David Waddington Memoirs

by David Waddington

  When we came out of our hotel the first night, the Naples Police decided to take the cavalcade of ministers’ cars up a one-way street in the wrong direction. That meant forcing approaching cars into the ditch or onto the pavement. One car was slow to move and a policeman leapt out into the road and began to hammer on the windscreen with the butt of his revolver. The driver opened his window and got the pistol shoved in his face which so demoralised him that he was then quite incapable of moving his car at all and the police had to do the job for him.

  A magnificent fireworks display was laid on for us after dinner. The frumpish Dutch Minister for the Interior said she did not like firework displays, particularly when they were as noisy as the one that night, and she told me why. As a girl she had lived in Arnhem and one day paratroopers began to drop out of the sky. The teachers at her school told her that Arnhem was about to be liberated and the war was soon to end, but first she and her classmates had to put on their coats and go off into the woods to wait until the fighting had stopped and it was safe to go home. They set off into the woods and for days, while the noise of battle rolled about them, they waited to be told they could return. Eventually, someone came to tell them what had happened and they walked back to their hometown to find it in ruins and the ruins still occupied by the Germans. That is why the minister hated fireworks.

  I then had to go to a one-day conference in Rome. This was to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the signing of the European Convention on Human Rights. In his opening speech the President of the commission said that there would be no cases brought to the commission or the court if all member countries of the Council of Europe observed the convention. He did not seem to realise that it was somewhat difficult to guarantee observance of the convention when its vague terms and generalities were constantly being reinterpreted by the court and it was difficult to know one day what was going to be the law the next. My comments to this effect were not well received. The proceedings groaned on and eventually I had had enough and set off down the grand staircase towards my waiting car. But my exit had been spotted and five delegates had set off in hot pursuit. When they caught me up they assured me that I was not going to be forced to listen to any more speeches. I was wanted for the group photograph.

  Our Ambassador’s wife, who was a Catholic, asked us whether we would like to go with her to mass in the Pope’s private chapel at six the following morning, and there we went and met the Pope. I found him very much more spiritual and concerned with the saving of souls than any Church of England archbishop or bishop I had met, with the exception of the then Bishop of London, Dr Ellison. Dr Ellison left the Church of England a few years later.

  Then came Geoffrey Howe’s resignation from the government. In the statement he made to the Commons explaining why he had done what he had, he invited others to come forward prepared lead the Party in Margaret Thatcher’s stead. It did not take long after that for Michael Heseltine to throw his cap into the ring, saying that he had a better prospect than the Prime Minister of leading the Conservatives to victory at the next general election. Sixty Conservative members had refused to support the Prime Minister in 1989 when Sir Anthony Meyer had stood against her, and now with a serious and very formidable opponent already campaigning hard to displace her, one might have thought it was time for supporters of the Prime Minister to get to work and launch a vigorous campaign on her behalf; but nothing of the sort happened. There was a feeling in No. 10 that the unthinkable could not happen, that the Party really would have gone mad if it sacked a leader just off to Paris to celebrate something she had done so much to achieve – an end to the Cold War. And Peter Morrison, the Prime Minister’s Parliamentary Private Secretary, sat in his little den close to the Cabinet Room ready to offer visitors a hefty drink and tell them that all would be well on the night. He was going to busy himself flushing out of the clubs in St James’s the very many members of the Parliamentary Party who, according to Peter, spent their time in such establishments.

  It was not unreasonable to expect members of the Cabinet to vote for the Prime Minister and on the day I think they did. But earlier there had been rumours that there were senior Whips asserting the right to vote against her, which I thought was quite extraordinary. A firmer hand there and elsewhere in the Party, appealing for the loyalty which members of the Whips Office owed her, might have garnered the few votes necessary for her to win in the first round. But she failed to do so – by just four votes.

  That night John MacGregor, Leader of the House, told me that he doubted whether the Prime Minister could win the second ballot. There were already stories of people who had so far kept their heads down now being prepared to come out for Heseltine. The next day, when I was away from London at a conference in Oxford, it was determined, I know not by whom, that every member of the Cabinet should have the opportunity to see the Prime Minister on his own and tell her his views. It was a barmy way of trying to determine whether a Prime Minister should stay in office and it would have been far more appropriate for the Cabinet to have met as one body. But the upshot was that when I got back to London and went round to the Prime Minister’s room I found a queue at the door. At that moment Tom King was putting forward a weird idea that the Prime Minister should fight on but announce that if she was re-elected she would bow out in about March. Then out of the room came Chris Patten nursing his bottom like a naughty schoolboy who had been flogged by his headteacher. That did not endear him to some present.

  In with the Prime Minister were Ken Baker, Party Chairman, and John Wakeham, who was going to be Margaret’s campaign manager for the second round, if a second round there was going to be. Sitting on a sofa, Margaret looked thoroughly miserable. I had never seen her look like that before. I told her that she knew she could rely on my support if she fought on, but I had my own doubts as to whether she would win – or win convincingly enough to make it possible for her to continue in office. It was plain from her reply that she had already made up her mind to go. ‘Isn’t it unfair?’ she said. ‘I’ll be sitting up all night preparing my speech for the censure debate when it will all be completely pointless.’

