Dislocated to Success
Page 2
I looked at him dubiously and shook my head; he showed me some more photos: sailing ships; more of what was supposed to be Dublin; some very low-level shots of what I was told was Calais, a town surrounded by Vauban style forts; what looked like a haywain; some chap in very old style clerical dress and a tricked hat on a horse - Willie quietly said "Near Newry". Then a photograph of some open moorland; Willie again explained "Paderborn, I'm afraid”. I think I must have been imitating a goldfish by then; I remember Patrick Jenkin[13] shouting down the phone - "no, turn them all back, danger of smallpox and God knows what else".
I looked at Willie and enquired what was going on; he shook his head and said "Whatever it is, it is trouble. Everywhere we have overflown is the same - the Navy have spotted what look like 18th century ships of the line". I quavered at that; surely this was impossible? He just shook his head - he said that the UK appeared to be the same, as did the Isle of Man, but there had been no contact with the Channel Islands, Gibraltar or anything that wasn't RN. I asked him about Ulster, and he said "They are still with us" - with a shrug that indicated that perhaps it might not have been his preferred option.
At this point, Jim Prior wandered in with a sheaf of papers in his hand - his civil servants had dug into the Civil Defence papers, it seemed - and he went into a huddle with Willie. I realised I hadn't contacted my other office and went to ring them. They knew nothing as well, and I suggested they looked up their civil defence papers; there was a quiet giggle at the other end in response. I later learned that the Arts plan mainly consisted of moving valuable items to old salt mines in case of nuclear war. There wasn't anything else except a few scraps of paper about morale-building using local theatre groups and community singing - much of which was a holdover from the war. By the time I came off the phone, there were half a dozen of us in the room and Jim and Peter loosely outlined to us all what was to be the number one priority of the nation for the next few years: feeding ourselves.
It was all quite shocking; I knew we imported food, but I had never really thought how much we imported. Peter Walker[14] has often said thank goodness it was February when we were dislocated - had it been in, say, high summer there might have been some very serious problems. Norman Tebbit had joined us by then, and passed on the information that it looked like everything in Europe west of the Iron Curtain was the same. We had, of course, not flown over the curtain at that point; there were concerns about what that might have provoked. Jim was still rattling on - the gist of his argument seemed to be that the Civil Defence preparations and stocks were based on a considerable number of people having been incinerated, and that we would find it very difficult to feed ourselves. His hope was that America hadn't been affected and was just under radio silence because of these peculiar atmospherics. Norman hoped that the Russians had gone otherwise things could be tricky. We were told that Quintin[15] and Francis had joined the PM at the palace, which given the time was pretty unprecedented; things were obviously difficult there. Whilst the Queen always kept to the protocols, she has always liked to be fully informed.
I had to pop out and try and get the Clerk of the House to arrange things for later; whilst we waited for the nod, it had generally been decided to abandon business at 6pm and start with a PM's statement tomorrow. However, that was subject to the PM - I just wanted to make sure the option was known. Personally, I wondered if it was wise; business as usual would mean less loose lips and idle speculation from the second most gossipy group I know. Needless to say, there were very few in the Chamber but plenty in the lobby - and even more in the bars. I was stopped a dozen times by people who wanted to know what was happening, but I just said “we are waiting for the PM”. I didn’t mention she was at the Palace having a very lengthy audience; that was known, but not well-known at that time.
When I got back, the PM had arrived; she explained roughly what we knew already, with the added proviso that we believe that Europe strongly resembled somewhere around the 1720s or 1730s. Part of the reason why they had been delayed was that the Queen did not want to fully enact Queen’s Order Two - at which point there was a collective gasp; that was part of the preparation for war - but had agreed that a number of measures from it would and could be needed. We were, at least, to be spared the armed Traffic Wardens. They had gone through point-by-point, deciding what to enact. I was informed later that at some point in the conversation the American Forces in the UK had come up, and that was what had prolonged the discussion. There was a fear that they might do something under stress, or that their orders might be somewhat drastic in case of not being able to contact the authorities. Francis told me at a much later date that we were very glad that all four Polaris submarines had come through and checked in, because the sealed order of the time was "STRIKE BACK"; had one of them been dislocated who knows what would have happened to those who were lost.
