As I came to know more about it, I drew four lessons from this sad episode. First, we should not get into a military operation unless we were determined and able to finish it. Second, we should never again find ourselves on the opposite side to the United States in a major international crisis affecting Britain’s interests. Third, we should ensure that our actions were in accord with international law. And finally, he who hesitates is lost.
At the time, I fiercely supported the Suez campaign in argument. I was repelled by what seemed to me the opportunism of the Labour Party in turning against the operation after initially supporting it. Denis and I were among the thousands of readers who cancelled the Observer and pledged never to read it again because of its opposition to Suez. This is not to say that I had no misgivings. Even though in those days I was much less conscious of international legal niceties than I later became, I did think it slightly rum that the evening paper which I dashed across Chancery Lane in a downpour to secure blared out the headline ‘Ultimatum!’ Britain and France were demanding that the Egyptians and Israelis withdraw from the canal and allow an Anglo-French force to separate them and protect the waterway. It was not quite clear to me how the British could issue an ultimatum to the Egyptians to withdraw from their own territory. Still, I swallowed my hesitations and supported Eden.
Politically, the failure of the Suez operation came as a body blow. Although it took many years for the full picture to emerge, it was immediately clear that the Government had been incompetent, and that its incompetence had been exposed in the most humiliating fashion. For a Conservative government — particularly one led by someone whose reputation was founded on the conduct of foreign affairs — the outcome was particularly damaging. There was a mood of dismay bordering on despair among Conservative supporters. Denis’s reaction, as an ex-officer in the Royal Artillery, was sharpened by anger that our troops had been let down when the operation was halted close to completion. As he said to me: ‘You never announce a ceasefire when your troops are out on patrol.’ I would remember this: politicians must never take decisions in war without full consideration of what they mean to our forces on the ground.
We also blamed harshly the conduct of the United States. Some Conservatives never forgave the Americans, and the fact that anti-Americanism lingered on in some generally right-wing circles when I was Prime Minister must be in part attributed to this. I too felt that we had been let down by our traditional ally — though at the time, of course, I did not realize that Eisenhower felt equally let down by the Anglo-French decision to launch military operations on the eve of a Presidential election in which he was running on a peace ticket. But in any case I also felt that the ‘special relationship’ with our transatlantic cousins had foundations too solid to be eroded by even such a crisis as Suez. Some people argued that Suez demonstrated that the Americans were so hostile to Britain’s imperial role, and were now so much a superpower, that they could not be trusted and that closer European integration was the only answer. But, as I have argued, there was an alternative — and quite contrary — conclusion. This was that British foreign policy could not long be pursued without ensuring for it the support of the United States. Indeed, in retrospect I can see that Suez was an unintended catalyst in the peaceful and necessary transfer of power from Britain to America as the ultimate upholder of Western interests and the liberal international economic system.
I was not so preoccupied with Suez as to be unconscious of the wicked ruthlessness of the Soviet Union’s behaviour in crushing the Hungarian revolution in November 1956 — even under bouncy Nikita Khrushchev, who had visited Britain with his amiable wife just a few months earlier. I never imagined that communism even with a human face could somehow generate a human heart. But at the time it seemed extraordinary to me that the Soviet Union should be prepared to undo all the efforts it had made since the death of Stalin to improve its image by such a crude and barbarous affront to decency. Some years later I discussed my reaction with Bob Conquest, who was to provide me with so much wise advice when I became Leader of the Opposition and whose The Great Terror in the late 1960s first fully exposed the scale of Stalin’s murders. He said that the classic error we all made in dealing with the Soviets was in assuming that they would behave as Westerners would in their circumstances. They were shaped by a very different and much more brutal political culture. It was my recollection of all this that led me, after Iraq attacked Iran in September 1980, to ask our Intelligence Services to look back over events like Hungary, which we had not foreseen because we had failed to penetrate the psychology of the aggressor, and draw out any conclusions for future action.
Yet there is little we could have done to prevent the Hungarian tragedy — and no way that NATO would have risked a major war for Hungary, with or without Suez. But many Hungarians thought that they had been encouraged to think otherwise, which added to their bitterness at our betrayal. I remember a Sunday newspaper interview with a Hungarian woman sheltering in a basement. She said: ‘The West will not come and help. Freedom is very selfish.’ I burned at the reproach. Whatever we were or were not in a position to do, it seemed to me that a world divided into spheres of influence which condemned this woman to live under communism was one which had to be changed.
After the fiasco of Suez it was clear that Anthony Eden could not remain as Prime Minister. He fell ill during the crisis and resigned in January 1957. There was much speculation in the circles in which I moved as to who would succeed — in those days, of course, Conservative Leaders ‘emerged’ rather than being elected. My Conservative friends in Chambers were convinced that Rab Butler would never be summoned by the Queen because he was too left wing. By contrast, the Chancellor of the Exchequer at the time of Suez, Harold Macmillan, was considered to be the right-wing candidate. All of which shows how little we knew of the past and present convictions of both men — particularly the brilliant, elusive figure who was shortly to become Prime Minister.
