Chief executive of the Meat Hygiene Service, Johnston McNeill, loves a challenge, as his career proves. He talks to Cathy Savage about local authorities, Northern Ireland, the Food Standards Agency and his relentless need to achieve

Johnston McNeill is a busy man. He arrives ahead of schedule, leaves ahead of schedule, and talks at an alarmingly high speed in between. He is a man who looks like he should have "Things To Do!" stamped on his forehead. Perhaps the most surprising thing on meeting him is his relative youth. At 44, as chief executive of the Meat Hygiene Service and with a high-flying career in management already behind him, he's one of life's (over)achievers.

The next surprise is his background. Born and bred in Northern Ireland, Johnston first came to England when oil giant Mobil agreed to sponsor him for an HND in mechanical engineering at Southampton. This beginning is not what you might expect. With no food training, no butchery and no veterinary roots, Johnston's career path surprises many who meet him in his current role. "It's an unusual route, but if you follow closely there is a logic," he claims.

The slow switch began as Johnston finished his degree. By then it was 1978, and the shipping industry was in straitened circumstances. "Progression was obviously going to be slow - dead men's shoes stuff," remembers Johnston. And this obviously wasn't going to satisfy someone of his ambition. He went back to Northern Ireland to look for a job ashore and found work with a company specialising in refrigeration and air conditioning systems. Starting out in design and installation, he soon moved into management and within a few years found himself managing director of another company. During this time he had begun to deal regularly with the food industry and became an associate member of the Institute of Meat. He and his wife were living in a mill they had converted in Dunadry at this point, but his wife was English, and was keen to return to England. By then - about 1988 - compulsory competitive tendering was just starting up in England and local authorities were taking on people from the private sector to help put together competitive bids. Johnston applied for a job as deputy general manager at Lancashire County Council and was successful. The move opened his eyes to the public sector. He shakes his head at the memory. "Dealing with committees - with the bureaucracy of local government - with elected members... it was all a bit of a culture shock."

Nonetheless it didn't put him off, and after a couple of years of putting bids together there, he moved back to his student stomping ground of Southampton, as an assistant director of the city council. His wasn't the popular job at either council. "The roles I was playing were very significant management roles - and concerned with change, with moving away from very trade union focused, restrictive practices, to much more flexible and effective ways of working." This often meant cutting jobs, although Johnston was lucky to see most go through voluntary redundancy. So was he unpopular? "I wouldn't say that," he says. "I wouldn't say popular, but not unpopular." He waves a gold watch given as a leaving gift in evidence. "It is difficult to bring about that sort of change though," he adds.

He evidently relished the challenge; after a couple of years at Southampton, Johnston had itchy feet again, and jumped at the chance to take the next step up - as director - back in his home town of Belfast. CCT was late arriving in Northern Ireland and Belfast had just set up client and contract services directorates to cope with it. Johnston took the latter. "I had a very good track record of putting together bids," he says matter of factly. "Also I'd contracted in Northern Ireland before. It can be a very peculiar place to work if you don't know it - and even if you do."
Working in a divided community was a logistical challenge. "Take something simple like refuse collection," he says. "Collectors would do certain streets, but not others, so it was very difficult to plan routes. At that time there were a lot of tit-for-tat shootings."
When prompted, Johnston describes himself reluctantly as Protestant "by perception", but evidently he has little taste for the politics of division. He has certainly witnessed the destruction caused by sectarianism at firsthand.
"A gunman went to one of our depots and shot some of our guys," he says in a typically even-handed way. "That was just before the peace process started.
"It was a terrible time. I hauled all the workforce off the roads. I think they picked that depot because they knew there was no chance of there being any Protestants there, and they knew the workforce would be there early, so they could get away easily. The main thing was to haul the others off before news got out - because if people knew, then the next thing would be a Protestant depot being hit and our guys would have been vulnerable on the streets.
"It's not the sort of thing you cover in an MBA," he says grimly. His even-handedness was welcomed and before he left Belfast he was actually invited to the republican Felons Club in a Protestant "no-go" area to meet Gerry Adams. "He thanked me for my even-handed approach," he says appreciatively. "As far as I was concerned the people working for me were my employees, not Protestants or Catholics - I wanted people to see that these aren't pawns, these are people providing a public service."