There was a flurry of questions, to which the answers were far, far too often “we don't know” - that was understandable, but was very unusual. There was no contact from any aircraft, radio station or anything but RN ships outside of the UK and the Isle of Man, but the vast majority of the RN, the RFA's and what was left of our Merchant Navy had come with us - that felt like Divine Providence, looking back on it. Whilst having the RN was vital, if we hadn’t had the Merchant Navy as well we might have faltered. It later became apparent the only ships we had lost had actually been in port overseas; we also had our North Sea oil rigs and other bits associated with them, which proved more than handy, but there was no sign of the rigs in the Norwegian fields.
The PM approved of sending the House home. I think it was Peter who suggested that there might be problems talking to the press; he was informed that D-Notices were in operation, and I learnt later that the Redtops, in particular, had their copy inspected. This was to stop panic and unfounded speculation; the way things were, we could have done with a censor in the PM's room. It then struck me what had happened - and what it meant. I asked if anyone had been to The Hague, and Francis looked at me with very sad eyes and pulled out another photo - "was Adrian there? Gone as well, I'm afraid". I started shaking and took another swig of the brandy. I really wasn't sure what to do, but I knew that I couldn't possibly manage the evening's emergency Cabinet. I quietly had a word with the Prime Minister, who knew somewhat of my circumstances, and begged leave; it was granted - as it was for Ian, who had two boys in the BAOR and who sadly never fully recovered from the shock. I was urged to come back as soon as possible, as she felt my role might become far more important. Willie said he'd square the Speaker for me, for which I was very grateful.
Chapter 3
I'm gay.
There, that's that done with. It was hardly exactly the biggest secret in politics; after all, I was once described by the vile Junor[16] as the Tories' answer to Liberace. But, apart from my immediate circle of very close friends and a few people in politics who had to know, I had never confirmed it to a living soul. In fact it wasn't until a couple of years after the Dislocation that I actually said those exact words - and that was in very awkward circumstances. Everything was done in code back then; not the rough palare of Soho, nor the more strident voices of modern Gay Liberation. You were "So" or you were "musical"; amongst friends you were "family"; to the papers you might be "devoted to your mother" or a "confirmed bachelor".
It was a consequence of the times I grew up in. Like many Catholic boys, I tried to sublimate myself by taking a vocation; like many, I fell by the wayside after only a few months - there were far too many pretty young men in Rome with the same idea. I was camp at Cambridge and outré at Oxford; it was a still a slightly permissive era after the war. However, things clamped down quite hard - look what happened to poor Turing or the Montagu boy. There was pretty much a full retreat to the closet or to more liberal foreign parts by most people; it was over a decade before any hint of sexual freedom raised its head.
Not that I didn't do my bit. I was one of the co-sponsors of Leo Abse's groundbreaking leg
islation; some felt that was somewhat brave, and there was a little trouble with the constituency, but by framing the need in somewhat unpleasant ways and with the spirit of the swinging sixties it managed to pass. I was quite surprised who voted for it and who didn't; a lot of socialist Catholics opposed it root and nail, whilst liberal-conservative Catholics were generally for it. It was one of the few times Michael Foot[17], Roy Jenkins, Margaret Thatcher and Enoch Powell[18] must have been in agreement. Of course, it was with strict conditions that some police forces and magistrates liked to exploit, and only in England and Wales; Scotland had to wait 20 years more, and we are now in the position that the law has been changed in four states of the Holy Roman Empire before it has in Northern Ireland - although to give them their due, the current Government looks like it is about to take that step.
