I watched the judo with Vladimir Putin (he knew the sport so well that he told me a move would be overruled before the referee even declared it so). Russia’s best competitor won gold in his weight division, ours lost in the final to the USA in hers.
The press had a new narrative: this was the Curse of Cameron. If I was in the stands, Team GB bombed. It was superstitious nonsense, of course, but weirdly, on the Thursday we did find ourselves actually debating whether I should go to the velodrome for the cycling men’s team sprint and risk fuelling the ‘curse’ charge. I sat with Princes William and Harry, and felt doubly nervous. I didn’t need to worry. We flew out of our seats as Chris Hoy, Philip Hindes and Jason Kenny pedalled to victory.
Then the golds started rolling in. On the Saturday – Super Saturday, as it became known – I watched as Team GB won three gold medals within a single hour: Jessica Ennis in the heptathlon, Mo Farah in the 10,000 metres and Greg Rutherford in the long jump. I thought to myself: there is nowhere better on earth than this place, at this time. Whatever else happens in my life, this is a magic memory.
I was living the Olympics day and night. With the beach volleyball being held in Horse Guards, which backs onto Downing Street, Sam and I could hear the whole thing from our bedroom. We would fall asleep each evening to the sounds of cheers, gasps and the steady thud of the sound system. ‘Can you hear us, Prime Minister?’ came an announcement over the Tannoy one night. ‘Yes, I bloody well can,’ I said aloud.
On the final day, I was invited to speak to all of our medal-winners in what was known as Team GB House. They were superstars. Third in the medals table, ahead of huge sporting powers like Russia, France, Germany. Compare that with 1996 in Atlanta, when we came thirty-sixth.
The previous summer, images of London ablaze had beamed around the globe during the riots. This summer, the world had seen the city lit by the Olympic flame, and our home team – many the same age as the rioters, many from similar backgrounds – showed what hard work, patience and discipline could achieve, and what being British was really about.
I wanted them to know what power they held, beyond their excellence in their own field. ‘Every school you visit, every playing field you go to, every school assembly you address … you can change children’s lives,’ I told them. I was given a Team GB kitbag as a memento. It became my travel holdall, and for the rest of my time as Prime Minister I jetted around the world with this piece of London 2012.
In the 120-year history of the modern Olympics, ours can make a claim to being the best ever. But there is no doubt that our Paralympics were the best the world had ever seen. From the beginning I wanted to make sure that the event, which took place two weeks after the Olympics ended, were treated with the same enthusiasm, credibility and respect as the other Games.
I needn’t have worried. Ticket sales broke records. In the nation’s eyes Sarah Storey, Jonnie Peacock and Ellie Simmonds were every bit as heroic as Mo, Jess and Greg. Indeed, my highlight of the entire summer was presenting the seventeen-year-old Ellie with her second gold medal.
If anything, the Paralympics felt even more special than the Olympics. We were watching people who had probably been told from a young age all the things they couldn’t do showing exactly what they could do.
Samantha and I felt that awe very personally, and we were particularly captivated by the wheelchair basketball. I think we both noticed how much changed that summer in attitudes towards disability. As I would later put it, when I used to wheel Ivan around in his wheelchair, I had always thought that some people saw the wheelchair, not the boy. Because of what happened in London in 2012, I think that today more people would see the boy and not the wheelchair. Perhaps that is the greatest legacy of all.
And it was a wide-ranging legacy. In the run-up I had thought, if we can get the world to unite over sport like this, we can get it to unite over the next big challenge in aid policy: global malnutrition. With so many big names in town, I convened a Hunger Summit at Downing Street, co-hosted with the vice president of Brazil, Michel Temer, whose country had made huge strides in tackling hunger, and would host the next Games in 2016. The stars of the event would be the Brazilian footballing legend Pelé and the British track legend Mo Farah. Because the traffic was so bad, even with VIP lanes, I had to order the police to get Mo there by motorcade.
Another legacy was the rise in volunteering. So many people were inspired by the 70,000 Games Makers who directed traffic, collected tickets, offered first aid and marshalled athletes, all for free. Forty per cent were volunteering for the first time ever. It was the biggest peacetime volunteering recruitment drive in modern history.
There was a massive economic legacy, too. There were parties at Downing Street for investors every night, conferences every day, receptions, investment forums, even an economic summit at Lancaster House on the eve of the Games. Commercial diplomacy in practice.
We had talked for a long time about wrapping up the Games and the events surrounding them into one overarching campaign. Steve Hilton had been key to this, and we’d signed up a creative agency, Mother, to help. The idea was a campaign called ‘Britain is GREAT’ – a single brand that could be used all over the world to push what we had to offer, capitalising on the Olympics. ‘Countryside is GREAT’, ‘Fashion is GREAT’, ‘Sport is GREAT’. It went everywhere, and reaped £1.2 billion for our economy. I still see it around the world today.
And there was the sporting legacy. I was determined not to be like previous host nations, which had plummeted down the medals table at subsequent Olympics after the money and the interest had departed. So on the final day of London 2012, we announced that we would continue elite sport funding right up to Rio 2016. The results would be seen four years later, when we came second in the gold medals table, beating our tally in London.
