Hearing really awful audio is rare in local radio. Most sounds of screaming and disaster come from abroad, sent in neat 15” bursts by Sky. It’s not very nice to hear them through your headphones, again and again as you produce the various news bulletins, but it’s part of the job.
Every now and then, you’ll get some of your own. Perhaps someone crying over a death. It’s your job as a journalist to get the most powerful part of that audio and use it to tell their story. The hope is that all those people listening will stop for a few seconds and listen. Perhaps they won’t leave it so long to get that lump checked out, perhaps they’ll talk to their children about how they are never to swim in that quarry. You hope that what you do will do some good through those airwaves.
You keep hoping that as you isolate those few seconds where the father of the dead child breaks down, and you play it over and over, listening hard to that one sob:
Cut up to the nice clean first word of the sentence.
Take out that Um.
Can you cut from that S sound to that other S sound and take out that bit in the middle? Yes it flows perfectly. Nice.
Take out the pause? No, the silence adds gravity.
Take the tail off after the first sob? No the second.
Done.
I’ve forgotten most of the audio like this that I’ve done. You learn from each one, but you don’t remember it specifically. I don’t think my brain lets me, for me own good.
One noise that has stayed with me, and always will, is the Maria De Villota F1 crash at Duxford in Cambridgeshire.
I was at the BBC over there. The presenter had gone along to try and talk to her and or the team for his sports show. Also so his teenage son could tag along as a treat.
He arrived back, dumped the flashmic in my lap and told me he had been recording when it happened, he didn’t know what was on there, and he was going to sit somewhere quiet for a while and be a father to his son. Then he was gone.
The audio when it came up was a long mess of noises as cars whizzed around. Then came the sounds:
The car coming closer, slowing down almost to a stop, then a small acceleration, and a small, almost innocent, crunch. Shouting, running… “Someone get the f*****g ambulance”… and the scream. Her sister has been standing next to our presenter and her long howl of anguish spiked through me at high volume.
My editor behind me wanted to know if we could use the audio. This was a national story and time was pressing as we headed towards the hour. I handed her my headphones. She shook her head.
“Leave it with me.” I said.
I listened to it again.
Scrunch. Get the F’ing Ambulance. Scream.
It was no more than a few seconds long, but I could cut parts and fade out and then listened to it again:
Scrunch. Get the F’ing Ambulance. Scream.
…and then zoomed right in, and listened again:
Scrunch. Get the F’ing Ambulance. Scream.
…and clicked in exactly… the right… spot. Click.
My editor listened once more.
“Yep, flash it.”
It was done and out in to the wide world.
I’m really sorry to hear about the death of Maria. I never met her, I don’t know what she went through, and I can’t compare my having to listen to the crash to her living through it.
It’s a bit of audio that will always stay with me though.
Local News Ed 