Breaking the Code

by Gyles Brandreth

  Virginia [Bottomley] is coming on Wednesday. Her advance guard has just called: ‘The Secretary of State would like to arrange a person-to-person phone conversation for tomorrow evening. How late can she call?’ I suggested midnight – and could hear the intake of breath. What sort of feeble campaigner turns in at midnight? Two or three at the earliest – and then up again at six.

  WEDNESDAY 30 APRIL 1997

  Virginia’s been and gone and it was another huge success! The walkabout was fine because the sun shone and, hooray, as well visitors from Texas, Germany, Japan, Stoke, Portsmouth, Woking, Plymouth, Flint and Connah’s Quay, we did meet Chester folk and they were jolly supportive. You’d still think we could win. As we ambled towards the cathedral Virginia juggled sotto voces to me with exuberant forays into the crowd.

  ‘If I want to get onto a Select Committee, who do I have to speak to? Hello, I’m Virginia Bottomley, do you come from Chester? It’s the Foreign Affairs Select Committee I want, not to be chairman or anything, just to be on it. Will you be supporting Gyles Brandreth? Oh, good! He is good, isn’t he? They quite like seeing a woman, whatever Brian says. It’s been a funny old campaign, hasn’t it? We keep changing tack. How lovely to see you. You know Gyles, of course. Should I call Alastair? What about having Hezza as acting leader for a while, like Margaret Beckett? The Cathedral’s had half a million from the Lottery. I haven’t forgotten whose millennium it is! Should I phone Alistair now or wait till Friday?’

  Not one of the Cabinet who has been to Chester during the campaign has any expectation that we’ll come within a mile of winning.

  The crisis of the hour is that I’ve discovered a hole in the seat of my trousers – and I don’t have another pair. I’ve been wearing one of my MP’s suits day in day out through the campaign and finally it’s given out – worn away. Is this a portent?

  Five years ago I had no idea what the election outcome would be. I hoped against hope, prayed the opinions polls would be wrong. They were. This time they can’t be. What do I reckon the Chester result will be? Con: 20,000? Labour 29,000? Lib Dem: 5,000? Others: 1,000?

  THURSDAY 1 MAY 1997

  I wasn’t far out: Con: 19,253. Lab: 29,806. Lib Dem: 5,353. Referendum: 1,487. Loony and A. N. Other: 358. End of era. Chester RIP.

  We voted first thing and then spent the day touring the committee rooms, attempting to boost the flagging morale of our gallant troops. A policewoman noticed the hole in my trousers and mentioned it discreetly to Michèle. When I saw the Superintendent of Police at the count I commended his officer’s vigilance.

  We had supper with Blackadder in front of the box – and when ten o’clock came readied ourselves for the exit poll. It’s going to be a Labour landslide. At 10.05 the telephone rang. It was David Davis, our Minister for Europe: ‘How’s it looking?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen the exit poll?’

  ‘Oh never mind that,’ said David blithely. ‘You’ll be all right. We’re about 4 per cent down here. Good luck.’

  In the event, the swing against him was 9.5 per cent.

  A little after midnight we donned our gladrags, adjusted our brave faces, and made our way up the hill to the Town Hall. My opponent was standing on the stairs. I said to her at once, ‘Congratulations.’ She looked bemused. Our result wasn’t due for a couple of hours at least. I spent the time wandering between the press room, the count, and the TV room where a large screen had been erected to display the results. It was so relentlessly bad for us the other parties’ supporters had stopped cheering. They just looked on amazed. Of course, there were hurrahs for certain scalps – Neil Hamilton provoked a roar, Norman Lamont a jeer, and poor Portillo’s defeat prompted a standing ovation.

  FRIDAY 2 MAY 1997

  Major has gone, and with some dignity. Mr Blair has arrived and already the messianic fervour is a little too rich for my taste. And as for Cherie…

  Talk to Stephen. He sounds dreadful. His voice has gone. He croaks at me in a state of high nervous excitement. I tell him to go to bed and keep quiet. He says he can’t. There are calls to make and broadcasts to give. I tell him that wanting to win isn’t enough. Others must want him to win too. And to have any chance of winning he needs to look – and sound – like a winner. Michèle tells me, ‘You’re wasting your time – he doesn’t listen to a word you say.’ She’s right. He’s off to do Newsnight. We’re off for a farewell dinner with our team. They have done all that you could ask of them. The debacle is not their fault.