Johnston enjoyed his work and might have stayed, but his marriage was in trouble and his wife was keen to move back to England. He saw the advert for chief executive of the soon-to-be Meat Hygiene Service and applied.
"It was the longest and most rigorous assessment ever," he remembers. But with experience of local government, the meat industry, industrial relations and senior management, he was an excellent candidate. He passed with flying colours and began the job in September 1994 - seven months before MHS was due to launch.
"I was the first employee," he smiles. "It was a tremendous challenge and I knew there'd be a lot to do, but it was also a tremendous opportunity. When you come in to a start-up situation you can really stamp yourself on it."
The meat industry was suffering a rather mixed press, although the full extent of the BSE crisis had not yet unfolded. Specified Bovine Offal controls were in place but the major concern was hygiene and consistency of enforcement. MAFF wanted a clear view of what was going on in meat plants, as the Chief Veterinary Officer needed to assure Europe that everything was in pristine order.
The months before the launch were hectic.
"We had to work a lot of weekends, especially as most staff were working for local authorities in the week," explains Johnston. Sadly this extra pressure finished off his marriage. Though judging by his catalogue of qualifications and affiliations (all proudly displayed round the walls of his office in York), he's never been one for a low-pressure life. While holding down difficult jobs, he's slipped in an MBA, two MAs and is now in the process of completing a PhD (looking at pay delegation in Next Steps Agencies).

The actual launch of the MHS was fairly smooth, although by then BSE was coming back on to the scene. The agency had six small regional offices, each with eight staff, then 50 working at the headquarters. As for inspectors, MHS began with the logistical nightmare of transferring staff from 176 local authorities, each with different terms and conditions.
"It was a challenge to get things right at the beginning," says Johnston. "And to find out what we had got - before the launch we had no right of entry to plants."
One of the first things he did was set up hygiene advice teams, who audited all the plants. The MHS also published a manual, to serve as a quality control document.

Since then, there hasn't been a dull moment. First BSE, then a new grade of meat technician was introduced, then came the Lanarkshire E. coli outbreak and a re-emphasis on cleanliness. MHS developed a clean livestock policy, continued to ratchet up requirements and improve standards and launched the hygiene assessment system (HAS). All this has not come easily, and staff have found themselves the butt of considerable, sometimes violent, resentment from industry.
"When you're raising standards, and taking robust action to ensure they're met, relationships can deteriorate," says Johnston. As a result, MHS has set up a staff helpline and makes sure it seeks prosecution in every case of assault.

Controversy continues, and, as Johnston acknowledges, is unlikely to ever leave an industry so intrinsically linked to public health and animal welfare. "The media watch us all the time," he explains. "Anything to do with public health or animal welfare will always attract a lot of attention."
At the moment MHS is moving towards full veterinary supervision for plants, which is extremely unpopular but essential to fulfil EC requirements. It's unpopular with plants because of the expense, but also with meat inspectors, who think they were doing a good job on their own.
Johnston's riding the storm however, and doing it well by all accounts. MHS has secured Investors In People, ISO 9002 and Charter Mark status (as the wall proudly proclaims). Johnston himself was also invited to join the Worshipful Company of Butchers and given Freedom of the City of London last year (yet more wall-space). There was one problem last year though, in the shape of a pay-related strike. But that too has been ironed out, and Johnston doesn't foresee a rerun. As for the BSE Inquiry, MHS wasn't called back and is not anticipating criticism, though Johnston stresses that he will read it with interest.

This year is bringing another round of changes, as MHS moves from MAFF to the Food Standards Agency. But although MAFF was often criticised for being secretive and the FSA is bending over backwards to be open, Johnston has no quarrel with his old masters.
"I never found there were attempts to gag us or prevent us doing the job," he says. "We shared the same ambitions - regulations, enforcement, public health, animal welfare."
While others debated whether the agency would actually appear, MHS has spent the past year preparing for the FSA - revamping service agreements and relationships.
"Day to day, it will mean very little change though," Johnston says. "We've been working with the Joint Food Safety and Standards Group and in many cases it is the same people involved now."

LOOKING FORWARD
A supervisory board is being established under Suzi Leather - but even this scrutiny from a consumer expert is not revolutionary, as MHS worked with Ann Foster of the Scottish Consumer Association in the past. Other than that, there's the Pooley report and the rush to implement Haccp throughout the industry to consider. But is all this challenge enough, or is it time to look elsewhere? Johnston is a little cagey. "Six years is quite a long time in civil service terms," he ponders. "Although you used to be considered fly-by-night in business if you stayed less than six or seven years, now people expect diversity.
"If something looked exciting I would consider it."

And where would he go next? He has led a fairly rootless existence over the past 20 years. "Maybe," he concedes, "but I enjoy the work, I make a lot of friends, and you have to go where jobs are."
His heart is partly still back where he grew up - when asked for the favourite part of his career he says: "Belfast - going back to lead the home team - bringing your experience to bear in your own town." But he readily admits he has a restless nature. "I suppose I have a need to achieve," he says. "I enjoy problem solving, I like challenges."

He firmly believes that management skills are easily transferred between different fields and his explanation neatly sums up of his own way of working.
"It's about getting a grip of the issues involved and the problems - working out what has to be achieved; working with people and having a committed, well-trained, well-led workforce. You need good communications, a clear idea of what you're trying to do, and if things aren't right, you need to put them right. It's about delivering a service."
He nods decisively, then off he dashes, briefly back home to York, before flying out to see family in Ireland.
Never a dull moment.