union help


One man and his bag


When Graeme Anderson quit a job for an uncertain future, some NUJ merch did some heavy lifting for him


F


irst of all, I don’t want to come across as weird – I’m aware an obituary for a bag might look a bit OTT.


We learn early on to value people, objects less so. And that’s how it should be. But I was not prepared for the emotional wrench I felt when disposing of something that had been with me for almost as long as my 16-year-old daughter. (Not that there’s a comparison, I hasten to add – I’m keeping the daughter.) A little context, though, might


help explain. I took voluntary redundancy from


the Sunderland Echo in 2014 at the age of 50, leaving as a man without a plan. I’d worked for the paper for more than a quarter of a century, the last 15 as a football writer covering Sunderland Football Club, arguably the most high-profile job on the paper with a football-mad circulation. I probably had underestimated how


much my personal identity was tied up with the role and the paper. What to do next? I still had little clue when I chaired a meeting of the Sunderland, Shields and Hartlepool branch of the NUJ and our guest, the indefatigable Chris Morley, senior organiser for the North and Midlands, surprised me with a freebie – a beautifully tailored shoulder bag, all pristine and still in its wrapping. It became an indispensable part of


my new work ensemble. I took up business networking – something that seemed completely alien until I realised journalists do it all


08 | theJournalist


the time, only they’re selling their paper when they do it, not themselves. In countless networking meetings, the bag gave me a degree of confidence – it was a more visible version of an NUJ press card, and a reminder that, while I may no longer work for a paper, I was still a journalist. Over the years, I built up a living as a freelance writer who also provided PR support to local businesses. The bag did a lot of work for me. Reporters who met me when I was acting as a PR would see it and recognise me as one of their own. Potential clients would be quietly impressed at its understated assertion that they were dealing with a professional journalist. I ought to mention that the bag itself


was perfect for a hybrid reporter/ businessman – it had lots of sections for pens and pencils, laptop, phone, papers, files and essentials. In all of those times, I always felt


good walking into a meeting with it. Once, it even helped me with a job.


I was on a press call and received the red-carpet treatment from the organiser, who later revealed he was a passionate TUC man and that, when he saw my bag, he’d put me at the front of the queue. Fast forward to today and I’ve finally accepted that my days as a newspaper reporter are ancient history. I’m still a journalist, though. I work three days a week for the Local Storytelling Exchange, a national organisation of journalists building support for a rapid and fair green


transition. We highlight everyday people, organisations and companies working to create a safer, more sustainable planet. The rest of my time is spent in PR for long-term clients.


The bag was a more visible version of an NUJ press card, Graeme Anderson found


Life has as much certainty as I’m


ever likely to have and, as is the nature of things as time moves on, I recently accepted that it was time for my NUJ bag to go. Scuffed and tatty, finally, fatally, it had


“


developed several holes through which pens, cards and other accoutrements could make unscheduled exits. Last year, I rang Chris to see if a replacement was possible. I was even prepared to pay for it. Unfortunately, they had been discontinued and are all gone. But it was only when preparing to bin it that I realised I was throwing away a piece of my life that bridged all the years back to my Echo days. It might have been a freebie but it


had been priceless to me. A shield against the world as I sought


The press call organiser was a passionate TUC man and, when he saw my bag, he put me at the front of the queue


out a new life. Today, I have a fabulous shoulder bag, all brass buckles and soft, brown goat leather. A new bag for a new era. But it’s not the same, and I didn’t


want to let the moment pass without tipping my hat to the constant companion that followed me everywhere for a substantial chunk of my working life and always provided me with confidence and reassurance. Cheers for the gift, Chris, a reminder


that it’s often the small things we do in life that make big differences to others.


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