The Downing Street Years, 1979-1990

by Margaret Thatcher

  The argument then turned to the Social Charter. I was sitting next to Sr. Cavaco Silva, the rather sound Portugese Prime Minister who would doubtless have been sounder still if his country was not so poor and the Germans quite so rich.

  ‘Don’t you see’, I said, ‘that the Social Charter is intended to stop Portugal attracting investment from Germany because of your lower wage costs? This is German protectionism. There will be directives based on it and your jobs will be lost.’ But he seemed unconvinced that the charter would be anything other than a general declaration. And perhaps he thought that if the Germans were prepared to pay enough in ‘cohesion’ money the deal would not be too bad. So I was alone in opposing the charter.

  Ironically, when — on the second day of the Council — it came to the drafting of the section of the communiqué which dealt with EMU it was France who was the odd man out. Insofar as there could be an acceptable text which advanced us towards an unacceptable objective I felt that I had got it. All my requirements were satisfied by it. We could not stop an IGC because all it needed was a simple majority vote, but its outcome had been left open and its timing was unclear. President Mitterrand’s attempt to have a deadline for Stages 2 and 3 inserted in the text was unsuccessful. To the irritation of Sr. Gonzalez, who had hoped to avoid more discussion, I made what I described as a ‘unilateral declaration’. It ran:

  The United Kingdom notes that there is no automaticity about the move to nor the timing or content of Stage 2. The UK will take its decisions on these matters in the light of the progress which has by then been made in Stage 1, in particular over the completion of all measures agreed as being necessary to complete.

  The phrasing was unpoetic but the meaning clear. This prompted President Mitterrand to make his own declaration to the effect that the IGC should meet as soon as possible after 1 July 1990. And so the Madrid Council came to an end not with a bang but two whimpers.

  THE FRENCH REVOLUTION BICENTENNIAL

  My disagreements with the French never led to ill-feeling. This was lucky for I was shortly to attend the G7 in Paris which had largely been overtaken by the hugely expensive — and for Parisians wildly inconvenient — celebrations of the Bicentennial of the French Revolution. The French Revolution is one of the few real watersheds in the history of political ideas. For most — though not all — Frenchmen it is nowadays accepted as the basis of the French state, so that even the most conservative Frenchman seems to sing ‘the Marseillaise’ with enthusiasm. For most other Europeans it is regarded with mixed feelings because it led to French armies devastating Europe, but it also stimulated movements which led eventually to national independence.

  For me as a British Conservative, with Edmund Burke the father of Conservatism and first great perceptive critic of the Revolution as my ideological mentor, the events of 1789 represent a perennial illusion in politics. The French Revolution was a Utopian attempt to overthrow a traditional order — one with many imperfections, certainly — in the name of abstract ideas, formulated by vain intellectuals, which lapsed, not by chance but through weakness and wickedness, into purges, mass murder and war. In so many ways it anticipated the still more terrible Bolshevik Revolution of 1917. The English tradition of liberty, however, grew over the centuries: its most marked features are continuity, respect for law and a sense of balance, as demonstrated by the Glorious Revolution of 1688. When I was questioned about what the French Revolution had done for human rights by journalists from Le Monde on the eve of my visit I felt I ought to point out some of this. I said:

  Human rights did not begin with the French Revolution… [they] really stem from a mixture of Judaism and Christianity… [we English] had 1688, our quiet revolution, where Parliament exerted its will over the King… it was not the sort of Revolution that France’s was… ‘Liberty, equality, fraternity’ — they forgot obligations and duties I think. And then of course the fraternity went missing for a long time.

  The headline over my remarks in Le Monde ran ‘“Les droits de l’homme n’ont pas commencé en France,” nous déclare Mme Thatcher.’

  It was on this note that I arrived in Paris for the Bicentennial. I brought with me for President Mitterrand a first edition of Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, which he, a connoisseur of such things, loved, but which also made somewhat more elegantly the same point as my interview. The celebrations themselves were on the scale which only a Hollywood studio — or France — could manage: an almost endless procession, a military parade, an opera with pride of place in the set being given to a huge guillotine.

  The G7 summit itself definitely took second place to this pageantry. Indeed, this posed a potential problem. A large number of Third World heads of government had been invited to Paris to the celebrations and there seemed some prospect of President Mitterrand suddenly seeking to relaunch another ‘North-South’ dialogue of the sort we had thankfully left behind at Cancún.[108] I alerted President Bush — arriving for his first G7 — to this when I had a bilateral meeting with him at the US Embassy before the summit. He said that he thought there was a problem in blocking such a move without appearing a ‘parsimonious bunch of don’t cares’. I said that this did not seem to me to be much of a problem. Nor did it prove to be. The French in the end thought better of introducing this controversial idea, preferring to rest on the level of generalities.

  George Bush and I made the familiar pleas for free trade under the GATT. President Mitterrand — with some help from me — got the text of his Declaration on Human Rights (with its obvious revolutionary symbolism) accepted almost word for word. There were discussions of the environment and drugs. In fact, everyone left happy and little of note was achieved. It was the sort of occasion which in earlier years had given international summitry a bad name. But President Mitterrand’s final dinner for heads of government held in the new pyramid in the forecourt of the Louvre was one of the best I have ever eaten. Some traditions are too important for even the French to overthrow.

