It was Fisk, whose political and strategic views, even in those pre-Independent days, were far removed from Rupert Murdoch’s, who pointed out that whatever the disadvantages of the brash new Antipodean owner, he did at least have the ability to ensure that the paper appeared on the streets, rather than ending the night only in proof form because of one of the endless disputes with the printing unions.

But the downgrading of The Times to the role of just another paper in Murdoch’s ever-expanding stable of media acquisitions soon became clear during the short-lived and sorely missed editorship of the late Charles Douglas-Home. He was furious when he was described only as “one of Murdoch’s editors” in the caption to a photo in a Jerusalem paper of a propaganda trip organised for a Murdoch delegation by the Israeli Government. The diminishing of the paper’s stature had begun.

The fear engendered in the London offices by the impending arrival of Murdoch was legendary, leading to one managing editor covering his face in make-up to try to disguise the tan with which he had returned from a recent holiday. “Rupert doesn’t like to think of his executives sunning themselves,” he explained. “Just as he doesn’t like the thought that they may have been getting fat on his money.”

What senior Times journalists today describe as “the Rupert Factor” is seen as behind the decision to renege on former pledges to keep both broadsheet and tabloid editions of the paper running side by side, thus risking desertion by traditionalists, who not only dislike the shape of the socalled “compact” (the T-word was not permitted inside the Times building), but are also convinced that it contains less, and differently accentuated, material than the now defunct broadsheet.

The first hard evidence I noted about the elimination of broadsheet copy from the tabloid came when I looked for a media page article of about 800 words I had written about David Montgomery’s controversial takeover of the Belfast Newsletter. Not only had the whole piece mysteriously disappeared from the tabloid, but a column written by the then media editor Ray Snoddy (subsequently a victim of the staff cull) had also disappeared – in all about 1,500 words gone on two pages alone.

For editor Robert Thomson, the soon to be reneged-upon view that there was “no reason” to suppose the paper would not be publishing in both broadsheet and compact format in five years’ time resulted in as much personal animosity from disgruntled readers as did his original decision to experiment with the smaller format. But although, even as late October 29 last year, a company spokesman had dismissed as “nonsensical” rumours that the broadsheet would be dropped, Thomson offered no remorse, appearing only to seek assurances that, overall, circulation figures were on the up.

Some of the angry letters of protest that poured into Wapping inevitably found their way to Private Eye. According to a waspish article in the magazine based on the leaks, among the thousands of messages of protest that failed to make the august correspondence columns of the paper itself were the following:

“Dear Sir, The cant which punctuated your farewells to the traditional shape of The Times was reason enough for me to seek change after 40 years’ of devotion… You may gain new, younger readers. They will prove to be fickle compared to those of us who face the future with a sense of betrayal.”

“You talk of change in Saturday’s editorial... Well, time for me to change also, as I’m now off to The Daily Telegraph.”

“The useless piece written by Mr Thomson on Page 2 of Saturday’s Times does nothing to convince me that the compact edition is anything more than a useless attempt to imitate The Sun or Daily Sport. How long before you start a Page Three floozy?”

“In addition to the virtues you justly claim for The Times could have been added integrity. You have destroyed that by lying about a commitment of continuing to produce a broadsheet and the wretched compact.”

“As for the broadsheet not ‘fitting easily with hectic personal routines’, that is gobbledygook and sounds like tabloid journalism.”

“Is that what we are in for from now on? Downsizing and downgrading this great broadsheet newspaper into a tabloid (not ‘compact’ as you euphemistically term it) is an act of vandalism on your part, as yet another great institution is consigned to the rubbish heap of ‘modernisation’... After 50 years I have cancelled my order for your wretched little paper and I shall not be returning. Shame on you all.”

Inside the paper there were divisions between those who saw the commercial merits of the compact and those angered by the way in which size was dictating not only a shortening or even total disappearance of some important stories, but also a photo-led attitude towards news that was the antithesis of the seriousness of the old-style Times. But with former managing editor George Brock, one of the midwives of the tabloid (along with his successor, ex-Financial Times property correspondent Anne Spackman) already appointed to take over the stodgy and reader-unfriendly Saturday edition from the politically ambitious Michael Gove, the eventual conversion to full tabloid was seen internally as inevitable, despite the occasional protestations to the contrary designed to wrong-foot the new bosses at the rival Daily Telegraph.

Many readers had observed that long before the public arguments over size and format, the substance of what was going into The Times had eroded the gravitas for which it was once admired, if not always loved. As far-flung correspondents like myself had already found, it was a rule of thumb that the further one was in air miles from the dreary surroundings of Wapping – the London docklands HQ purchased by Murdoch – and the increasingly tabloid values of the new “compact”, the more likely was it that mention of The Times would still earn the respect that the name had once ensured.

The move down from the heavyweight to the welterweight division has arisen not only from the new emphasis on the trivial in the choice of stories, but also an aggravating habit by the home and foreign desks to demand that stories be tailored to suit the angle emerging from the morning and afternoon conferences. In a way that would have been unheard of at the old Times, story angles are often laid down by a handful of senior executives at the two main conferences and then passed to reporters and correspondents for them to stand up using their contacts, causing frequent resentment in the ranks.

Distaste for sex stories

As a man whose position is entirely dependent on Murdoch – to whom, because they both have a Chinese wife, he is unusually close – Thomson is regarded inside The Times as disastrously out of touch with modern British values, and over impressed with the early circulation boost. “He is an Aussie through and through who is totally unimpressed by charges of wrecking the authority of a paper once dutifully ironed daily for the Sovereign at Buckingham Palace,” said one senior Times reporter.

Royal views about the downsizing of the paper – which was seen in the 19th century as synonymous with Britain’s imperial power – have never been made public. But the Queen has rarely disguised in private her deep distrust of Murdoch’s republican sympathies and the way in which he is regarded, almost single handedly, to have vulgarised the British press. Once in the early 1980s, while covering a royal visit to the Hashemite Kingdom threatened by Palestinian terrorists (who bombed the British press hotel in the Jordanian capital, Amman), I was refused briefing about the visit by a senior British diplomat close to Buckingham Palace on the grounds that I was one of “Murdoch’s men”. Just as the anti-establishment side of Murdoch’s character must have revelled in the elevation of an Australian to editorship of The Times, turning the former “Top People’s Paper” tabloid is also reported by his senior lieutenants to have perfectly matched his commercial and his social instincts.

It still remains to be seen how long the ultra-secretive Barclay brothers, advised by former Sunday Times editor, Andrew Neil, one of Murdoch’s best-informed former sparring partners, will maintain The Daily Telegraph at a size at which it can hope to win over sufficient disgruntled Times readers (at one stage there were so many protests over the tabloid that Thomson delegated the job of dealing with them) or dust down for immediate action its own far-advanced tabloid plans. These were shelved during the difficult months during which the sale, prompted by the financial scandals surrounding previous Canadian owner Conrad Black and his big-spending wife Barbara Amiel, was being negotiated.

In a biting critique of the upheavals that heralded The Times transformation in his now defunct Evening Standard media column, Neil informed his readers: “No programme of redundancies is ever easy to implement – and I’ve had to do a few in my time – but there is unease at the strangely Kafkaesque approach to them [at The Times]. The word ‘redundancy’, voluntary or involuntary, has been banned. Production staff coaxed into leaving are called ‘assisted departures’, journalists being shown the door are known as ‘agreed departures.’ Nobody has been given a specific reason why they have been picked: Walker has told friends he still does not know why he is being forced to leave.”