by Chris Mullin
He said, ‘The message I got was more “out” than “on”’.
Oh dear, oh dear. What precisely did Hilary Armstrong say? My fault, of course. I should never have entrusted her with so delicate a mission. And maybe I did lay on the ‘wouldn’t be upset’ bit a mite too thickly. I should have rung my old friend Bruce Grocott … Or just kept my big mouth shut and accepted the hand that I was dealt. My demise was not as glorious as everyone imagines. It was an accident.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘What’s done is done.’
We discussed prospects. I mentioned the chairmanship of the parliamentary party, saying that I wouldn’t run against Jean Corston and that it would be nice to have a woman. He spoke well of Jean, saying he nearly made her a minister. Clearly he favours her.
On home affairs we discussed issues, starting with drugs. To my surprise he was relaxed about an inquiry into legalisation. ‘I have no clear view,’ he said. ‘There are some issues a select committee can explore which I never could.’
On asylum, he confirmed that the voucher system was going, but only in exchange for some quid pro quo. On the Security and Intelligence Committee, I said it was time we plucked up the self-confidence to put in a Labour chairman. He replied that, although Michael Howard was lobbying hard for it, he had in mind someone from our side.
On party funding, I said that both the main parties were increasingly dependent on rich men. ‘We no longer occupy the moral high ground. The public are becoming alienated.’
‘I don’t enjoy having to raise money from millionaires. They usually want something. I do it because it has to be done,’ he said.
As he was showing me out through the Cabinet Room he paused by a window and said, ‘There is sometimes a need for an outrider to float an idea. Maybe that’s a role you could play.’
And as we parted, ‘I’ll come back to you on those two points.’ It took me a moment to realise that he was referring to the chairmanships of the select committee and the parliamentary party. He clearly takes it for granted that they are in his gift. Maybe they are, but they shouldn’t be.
Tuesday, 26 June
Tony Banks, who spends much of his time these days scouring the auction rooms for pictures of famous politicians past, says that only four or five of us from each century will be remembered. From the 19th century he nominated Charles James Fox, John Wilkes, William Wilberforce, Disraeli and Gladstone – the last two only because they were in office so long. From the 20th century – Churchill for his war leadership, Nye Bevan for the NHS. Of our contemporaries he nominated only Thatcher, ‘because she was the first woman prime minister’, Tony Benn (‘maybe’) for shaking off his peerage. Blair, of course, for having ended the Tory hegemony. After that he seemed to be struggling. Even if one allows that this assessment is unduly pessimistic, it doesn’t bode well for the rest of us who strut these corridors.
Wednesday, 27 June
To the parliamentary party to hear The Man, who was on good form – passionate, witty, reasonable – but very definitely on the defensive. He was received well, but without elation. Indeed, considering that we were in the presence of the first ever Labour prime minister to lead us to two landslide victories, the mood was decidedly downbeat. Absolutely no forelock tugging. Instead the managing director was treated to some blunt warnings that this time around the boys and girls on the shop floor expect to be treated with more consideration. ‘Take us into your confidence,’ said Tony Lloyd. ‘We must not allow ourselves to be portrayed as clones,’ said Tony McWalter. He went on, ‘We should not be as docile in this Parliament as we were in the last.’ And then, the ultimate heresy: ‘Ministers and the Prime Minister can make mistakes.’ The chandeliers swayed gently, but remained in place. ‘Fewer initiatives,’ cried the usually ultra-loyal Caroline Flint, who was rewarded with applause. ‘Remember,’ said Dennis Skinner, ‘responsibility is a two-way process. In all public institutions there is goodwill that you can’t buy and sell in the City. Goodwill in the NHS is greater than anywhere else. Don’t throw it away.’
The Man responded robustly. ‘We need dialogue, not a shouting match. We must behave with intelligence and maturity, otherwise we shall go straight back into Opposition.’ And then an historic admission: ‘Of course I make mistakes. Of course, governments can.’ Again the chandeliers swayed. He went on, ‘Nobody’s talking about privatising schools or the NHS. The press are trying to suggest that using the private sector equals privatisation. If we say that, we will fall into a trap. If we retreat on reform within the public service we will end up putting our arm into the swamp and lifting the Tories up onto dry land.’