  CABINET RESHUFFLE

  I returned to London conscious of unfinished business. The European election results had no particular significance in themselves. But they had revealed a groundswell of discontent which could not be ignored. That discontent was most in evidence in the Parliamentary Party. A minority of Conservative MPs were uneasy about the line I was taking on Europe. But more important was the fact that there was a widespread restlessness because avenues of promotion into the ranks of the Government seemed blocked. I too felt that changes were required. When a prime minister has been in power for ten years he or she must be that much more aware of the dangers of the government as a whole appearing to be tired or stale. Since I hardly ever felt seriously tired and never felt stale I had no intention of giving that impression. I decided to make some changes in the Cabinet to free up posts at every level and bring on some new faces.

  I had also been thinking about my own future. I knew that I had a good few more years of active service left in me and I intended to see through to the end the restoration of our economic strength, the fulfilment of our radical social reforms and that remodelling of Europe on which I had embarked with the Bruges speech. I wanted to leave behind me when I went, perhaps halfway into the next Parliament, several candidates with proven character and experience from whom the choice of my successor could be made. For various reasons I did not believe that any of my own political generation were suitable. ‘Of course, she would say that, wouldn’t she,’ may be the obvious retort. But closer consideration will, I hope, show I had good reasons. If one considers the possibilities — first among those who were of my own way of thinking: Norman Tebbit was now concentrating on looking after Margaret and on his business interests; Nick Ridley who never suffered fools gladly would not have been acceptable to Tory MPs; Cecil Parkinson had been damaged in the eyes of the old guard. Geoffrey Howe I shall come to shortly. Nigel Lawson had no interest in the job — and I had no interest in encouraging him. Michael Heseltine was not a team player and certainly
not a team captain. Anyway, I saw no reason to hand over to anyone of roughly my age while I was fit and active. In the next generation, by contrast, there was a variety of possible candidates who ought to be tested in high office: John Major, Douglas Hurd, Ken Baker, Ken Clarke, Chris Patten and perhaps Norman Lamont and Michael Howard. I felt it was not for me to select my successor. But I did have the obligation to see that there were several proven candidates from whom to choose.

  I was, however, wrong on one important matter. Of course, I understood that some of my Cabinet colleagues and other ministers were more to the left, some more to the right. But I believed that they had generally become convinced of the Tightness of the basic principles as I had. Orthodox finance, low levels of regulation and taxation, a minimal bureaucracy, strong defence, a willingness to stand up for British interests wherever and whenever threatened — I did not believe that I had to open windows into men’s souls on these matters. The arguments for them seemed to me to have been won. I now know that such arguments are never finally won.

  A little earlier I left aside Geoffrey Howe from my discussion of possible leadership candidates. Something had happened to Geoffrey. His enormous capacity for work remained, but his clarity of purpose and analysis had dimmed. I did not think he was any longer a possible leader. But worse than that, I could not have him as Foreign Secretary — at least while Nigel Lawson was Chancellor — after his behaviour on the eve of the Madrid Council. Perhaps if I had known that Nigel was about to resign I would have kept Geoffrey at the Foreign Office for at least a little longer. As it was, I was determined to move him aside for a younger man.

  I decided that two ministers should leave the Cabinet altogether. Paul Channon was loyal and likeable. But Transport was becoming a very important department in which public presentation was at a premium — what with the appalling disasters which seemed to plague us at this time and in the light of the traffic congestion which Britain’s new prosperity brought with it. I asked Paul to leave and he did so with perfect good humour. I appointed Cecil Parkinson to his place. Deciding to ask John Moore to go was even more of a wrench. He was of my way of thinking. At Health it was he — rather than his successor Ken Clarke — who had really got the Health review under way. At Social Security, after I split the DHSS into two departments, he had been courageous and radical in his thinking about dependency and poverty. But, as I have explained, John had never fully recovered, at least psychologically, from the debilitating illness he suffered while Secretary of State at the old combined DHSS. So I asked him to make way and appointed Tony Newton, a stolid, left-inclining figure but one with a good command of the House and of his brief. I also brought into the Cabinet Peter Brooke who had been a much loved and utterly dependable Party Chairman. He wanted to be Ulster Secretary and I gave him the job, moving Tom King to the Defence Ministry, vacated by George Younger who wanted to leave the Government to concentrate on his business interests. George’s departure was something of a blow. I valued his common sense, trusted his judgement and relied on his loyalty. His career is proof of the fact that, contrary to myth, gentlemen still have a place in politics.

  But there were three main changes which determined the shape of the reshuffle and the reception it received. In reverse order of importance: I moved Chris Patten to the Environment Department to succeed Nick Ridley, who went to the DTI (David Young left the Cabinet at his request and became Deputy Chairman of the Party); I moved Ken Baker to become Party Chairman from the Department of Education, where he was succeeded by John MacGregor. And John was succeeded by John Gummer who entered the Cabinet as Minister for Agriculture.