Apart from a handful of very brave local councillors, no politicians at the time of the Dislocation were openly gay - although there were a fair few MPs who were gay, and there were a number who, as one of my more risqué friends put it, “helped the gays out occasionally.” It was not the time or the place for such; Maureen Colquhoun had been treated abominably in the last parliament, and we all saw how Peter Tatchell was monstered by the press in Bermondsey in 1982. It was generally accepted that if you were discovered, then the best you could hope for was to be allowed to finish your term; if it was too scandalous then you would have to resign. Of course, young Parris[19] has finally proved this theory wrong, but he had a 20,000 majority and even that took a hit.
We all coped in different ways: some sublimated their sexuality completely or just let it loose on holiday in some suitable spot; others consumed rent boys like candy; some haunted public toilets and other such spots looking for sexual solace. A handful of the newer and younger ones occasionally went to a gay pub or club and hoped not to be recognised; others managed to acquire some form of stable relationship. It was a dangerous demi-monde in many ways - full of thrill-seekers, but thrill-seeking is not uncommon in politics and there were plenty of supposedly perfectly heterosexual MP’s playing with fire in one way or another - just look at Cecil Parkinson[20].
However, I was one of the lucky ones; politics is a surprisingly tolerant place - especially in the Conservative Party, which often amazes people. My periods in academic law and journalism were very similar; of course, you do have to be careful, but the gilded cage is large enough to sing a little - just not too loudly. I was also lucky to have met Adrian at Oxford in the mid-50's, and we had spent the last twenty or so years as a slightly odd couple - he the proper corporate lawyer specialising in banking, myself the academic lawyer and then journalist and politician. With our responsible jobs, there was no question of living together or being recognised as a couple except amongst all but our most intimate friends. Back then, that privilege was really for either the very rich or, oddly, the lower-middle classes. Having said that, we had been a part of each other's life for a long time; in fact we had been talking about a special holiday in 1981 to celebrate our pretend Silver anniversary. It was very much a weekends, holidays and occasional dinners kind of relationship, which was not uncommon amongst people of our class; there was otherwise too much to lose.
Now - with the Dislocation - he was lost, gone to whatever has happened to people; we will never know, but I often think about it. I sometimes wonder if there was a vice-versa Dislocation and if he joined Roy Jenkins, Peter Carrington and others to seek audience with King George II and aid the UK of the 1730s towards the modern world. He was accredited to the various European Courts, and I could see him arguing cases there on behalf of the House of Hannover.
I was somewhat distraught that evening; Adrian was a big part of my life, I really didn't know what to do. He was gone, no-one except the Lord would know where; would he return, would he not return, was he safe where he was and where was he? It was utterly frightful, in some ways worse than death, because death is a just a quietus until the sure and certain Resurrection - and only a few demented Americans really believed that was around the corner. Of course, now only a few believe in a SnapBack - mainly those who still grieve deeply for their loved ones - but certainly for the first year or so it was quite a common belief. Even the PM said to me once - "one day, I'll wake up and this will all have proved to be some horrid dream". I wasn't entirely sure she slept for some time after the Dislocation; I shared that problem for a few weeks, drinking rather too much temporarily-irreplaceable wine in order to get Morpheus to make a call.
There was also the awkwardness of the grieving; how much did you grieve for someone who may not be gone, or may not be dead? How much could you grieve in public for someone who officially was just good friends? Would there be a service or not? All very difficult on a personal level, but especially for homosexual couples who had been Dislocated - although those heterosexuals living over the brush had problems as well. Families who disapproved of relationships quite often excluded the other half from at the settlement of their lost loved one’s affairs. I was lucky in that Adrian's sister knew and accepted the situation; his remaining parent wasn't even aware her son was gay. Many, many others have been in the same position over the years; it has been one of those constant tragedies.
