The Path to Power m-2

by Margaret Thatcher

  Even in 1978 I had felt that we could do better than this. I had insisted that there must be a right of appeal to the courts if someone was unfairly excluded or expelled from their union. But in 1979 we went significantly further by dropping the formula about the closed shop being objectionable but inevitable and making a clear commitment to change the law. Existing employees and ‘those with personal conviction’ (a weasel phrase but still unavoidable in the circumstances) ‘must be adequately protected, and if they lose their jobs as a result of the closed shop they must be entitled to adequate compensation’. The manifesto also promised an enquiry into the coercive recruitment practices of the SLADE printing union.[58] Additionally we made it clear that the code of practice would have statutory force.

  But the main change of substance related to picketing. In 1978 I had gone along with what Jim Prior wanted, which was not very much: ‘In consultation with all parties, we must find acceptable means to regulate the conduct of picketing. The strict arrangements adopted by the NUM in February 1974 could provide a sensible basis for this.’

  There was no mention even of a code of practice, let alone legislation. It was also, in retrospect, not particularly wise to remind voters directly of the occasion when the previous Conservative Government had been broken by the miners’ strike. Thankfully, the shocking scenes of the Winter of Discontent ensured that this feeble approach was now out of touch with reality and people’s expectations. We now promised to make secondary picketing unlawful and to review trade union immunities. Moreover, there was the clear suggestion that we would be prepared to take further legislative steps if these proved necessary: ‘We shall also make any further changes that are necessary so that a citizen’s right to work and to go about his or her lawful business free from intimidation or obstruction is guaranteed.’

  Two other new provisions were inserted between the 1978 and 1979 texts: one was the promise to ‘seek to conclude no-strike agreements in a few essential services’ (which in fact came to nothing), and the other to ‘ensure that unions bear their fair share of the cost of supporting those of their members who are on strike’, which we later implemented. Together with the limited proposals to ease the effects of the closed shop and equally modest proposals to finance postal ballots for union elections and other important issues, these constituted our package of trade union reform. I was very happy with it: indeed, it would turn out that I was far more confident not just in its practicality but also its popularity than some of my colleagues.

  By contrast with my victory over the position on trade unions, I scored no better than a draw on incomes policy. On this question, of course, I could not place my usual reliance on Geoffrey Howe who had developed a fatal attraction for the so-called ‘forum’.

  In 1978 I had argued that we should be clearer about our intention to break away from incomes policies, suggesting that instead of asserting (as proposed) that ‘the return to flexibility will take time, but it cannot be postponed for ever’, the last phrase should be replaced by ‘but it must start without delay’. And I did not even win this small point.

  In 1979 the manifesto contained, indeed, a somewhat more explicit allusion to the ‘forum’, even mentioning the German model. But this I could live with. Of more practical importance, there was a strongly worded promise to avoid incomes policies in the private sector: ‘Pay bargaining in the private sector should be left to the companies and workers concerned. At the end of the day, no one should or can protect them from the results of the agreements they make.’

  That left one particularly thorny aspect of incomes policy to be grasped in the public sector. The Prime Minister’s offer in January 1979 of new machinery to establish ‘comparability’ between the public and private sectors led to the setting up of a commission under Professor Hugh Clegg to take evidence and make recommendations which, of course, the Government committed itself to honour — after the election. Inevitably, when the election campaign began we were pressed to define our attitude. The question, in effect, was whether we would agree to pick up the bill (size unknown) for Labour’s efforts to buy off the public sector unions.

  Our policy for public sector pay had always been based on the strict application of cash limits. Geoffrey Howe and I did our best to stick to that, but there was intense pressure from colleagues and the Party, frankly concerned not to lose vital votes. And so finally we yielded and pledged ourselves to implement Professor Clegg’s recommendations. It was an expensive but unavoidable commitment.[59]

  In general, however, I was happy with the manifesto, both as regards contents and style. It contained a coherent philosophy and a limited number of clearly defined pledges. And it passed the most important final test, namely that at no stage in the campaign did we have to modify or retreat from it.

  I was to fight three general elections as Leader of the Conservative Party; and each one was different. The 1983 campaign was perhaps the easiest; the 1987 campaign was certainly the most emotionally fraught; but the general election of 1979 was the most challenging both for me and the Party. I never had any illusion that if we lost or even if we failed to win an overall majority I would be given another chance. I accepted this fact and was even prepared to speak about it openly. Personally, I had little doubt that it was also a watershed for the Conservative Party and for Britain.