  I sat for a while but, feeling so sad and distressed at the state to which she had been brought by people who, in my view, owed her loyalty and thanks for the great service she had done for the country, I felt I was doing no good there and left.

  Early on the Thursday morning John Patten phoned. Douglas Hurd wanted me to propose him for the leadership. I told him I could not. I thought it had been a privilege to serve under Douglas in the Home Office and knew him to be a man of great integrity and intellect, but I knew that John Major was Margaret’s choice to succeed her and I was not in a mood, after all that had happened, to deny her what little consolation she might get from seeing the man she preferred become leader in her stead. I know that a number of other colleagues voted for John Major for the same reason.

  When I got to No. 10 for the Thursday Cabinet meeting Norman Lamont asked me to nominate John Major. I told him that just then I could not bring myself to nominate anybody, but he could take it that in due course I would come out for John. In the Cabinet Room the Prime Minister began to read out the statement that was going to be released to the press, but she could not continue. James Mackay asked her if she would like him to read it for her, and at that she pulled herself together and said she could manage. By that time I was not the only one round the table close to tears, but eventually she got it all out. It read:

  Having consulted widely among colleagues, I have concluded that the unity of the Party and the prospects of victory in a general election would be better served if I stood down to enable Cabinet colleagues to enter the ballot for the leadership. I should like to thank all those in Cabinet and outside who have given me much dedicated support.

  The Lord Chancellor then read a statement expressing the regret of the whole Cabinet and paying tribute to her enormous achievements. Douglas Hurd added a few words, as did Kenneth Baker. The normal business of
Cabinet followed, and after reading out the business in the Commons for the following week, the Chief Whip finished by saying that the Prime Minister would have great sympathy at Question Time that day. At that Margaret recovered her old spirit and said with a snort: ‘I prefer the business to the sympathy.’

  That afternoon the Prime Minister delivered a speech in the censure debate which made her opponents look like novices. She enjoyed herself hugely as she tore the Opposition motion to pieces. Many who had so recently voted against her must have wondered how on earth they could have come to do it and what hope there could possibly be of the Conservative Party throwing up another leader with the same mastery of the House of Commons. Shortly afterwards, Norman Lamont rang to say that Norman Tebbit was thinking of standing. I rang Norman Tebbit and told him that in my view it would be a great mistake for him to do so. He would find it far more difficult than Douglas or John to unite the Party and, by standing, would harm John’s chances. Norman replied that if he stood John would come last. He would think about what I had said but he did not like John Major’s views on Europe and abhorred Douglas’s.

  On the Friday evening I went up to Manchester and spoke to the Withington Conservative Association. The chairman decided to conduct a leadership poll there and then, and John Major came out way in front. On the Saturday I was asked by the Major camp if I would declare my support for him on the following day. They had been keeping up the momentum of the campaign by each day getting a prominent member of the Party to say they were for Major, and I agreed to be next in line. I wrote to Margaret thanking her for everything and saying that I was sorry that ambition had led me to accept her invitation to leave the Whips Office and become Home Secretary. I could not help wondering whether, if I had remained in the job, she would have lost hers. I would have made pretty sure that the whips knew they had an obligation of loyalty to her and would have spread the same message among the backbenchers. She wrote back a very touching and generous letter in which she said I had nothing to reproach myself for. But I have never ceased to do so.

  A review of her book The Downing Street Years contained this passage:

  One mystery remains. In her early years as Prime Minister Lady Thatcher was isolated in her own party and Cabinet: she was almost the only true Thatcherite. But more than a decade later the same remained true. Her last Cabinet contained only four genuine Thatcherites: David Waddington, Peter Lilley, Cecil Parkinson and, possibly, Michael Howard. Either she had systematically failed to promote Thatcherites up through the ministerial ranks, or she had failed to rally enough Tory Members of Parliament to her cause. These memoirs throw no light on this central question. Lady Thatcher seems willfully to resist it, as though frightened of its larger implications.

  I am not sure that I can solve the mystery, but it is worth remembering that it was not always very comfortable to be a declared Thatcherite. In public it was far easier to portray oneself as part of the moderate centre, ever questioning the Prime Minister’s decisions, always guarding the party’s conscience, ever showing the compassion which it could be hinted ‘the leader’, for all her virtues, lacked.

  Margaret Thatcher was not an easy woman to work with. On most matters she was convinced she was right, and that could be very irritating. But who can blame her for thinking herself right? She usually was. Three hundred and sixty-four economists said her economic policies could not work, but no sooner was the ink dry on their opinions than the policies were seen to be working. The Ministry of Defence doubted whether the Falklands could be retaken. She said they had to be, and they were. Everyone said that the government could not beat the miners. They were far too powerful. Margaret Thatcher knew better. She took them on and she won. The Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Treasury told her that Britain had to enter the exchange-rate mechanism. She felt in her bones it would end in tears and it did.

