In times of struggle, the British buy cars

It's not a rational response to economic hardship, but it is a British one.

The UK car industry has in the past been associated with British Leyland’s unreliability, emptying factory floors and rusting scrap yards. It is now the most unlikely, but welcome, source of continuous good news in the post-2008 economy.

As the recession trudges on it’s become an accepted wisdom that consumers will not spend on luxuries, they will avoid large expense and they are not confident enough to invest in long term products. It seems a stretch to imagine that in a recession the car industry would remain buoyant; surely, it’s pure fantasy to say that it would do well?

There were early signs that the car industry held hope for consumers, GDP-watchers and policy makers alike. When the Labour government launched a car scrappage scheme in March 2009 car sales increased beyond expectations. Up to 400,000 cars, each around 27 per cent more efficient than its scrapped counterpart, were sold as a result of the scheme. The policy will go down in records as one of the most successful of the stimulus policies following the 2008 crash.

When that stimulus was taken away wouldn’t the car industry, which was already in decline before the crash, lose business? Maybe in the short term, but in the long term the good news has continued. Foreign companies have chosen to invest in production at plants in Sunderland, Ellesmere Port and Halewood. The first quarter of 2012 became the first time since 1976 that motor exports exceeded motor imports. With models like the Land Rover Freelander, the Vauxhall Astra and the Nissan Qashqai now built in the UK, the car manufacturing industry is now among the most viable and important in the UK.

British people aren’t buying cars in the middle of a recession, are they? Yes. They really are. In the year from July 2011 to July 2012, new car sales increased by 10.5 per cent even as we slipped back into recession. With their much welcomed GDP boosting powers this increase does not look like it is stopping.

On 1st September, when the new “62” registration plate is released, over 165,000 new cars will make their way from forecourts to the UK’s roads. This week Vertu Motors, a top ten UK motor retailer, released research which estimates that these sales will be worth in the region of £500m to the treasury in VAT alone, and an additional £20m in road tax.

Boosts in sales are not only good for the UK’s GDP, but for the budget too. New models are more carbon efficient than ever before, passing on benefits to consumers and relative improvements for the environment too.

In trying times, when all that we are given are negative stories and confidence is low, we can find a surprising and much needed boost for UK consumers and manufacturers in high cost luxury goods.

In times of struggle, the British buy cars. Go figure.

Cars pile up in a scrapyard as they're replaced with newer models. Photograph: Getty Images

Helen Robb reads PPE at Oxford University where she is deputy editor of ISIS magazine.

Show Hide image

What it’s like to fall victim to the Mail Online’s aggregation machine

I recently travelled to Iraq at my own expense to write a piece about war graves. Within five hours of the story's publication by the Times, huge chunks of it appeared on Mail Online – under someone else's byline.

I recently returned from a trip to Iraq, and wrote an article for the Times on the desecration of Commonwealth war cemeteries in the southern cities of Amara and Basra. It appeared in Monday’s paper, and began:

“‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the engraving reads, but the words ring hollow. The stone on which they appear lies shattered in a foreign field that should forever be England, but patently is anything but.”

By 6am, less than five hours after the Times put it online, a remarkably similar story had appeared on Mail Online, the world’s biggest and most successful English-language website with 200 million unique visitors a month.

It began: “Despite being etched with the immortal line: ‘Their name liveth for evermore’, the truth could not be further from the sentiment for the memorials in the Commonwealth War Cemetery in Amara.”

The article ran under the byline of someone called Euan McLelland, who describes himself on his personal website as a “driven, proactive and reliable multi-media reporter”. Alas, he was not driven or proactive enough to visit Iraq himself. His story was lifted straight from mine – every fact, every quote, every observation, the only significant difference being the introduction of a few errors and some lyrical flights of fancy. McLelland’s journalistic research extended to discovering the name of a Victoria Cross winner buried in one of the cemeteries – then getting it wrong.

Within the trade, lifting quotes and other material without proper acknowledgement is called plagiarism. In the wider world it is called theft. As a freelance, I had financed my trip to Iraq (though I should eventually recoup my expenses of nearly £1,000). I had arranged a guide and transport. I had expended considerable time and energy on the travel and research, and had taken the risk of visiting a notoriously unstable country. Yet McLelland had seen fit not only to filch my work but put his name on it. In doing so, he also precluded the possibility of me selling the story to any other publication.

I’m being unfair, of course. McLelland is merely a lackey. His job is to repackage and regurgitate. He has no time to do what proper journalists do – investigate, find things out, speak to real people, check facts. As the astute media blog SubScribe pointed out, on the same day that he “exposed” the state of Iraq’s cemeteries McLelland also wrote stories about the junior doctors’ strike, British special forces fighting Isis in Iraq, a policeman’s killer enjoying supervised outings from prison, methods of teaching children to read, the development of odourless garlic, a book by Lee Rigby’s mother serialised in the rival Mirror, and Michael Gove’s warning of an immigration free-for-all if Britain brexits. That’s some workload.

Last year James King published a damning insider’s account of working at Mail Online for the website Gawker. “I saw basic journalism standards and ethics casually and routinely ignored. I saw other publications’ work lifted wholesale. I watched editors...publish information they knew to be inaccurate,” he wrote. “The Mail’s editorial model depends on little more than dishonesty, theft of copyrighted material, and sensationalism so absurd that it crosses into fabrication.”

Mail Online strenuously denied the charges, but there is plenty of evidence to support them. In 2014, for example, it was famously forced to apologise to George Clooney for publishing what the actor described as a bogus, baseless and “premeditated lie” about his future mother-in-law opposing his marriage to Amal Alamuddin.

That same year it had to pay a “sizeable amount” to a freelance journalist named Jonathan Krohn for stealing his exclusive account in the Sunday Telegraph of being besieged with the Yazidis on northern Iraq’s Mount Sinjar by Islamic State fighters. It had to compensate another freelance, Ali Kefford, for ripping off her exclusive interview for the Mirror with Sarah West, the first female commander of a Navy warship.

Incensed by the theft of my own story, I emailed Martin Clarke, publisher of Mail Online, attaching an invoice for several hundred pounds. I heard nothing, so emailed McLelland to ask if he intended to pay me for using my work. Again I heard nothing, so I posted both emails on Facebook and Twitter.

I was astonished by the support I received, especially from my fellow journalists, some of them household names, including several victims of Mail Online themselves. They clearly loathed the website and the way it tarnishes and debases their profession. “Keep pestering and shaming them till you get a response,” one urged me. Take legal action, others exhorted me. “Could a groundswell from working journalists develop into a concerted effort to stop the theft?” SubScribe asked hopefully.

Then, as pressure from social media grew, Mail Online capitulated. Scott Langham, its deputy managing editor, emailed to say it would pay my invoice – but “with no admission of liability”. He even asked if it could keep the offending article up online, only with my byline instead of McLelland’s. I declined that generous offer and demanded its removal.

When I announced my little victory on Facebook some journalistic colleagues expressed disappointment, not satisfaction. They had hoped this would be a test case, they said. They wanted Mail Online’s brand of “journalism” exposed for what it is. “I was spoiling for a long war of attrition,” one well-known television correspondent lamented. Instead, they complained, a website widely seen as the model for future online journalism had simply bought off yet another of its victims.