Breaking the Code

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Breaking the Code Page 13

by Gyles Brandreth


  THURSDAY 21 MAY 1992

  A nice letter from Windsor Castle [from Prince Philip]: ‘Things have been a bit hectic recently, culminating with the Windsor Horse Show over this last weekend. Congratulations on your election. I should think Chester must be a delightful constituency. I cannot see any objection to your remaining as chairman of NPFA as long as there is no clash between its interests and the policies of the government. However, I am sure you will be able to steer a middle course!!’ He is a good man.

  I wasn’t in a state to steer anything this morning thanks to my sustained attendance in the Chamber yesterday. The Maastricht debate (aka Second Reading of the European Communities (Amendment) Bill) began at 3.30 p.m. and concluded at 7.40 a.m.! When Edwina spoke at 5.55 a.m. she noted she was the fifty-fifth speaker called and thanked the Speaker ‘for calling me in daylight’. She spoke rather well – notwithstanding repeated interruptions from Sir Nicholas Fairbairn153 who is mad and brilliant and perpetually drunk. As he weaves his way into and out of the Chamber, the tail-coated flunkies are hovering, at the ready to catch him if he falls.

  The debate began with the PM setting out his stall: it was all very measured, moderate and reasonable, strengthening Community law, securing the single market, but resisting the Social Chapter and keeping our options open on the single currency. Who could possibly object? Peter Shore,154 Teddy Taylor,155 Austin Mitchell,156 Nick Budgen, Tony Benn, Bill Cash – all the usual suspects plus Kenneth Baker who was more sceptical than ever and rather impressive. There were several alarmingly good maiden speeches: Roger Evans157 at 4.45 a.m. was terrific: trenchant and appallingly well-informed; Iain Duncan Smith,158 another anti, broke the rules, did twenty minutes and certainly didn’t avoid controversy, but it was undeniably powerful stuff. I do envy these people who feel so passionately about it and seem to have such a good grasp of the detail. Stephen Milligan did his maiden: good-humoured, easy-going, wonderfully knowledgeable, and not a note in sight. He is ambitious. The government’s policy is pro-European, but if you discount the mad women (Edwina and Emma Nicholson159 – who is strange), there aren’t that many articulate backbenchers ready to take the pro-European line. Stephen’s decided to fill the gap and make his mark.

  He will succeed.

  FRIDAY 22 MAY 1992

  High drama last night. In the second division, twenty-two of our side defied the whip and voted against the government, ignoring Douglas Hurd’s plea not to inflict ‘a savage blow’ to John Major’s authority. Hurd was good. He’s stylish. And Heath was a joy to watch: he is so arrogant, so convinced of his own rightness about everything. He didn’t deign to mention Mrs T. by name, but he called her remarks about Germany ‘rabid, bigoted and xenophobic’. He rumbled and he thundered, but, oddly, he didn’t cut much ice.

  I am writing this on the train from Slough. I have been addressing members of the Beaconsfield Conservative Association in the absence of their member who doesn’t seem enormously popular.160 He is, however, very thin, which is more than can be said of some. Now I’m drinking again, and eating toasted teacakes in the Tea Room, the pounds are piling on. Geoffrey Dickens,161 who is gross but very jolly, is encouraging me to join ‘the Currie Club’ – ‘we eat all the things Edwina’s told us not to eat.’

  SATURDAY 23 MAY 1992

  I see in the paper that Chris Patten has lost a stone and a half and been to a health farm. Also, Elizabeth David162 has died. I think this calls for a typical Brandreth compromise: steering the culinary middle course, it’s going to be a light lunch then something rather good tonight…

  TUESDAY 2 JUNE 1992

  I am in the Library hiding from rampant Eurosceptics. Word has just come through that the Danes have voted No in their referendum on Maastricht and the Eurodoubters are in a tizzy of excitement. I’ve just been accosted by Bernard Jenkin.163 He was bouncing up and down with glee.

