By Chris Elliott

One of the comments below my first Open Door column was: “Congratulations on your new poisoned chal.... err, job.”

Ha, ha, I thought. In those balmy days of August 2010 a gentle ribbing within a warm welcome seemed to bode well.

I had stepped down as the Guardian’s managing editor after 10 years in that role. I was looking forward to moving away from budgets and back to journalism and, of course, a great deal less pressure.

I was, and am, a believer in the fundamental principles of the readers’ editor: dealing with readers’ complaints and concerns from a position of independence within the paper. And I knew my colleagues well. What could, as they say, go wrong?

Well, whatever fantasies I had of grey cardigans, a pipe and leather slippers didn’t quite play out. At that time there were around 25,000 emails of complaint or inquiry a year – it was 31,000 by the end of my tenure – and no matter how brief a correction may look in print and online, that is only ever the tip of the iceberg of work involved in getting it right.

The readers’ editor’s role works best when both sides enter into the process in good faith; it is the fastest way to a decent resolution for all. The readers’ editor is able to have an open conversation in which he or she can make appropriate admissions and propose a course of action, leaving the complainant satisfied with a swift and fair response.

In my experience, most Guardian readers approached the system that way, although they became understandably frustrated if they felt they were not being treated seriously in a timely manner. Readers will not be fobbed off with anything but a considered response; pushovers they are not.

However, I found that there was a significant minority of complainants who simply wanted to “game the system”, whether this be a corporate PR firm, a government department, or a lobbyist for a specific cause. These individuals or groups are, of course, just as entitled to call for the rectification of an error as anybody else, but they could be relentless in pursuing the narrowest of points.

Media and tech companies were the most difficult during my time. The latter, perhaps not surprisingly, tended to be most concerned with the first 24 hours. For them their reputation was built and maintained online and they appeared relatively uninterested in print.

As I considered in 2010 the prospect of a more contemplative life, I hadn’t reckoned on the Guardian’s phone-hacking story in 2011 and the ensuing Leveson inquiry, which brought a level of scrutiny to press regulation that had not been seen in more than 20 years. A key recommendation of Lord Justice Leveson was that every newspaper should have an internal system for dealing with complaints.

Now most newspapers have some form of corrections and clarifications column, although none, as far as I am aware, have the level of independence the Guardian readers’ editor enjoys, in that he or she can only be fired by a majority of the Scott Trust, the Guardian’s owner.

In my five and half years in the role, the growth of journalism and the readership online had a huge impact on the Guardian. The full force of 24/7 journalism, helped by the establishment of Guardian US and Guardian Australia, massively increased the output, and with it the chances of getting things wrong. In 2015, the Guardian published around 600 articles and 1,000 photographs a day. This has now fallen back with some sensible pruning, but I often felt a little overwhelmed at the time and I don’t think I always served the audience as well as I would have wished.

Trying to keep my own mistakes to a minimum – yes, readers’ editors make mistakes too – became increasingly difficult. However, as I am sure my successor would agree, it is a worthwhile battle. The willingness of news organisations to admit and correct errors is key to building trust in journalism during an era when fake news is flourishing. Even our most trenchant enemies agree with this.

Chris Elliott was readers’ editor from August 2010 to March 2016. Next week: the current readers’ editor, Paul Chadwick, looks to the future.