At the Division I ran into Jack Straw for the first time since he became Foreign Secretary. He asked why I went. I said, ‘I had to make up my mind whether or not I was a serious politician and I decided, on balance, that I was.’
‘Tony should have made you a minister of state. I would have done.’
He asked what I was going to do and I said that I wouldn’t mind
the Security and Intelligence Committee, except that in my view it should report to Parliament rather than to the Prime Minister. He said, ‘I agree.’ The first time I have heard him concede that.
Friday, 29 June
Sunderland
I walked through the town centre. Sinister, truanting youths lurked in shop doorways. Pasty, vacant faces reflecting empty lives. It is hard not to feel sorry for them. As I passed the bus interchange two damaged youths latched onto me. ‘You’re Chris Mullin, aren’t you. I’ve seen you on telly.’ Oh dear, I was on telly yesterday calling for more criminal youths to be locked up. Fortunately, word had not reached them. ‘You got the Birmingham Six out, didn’t you?’
‘Do you know Tony Blair? Do you have a big house and a bodyguard like him?’
Tuesday, 3 July
A rare sighting of Gordon Brown in the Tea Room. He came and sat between Maria Eagle and myself and chatted affably for about 20 minutes. I guess we are destined to see more of Gordon pressing the flesh as this Parliament wears on.
Wednesday, 4 July
There is a motion on the order paper proposing to raise our salaries by an outrageous £4,000 over and above inflation over the next two years, in line with the recommendation of the Senior Salaries Review Body. I have tabled an amendment rejecting the increase and tying future ones to the average of those awarded to nurses, teachers, doctors and dentists. It won’t make me the most popular boy in the House. Dennis Skinner thinks I should withdraw it. I was taken aback. Dennis was very definite. In his opinion I could only do myself damage and it wasn’t worth it. I promised to reflect.
A minor triumph at Prime Minister’s Questions. It marked my re-entry to the earth’s atmosphere. I had number three and went on Star Wars. It went down well with everyone on our side and with the Lib Dems. The Man responded at length and drew cheers only from the Tories. William Hague said, ‘Any remaining puzzle as to why the Hon. Member for Sunderland South has left the government has now been resolved.’ People were coming up all evening saying well done and wasn’t it good being able to speak freely again. Ming Campbell said I looked three feet taller. I encountered The Man in the Library Corridor and he greeted me cheerfully enough.
Later, sitting on the terrace, I was joined by a member of the Blair inner circle. Conversation soon turned to Gordon. I mentioned that, following my departure from government, I had received a handwritten letter from Gordon saying how much he had enjoyed working with me. It seems that every ex-minister has received an identical letter. All the new Members have received letters, too. He must have been up half the night writing them. No stone is left unturned. Gordon’s machine churns night and day. My friend was scathing. ‘He’s mad, quite mad.’
I was gobsmacked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Gordon is obsessive, paranoid, secretive and lacking in personal skills. He’s been responsible for two absolutely mad privatisations – air traffic control and the London Underground – and all this talk about p
rivatising the NHS is coming out of the Treasury … I’d probably pack in, if Gordon became leader.’
A chat with Ken Purchase, Robin Cook’s former Parliamentary Private Secretary, about Robin’s demise as Foreign Secretary. Was Robin surprised? ‘Totally. He had a meeting with Tony on the Tuesday and there wasn’t a hint. He didn’t find out until Friday afternoon. He asked for an hour to think about it, but before the hour was up Jack had been told the job was his.’ I said this only went to show how ruthless The Man could be. Ken exploded. ‘Ruthless? He’s hopeless. A fucking hopeless manager. He hasn’t a clue about managing people. If he was in the private sector, they wouldn’t spit on him …’ He added, ‘I admire him for the way he has related to the public, but we could have had all that without the cronyism.’