  But first, and crucially, I called in Geoffrey Howe and said that I wanted him to leave the Foreign Office, where I intended to put John Major. It was predictable that Geoffrey would be displeased. He had come to enjoy the trappings of his office and his two houses, in Carlton Gardens in London and Chevening in Kent. I offered him the Leadership of the House of Commons at a time when the House was shortly to be televised for the first time. It was a big job and I hoped he would recognize the fact. But he just looked rather sullen and said that he would have to talk to Elspeth first. This, of course, held up the whole process. I could see no other ministers until this matter was decided. Geoffrey also, I believe, saw David Waddington, the Chief Whip, who had advised me to keep Geoffrey in the Cabinet in some capacity. David meant well by this advice, but perhaps I should have asked Geoffrey to go altogether, for he clearly never forgave me. Back and forth to Downing Street messages passed in the course of which I offered Geoffrey the Home Office — knowing in advance that he would almost certainly not accept — then, after conferring with Nigel Lawson, Dorneywood, the Chancellor’s country house which I rightly thought that he would accept, and finally, with some reluctance and at his insistence, the title of Deputy Prime Minister which I had held in reserve as a final sweetener. This is a title with no constitutional significance but which Willie Whitelaw (until his stroke in December 1987 and subsequent resignation the following month) had almost made his own because of his stature and seniority. But because Geoffrey had bargained for the job, it never conferred the status which he hoped. In practical terms it just meant that Geoffrey sat on my immediate left at Cabinet meetings — a position he may well have come to regret.

  The delay in concluding the reshuffle was bound to prompt speculation. But it was, I am told, Geoffrey’s partisans who leaked the content of our discussions in a singularly inept attempt to damage me. As a result he received a very bad press about the houses, which was not unmerited, but which he doubtless blamed on me.

  John Major was not at first very keen on becoming Foreign Secretary. A modest man, aware of his inexperience, he would probably have preferred a less grand appointment. But I knew that if he was to have a hope of becoming Party leader, it would be better if he had held one of the three great offices of state. I should add that I had not, contrary to much speculation, reached a firm decision that John was my preferred successor. I had simply concluded that he must be given wider public recognition and greater experience if he was to compete with the talented self-publicists who would be among his rivals. Unfortunately, because of Nigel Lawson’s resignation, he had no opportunity to show what he was made of at the Foreign Office before returning to the Treasury.

  In moving Nick Ridley to the DTI I was generally seen to be responding to the criticisms of him by the environmental lobby. This was not so. I knew he wanted a change. I was, of course, quite aware of the fact that the romantics and cranks of the movement did not like it when he insisted on basing policy on science rather than prejudice. I also suspected that from Chris Patten they would get a more emollient approach. Certainly, I subsequently found myself repeatedly at odds with Chris, for with him presentation on environmental matters always seemed to be at the expense of substance. But I also wanted Nick in the second most important economic department because of the need to have his support on the key issues of industry and Europe.

  Ken Baker’s appointment as Party Chairman was an attempt to improve the Government’s presentation. Ken — like Chris Patten — had started off on the left of the Party. But unlike Chris, Ken had genuinely moved to the centre. In any case his great skills were in publicity. And I never forgot that for every few Thatchers, Josephs and Ridleys you need at least one Ken Baker to concentrate on communicating the message. I was also happy now to appoint John MacGregor with his Scottish devotion to Education as the right person to deal with the nuts and bolts of making our education reforms work. My appointment of Ken Baker to the chairmanship was a success. He served me with vigour and enthusiasm right to the end, however hot the political kitchen became. We had never been close political allies, so I was doubly indebted to him for this.

  The immediate impact of the reshuffle was much worse than I had expected because of the stories of what Geoffrey had or had not been offered and demanded. Once the initial reaction had passed, it was clear that we benefited from the new look the Governmen
t had acquired. More seriously, though, Geoffrey was still well placed to make trouble for me and the balance of the Cabinet had slipped slightly further to the left with the promotion of Chris Patten and John Gummer and the departure of John Moore more than compensating for the arrival of Norman Lamont, who was on the right. Of course, none of this mattered as long as crises which threatened my authority could be avoided.

  THE FRANCO-GERMAN AXIS — AND ‘POLITICAL UNION’

  In fact they came not in single spies but in battalions. The winter of 1989 saw those revolutionary changes which led to the collapse of communism in eastern Europe. In the longer term the emergence of free, independent and anti-socialist governments in the region would provide me with potential allies in my crusade for a wider, looser Europe. But the immediate effect, through the prospect and then the reality of German reunification, was to strengthen the hand of Chancellor Kohl and fuel the desire of President Mitterrand and M. Delors for a federal Europe which would ‘bind in’ the new Germany to a structure within which its preponderance would be checked. Although these matters are best dealt with later in the context of East-West relations, they formed the background to the ever more intense battles on monetary and political union in which I henceforth found myself engaged.