One other thing I’m proud of. While you see many tragic photos of former Olympic sites falling into disrepair, I was determined that the story in east London would be quite different. I spent almost as much time in the run-up to the Games focusing on the legacy as on the event itself.
Once among the most deprived parts of the capital, the Olympic Park is now a go-to destination. Its digital cluster complements nearby Tech City. It houses a hub of art and design. The adjacent Westfield is Europe’s largest shopping centre. The Victoria and Albert Museum is planning to build a new site there, as is University College London.
The good cheer of 2012 didn’t end there. In December we heard the fantastic news that Kate and William were expecting a baby. The rules of primogeniture dictated that if that baby was a boy, he would be king one day. If it was a girl, she would not be queen, unless she had no brothers. Which was sexist and outdated. But we were one step ahead. Two months earlier I had attended the Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting in Australia. I arrived in the middle of the night, hardly knowing what day it was. It was one of those trips on which we spent more time in the air than on the ground. Luckily, though, the verdict – from the Solomon Islands to Papua New Guinea – was unanimous: the law of succession would change. The Cambridges’ baby would reign over Britain and the Commonwealth, whatever his or her gender. It also ended the ban – which was, amazingly, still in existence – on a Catholic becoming the British monarch.
It may appear strange that my favourite four weeks as prime minister came during such a difficult time for the government. But the Games weren’t just an antidote to my own malaise. They seemed to be an antidote to so much that was wrong in our country. To the social breakdown we’d seen in the riots, proof that young people were a positive force. To the bleakness in the economy, proof that we had a brilliant brand the world wanted to buy into. To fears about integration and national identity, proof that we could all come together as one nation, and get behind the most diverse Team GB in history. Race by race, medal by medal, it felt as though Britain was stepping up onto the global podium.
Perhaps most importan
t of all, they showed that we, the UK, could still do the big, bold, transformational things. We could still wow the world. We had no shortage of ambition. One of the core ideas of my politics, that our best days are ahead of us and not behind us, found its emblem in the Olympics. That belief hasn’t faded. Indeed, I don’t think Brexit should alter it. Having a strong relationship with Europe outside the European Union doesn’t diminish or damage the determination, pride, openness and warmth we displayed in that glorious summer of 2012. Indeed, it is through those things that we will flourish in the future.
28
Resignations and Reshuffles
So often when a government, or even an opposition, hits a bad patch, a reshuffle is suggested as a kind of miracle cure. Becalmed in the polls? Unpopular leader? Strategy not working? Economy not growing? It doesn’t matter what the problem is, the cry goes up: ‘Shuffle the pack!’ Not least because the press – and, to be fair, most MPs – love the drama of who is up or down, in or out.
I was determined to do things differently. Whether in opposition or government, I kept shadow and cabinet ministers in post for proper periods of time. The same chancellor and home secretary for six years. The same foreign secretary for four years. Many of my ministers went straight from the roles they held in opposition – often for the full five years – into the same role in government.
In my view, the only arguments for a reshuffle were if it improved the way you governed, helped you manage the parliamentary party, or if it gave new MPs the experience they would need to hold senior office later.
However, I did accept that in politics if you do have to make changes, it is better to do them all at once. Anything else can lead to a sense – in the press to begin with, but more widely as well – of permanent instability. But I didn’t rate reshuffles as a way of relaunching a government or solving political or presentational problems. The central point in a reshuffle, as far as I was concerned, was getting round pegs in round holes – people who would do the job well in the right positions.
The mix mattered too. You need the right spread of male and female, young and old, old hand and newcomer, left and right, north and south, Eurosceptic and Europhile. This isn’t just a matter of presentation: diversity makes government better. The cabinet also needs to reflect the parliamentary party, some of whom are only satisfied if they have their man or woman representing their strand of conservatism at the top table.
There had been some shuffling already that year – though not from the Conservative side. For some time Chris Huhne had been facing allegations that he had made his wife take the points for a speeding offence when he had in fact been driving. Nick and I discussed what should happen, and decided that he should remain in post unless he was charged. In February 2012 he was charged with perverting the course of justice, and agreed to leave cabinet while he faced trial. His fellow Lib Dem Ed Davey took his place.
There had been some shuffling in my team, too.
As in opposition, Steve Hilton’s ideas continued to be one part brilliant to several parts bonkers, the latter of which included cutting the civil service by 70 per cent, scrapping maternity pay, closing all Jobcentres and – no joke – introducing cloud-bursting technology that would, he claimed, stop it raining over Britain. True blue-sky thinking.
However, his relationship with people in government wasn’t working. He was no longer excused as a free spirit when he was late for meetings – he was seen as someone who had disregard for others. His antagonistic style was no longer helping him advance his cause in Whitehall – it had started to hurt it. And because we were friends, people felt that when he hit an obstacle he would go directly to me, and undermine their legitimate concerns.
And the relationship between the two of us became strained, too. Steve is a real ideologue in a way I’m not; I’m ideological and practical. This important difference was exposed now that we were running the country, not just talking about running the country. He thought I was losing my radical zeal and falling for the trappings of prime minister. But I knew that to be a successful radical you have to play the game. And he wasn’t interested in playing the game, just tipping it over and throwing the pieces all over the floor.
