Loveable Sloanie downs his final pint at 73

A FINE JOURNALIST: Peter Sloan

Peter Sloan, who over 40 years in Manchester and London earned the huge respect and affection of all who worked with him on The Mirror, Sunday Mirror, Sunday People, Daily Star and Mail has died after stoically enduring for months widespread cancer. He was one day short of his 74th birthday.

Sloanie, as he was universally known, was one of the finest all-round tabloid production journalists of his era, an age – now, as has been observed, as remote as the Byzantine Empire – when papers properly mattered to a readership who bought them in their millions. 

He was a professional of the old school with unerring judgment for the value of news, hard or soft, and how it should be projected. Whether masterminding the night’s production as a back bench executive or (what he loved best) subbing at the desk; whether handling a major news story under pressure or confecting a whimsical picture caption; hot metal or new tech, he brought the same scrupulous talents to the job. Allied to those skills was a mischievous Liverpudlian sense of humour, a warm appreciation of tabloid eccentricities, robust enjoyment of a less puritanical age, modesty and a complete absence of malice. As one colleague said: “He loved the job he did. And, in return, all who worked with him, loved him.”

Sloanie’s first job was on the Kirkby Reporter, followed by the Skelmersdale Reporter, then his beloved Wigan Post and Chronicle from where he moved to the Daily Mail in Manchester. In 1980, while shifting on the Mirror's northern edition, he was talent-spotted by Chief Sub Les Groves who offered him a full-time job. Delighted, he handed in his notice at the Mail and duly turned up a month later at the Mirror's Withy Grove offices. Unfortunately, Groves had failed to inform management of a new arrival and Peter had to casual for the next six months until a vacancy was found.

So apparent were his skills, he was soon standing in on the middle and back benches on the daily and Sunday.  In 1986, he was part of the team that produced in London the Mirror’s ill-fated Pink 'Un, a twice-weekly supplement dreamt up by a Maxwell acolyte to give "perceived added value" to the paper. Peter took huge pleasure in pointing out that the Page One strapline informing readers of “your amazing pink pullout’ was open to misinterpretation. It was immediately changed.

“The Pink" was doomed and Peter returned to Manchester where Maxwell was introducing new tech. Strangely, as he displayed no enthusiasm for such mysteries, Sloanie became a systems instructor, illuminating baffled London hacks sent north for training. After Maxwell closed the northern operation a couple of years later, Sloanie moved a few hundred yards up the road to join the Daily Star.

When northern production ended there, too, he moved with the Star to London, rising to Night Editor and frequently standing in as editor. Via the People, Peter later found his way back to his first love, the Mirror, and settled back for the rest of his career into what he loved best…subbing on the desk. He would prepare for the night ahead by reading all the day’s papers (and completing their cryptic crosswords) over a pint. Evenings were enlivened by exchanging stories and delighting company with his inexhaustible fund of colourful anecdotes in the bar of the North Pole, the Mirror’s old-style Docklands boozer.

Former Mirror Chief Sub Robin Porter, who joined the paper with Peter in Manchester in 1980, said: “Irrepressible, funny and never at a loss for the right word, he brought a touch of magic to everything he did. Colleagues were in awe of his sheer professionalism, good humour and instant grasp of any situation.”

Mirror sub Pat Welland remembers a "terrific operator and a great mate". He said: "I first met Sloanie in the mid-80s in Vagabonds, a Stygian late night haunt conveniently placed by a side-door to the Mirror and run by a defrocked rozzer. Here, Mirror and Express Newspapers hacks would gather to...er...discuss the great issues of the day after a gruelling night's toil. Very much a place to Sloanie's taste.

"After Peter returned to subbing on the Mirror, we would occasionally limber up together over a pint before work. He would by then have read himself in on what had appeared that day in the opposition. He was a magnificent tabloid all-rounder, as skilled on the back and middle as he was at subbing anything thrown at him. Funny, generous spirited and possessed of a wicked wit, he was completely without side. What you saw was what you got – and what you got was a lovely, talented bloke held in universal affection. He will be sorely missed.”

Manchester Mirror sub Paul Wilcox recalled: “Sloanie fitted in perfectly at Withy Grove, where his jokey presence added to the 'four nights out a week’ philosophy that prevailed. He was nicknamed ‘Billy Boots’ from wearing the cowboy-style footwear fashionable at that time. One of the all-time greats who will be sadly missed.”

Bob Hadfield worked with Peter on the Mirror and Star. He recalled: “I remember our time together with great affection. I learned a lot from him while having a hell of a lot of fun, too. He was a terrific journalist and a wonderful friend.”