Chapter 4
I had just woken up when the phone rang; it was Gow,[21] enquiring if I would firstly be at 11 o'clock Cabinet, and secondly if I could talk to the Speaker about the plan for today - which was just to have a PMs statement. I was also informed we were to be a Government of National Unity for a while, which rather surprised me. We would be joined by Jim, Denis[22], my main opponent Silkin and - amazingly - David Owen[23] as Foreign Secretary. Of course, Peter Carrington had been in NATO in Belgium; he was a considerable loss to us. Jim and Denis were good news, Silkin was a case of better inside the tent than outside it - as the former Americans crudely put it - but David Owen struck me as the wrong choice to handle things if we were back in time. I will cheerfully admit now that I was to some extent wrong about this; David wasn't good at handling the trans-courts, and he did a lot of damage with the United Provinces, but he made a solid call on early support for Poland-Lithuania that I might not have made and he was excellent at handling the cis-embassies within the confines of what was done. I reflected and told Gow I would be there.
Luckily, I had a messenger pop round very early with a summary of what was known and unknown: we were in 1730 not 1980; there would be quite heavy rationing as soon as possible; we had to find out ways to import food and raw materials; and we had a empire again. Whilst some of my fellows almost fell for the Brewster line - and might have done so if he hadn't have been so, well, Yankee about it - I am afraid that I gave a little squeal of glee at the thought of British North America rather than the United States of America.
I will also admit to being slightly wicked. I was nearly out of coffee, so I wandered to Mr Patel’s mini-mart and... well, I bought a little more than I would have done normally - and a few other things as well. I wasn't as bad as some ministers - who sent their staff out shopping - and we all now know that the Speaker was the worst of the lot, but that was hushed up at the time and he was punished by only getting a K instead of the Viscountcy he was due. I just spent what I had in my wallet - which wasn’t a very good idea, as the banks shut that morning for the next two days.
I also rang my Private Secretary with my arts and culture hat on, and asked what they knew and what was being done. They hadn't done much; they didn't see what could be done that would be useful. I admit that I tended to agree with them at this juncture, but then he said "If this is correct, Bach is alive"; that caused a little spark, and I suggested a list of both culturally prominent Britons who had disappeared and culturally prominent people who were alive. I promised to pop in the next day. I was also tempted to ring Adrian's sister, Rachel, but decided that I couldn't; whilst the newspapers were full of speculation, most of what we knew was hush-hush - and also, I really didn't know what to say. I did start to think about this as I knew we would be
having the conversation soon enough. However, I did decide to do a little homework and went and had a quick look through the shelves - one advantage of my current ministry and my previous career was that I did get sent a lot of free books. There was nothing totally germane, but I picked up a volume by John Stoye who I remember was waspishly entertaining.
I didn’t get long to read before first cabinet, because for a week or so we had two cabinets a day and apart from Ian we had a full house. It was a bit of a mess; a lot of people were all over the place, I really think everyone just wanted the nightmare to stop. The only bit of humour was when David said that the Soviet ambassador was getting antsy, arrogant and threatening and Margaret said - “we have Polaris, have they managed to get to cannon yet?” It summed up the new imbalance beautifully. The only things we had to fear in this new world were civil strife, disease and starvation - there was no external power or alliance of powers who could remotely threaten us. We weren't a superpower, we were THE superpower - in fact quite the hyperpower. Recognising this new power and actually starting to use it took some time; we had long been used to working with our NATO or EEC partners - or, as the left put it, we had been puppets of the Americans. Anyway, First Cabinet was cut very short; the PM needed to work on her statement to the House.
I sat in my room with Quintin and Joppers and tried to work out how the hell we could timetable legislation. We decided we pretty much had to abandon everything that was on the books; we really needed Christopher[24] with us, but he was dealing with the personal crisis of having several Lost family members - the House of Lords had to wait a little longer. A couple of pieces were kept on as they were sufficiently advanced to finish within a week or two, by which time we should have more concrete emergency legislation from the drafters.