The sleeping Heathrow boss proves we're a nation led by donkeys

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a day ago

It was one of the more astonishing admissions of the week: 'Sorry lads, my phone was on silent.' Or, as the Kelly Review, published on Wednesday, put it: 'Mr Woldbye expressed to us his deep regret at not being contactable during the night of the incident.'
The apology nestles in a 75-page report authored by Ruth Kelly, the former transport secretary, who examined the circumstances relating to the closure of Heathrow Airport on March 21. It's an impressively speedy job, with most inquiries of this nature usually waiting for the protagonists to die – or, at best, until their memories have long faded and the events have been massaged into a Netflix documentary – to be concluded.
Yet here is a report published while the senior folk of one of the largest and busiest airports in Europe are still firmly in post, and clinging on for dear life – especially the chief executive, Thomas Woldbye.
Indeed he has been vexed at the idea that he acted in any way other than exemplary over the 18-hour shutdown of Heathrow that resulted in the cancellation of 1,300 flights and affected some 270,000 passengers. The day after the shutdown, the Danish businessman even told Emma Barnett on BBC Radio 4's Today programme that, in relation to the actions and decisions of Heathrow and related parties, he was 'proud of the entire ecosystem'.
Pride being the most plausible emotion for him to express because, when the decision was taken to press the Heathrow off-button, Woldbye was asleep.
Which for a Dane strikes me as a peculiarly British reaction, albeit with firm roots in the comedy of Captain Mainwaring of Dad's Army or Blackadder's General Melchett.
Our hero, Woldbye, as you can read on page 36 of the report (section 14, subsection 3), 'first became aware of the incident at approximately 06:45 on 21 March, and received a debrief from Mr Echave [Heathrow's chief operating officer]'.
'Fine work, man,' he might have said. 'Now, what's going on?'
And, famously, it was not for want of trying to get hold of Woldbye during the night. In fact, what is known in the trade as the most 'critical event communication platform that provides information and sends alerts through all available communication channels', an F24 alarm was issued at 00.21.
This is the technical equivalent of a cold bucket of water being thrown in your face, a gong being struck by your ear, a jumping up and down on Daddy at dawn. There was another F24 sent at 01.52, this one activating Gold (harder slaps around the chops, cries of 'wake up, you idiot!') and Echave, also we learn, 'attempted to call Mr Woldbye several times during the early hours'.
Except Woldbye's mobile, albeit on his bedside table, was on silent. Or, as the report states, 'the phone had gone into a silent mode, without him being aware it had done so'. That's right, the man in charge of Heathrow – an airport that uses the most sophisticated technology available to run and protect a place with planes departing and landing every 45 seconds – has a phone that, completely of its own accord, jumps into 'do not disturb' mode.
Perhaps the man whose most recent annual take-home pay was £3.2 million needs a second phone. Or how about an old-school landline with a trilling bell on it?
We Brits are, quite clearly, lions led by donkeys.
Incompetence seems key to the skill set in running either a large company or indeed government. There are, for example, the civil servants of the Department for Business and Trade who, in the face of colossal public pressure and moral finger-wagging, continue to resist fully compensating the likes of Sir Alan Bates for the Horizon IT system scandal. Last weekend he revealed that he had been offered a 'take it or leave it' offer of 49.2 per cent of his original claim. The compensation scheme, Sir Alan said, had become 'quasi-kangaroo courts in which the Department for Business and Trade sits in judgement of the claims and alters the goal posts as and when it chooses'.
Or, consider the major water companies presiding over the effluent that pollutes our rivers. Earlier this month, Chris Weston, the CEO of Thames Water – Britain's biggest water company; a firm with massive debts, outdated infrastructure and more leaks and spills than the Titanic – admitted that senior managers had been in line for substantial bonuses courtesy of a privately financed £3 billion rescue-plan loan. Following pressure from Environment Secretary Steve Reed, Weston's spokesperson then announced that payments had been 'paused'. Yet, as The Guardian reported, Thames Water 'declined to answer questions about whether any of the retention package has already been paid'.
High Court judge Mr Justice Leech, in relation to an £800 million cost to be spent on interest and advisers for the debt deal, said: 'Customers and residents who are struggling with their bills will be horrified at these costs and mystified how the Thames Water Group has been able to fund them or why it has agreed to do so.'
Ponder, too, on those who run Royal Mail, increasing prices while presiding over terminal decline of their services, and the pen-pushing ninnies of our councils conjuring up safety costs that are wrecking traditional country street fairs and festivals.
Indeed, just look to the politicians who run our country. We have a Chancellor in Rachel Reeves who claims to support hospitality while actually savaging it with increases in National Insurance Contributions for employers, and a Secretary of State for Education gleefully manifesting over a VAT policy that is closing down private schools.
Hapless leadership is a terrific subject for fiction. But, sometimes, life is not supposed to mimic art.
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