Harold Macmillan had the strengths and weaknesses of the consummate politician. He cultivated a languorous and almost antediluvian style which was not — and was not intended to be — sufficiently convincing to conceal the shrewdness behind it. He was a man of masks. It was impossible to tell, for instance, that behind the cynical Edwardian façade was one of the most deeply religious souls in politics.
Harold Macmillan’s great and lasting achievement was to repair the relationship with the United States. This was the essential condition for Britain to restore her reputation and standing. Unfortunately, he was unable to repair the damage inflicted by Suez on the morale of the British political class — a veritable ‘Suez syndrome’. They went from believing that Britain could do anything to an almost neurotic belief that Britain could do nothing. This was always a grotesque exaggeration. At that time we were a middle-ranking diplomatic power after America and the Soviet Union, a nuclear power, a leading member of NATO, a permanent member of the UN Security Council and the centre of a great Commonwealth.
Macmillan’s impact on domestic affairs was mixed. Under his leadership there was the 1957 decontrol of private sector rents — which greatly reduced the scope of the rent control that had existed in one form or another since 1915 — a necessary, though far from popular move. Generally, however, Macmillan’s leadership edged the Party in the direction of state intervention, a trend which would become much more marked after 1959.
Even at the time some developments made me uneasy. When Peter Thorneycroft, Enoch Powell and Nigel Birch — Macmillan’s entire Treasury team — resigned over a £50 million increase in public expenditure in January 1958, Macmillan talked wittily of ‘little local difficulties’. I felt in no position to judge the rights and wrongs of the dispute itself. But the husbanding of public money did not strike me as an ignoble cause over which to resign. The first steps away from the path of financial rectitude always make its final abandonment that much easier. And that abandonment brings its own adverse consequences. Such was the case in the years that
followed.
Yet in Macmillan the Party certainly had an immensely shrewd and able politician. As early as the summer of 1957 he had understood that the living standards of ordinary people had been rising fast, and that this offered the best hope of political success. It was then that he observed that ‘most of our people have never had it so good’.[7]
The Labour Party and the critics pounced on this as an example of Macmillan’s complacency and materialism. But in fact it was true and politically potent. There was a feeling that things never had been better, and that this was attributable to private enterprise rather than planning. The last thing the country wanted was to return to hair-shirted austerity. So the attacks on ‘Super-Mac’ rebounded.
That said, the political recovery was by no means immediate. At the time of the October 1957 Party Conference — one of the very few that I did not attend — the opinion polls were showing Labour at 52 per cent and the Conservatives at 33 per cent. On top of that, the Liberal Party dealt us a severe blow by winning the Torrington by-election in March 1958.
It was not until the late summer of that year that the Conservatives caught up with Labour in the opinion polls. By the time of the 1959 general election the two main parties were unashamedly competing to appeal to the nation’s desire for material self-advancement. The Conservative manifesto bluntly stated: ‘Life’s better with the Conservatives, don’t let Labour ruin it.’ It went on to promise a doubling of the British standard of living in a generation. As for Labour, a few days into the campaign the Party Leader Hugh Gaitskell promised that there would be no rise in income tax in spite of all the extra spending Labour planned — even in that political climate of optimism, a fatally incredible pledge.
THE FINCHLEY ROAD
Well before this I myself had re-entered the fray. In February 1956 I wrote to Donald Kaberry, the Party Vice-Chairman in charge of candidates:
For some time now I have been feeling the temptation to return to active politics. I had intended, when I was called to the Bar, to concentrate entirely on legal work but a little experience at the Revenue Bar, and in Company matters, far from turning my attention from politics has served to draw my attention more closely to the body which is responsible for the legislation about which I have come to hold strong views.
I went to see Donald Kaberry the following month. There was no problem in my being put back on the list of candidates — this time to be considered for safe Conservative-held seats only. I was all the more delighted because I found in Donald Kaberry a constant and dependable source of wise advice and friendship — no small thing for an aspiring candidate.
I was less fortunate in the reception I received from Selection Committees. It had begun at Orpington in 1954. It was the same at Beckenham, Hemel Hempstead and then Maidstone in 1957 and 1958. I would be short-listed for the seat, would make what was generally acknowledged to be a good speech — and then the questions, most of them having the same purpose, would begin. With my family commitments, would I have time enough for the constituency? Did I realize how much being a Member of Parliament would keep me away from home? Might it not be better to wait for a year or two before trying to get into the House? And sometimes more bluntly still: did I really think that I could fulfil my duties as a mother with young children to look after and as an MP?
I felt that Selection Committees had every right to ask me these questions. I explained our family circumstances and that I already had the help of a first-class nanny. I also used to describe how I had found it possible to be a professional woman and a mother by organizing my time properly. What I resented, however, was that beneath some of the criticism I detected a feeling that the House of Commons was not really the right place for a woman anyway. Perhaps some of the men at Selection Committees entertained this prejudice, but I found then and later that it was the women who came nearest to expressing it openly. Not for the first time the simplistic left-wing concept of ‘sex discrimination’ had got it all wrong.