  Unlike some Conservatives, I did not believe that the taming of the Left of the Labour Party would prove anything other than temporary if Labour won an overall majority. The Left knew what it wanted and was prepared to bide its time so as to obtain it. I never put any faith in the resolve or abilities of the ‘centre’. I agreed with Keith Joseph that the ‘centre’ ground of politics had moved steadily leftwards, and I attributed this principally to the lack of moral courage of those who prided themselves upon being ‘moderates’. Time and again these people had been prepared to compromise and adjust their positions; and, as a result, socialism had continued its onward march through our institutions. This march, I believed, had more or less reached its point of no return. So many people and so many vested interests were by now significantly dependent on the state — for employment in the public sector, for Social Security benefits, for health care, education and housing — that economic freedom had begun to pose an almost unacceptable risk to their living standards. And, when that finally happened, political freedom — for example the freedom to join or not to join a union or the freedom to have controversial views and still be entitled to teach in a state school or work in a government department — would be the next victim. Moreover, the advance of communism abroad and the retreat of the West before it was helping to sap the morale of those who wished to oppose collectivism at home.

  The 1979 campaign was also different in a number of other ways. It was the first time that the Conservative Party had ever fought so clearly on the theme that it was ‘time for a change’. Implicit in this approach was that Britain had been in retreat for much more than the years since 1974; the 1970–74 Conservative Government, however bravely it had started out, had been part of that retreat. I therefore believed that we should be bold in explaining precisely what had gone wrong and why radical action was required to put it right. I was soon to be aware, however, that this was not how Peter Thorneycroft and Central Office in general saw things. Their belief was that we should at all costs avoid ‘gaffes’, which meant in practice almost anything controversial — in particular, attacks on trade union power — in the belief that the Labour Party was already sufficiently discredited to lose the election. In fact, with a few concessions, I insisted on doing it my way. But this led to tensions.

  It also led to an odd reversal of roles between Government and Opposition. From the very beginning of their campaign, Labour more or less ignored their own manifesto — with the exception of vote-buying promises like free television licences for pensioners — and offered only limited excuses for their record. Instead, they concentrated on attacking real and alleged Conservative policies. Jim Callaghan largely disca
rded his image of avuncular bonhomie and led an extremely effective but wholly negative campaign. This was carried on at three levels. First, the media were fed with a daily diet of scare stories — ranging from the doubling of Value Added Tax to large cuts in the National Health Service — which would allegedly occur if we were elected. Secondly, doubt was cast on the credibility of our promises, particularly the pledge to cut income tax. Thirdly, there was an attempt to portray me as a dangerous right-wing ideologue, unsuited to the complex and demanding tasks of the premiership. Labour’s strategy presented us with a fundamental dilemma. Should we reply to their attacks? Or should we stick to our own message and our own ground? We only ever partly solved this dilemma.

  ORGANIZING THE CAMPAIGN

  The fact that we had been expecting an election for so long before it was actually called had given us plenty of time to make preparations. For the first time, the Party hired a campaign bus which was fitted up as a mobile office in which we would travel from one campaign stop to another. In overall charge on the bus was David Wolfson — who stood in for John Stanley after John fell down the steps in Bristol on our first day out, slipped a disc and was rushed off to hospital where he spent the whole campaign. Derek Howe was my Press Officer on the ‘battle bus’, while David Boddy was the second Press Officer travelling with the press in a second bus. Roger Boaden was responsible for ensuring that we knew where we were going and what to do when we got there — a taxing task on occasions. My old friend and now Deputy Chairman of the Party, Janet (Lady) Young, travelled with us to keep in touch with the Chairman’s office. Michael Dobbs, the future author of lurid tales of political skulduggery, was given the role of travelling librarian, accompanied by a bulging collection of sources for facts and figures I might need in answer to questions at my whistle-stops. Harvey Thomas travelled ahead of us, making the arrangements for my speeches and preparing the rallies. And three long-suffering secretaries — Tessa Jardine Paterson, Caroline Stephens and Sally James — coped with the almost impossible task of typing my speech drafts as the bus wound and bumped its way over country roads.

  The lack of word processors, faxes or photocopiers made life much more complicated than it would be in later elections. We did have a radio telephone, but it was not really satisfactory; for example, on one occasion the driver reversed the bus and knocked the aerial off. So whenever we arrived at a Conservative office there would be a mad rush to telephone through changes to speech texts to Conservative Central Office, while someone else on another line would receive an account of the day’s events in London.

  To allow me to cover more ground, I spent several nights away from London on tour. But I found this unsatisfactory and did not repeat it in future campaigns. It is easy to get — or at least feel — out of touch in an election campaign when you are away from London; it is also possible for other people to substitute their judgement for yours on crucial matters. Neither is acceptable in a life or death election. Usually, however, I would return late in the evening to Flood Street where secretaries would come in to serve up hot meals for me and my speech-writing team — John Hoskyns, Peter Utley, Hugh Thomas, Alfred Sherman and sometimes Ronnie Millar. Frozen cooked foods were our staple diet on weekdays. At the weekends we sampled the modestly exotic flavours of Duck à l’Orange and Sole Véronique. While we were speech-writing, Denis would be upstairs glued to the television, listening to reports on the campaign. I knew that Labour politicians were implanting some particularly hostile barb when I heard Denis yelling ‘Rubbish!’ — or worse.