  ‘Have you heard? Have you heard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Well, er—’

  ‘You must sign this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s an EDM164 calling for a fresh start. This is the one chance the government’s got to think again. Come on, everyone’s signing it.’

  He had a lot of signatures already, but I managed to resist, and now I’m lurking in here in the half-light hoping I won’t be discovered.

  WEDNESDAY 3 JUNE 1992

  A bad day. About seventy of our people have signed the wretched EDM to date and the buzz is that at least a dozen junior ministers would have liked to – and probably three or four Cabinet ministers as well. The PM made a statement saying the government is as committed as ever to Maastricht and reminding us that the policy has been endorsed on three occasions: when he came back from Maastricht last December, in the general election, and when we voted for the second reading of the bill a couple of weeks ago. He set the government firmly against a referendum of our own: ‘I am not in favour of a referendum in a parliamentary democracy and I do not propose to put one before the British people.’ It was a workmanlike effort, but our side certainly weren’t cheering him to the rafters. Only eight weeks ago he won us the election against all the odds and could do no wrong. Now there’s muttering on all sides.

  I came in expecting an all-night sitting, but further consideration of the Maastricht Bill is now postponed and instead we had a rather briefer debate on the Rio Earth Summit. I sat through all five and half hours of it (in a largely deserted Chamber) in order to make a seven-minute contribution. My reward was to witness an extraordinary performance from Sir Nicholas Fairbairn – bizarre yet bravura – in which he seemed to be telling us that famine was necessary in the interests of population control. ‘The Queen was in China for ten days during which time the population of China increased by twice the population of Scotland. The people who died in the Ethiopian famine were replaced by new births in six months. The people who died in the earthquake at Mexico City were replaced in sixteen minutes. It is all about death. Death is natural and should not be unexpected, postponed or wrong, but births can be prevented. There is no purpose in cutting down a rain forest so that a million bureaucrats can descend on Rio and eat themselves stupid on the world’s resources.’ He is quite mad, but rather wonderful. I have no idea how the Hansard people will manage to make sense of it.

  I am sitting in the Chamber writing this. There are 651 MPs, but right now – registering concern for the future of the planet – there are just a dozen of us. The ‘form’ is that when you’ve spoken you always listen at least to the next speaker and then come back to hear the winding-up speeches at the end of the debate. We’re nearly through: Mark Lennox-Boyd165 (Our Man for the Third World) is droning peacefully to a close and at 10.00 p.m. on the dot he’ll stop – and then home!

  THURSDAY 4 JUNE 1992

  An ‘Ed Blair’ from the Hamilton Oil Company came to bend my ear. I am not sure why I had agreed to see him and I am not at all clear what he wanted. General Peter Martin followed him and we had a good session on the Cheshires.166 The case for the Cheshires I do understand, do believe in and do want to do something effective about. His briefing was clear and to the point.

  At 5.30, with a group of ‘arts-minded’ colleagues, I went over to the Department of National Heritage for a ‘working session’ with the new Secretary of State.167 He’s an unlikely-looking specimen, but he’s an enthusiast and he made us all feel enthusiastic about both his commitment and the part we might have to play. He wants us to go out as ambassadors for the department and spread the word. This clearly excited Patrick Cormack.168 ‘We’ll be like unofficial ministers, will we?’ he asked, puffing himself up at the prospect. In the Tea Room they call him the Bishop.

  Later it was drinks in the Northern Ireland Office with Sir Patrick Mayhew, a gentleman politician of the old school, Brian Johnston with a bit more up top. Virginia Bottomley saw me setting off up Whitehall on foot and gave me a lift in her ministerial car. ‘I take it you’re not o
ne of the rebellious new boys? John’s doing absolutely the right thing, no question. I’m sure you agree.’

  I do – I think.

