Decline & Fall

by Chris Mullin

  By stricken elm and coppice side,

  Turning at cottage wall to see

  The little amelanchier tree,

  One faded golden leaf to show

  That summer stayed not long ago;

  And so the Beauchamp’s ghostly height,

  Then home before the winter’s night.

  I’ve heard men say, as say they will,

  Time makes all sweetness sweeter still.

  No less, could I one hour renew,

  I’d walk the frosty lanes with you,

  And take the Abbess Road and climb

  To Beauchamp Church in winter time.

  Peter Foley 1923–2010

  Meanwhile The Man, taut, tense, unrepentant, made his long-awaited appearance before the Iraq inquiry, smuggled in through a back entrance to avoid the baying mob outside. Visibly nervous to begin with, he soon got into his stride and before long, helped by some long-winded questioning, dominated the proceedings, conceding nothing save the occasional tactical error. And yet he had a strangely haunted look. As if, deep down, he knows (as he surely does) that Iraq will cast a malign spell over him for the rest of his life – and beyond into infinity.

  Saturday, 30 January Sunderland

  To town in search of new shoes. