bouncer at an early Beatles concert, and was the first member of his family to study at university when he went up to Oxford in 1963.
He fell in love with a glamorous American art student who would become his wife, and made an experimental film called The Little Donkey – in which a young man, having been taunted by various (by turns) vampish and virginal woman, turns into a toy donkey when a girl begins to touch him. After Oxford, he became a trainee at Granada; at 22 he persuaded Mick Jagger, fresh from the quashing of a drug conviction, to be flown by helicopter into the grounds of a stately home to join a World In Action discussion about youth culture with a row of besuited establishment figures.	He fell in love with a glamorous American art student who would become his wife, and made an experimental film called The Little Donkey – in which a young man, having been taunted by various (by turns) vampish and virginal woman, turns into a toy donkey when a girl begins to touch him. After Oxford, he became a trainee at Granada; at 22 he persuaded Mick Jagger, fresh from the quashing of a drug conviction, to be flown by helicopter into the grounds of a stately home to join a World In Action discussion about youth culture with a row of besuited establishment figures.
He moved to LWT and rose through the ranks, via its high-end current affairs programme Weekend World, to become director of programmes – having also taken leave to produce the famous Frost-Nixon interviews. A Labour man, he operated at LWT in a "war zone" that made him "hard-hearted about unionism", he recalled in his memoir. As he prepared to join the BBC, he had, he wrote, "become a convert to the value of markets, while maintaining a strong commitment to public service. I was hostile to vested interests. I had fostered my instinctive desire for reform and improvement, for tidying the drawer …"	He moved to LWT and rose through the ranks, via its high-end current affairs programme Weekend World, to become director of programmes – having also taken leave to produce the famous Frost-Nixon interviews. A Labour man, he operated at LWT in a "war zone" that made him "hard-hearted about unionism", he recalled in his memoir. As he prepared to join the BBC, he had, he wrote, "become a convert to the value of markets, while maintaining a strong commitment to public service. I was hostile to vested interests. I had fostered my instinctive desire for reform and improvement, for tidying the drawer …"
If the BBC is in some ways a metonym for Britain itself, Birt – who would end up as strategy adviser to Tony Blair and a crossbench peer – was now ready to put it through a bloody, Thatcher-tinged process of marketisation and reform. He was a kind of perfect personification of Blairism.	If the BBC is in some ways a metonym for Britain itself, Birt – who would end up as strategy adviser to Tony Blair and a crossbench peer – was now ready to put it through a bloody, Thatcher-tinged process of marketisation and reform. He was a kind of perfect personification of Blairism.
The stakes were high, Birt said. We were sitting at a dark-wood Gothic table. In front of him he precisely aligned his pen with a sheet of House of Lords writing paper. Politicians on both sides of the house "had the evidence of their own eyes" that there were efficiency problems: the crews that turned up to film them were vast, he said. "The BBC was wasting the public's money on a massive scale".	The stakes were high, Birt said. We were sitting at a dark-wood Gothic table. In front of him he precisely aligned his pen with a sheet of House of Lords writing paper. Politicians on both sides of the house "had the evidence of their own eyes" that there were efficiency problems: the crews that turned up to film them were vast, he said. "The BBC was wasting the public's money on a massive scale".
In his memoirs, he called the BBC "a vast organisation with no governing brain or nervous system, which had expanded and grown and multiplied organically … [it] was unmanaged and undisciplined in a way I would not, from the outside, have thought possible."	In his memoirs, he called the BBC "a vast organisation with no governing brain or nervous system, which had expanded and grown and multiplied organically … [it] was unmanaged and undisciplined in a way I would not, from the outside, have thought possible."
Most important, he told me, "the Tory right was on the march. Plainly we had a rarity: instead of having a government of the centre left or a centre right we had a government of the right, and there was a strong group of people on the right of the Conservative party who had real free-market conviction that the BBC was too dominant. There was nobody, as far I know, who ever wanted to abandon the BBC and see it disappear, but they did want to see it massively reduced in size. And they were a strong and confident government with a big majority."	Most important, he told me, "the Tory right was on the march. Plainly we had a rarity: instead of having a government of the centre left or a centre right we had a government of the right, and there was a strong group of people on the right of the Conservative party who had real free-market conviction that the BBC was too dominant. There was nobody, as far I know, who ever wanted to abandon the BBC and see it disappear, but they did want to see it massively reduced in size. And they were a strong and confident government with a big majority."
Margaret Thatcher, with her "huge capacity for work and fantastic intelligence network" was "really well informed and really interested in" the BBC – more so than John Major or Blair, he said. "Although I was subsequently to meet every prime minister, generally one-on-one, in No 10, she was the one who sought you out and wanted to have a dialogue and a debate with you," he added. He found her "radically minded, but by temperament much more cautious and careful than many of her advisers".	Margaret Thatcher, with her "huge capacity for work and fantastic intelligence network" was "really well informed and really interested in" the BBC – more so than John Major or Blair, he said. "Although I was subsequently to meet every prime minister, generally one-on-one, in No 10, she was the one who sought you out and wanted to have a dialogue and a debate with you," he added. He found her "radically minded, but by temperament much more cautious and careful than many of her advisers".
He continued: "I think what happened at the BBC made it easier for her not to do anything. In other words the introduction of Producer Choice [the BBC's internal market], the radicalism of that, the fact that 10,000 people left the BBC or were made redundant – plainly the BBC was taking efficiency seriously. That was only one of the things on her agenda – only one – but because one thing had been taken very seriously, I think that satisfied her radical urge."	He continued: "I think what happened at the BBC made it easier for her not to do anything. In other words the introduction of Producer Choice [the BBC's internal market], the radicalism of that, the fact that 10,000 people left the BBC or were made redundant – plainly the BBC was taking efficiency seriously. That was only one of the things on her agenda – only one – but because one thing had been taken very seriously, I think that satisfied her radical urge."
He added: "I'm not saying it was as devious and calculating as that makes it sound, but in general my view of such things is get ahead of the game. In other walks of life as well. Don't let things happen to you."	He added: "I'm not saying it was as devious and calculating as that makes it sound, but in general my view of such things is get ahead of the game. In other walks of life as well. Don't let things happen to you."
Birt remains a deeply divisive figure. He was the man who walked the corridors with a clipboard silently taking notes before presenting his finding in bullet-pointed presentations; the man who employed phalanxes of management consultants and swat teams of accountants; who commissioned paper after paper on every issue to which his gaze swerved. He presided over the rise of the focus group, of branding, of concept-pitching. In this way the internal travails of the BBC were a mirror for the times: similar changes were occurring in all parts of British life. Through Producer Choice the costs of many inhouse BBC services, such as the record library and pronunciation unit, were made plain to programme makers. Those units that did not offer value for money were allowed to wither. Costs were cut, and treasured outfits such as the BBC's radiophonic workshop – that radical locus for electronic music and experimental sound design – closed down.	Birt remains a deeply divisive figure. He was the man who walked the corridors with a clipboard silently taking notes before presenting his finding in bullet-pointed presentations; the man who employed phalanxes of management consultants and swat teams of accountants; who commissioned paper after paper on every issue to which his gaze swerved. He presided over the rise of the focus group, of branding, of concept-pitching. In this way the internal travails of the BBC were a mirror for the times: similar changes were occurring in all parts of British life. Through Producer Choice the costs of many inhouse BBC services, such as the record library and pronunciation unit, were made plain to programme makers. Those units that did not offer value for money were allowed to wither. Costs were cut, and treasured outfits such as the BBC's radiophonic workshop – that radical locus for electronic music and experimental sound design – closed down.
At the same time, the 1990 Broadcasting Act meant that 25% of programmes would have to be made by the independent sector. Producers left the corporation and sold back their programmes: Peter Bazalgette, who began as a BBC trainee and ended up chairman of the UK arm of the international production company Endemol, was given the popular show Food and Drink to make independently. New entrepreneurs forged small creative businesses that frequently became very big businesses, and fortunes were made. Often these production companies were eventually subsumed into the giant, international independents we know today. The BBC's culture – and the culture of the country – changed irreversibly.	At the same time, the 1990 Broadcasting Act meant that 25% of programmes would have to be made by the independent sector. Producers left the corporation and sold back their programmes: Peter Bazalgette, who began as a BBC trainee and ended up chairman of the UK arm of the international production company Endemol, was given the popular show Food and Drink to make independently. New entrepreneurs forged small creative businesses that frequently became very big businesses, and fortunes were made. Often these production companies were eventually subsumed into the giant, international independents we know today. The BBC's culture – and the culture of the country – changed irreversibly.
There are those who say Birt saved the BBC. One of his achievements was certainly an early embrace of the web and digital technologies. In 1999 he looked forward in a speech to a time when audiences would be able to watch TV from devices they could pull out of their pockets. Sir Christopher Bland, who is also the former chair of BT, said: "He is very determined. Very analytical. Good grasp of technology. Very good at handling the board of governors, at handling the interface of government and Whitehall. Thoroughly numerate. All of that."	There are those who say Birt saved the BBC. One of his achievements was certainly an early embrace of the web and digital technologies. In 1999 he looked forward in a speech to a time when audiences would be able to watch TV from devices they could pull out of their pockets. Sir Christopher Bland, who is also the former chair of BT, said: "He is very determined. Very analytical. Good grasp of technology. Very good at handling the board of governors, at handling the interface of government and Whitehall. Thoroughly numerate. All of that."
According to an old friend and colleague of Birt: "He has an amazing capacity to get to the bottom of things and to work out how the engine works. His ability to diagnose a situation and to identify the faultlines and the weaknesses in it is considerable. He will dig, dig, dig until he gets to the thing." The journalist and Labour peer Joan Bakewell said drily: "I've always thought he was very good at joining the pipes. He structured the BBC like a piece of central heating."	According to an old friend and colleague of Birt: "He has an amazing capacity to get to the bottom of things and to work out how the engine works. His ability to diagnose a situation and to identify the faultlines and the weaknesses in it is considerable. He will dig, dig, dig until he gets to the thing." The journalist and Labour peer Joan Bakewell said drily: "I've always thought he was very good at joining the pipes. He structured the BBC like a piece of central heating."
But there are plenty who believe that the BBC could have been reformed without Birt's approach of outpacing Thatcher – or, as he put it when we spoke, "drawing the sting". Sir John Tusa, who ran the World Service from 1986 to 1993 and then served as a newsreader in the mid-1990s, made a speech in 1993 in which he spoke of a "climate of fear" at the BBC: you were either for Birt's reforms or against; the ancien regime had been discredited in its entirety; morale was pitifully low.	But there are plenty who believe that the BBC could have been reformed without Birt's approach of outpacing Thatcher – or, as he put it when we spoke, "drawing the sting". Sir John Tusa, who ran the World Service from 1986 to 1993 and then served as a newsreader in the mid-1990s, made a speech in 1993 in which he spoke of a "climate of fear" at the BBC: you were either for Birt's reforms or against; the ancien regime had been discredited in its entirety; morale was pitifully low.
Remembering the period, he said: "It's incredibly dangerous to have somebody leading an organisation whose first starting point is that he disapproves of all the values of the organisation. It doesn't work, and it didn't work. People went into a sort of internal exile, or a state of internal resistance … I don't say that he was a totalitarian, but I think he had an absolutist cast of mind."	Remembering the period, he said: "It's incredibly dangerous to have somebody leading an organisation whose first starting point is that he disapproves of all the values of the organisation. It doesn't work, and it didn't work. People went into a sort of internal exile, or a state of internal resistance … I don't say that he was a totalitarian, but I think he had an absolutist cast of mind."