  MONDAY 8 JUNE 1992

  Our nineteenth wedding anniversary. It began with me declining to comment on the state of the marriage of the Prince and Princess of Wales. All the papers (here and, apparently, right round the world) are full of backwash from the serialisation of Andrew Morton’s revelations about Diana – how she’s suffered from bulimia, has attempted suicide, is locked in a loveless marriage. I had nothing to offer, but others were less reticent. Lord St John of Fawsley (who now looks like a Tenniel drawing of himself – the Fish Footman meets the Red Queen) was Olympian: ‘A warning needs to be uttered that our institutions are fragile.’ Peter Mandelson,169 Labour MP for Hartlepool, declared that the scurrilous book proves there are no longer any boundaries between fact and fiction when it comes to royal reporting. I said, ‘I’m taking my wife to lunch at the Royal Oak at Yattenden’ – which I did, and it was good, but I wasn’t relaxed because all the time I was half-thinking that I ought to get back to Westminster.

  I had to be on parade at six for my first meeting of the Q Committee: a mixture of whips and backbenchers (senior and junior) plus some people I’d never seen before (from Central Office, I think) plus the PM’s PPS. The object of the exercise is to go through the week’s business and work out if there are ways of ambushing the opposition. ‘And when the PM gets back from Rio,’ concluded our chairman,170 not one to be frightened of the obvious, ‘he’s going to need all the support we can give him. Right men?’ (There were no ladies present.) We all banged the table in agreement. (It’s another odd custom: no clapping in the Chamber, just cheering and waving order papers, and in committee rooms we beat our fingers against the desk in a rapid tattoo while growling a half-swallowed ‘Hear! Hear!’ at the back of the throat.)

  WEDNESDAY 10 JUNE 1992

  The round of ministerial briefings for new recruits goes on. Last night it was Gillian Shephard in Room 605 at Caxton House (a pretty dreary gathering) and this afternoon it was tea at the Treasury with Badger Lamont who assured us that all’s well, the ERM is working, inflation is conquered, and the recession has blown itself out. So that’s all right then. And, as I write, I’ve just come down from Committee Room 5 where President Heseltine has been giving us a tour d’horizon of the DTI. I asked some damnfool question (just to fill the air) and the poor man couldn’t decipher my name from his crib-sheet. He was clearly anxious to respond to me by name, but simply couldn’t.

  Rumour is rife that Portillo and Lilley have been caballing with Eurosceptics and don’t want the Treaty ratified in its present form. Heseltine was adamant: ‘We are committed to it; it’s in the national interest; of course we ratify.’

  MONDAY 15 JUNE 1992

  The PM is back from Rio and has apparently ordered a ‘marketing exercise’ by whips and ministers to convince us all of the merits of Maastricht. I’m ready to be convinced, but those that aren’t never will be.

  David Mellor had his first outing as Secretary of State for National Heritage and used it (inter alia) to put yours truly in his place. With a view to triggering some kind words about the Voluntary Arts Network (chaired by Sir Richard Luce,171 former arts minister of this parish) I asked an agreed question about the need to recognise the contribution of the amateur as well as the professional in the arts. ‘Yes,’ responded Mellor smugly, ‘and I am sure that’s true in politics as well.’ It was a little sally that produced a good laugh (and I imagine Mellor can’t resist a good laugh) and I didn’t really mind except that people have been coming up to me ever since saying ‘Mellor shouldn’t have put you down like that – it’s disgraceful’. I’d have preferred them not to notice. Nobody paid much notice to the PM’s statement on Rio. The Earth Summit has produced an accord to save the planet, but in London SW1 all we care about is the future of Maastricht.