  Nick Winterton calls. He goes through the routine of commiseration (via a good bit of bombast about his and Ann’s own splendid results) on his way to asking for Alastair’s number. He wants to pitch in early with his thoughts on the leadership. ‘Redwood is intellectually the most interesting, but Lilley has strengths – I have had useful meetings with him, at his department, in his room at the House and always been impressed – and, of course, there’s William – but that must be for some time down the road. Stephen is supremely competent, but he lacks warmth. I told him months ago that he’s got water in his veins instead of blood.’ I don’t dislike Nick, but he is such a windbag, and so self-opinionated and self-satisfied, that I doubt our paths will be crossing again.

  Call Jeremy Hanley. ‘This is the Job Centre. How may I help you?’ Jeremy is funny, as ever – but devastated. ‘The last three elections I was sure I was going to lose – and I won. And this time I thought I’d win and … well, here we are.’ I suggest Jeremy puts in to be Director-General of the British Council. He’d be brilliant. He agrees. We also agree that the moment we get back from Sicily we’ll all have dinner in the heart of his constituency – ‘and we can be as loud as we like and undertip the waiters.’

  ‘I must tell you,’ he chuckles, ‘my three mad women – the three truly deranged constituents who come to every surgery – I’ve given each of them my successor’s home telephone number…’

  Talk to Danny – who gets it spot on:

  Because I haven’t always been a Conservative, I know how a lot of people see us. People loathe the Tories. That’s why we lost. The campaign didn’t help. We were Charlton Athletic playing Manchester United. We didn’t deliver what we planned. Of course, the PM was our great strength. But he was our liability too. He was running his own campaign alongside ours. You can’t win an election if you just come in at eight in the morning and say ‘Ooh, it’s Wednesday – let’s do Europe!’ But the campaign wasn’t the problem. We were the problem. The election was never about them. It was about us.

  And they didn’t want us anymore. It was as simple as that.

  SATURDAY 3 MAY 1997

  We shop. (New Labour, new trousers.) We pack. We hoover through. By noon we’re on our way. Lunch at Broxton Hall: poached salmon, salad, new potatoes, and a glass of Sancerre. The sun is shining. I’m forty-nine. I weigh 12 st 9 lbs. I’m out of a job, but for the first time in years I’m beholden to no one. Cry freedom!

  617 MP for Fylde 1987–2010; Financial Secretary to the Treasury 1995–7.

  618 Ministerial Committee on Economic and Domestic Policy: the Cabinet Committee coordinating policy presentation.

  619 Trevor McDonald, the presenter of the programme.

  620 Journalist.

  621 In fact, Peter Forster, born in 1950, is two years younger than GB

  622 Alan Chesters, Bishop of Blackburn 1989–2003.

  623 Widow of the former MP for the City of Chester, Sir Jack Temple.

  624 MP for Milton Keynes North East 1992–7; PPS to the Chancellor 1995–7.

  625 Eileen Strathnaver, Michael Heseltine’s Special Adviser.

  626 1917–79; MP for Barnet 1950–79; Chancellor of the Exchequer 1962–4; Home Secretary 1970–72.

  627 Publicist whose client list had included Antonia de Sancha (David Mellor’s friend) and Paul Stone (Jerry Hayes’ admirer). In 2014 Clifford was found guilty on a series of charges of indecent assault and imprisoned.

  628 1937–97; Labour MP for Don Valley 1983–1997.

>   629 Clive Betts, Labour MP for Sheffield Attercliffe 1992–2010, Sheffield South East since 2010.

  630 1928–2013; Peter Griffiths, MP for Smethwick 1964–6, Portsmouth North 1979–97.

  631 1934–2001; Michael Grylls, MP for Chertsey 1970–74, Surrey North West 1974–97.

  632 Charles Goodson-Wickes, MP for Wimbledon 1987–97.

  633 MP for Corby 1983–97.

  634 1905–1976; Independent MP for Maldon 1942–5, Labour MP for Maldon 1945–55, Barking 1959–74; later Baron Bradwell.

  635 1902–82; R. A. Butler, MP for Saffron Walden 1929–65; held every senior office other than that of Prime Minister; Home Secretary 1957–62.

  636 Bob Ainsworth, Labour MP for Coventry North East since 1992.

  637 1930–2008; MP for Exeter 1966–70, Crewe 1974–83, Crewe & Nantwich 1983–2008; MEP 1975–9.