His inability to find the language to bring the BBC with him was his failing. Grade put it bluntly in his memoir: "More charm in the train announcer's voice at Victoria." Bland was kinder: "John was unlucky enough to be Olympian in his style. His great weakness is, was, that he could never embrace the people who make the BBC what it is and make them feel loved and valued.He just didn't have the knack, whereas Greg [Dyke] had it in spades."	His inability to find the language to bring the BBC with him was his failing. Grade put it bluntly in his memoir: "More charm in the train announcer's voice at Victoria." Bland was kinder: "John was unlucky enough to be Olympian in his style. His great weakness is, was, that he could never embrace the people who make the BBC what it is and make them feel loved and valued.He just didn't have the knack, whereas Greg [Dyke] had it in spades."
One former senior executive recalled: "There is a real dichotomy, because I think he was both a great DG and a disastrous manager. I think strategically he was remarkable. There's no doubt it, he dragged the BBC kicking and screaming into the late-20th century … I just don't think the BBC would have recognised the importance of digital without John." But by the end of Birt's reign, there was an almost expressionistic sense of research papers piling on top of research papers, said the executive: "He sometimes took far too long to take decisions, I mean to the extent that you would be tearing your hair out. So you'd do a paper on something and he'd say, 'That's a very good thing, now the next iteration …' What you wanted was a decision, whereas he wanted process, you had to constantly do this process of more and more evidence, more and more evidence."	One former senior executive recalled: "There is a real dichotomy, because I think he was both a great DG and a disastrous manager. I think strategically he was remarkable. There's no doubt it, he dragged the BBC kicking and screaming into the late-20th century … I just don't think the BBC would have recognised the importance of digital without John." But by the end of Birt's reign, there was an almost expressionistic sense of research papers piling on top of research papers, said the executive: "He sometimes took far too long to take decisions, I mean to the extent that you would be tearing your hair out. So you'd do a paper on something and he'd say, 'That's a very good thing, now the next iteration …' What you wanted was a decision, whereas he wanted process, you had to constantly do this process of more and more evidence, more and more evidence."
Hall is deeply schooled in Birtism. He was plucked from the ranks, aged 36, by the then deputy DG to serve directly under him as head of news and current affairs for the television service, becoming known as Birt's "head prefect". But he has also had a decade of creative reprogramming, at the Royal Opera House, which he joined as chief executive in 2001.	Hall is deeply schooled in Birtism. He was plucked from the ranks, aged 36, by the then deputy DG to serve directly under him as head of news and current affairs for the television service, becoming known as Birt's "head prefect". But he has also had a decade of creative reprogramming, at the Royal Opera House, which he joined as chief executive in 2001.
When we spoke about leadership, we discussed whether one person was capable of being at the head of the city-state that is the BBC – both as editor of that deluge of content, and its chief executive – or whether the role ought to be split. He pointed out the obvious fact that "you can't be across all the output". (Even the early DGs could barely have been, certainly once the Empire Service, the precursor of the World Service, got going in the 1930s.) "In extremis, being editor-in-chief means this runs or doesn't run," he said. But more generally "it means that you have to think about the quality of your drama, the quality of your music, the quality of your radio services, the quality of your local radio stations. That's how I take editor-in-chief. You are a one-person quality control."	When we spoke about leadership, we discussed whether one person was capable of being at the head of the city-state that is the BBC – both as editor of that deluge of content, and its chief executive – or whether the role ought to be split. He pointed out the obvious fact that "you can't be across all the output". (Even the early DGs could barely have been, certainly once the Empire Service, the precursor of the World Service, got going in the 1930s.) "In extremis, being editor-in-chief means this runs or doesn't run," he said. But more generally "it means that you have to think about the quality of your drama, the quality of your music, the quality of your radio services, the quality of your local radio stations. That's how I take editor-in-chief. You are a one-person quality control."