Former Star deputy editor Nigel Blundell remembers urging then editor Brian Hitchen to promote Peter to the middle bench. “I told him Pete was a brilliant, even inspired, production journalist and would make a great future Night Editor.

“The problem was that Brian demanded impeccable standards of dress among his suited execs. Doubtful about the appearance of this hairy Scouser, he grudgingly said he’d have a chat with the lad.

“True to form, Sloanie turned up utterly unkempt, hair tousled, trailing fag ash and dressed in what looked like a gardening-duty anorak. Nevertheless, with his famously modest manner, he won over the boss and proved himself not only one of the most gifted and inspired super-hacks of his day, but also one of the most popular…and, truly, most loved.”

The Star’s Pat Wooding said: "My whole subbing career is based on Pete's quiet defiance of stupid rules. He hated bullies and stood up for me more than once. When I was barred from a Fleet St club because the landlord didn’t like women, he retorted; ‘If she goes, I go’. As we both left, Peter turned to me and said ‘Bloody hell, I’ve had to leave a full pint behind!’” 

Peter leaves devoted wife Elaine and daughters Kelly and Gail. Funeral details to follow.

From David Morgan: Perhaps Pat Welland and I knew what we were doing when we brought up the subject of Shostakovich. We had just settled down for a breaktime conversation with our mate Peter Sloan and were ready to warm to the most challenging themes.

At the mention of Shostakovich, Sloanie thought for second and said: “Did anyone see that programme about the fella with the massive *****?” There it was, comedy gold. Exquisitely timed and perfectly weighted. That was Sloanie – ever ready to prick the bubble of intellectualism. Did we subconsciously set it up for him? Who knows? The gift he gave us was that we didn’t have to talk about dead composers after that, we could spend the rest of the evening chuckling.

This was one of many, many such gifts. He never stopped giving.

Peter Sloan was undoubtedly a brilliant man. He was renowned among sub-editors as a superstar. As well as admiring him I loved being his friend. And for me, meeting him was transformational.

It was the late 1980s and I had some subbing shifts on the Daily Express while working for a weekly newspaper. I was pleased to be asked back and it seemed to be going well in Fleet Street, but there was something missing and I began to doubt if I could be content there. 

One evening at the Express they said to me: “We don’t have any staff jobs going at the moment, David. Perhaps they’d give you a job upstairs.” “What? the board?” “No, no. The Daily Star is on the floor above us.” The atmosphere at the Star, where Peter was then chief sub, was a different world. The subs included old Mirror hands from the Manchester office closed by Maxwell. Here was all the warmth and camaraderie and sheer enjoyment of newspaper work that I knew must be there somewhere. At the end of my first shift I heard Sloanie say the all-important words: “Come with us.” There were good days ahead and I never again had any doubts about the path I’d chosen.

Eventually I got a job not on the Star but the Sunday People, where Peter and I were reunited some years later. And our close friendship was cemented after we became desk mates and breaktime buddies as Daily Mirror news subs.

Peter’s marvellous wit and comedic gifts were abundant and writ large in his work. There were so many tremendous headlines and production tours de force. One I remember was on a story about a coalmine in France where they stopped work so that a colony of rare snails could be moved out of harm’s way. Peter’s headline about French snails holding up work at a coalmine was: ESCARGILL.

He was multi-talented in a way that made you think: “Blimey, what ISN’T he good at?” The way he tackled fiendish cryptic crosswords – Guardian, Times, Independent – marked a formidable brain. When I told him that a certain colleague was fond of the Telegraph crossword, Peter said with a smile: “Amateur.” He also pulverised me at pool and table tennis. I had an inkling of what was to come when I tossed him the chalk for his cue. Instead of catching it in a deliberate fashion like normal people, he nonchalantly plucked it out of the air, showing superlative hand-eye co-ordination. He wasn’t a sporting type but I’m sure he would have been at least an excellent slip fielder.

Another memory I cherish is the time I was on a break with a colleague who said he preferred the Collins dictionary after I said I was “a Chambers man”. Sloanie walked in and I said: “Ah, Peter, we were just talking about what was our favourite dictionary.” Again, with exquisite timing and perfectly weighted incredulity, Peter pricked the bubble of pomposity with: “Favourite? Dictionary… Favourite? Dictionary?”

My dear friend Peter Sloan. I’ll remember him always with deep affection. Not least when I finally take my favourite dictionary to the charity shop. And when I have occasion to remind Pat Welland: “We’ll always have Shostakovich.”

7 May 2025