Thursday, 5 July
We debated Members’ salaries. Several people have added their names to my amendment, so there was no question of withdrawing it. Robin Cook spoke for the government. We must not undervalue ourselves, he said. Mendaciously, he suggested that my amendment would give us more not less. I made a self-deprecatory little speech which, I hope, limited the personal damage while conceding nothing. It was better received than I had expected, although according to Jean a lot of people are muttering behind my back. What they resent, of course, is being forced to vote. They’d much prefer that it went through on the nod so that we were all implicated. Well, I’m not going to oblige. In the event we did better than I expected, there were 66 votes for my amendment. Only about half were ours, the others a hotchpotch of Lib Dems, Scots Nats and even a Tory or two. Just to make quite sure, I forced a second vote on the main question and about a third of our number melted away. I guess they just wanted a token gesture for their local newspaper. A lot of people, including a number of great left-wingers, found urgent reasons to be absent.
It got worse. Not satisfied with having voted themselves an inflation-plus £4,000 pay rise, the boys and girls proceeded – against the recommendations of the government and the Senior Salaries Review Body – to up the Additional Costs Allowance by £4,000. Finally, as if that wasn’t enough, they then voted to improve the rate of accrual for our already generous pensions from fiftieths to fortieths. Shameful.
Home on the 20.00. Ngoc told me firmly that we can’t afford any more grand gestures.
Tuesday, 17 July
Standing beside Gwyneth Dunwoody at the Members’ post office this morning, I noticed her opening a long letter, handwritten in black felt-tip, in an envelope marked ‘Highgrove’. ‘Charles has been very helpful to our committee and I’ve never betrayed his trust’ was all she offered by way of explanation. Now there’s an unlikely alliance.
Wednesday, 18 July
The first meeting of the Home Affairs Committee. David Winnick, as the senior member, took the chair and called for nominations. I was approved nem con. There then followed an extraordinary speech by Winnick in which he complained about what he alleged was my control freakery and rigidity. There was even a reference to my ego, which, beside his, is minuscule. If he feels so strongly, why didn’t he run against me? I took it lightly and invited other comments. Several people made clear that they didn’t share David’s view of my stewardship. The new members just looked at the table in embarrassment.
Bob Russell said we ought to have a bit more fun. How about a foreign trip or two? Janet Dean pointed out that we were called the Home Affairs Committee. I said that it was sometimes necessary for a chairman to tell committee members things that they didn’t want to hear.
I also spelled out my four rules for successful select committee membership: turn up on time, remain seated throughout, read your papers in advance and ask concise, relevant questions. After that it was down to business. One of the new Tories, David Cameron, a former special adviser to Michael Howard, helpfully pointed out that short, focused inquiries were more likely to be taken seriously than long unfocused ones. We then agreed with surprising ease that our first inquiry would be on whether or not the government’s drugs strategy was working. I suggested we might have sessions with the Home Secretary and the Lord Chancellor in September, but there was no enthusiasm for coming back during the recess, even for a day. Marsha Singh said he was against ‘in principle’. Quite what this principle is was unclear.
To the parliamentary committee, to which I have been re-elected, around the big table in The Man’s room, just like old times. He looked tired and tense. Andrew Mackinlay, who he can’t abide, is back and Gordon Prentice, also a bête noire, has been added. In truth we are somewhat overloaded with critics. There is a danger that he won’t take us seriously. At the outset there was an amusing little exchange. Tony Lloyd raised a query about biological warfare to which The Man replied, ‘Robin knows all about that.’
‘I did until four weeks ago,’ replied Robin, who has yet to recover from his removal as Foreign Secretary.
The Man laughed but looked hurt. ‘Thank you, Robin.’ We all joined in the laughter. Robin was the only person present who kept a straight face.
Ann Clwyd asked whether missile defence would be on the agenda for his meeting with President Bush tomorrow. ‘Very much so,’ said The Man, ‘but we should wait until we have a proposal.’