  It is said that over the poll tax her political antennae failed her and she was over-committed before she realised that retreat was essential for her survival. I do not believe that the idea of a flat-rate charge for local services with rebates for those on low incomes sank her. I do think she failed to realise how grievously Treasury policy was affecting the level of the charge and, therefore, its acceptability. It was, however, her disagreements with the Foreign Office and the Treasury over European policy which provoked Geoffrey Howe’s resignation and it was Geoffrey Howe’s resignation which led to the leadership contest; and I have not the slightest doubt that over Europe she was right and the others wrong. In her refusal to go along with the pretence that Britain could continue to cede more and more power to the European Union – even to the extent of joining a European currency union and losing control of our own economic policy – and yet still remain an independent nation state, she was certainly more honest than her critics.

  Margaret Thatcher was tough and did not suffer fools gladly. Diplomacy was not her strong point and the word ‘compromise’ did not feature large in her vocabulary. She knew what she wanted and she expected her ministers to deliver. Convincing her of a case was hard work. She tried to test your arguments to destruction, but when eventually convinced that what you wanted was right she supported you all the way. Indeed, so keen was she to show that support that she often attracted to herself the odium for unpopular policies when lesser Prime Ministers would have made sure it stuck firmly to their subordinates. So it was with the poll tax. Margaret Thatcher had great qualities of leadership which stood the country in good stead at times of crisis, and she was a giant on the world stage. It was sometimes difficult to describe her without using adjectives more familiar to the reader of Jane’s Fighting Ships than the student of political biography – indefatigable, indomitable, intrepid and courageous.

  Her determination to resist every threat to peace from the Soviet bloc, her willingness to face any amount of unpopularity at home in order to see her own country properly defended and the West secure, led to the deployment of the Cruise missile in Britain as a response to the Soviet deployment of the SS20 and to the massive build-up of forces behind the iron curtain. That in turn gave her the moral authority to speak for the west and made the Soviets realise that they had no hope with their own far more limited resources of forever preventing democracy in Eastern Europe, let alone extending their particular brand of tyranny further west.

  When she was first Prime Minister Britain had lost her empire and was no longer a great power, but when she met George Bush Snr at the time of Kuwait there was no doubt who was the boss. ‘All right, George, all right,’ she is reputed to have said; ‘but this is no time to go wobbly.’ I doubt somewhat whether Tony Blair ever felt in a position to address an American President in such terms; and I fear it is inconceivable that David Cameron will ever speak in such terms to Obama or whoever succeeds him.

  The trouble with high political office is that it is very difficult to leave it with dignity. Against the odds, Margaret Thatcher did just that. The British people owe her an immense debt and history will be kind to her.

  It has no need to be kind to me. I felt that by leaving the Whips Office I had helped to bring about her downfall.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Leader of the Lords

  On the evening of 27 November, John Major became leader of the Conservative Party. As soon as I had heard the news I had to leave for a dinner at which I was the guest of honour. I made my speech and then was passed a message. I had to go to No. 11 Downing Street at once. I went so fast that I got there before John Major who was still in the House of Commons for the ten o’clock division. Norma was at home and, having offered me a drink, invited me to sit at the end of their bed and watch on television the scenes in the House as John was congratulated by all and sundry. Eventually he arrived at No. 11 and, having talked for a little while on our own, we were joined by Andrew Turnbull and the Cabinet Secretary. We had a long conversation about who might fill various jobs and what I might do and, eventually, he offered and I accepted the leadership of the House of Lord
s. If I had had any sense I should have stuck out for remaining Home Secretary where my work was only half done, but I sensed that John wanted a change and I got it into my head that going to the Lords would be a more worthwhile challenge than stepping down from the Home Office and becoming, say, Leader of the Commons. I was wrong and I think my judgement was affected by the stressful time we had been through as a result of Margaret’s departure.

  Next morning I saw John at No. 10 after he had returned from the Palace. After chatting about other changes he said that he wanted Lord Denham (Bertie) replaced as Chief Whip by Alexander Hesketh, but I soon persuaded him that it would be a mistake to hurry the change. Bertie had said that he wanted to go in the spring in any event and the sensible course was to wait until then rather than make two key changes at the same time.

  I went back to the Home Office to pack up my belongings, and some of the trappings of office of one of Her Majesty’s principal Secretaries of State were then removed with astonishing rapidity. As soon as my move was made public I was told that my detectives were leaving as there were not considered to be any security problems connected with my new post. The next morning I went to the Palace and the Queen gave me framed photographs of herself and Prince Philip.

  The next few days I spent in a state of black despair. I felt that in taking the job in the Lords I had let myself down badly. The children, not surprisingly, were not at all interested in becoming ‘Hons.’, and Gilly, whom I had expected to be delighted, was doubtful whether I had done the right thing. We went to a wedding and got stuck in a snow drift and I could not help thinking how nice it had been to be driven everywhere by the police. Gilly put a brave face on it publicly, telling the local paper: ‘David finished his job as Home Secretary a success. He is still in the Cabinet and instead of sitting opposite the Prime Minister, he will now be sitting next to him.’ But she then had to cope with the death of her mother, and both of us were miserable.