  TUESDAY 16 JUNE 1992

  English football fans are rioting in Stockholm, there’s been an IRA bomb off Trafalgar Square, the Prince and Princess of Wales are evidently no longer on speaking terms, but the PM didn’t do too badly at Question Time. Blubber-lips Hattersley172 was up for the opposition and all over the place. The people we have to worry about aren’t the opposition, of course. It’s our own lot – and the trouble is, some of what they say is quite convincing. The interest rates are crippling and because of the ERM we’re shackled to them, regardless of what they’re doing to the small businesses of Chester (to say nothing of the assorted Brandreth overdrafts). A good meeting with Kenneth Clarke in the Home Secretary’s room at the House. He’s very easy, very jovial. I warm to him immediately in a way, I imagine, I couldn’t warm to Heseltine in a hundred years.

  THURSDAY 25 JUNE 1992

  I addressed the massed ranks of the Townswomen’s Guild at the Albert Hall yesterday. There were thousands of them – row upon row of good-hearted middle-aged bastions of Middle England. It was fun. I’ve just come from a long session with Emily Blatch at the DfE.173 The Townswomen would have loved her. I was seeing her because when I passed her in a corridor last week she said ‘Come and see me’ so I there I was. We sat on the edge of her sofa for an hour, almost holding hands. We talked about nursery education so intently. She’s wonderful and, apparently, very close to the PM, but what the meeting was about I’m not quite sure. Bonding, I suppose. That’s what the next meeting is going to be for sure: a sandwich lunch with Michael Howard at the DoE. I have to say that I’m impressed by how accessible all these Cabinet ministers are. You can see them whenever you want to – you can catch them in the voting lobby, you can make an appointment to go to their offices, you can hobnob with them in the Tea Room or the Dining Room. No one could accuse any of them of being in any sense remote. I said this to Bill Cash who said, ‘Not being remote is not the same as not being out of touch…’

  MONDAY 29 JUNE 1992

  Lunch with the Foreign Secretary, tea with the Prime Minister. And in between, Mr Major made his statement on the Lisbon Summit. Enlargement, subsidiarity, the GATT round, Yugoslavia – for an hour he batted away with skill and discretion, reiterating the government line but bending over backwards to offend the sceptics as little as possible. When he’d finished I set off for the Tea Room and found myself in the queue with Graham Bright.

  ‘The boss did well, didn’t he?’ he squeaked, piling the teacakes onto his plate.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘brilliantly.’

  ‘Come and tell him, he’s through here.’

  The Tea Room is divided into two. In the first room there’s the food counter, the till and assorted armchairs and tables used exclusively by Labour members. The second room is ‘our’ room, with a couple of tables occasionally occupied by Liberals or Unionists. The PM was sitting at the first table looking remarkably bright-eyed. There was an empty chair beside him. He patted it, ‘Now come on, Gyles, how’s it going in Chester?’ (He knows everybody’s name and makes a point of getting it in right away.)

  I sat down and he patted my hand. He touches you every time you meet him. It’s wonderfully disarming. Graham gave the PM his tea and teacakes and perched on a chair behind him. Nobody could think what to say. Tim Devlin174 muttered something about how good he’d been just now. The PM nodded. Silence fell. Somehow we knew that talking about Europe, Maastricht, Jacques Delors wasn’t what our leader wanted, so to fill the void I suddenly heard myself saying, ‘What’s happening in Yugoslavia?’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Yugoslavia,’ and immediately he launched into a fifteen-minute impromptu masterclass on the tragedy of the Balkans. He took us through from the fourteenth century to the briefing he’d had from the UN’s General Mackenzie this lunchtime, and his grasp of the detail was astonishing. At one point he fished out his pen and on the back of a paper napkin drew a map of the territory around Sarajevo. He pinpointed the Serb and the Muslim encampments, he knew the names of villages, he seemed to know the names of the head men in those villages. He was
very impressive. And when he’d done, he tapped the table twice with the palms of his hands and got up to go. He had only taken a couple of sips of his tea and hadn’t touched the teacake. I was eyeing the paper napkin. I thought it might make an interesting souvenir. Graham was ahead of me. He picked it up, folded it neatly and popped it in his pocket. He then popped a bite of the PM’s teacake into his mouth and, Bunter-like, toddled off after his master.

 

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