He had told me a while earlier that he needed a break, and now he’d found the ideal moment: his wife, Rachel Whetstone, was working in California for Google, and he thought he would be able to join her there, lecture at nearby Stanford University, and pursue some other business and political interests. He came to tell me his plans one weekend at Dean. We sat on the floor in front of the fire and talked it through. I was sad to see him go – he was a creative thinker, and his energy had helped to get a lot of things done. But disruptive forces like Steve have their pluses and minuses – for every initiative he boosted with his zeal there was an idea that misfired, or a relationship that subsequently needed repairing.
He had given me incredible loyalty and service for well over seven years, and was starting to think about his own political future. He was a strong believer in the city mayors we were creating, and he wanted to be one himself. Maybe in his home town of Brighton, or perhaps even, in the future, in London. It was announced on 2 March 2012 that he would be leaving in a couple of months’ time to go on a ‘sabbatical’; but there was little expectation of a full return.
On 2 May Steve departed for America. He left me a long note – a ‘valedictory telegram’, I called it – detailing his frustration with what he saw as the lack of progress and the limited scale of our ambition. I objected to his implication that we were not pursuing a radical agenda. Indeed, the full reshuffle I was planning was all about putting the right people in place to deliver that agenda.
The reshuffle, which took place in September 2012, was, I believe, probably the longest and best-prepared in living memory. The last time a prime minister had gone that long without shuffling the deck was Thatcher in 1981. Its purpose was to sharpen our focus, and the new line-up would do that in four key ways.
It would support our economic strategy, strengthen weak flanks, get the party into better shape and demonstrate that we were bringing talent through the ranks. If I wanted to end up with secretaries of state from the 2010 intake by the end of the Parliament, I couldn’t promote them straight from the backbenches to the cabinet; they needed time in junior ministerial positions. That meant shifting lots of people up a level – and that in turn meant shipping out some of those near the top. You can only promote people if you fire others.
Lots of ministers, including the chancellor, home secretary and foreign secretary, would all remain in post. I had already consulted Patrick McLoughlin about a move during the summer. He had been loyal and hard-working, but I wondered if a change might help with the management of the party. More support for the coalition, rather than just tolerance of it. More backing for my brand of conservatism, and less prominence in Parliament for its opponents. But I didn’t want an unhappy former chief whip – and Patrick deserved a promotion. I had just the role for him. I offered him secretary of state for transport, and he was elated. We get so used to egos in politics, and you can’t blame people: they’ve had to blow their own trumpets to get ahead. But here was a man with more ministerial experience than most of us, behaving with more grace and modesty than anyone.
He said, ‘You may notice that I don’t ever give you handwritten notes even though I’m chief whip. The reason I don’t do that is I’m not sure I’d spell everything right. I left school at sixteen; I’m entirely self-taught. I know about the Whips’ Office, and I know what I think about Transport …’
Not only was he happy with the move, he was happy with who I had in mind as my new chief whip. I had asked Andrew Mitchell into my office before the summer holidays, and told him my thinking: ‘You’ve done a brilliant job as international development secretary – and now I’d like you to be my chief whip.’
While Andrew had run David Davis’s campaign in the 2005 leadership elec
tion, he had become a good friend and one of my most committed secretaries of state.
There was more than a touch of Marmite about Andrew: colleagues either loved or hated him. He had rubbed some people up the wrong way, and been abrasive in the past (his nickname was ‘Thrasher’, which said it all). But I knew he would be effective – and, I believed, respected. After two major defeats on Europe and the Lords, the Whips’ Office needed a Thrasher. Andrew had played ‘good cop’ in DFID for years – it was time for him to resurrect his inner ‘bad cop’ (this would soon prove a particularly bad analogy).
I thought he would be delighted with the idea. But he was very committed to his current DFID projects, and was in two minds. ‘I’d love to be your chief whip,’ he said, ‘but I’d want to do it in six months’ time.’ Which wasn’t really the deal. Indeed, some key parts of the reshuffle were resting on this appointment. I said I’d cook him dinner, take him through the whole of the reshuffle, and he could help me shape it.
That was the clincher: the chance of being in control. Even so, when we sat down again he confessed he was still reluctant. ‘You’ve got to realise that I was a whip in the past, and that appealed to the dark side of my character. Then you made me shadow international development secretary in opposition, and that made me a better person. It changed my life and changed the way I think about things, and I think I’ve done it really well.’
He had done it well. Brilliantly, in fact.
‘It’s changed me,’ he said, ‘and now you want me to go back to the dark side.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I do.’
I wasn’t just clear about the appointments I wanted to make. I was clear about how I wanted to play it. In some previous reshuffles, people had endured the humiliation of walking up Downing Street waving to the cameras, then shuffling out of the back door half an hour later after being sacked. I decided to do the decent thing and hold the difficult conversations in my Commons office on the Monday evening before the reshuffle was properly under way and then make the appointments in the Cabinet Room on the Tuesday morning.
For the Record Page 49