  It is always difficult to coordinate the different aspects of an election campaign. The best-laid plans unravel and in no time at all the morning press conferences are concentrating on one message, the Party Leader’s speeches a second, Shadow ministers a third, and briefing for candidates something else again. In spite of the serious difference I had with Peter Thorneycroft over tactics, Peter and the team which worked with him were extremely capable: moreover their abilities complemented one another. Peter himself stayed in London throughout the campaign, chairing a tactical committee at Central Office which at times seemed to be in almost permanent session. He was always shrewd and massively authoritative. Alistair McAlpine’s extraordinary abilities as a fund raiser ensured that the Party was never prevented from taking the initiatives we wanted by lack of cash. Significantly, there had been a large increase in the smaller subscriptions from business. This reflected the fact that businessmen understood that the Conservative Party was again the party of free enterprise: it also meant that we were not dependent on just a few large donors. Tony Garner, always cheerful, optimistic and dapper, was the Chief Agent in charge of the campaign organization in the country. Gordon Reece, now back at Central Office as Director of Publicity, had made us all face up to the rigorous demands of the media — emphasizing the importance of the tabloid newspapers and of having our best film coverage and press releases available in good time for the early evening news. By now, I had learned a lot from Gordon about what to do (and not to do) to come over properly on the television screen. At least there was not much reason to worry about possible colour clashes. Conservative campaigning has its own version of Henry Ford’s dictum: you can wear any colour you like as long as it’s blue. And for most of the time in my case it was navy blue.

  A huge amount of information flows in and out of Conservative Central Office at election time: what comes in has to be analysed for significance and what goes out has to be checked for accuracy. Those responsible are some of the unsung heroes of the political battle. Keith Britto, Central Office’s number-cruncher and opinion poll expert, would struggle manfully with the contradictory psephological material with which we were deluged during the campaign. While Chris Patten was fighting a seat in Bath, Adam Ridley kept the Research Department working at fever pitch. Michael Portillo, from CRD, briefed me for my morning press conferences — a task in which he demonstrated not just his grasp of facts, figures and arguments, but also an instinctive shrewdness in suggesting their deployment. One of my impressions of the campaign was that Michael was a young man who would — and deserved to — go far.

  Two important tactical questions had to be addressed before the campaign got under way. The first was whether I should agree to take part in televised debates with Jim Callaghan. Discussions had been going on with the broadcasters since the summer of 1978 when the BBC (on behalf of both networks) had approached my office and the Prime Minister’s simultaneously. Attempts to arrange such debates in previous elections had broken down because of the difficulty of involving the minor parties, which insisted on a presence. Neither Labour nor we would accept that. But this time — July 1978 — the broadcasters were prepared to go ahead with a two-party format regardless of what the minor parties thought. Accordingly we gave the proposal serious consideration, though at the time we did not know the Prime Minister’s position. No final decision was taken because the election expected that autumn did not materialize, but influenced by Peter Thorneycroft and Gordon Reece — who were both strongly opposed — I was inclined to say no.

  Shortly before the actual campaign began, ITV revived the idea, proposing two debates on successive Sundays at the end of the campaign with Brian Walden as chairman. This time I was inclined to accept. It was not just that I had always been a natural debater; I believed that Jim Callaghan was greatly overrated and I wanted the chance to expose that fact. He had built his career on giving the trade unions whatever they wanted. So I felt that he was to blame, in a uniquely personal way, for the scenes of the winter of 1978/79. Chris Patten also favoured my taking on the Prime Minister. Moreover, there was a new factor in the situation: the Prime Minister publicly accepted the ITV proposal. And I did not like the idea of beginning an election campaign on a defensive note by refusing to debate.

  There were, however, still powerful arguments on the other side which persuaded Gordon Reece, Peter Thorneycroft and Willie Whitelaw to argue against. When the possibility had first been mooted, we were neck
-and-neck with the Labour Party in the opinion polls. But by the time the decision had to be made we had a substantial lead of probably 10 per cent. This meant that we might hope to win without the risks of a televised confrontation. And those risks were certainly large. I might make a mistake which it would be hard to obliterate. Jim Callaghan was usually a polished performer on television and he would certainly have no hesitation in using his authority and experience to patronize me. The fact that in the early tentative discussions we learned that he would wish to have the first debate on foreign affairs, where he would be able to deploy all those strengths, caused me to reconsider my earlier enthusiasm.

  Moreover, the Liberals were to be offered a quid pro quo: a long interview with David Steel on the Friday before polling day. My advisers and I were in full agreement that the most serious danger to us would be a last-minute upsurge of Liberal support — all the easier to imagine since they had just taken the Liverpool Edgehill seat from Labour at a by-election and were busily seeking, as Liberals always do, to exaggerate the ‘momentum’ this had given them. I had no wish to give the Liberal Leader any more political exposure than necessary.

  So I was persuaded to turn down the invitation to debate. It was not worth the risks. In any case, as I wrote in my published reply to ITV’s invitation: ‘Personally, I believe that issues and policies decide elections, not personalities. We should stick to that approach. We are not electing a president, we are choosing a government.’ It was the right decision and the criticism it provoked in some quarters quickly dissipated.