I was hurt and disappointed by these experiences. They were, after all, an attack on me not just as a candidate but as a wife and mother. But I refused to be put off by them. I was confident that I had something to offer in politics. I knew that many others who had crossed my political path very much wanted me to get into the House. And most important of all, Denis never had any doubts. He was always there to comfort and support me.
In April 1958 I had another long talk with Donald Kaberry at Central Office. He told me about the constituencies which were likely to select soon and I, for my part, spoke frankly about the difficulties I had faced as a woman with the Selection Committees. Unfortunately, this is not one of the topics on which even the wisest male friend can give very useful counsel. But Donald Kaberry did give me advice on what to wear on these sensitive occasions — something smart but not showy. In fact, looking me up and down, he said he thought the black coat dress with brown trim which I was wearing would be just fine. His sartorial judgement would soon be put to the test. For I now entered my name for — and in July was called to interview at — the safe Conservative seat of Finchley, North London, whose MP was retiring.
Finchley was not an area of London that I knew particularly well. But like any enthusiastic would-be candidate I set to work to find out all there was to know about it. I was determined that no one would know the Finchley equivalent of Locksbottom better than I. But one advantage of an urban seat, particularly a London seat, is that you know that the most topical issues locally will correspond very closely to the most important political issues nationally. And that is not always the case with a rural or regional seat. So, for example, rent decontrol was bound to be controversial in Finchley, as nationally. Immigration too was just starting to figure on the political landscape — it was to lead to the first Notting Hill riots just a few weeks later. The state of the economy, and which party was more likely to keep living standards rising and services improving, were bound to be at the forefront of people’s minds in Finchley as elsewhere. On all of these things I knew exactly where I stood and what I would say.
I was one of a ‘long list’ of some 150 applicants, which contained a number of my future colleagues in the House. I was also one of those called for preliminary interview by the Constituency Selection Committee. I could tell that I had a good deal of support, which was satisfying but hardly grounds for confidence. Being the most popular person on these occasions can sometimes be less important than being the least unpopular person. If, as the weaker candidates are eliminated, all their support goes to your opponent it is quite possible to fall at the last fence — and we were barely out of the paddock.
It was arranged that the final four of us — three men and myself — should go before the Executive Council of the Association. I knew I would have a large number of friends, but I was also pretty sure that I could expect some fierce opposition; it would be a fight.
I prepared myself as best I could. I felt reasonably confident that I knew the constituency. I had no doubt that I could cope with even quite abstruse questions of economic or foreign policy, for I had voraciously read the newspapers and all the briefing I could obtain. I prepared my speech until it was word perfect, and I had mastered the technique of talking without notes. Equally important was that I should put myself in the right state of mind — confident but not too confident. I decided to obey instructions and wear the black coat dress. I saw no harm either in courting the fates: so I wore not just my lucky pearls but also a lucky brooch which had been given to me by my Conservative friends in Dartford.
There was, however, one piece of thoroughly bad luck. This was that on the date of the meeting — Monday 14 July — it was quite impossible for Denis to come with me. Indeed, so quick was the whole selection process that he knew nothing whatever about it. Every year he would go away on a foreign sales tour for a month or so, and at this point his whereabouts were only ‘somewhere in Africa’. By contrast, the other candidates were accompanied by their spouses. So as I entered the packed meeti
ng on that warm July evening and took my place beside the chairman I felt very much alone.
But as soon as I was on my feet the inhibitions fell away. As always, I quickly became too taken up with the thrust of my argument to worry too much about what other people were thinking. The applause when I sat down seemed warm and genuine. As I had expected, it was at questions that the trouble began.
Could a mother with young children really effectively represent Finchley? What about the strains on my family life? I gave my usual answers, and as usual too a section of the audience was determinedly unconvinced. And doubtless it was easier for them because poor Denis at that moment was absent. At least he did not have to hear it all. But I wished he were with me all the same.
I rejoined the other candidates and their wives, where the tension was only relieved by that over-polite inconsequential small talk which such occasions always seem to generate. Once the last of us had performed, it seemed an endless wait until one of the officers came through to tell us the result. And when he did, it was to me that he spoke. There was no time to feel relief, pleasure or even exhaustion, because it was now necessary to return to receive the congratulations of the Executive.
It was only afterwards that I knew the precise result. The first round of voting gave me thirty-five votes as against thirty-four for my nearest rival. On the second round, when the two other candidates had dropped out, I had forty-six against his forty-three. It was then expected that, for form’s sake and to show that there was no ill feeling, the Executive should unanimously vote to select me as their candidate. Unfortunately, some of those who opposed my candidature had no such intentions. So I inherited an Association which I would have to unite behind me, and this would mean winning over people who had not disguised their disapproval.
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