‘Don’t get steamed up about something that may never happen,’ said Robin. ‘The current debate is far ahead of anyone’s capacity to implement. There will be no decisions until well into the next Parliament.’ He added that the Americans may well go for a sea-launched system which targets missiles at the launch rather than re-entry phase, ‘in which case Menwith Hill and Fylingdales early-warning systems would be irrelevant’. There was even a possibility that the Russians will go along with whatever is eventually proposed. Clearly they are hoping that the Americans and the Russians will cut a deal that gets us off the hook.
A call from Rachel Sylvester wanting an interview for Saturday’s Telegraph. I declined on the grounds that many of her interviews with Labour politicians tend to become the subject of front-page news stories based on a sentence twisted out of recognition.
‘Not always,’ she said.
‘Often.’
Thursday, 19 July
Home on the 20.00. I sat with David Davis as far as Doncaster. We discussed the Tory leadership election. He thinks Iain Duncan Smith will win easily. Clarke, he says, would be absolutely untenable given his views on Europe. Portillo, he says, would have lost anyway. ‘No one trusts him.’
He is confident that we will make a mess of reforming the NHS.
What’s needed, he says, is a mixed economy with some hospitals handed over completely to the private sector and we will never dare do that.
Monday, 23 July
With Ngoc and the girls to Newcastle Airport to see them onto a plane for Paris and then to Saigon. Every hour, for the rest of the day I plotted their movements in my mind. When I get up tomorrow morning, they will still be airborne.
Tuesday, 31 July
To North Ronaldsay to stay with Liz Forgan, who lives in a croft overlooking a small sandy bay. From Liz’s kitchen sink there is a 180 degree view of sea and sand. To the right, a long spit of land jutting into the sea and, just visible, beyond that is the lighthouse on neighbouring Sanday. No trees. The land is flat. The skies huge and dramatic. The island (population 60) is presided over by a benign laird who visits for two months each summer. His house is just visible from Liz’s window, the flag flying from the tower indicating that he is in residence. The island has a doctor (who also runs the bird observatory), two shops (one of which opens for an hour a day), and a bar. The plane from Kirkwall comes daily except on Sundays and the ferry (in summer) once a week. Liz has been coming here for nearly 30 years. She bought Neven 14 years ago and visits at New Year, at Easter to plant her vegetables and for five or six weeks in summer. She knows everyone on the island, their strengths, their weaknesses and every detail of the quarrels and tensions that lie beneath the tranquil surface.
Tuesday, 7 August
North Ronald
say
Al fresco breakfast, watching the seals swimming in the bay. A final walk along the beach. Liz’s partner, Rex, who arrived two days ago, is still sounding off about New Labour. Blair, he reckons, is the worst Labour prime minister ever. His comments are so unreasonable that I find myself retreating to the opposite trench. Liz, who has heard it all before, walks ahead smiling. And then we pile into the car and drive to the airfield. I am sad to be leaving. Even after only a week I feel at home here. Already I know about a third of the islanders.
Dead on time, the little plane appears out of a clear blue sky and bumps to a halt in front of us. As we take off there is a fine view of Neven and Linklett Bay along which we were strolling not 30 minutes before. One by one I tick off the islands as they pass below … Sanday, Stronsay, Shapinsay. By the time I reach Aberdeen the sky is grey. And by the time I am home in Sunderland it is raining heavily.
Saturday, 11 August
Sunderland
To the airport at Newcastle to collect Ngoc, Sarah and Emma – browner, thinner and relieved to be home; full of stories about the heat and the chaos. Ngoc says she couldn’t bear to go back to live in Saigon, now she has grown accustomed to our green grass and fresh air.
Friday, 31 August
Sunderland
The guinea pig campaign continues. Ngoc is on the point of surrender. I had a quiet talk with Sarah and told her that I was far from persuaded.
Today’s papers are full of New Labour’s latest excess: McDonald’s are to sponsor a reception at the Labour Party conference, to be attended by The Man, no less. That should guarantee us a riot at Brighton. Are there no depths of vulgarity that our masters will not plumb?