  638 Pamela Harriman, US ambassador to Paris, third wife of Averell Harriman, and mother of Winston by her first husband Randolph Churchill.

  639 Shadow Financial Secretary; Labour MP for Bristol South since 1987.

  640 Once tipped as a future leader, and saviour, of the Conservative Party; MP for Croydon Central 1974–92; Secretary of State for Transport 1986–7; Secretary of State for Health and Social Services 1987–9; Lord Moore of Lower March since 1992.

  641 Madeleine Albright, the US Secretary of State, was in London.

  642 The Ulster Unionists were unhappy with the Budget’s proposed increase in airport duty. The Chancellor was reluctant to exempt Northern Ireland not only because of the loss of revenue but also because doing so might contravene EU fair competition rules.

  643 1942–2014; Alistair, Lord McAlpine of West Green since 1984; Conservative Party Treasurer 1975–90, deputy chairman 1979–83; a devotee of Margaret Thatcher, he was now advocating support for Sir James Goldsmith.

  644 GB’s literary agent.

  645 Liberal then Liberal Democrat MP for Fife North East since 1987; Leader of the Liberal Democrats 2006–7.

  646 Liberal then Liberal Democrat MP for Ross Cromarty & Skye 1983–97, Ross Skye & Inverness West 1997–2005, Ross Skye & Lochaber since 2005; Leader of the Liberal Democrats 1999–2006.

  647 In the event, John Biffen and Jill Knight both received peerages and Fergus Montgomery did not. The ‘Dissolution Honours’ were a disappointment to many and, in certain quarters, fuelled resentment of both John Major and his Chief Whip.

  648 Sir Gordon Downey, since 1995 the Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards.

  649 Sir Terence Burns, Permanent Secretary to the Treasury 1991–8; later Barons Burns of Pitshanger.

  650 1938–2001; Lord Mackay of Ardbrecknish since 1991; MP for Argyll 1979–83, Argyll & Bute 1983–7.

  651 MP for Strathkelvin & Bearsden 1983–87; chairman of the Scottish Conservative and Unionist Party 1993–97; knighted 1992.

  652 Martin Bell joined the BBC in 1962; the wars he covered, wearing his trademark white suit, ranged from Vietnam and the Gulf to Croatia and Bosnia; Royal Television Society Reporter of the Year 1976 and 1992; MP for Tatton 1997–2001.

  653 Labour MP for Delyn since 1992.

  654 Labour MP for Bolton West 1964–70, Widnes 1971–83, Halton 1983–97.

  655 Liberal Democrat MP for Rochdale 1992–7.

  656 Labour MP for Stretford 1983–97, Manchester Central 1997–2012; Minister of State at the Foreign Office 1997–9. Lloyd, GB and a handful of other MPs attended occasional French conversation classes provided at the House of Commons on Wednesday afternoons.

  POSTSCRIPT

  MAY 1997–JUNE 2007

  1997

  SUNDAY 4 MAY 1997

  The overnight news is that Hezza is in hospital and has withdrawn from the race [for the Tory leadership]: this has to be good for Stephen; Lilley has thrown his hat into the ring, which must be bad for Howard; the Blair Cabinet is complete and there are no real surprises, except for Dobson at Health.657 (At least it’ll make the officials realise what a class act Stephen has been.)

  Ruth Deech (Principal, St Anne’s College, Oxford) calls, full of kind concern and heartfelt commiseration. I think she’s a little shocked by how jolly I’m sounding – but I do feel free, and easy, and I can’t hide it. ‘The system’s so cruel … the way you’re just thrown out overnight… Poor Peter…’ Peter Butler is an old friend of the family, it seems. He had a majority of 14,000. He just assumed he was there for life. A dangerous assumption. ‘Poor Peter. He’d moved to Milton Keynes and the children are at school there … And, of course, there’s the loss of status. And the car – he was loaned these wonderful cars – with wonderful soft leather seats…’ Dear God, it clearly was time for a change in Milton Keynes!

  Stephen calls. He’s home at last. The throat’s a lot better. He says GMTV went well. I say: ‘Now Hezza’s out, you’re in the frame – but still by default. The press are predicting a final play-off between you and William. As we stand, you’ll be the loser. The problem is you’re a lot of people’s second or third choice, but nobody’s first.’

  Should he call Ken? No harm in talking to Ken, but Ken will want to stand come what may – and to form too early an alliance with the Clarke corner will alienate the Eurosceptics and, like it or not, they are the masters now. We need a clear platform and some key supporters. David Faber, Simon Burns, Peter Luff are lovely, but lightweight. We need Michael Ancram, John Maples, David Curry … My advice is rest, relax, decide on your pitch, and try to secure the support of a few grown-ups.

  Richard Ottaway calls. I say that I’m sorry to hear about Michael (odd – I’d have called him Hezza if he hadn’t been in hospital with angina): ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘He’s just being sensible, but it’s been a warning for him – better to have had it now than to have let it kill him in a year’s time.’

  ‘What do you do now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Until 4.00 p.m. yesterday I was Michael’s campaign manager. I could end up with Stephen, but…’ There’s always this ‘but’: unless we overcome it, we lose. Richard doesn’t want Lilley or Hague (‘an empty vessel’), but Stephen doesn’t deliver for him. ‘He comes over as rather soulless. He looked so terrible during the campaign, those bags under the eyes … Some of us have been wondering if we shouldn’t look outside the Cabinet.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘I know three or four who are drawn to Michael Ancram…’ Dream on… ‘And a couple have mentioned Tom King…’

  ‘Richard. Please. Be serious! We considered that option ten years ago. Don’t give up on Stephen … Think: Ancram would be outstanding at the Foreign Office, Lilley at the Treasury, Hague at Central Office. We’ve got to make sure the centre holds. Don’t give up on Stephen…’

  MONDAY 5 MAY 1997

  Blair has formed his government. It looks tired already. A handful of stars, a bunch of has-beens and a crowd of never-going-to-bes. And out there in voter-land all that naive optimism … On TV at the weekend John Fortune was quite ludicrous. In place of his customary (and enchanting) cynicism there was the most terrible sentimentality – eyes bulging, throat taut, brow glistening, he hailed New Labour as though it were the gateway to the New Jerusalem. ‘Yes – and the hawthorn is in bloom!’ Pass the sick-bag, Mabel…

  TUESDAY 6 MAY 1997

  It is Mr Blair’s forty-fourth birthday and the century’s youngest Prime Minister has completed his government with a little flourish: Tony Banks as Minister for Sport. Better to have the likely lad contained on the front bench than barracking like a barrow boy from the back. Containment is clearly part of the Blair plan. Alastair Campbell has written to the heads of information in every department telling that requests for interviews with ministers should henceforth be cleared with No. 10 – a bureaucratic nightmare! – and that ministers lunching with journalists will be ‘frowned upon’. The new ministers will all be ‘working too hard building a better Britain for us all’ to have time for lunch. Ah well, the road to hell etc.

  Last night Willia
m Hague did a deal with Michael Howard. Michael as leader, William as deputy and party chairman. Overnight, William thought better of it and reneged. Michael leaked William’s change of heart. Stephen’s verdict: ‘It damages both of them.’

  WEDNESDAY 7 MAY 1997

  A change of government offers high excitement for the civil service. This morning’s post contains the following, dated 2 May: ‘I am required to write to you to ask you to return any items of government property which are in your possession. I understand you have a pager and some departmental passes. I should be grateful if you could make arrangements for these items to be returned to me as soon as possible. You are, of course, allowed to keep your black ministerial box as a memento.’ Given Mrs Blair’s reported aversion to cats I’m also inclined to hang on to my Treasury file on HM government’s cats.

  SUNDAY 18 MAY 1997

  This is perfect. We are in Sicily, in Taormina, and the sun is shining. I am lying on a deckchair by the swimming pool. The season is only just beginning: there is hardly anyone else here. There is a gentle breeze and the smell of spring. It is eleven o’clock and my first cappuccino of the day has just been served.

  Michèle booked this for us during the campaign. She knew we’d lose. (She proposed putting our flat in Chester up for sale during the campaign, too. Seriously.) She is very happy with the outcome of the election. Everybody is. Britain is awash with hope. ‘A new day has dawned, has it not?’ The golden age of Blair is upon us. It’ll all go wrong, of course. It always does. But that’s not something that you can say out loud at the moment. Everyone (including my wife) believes that Saint Tony will lead us to the Promised Land and that the Conservative Party is not just down, but out – and probably out for good.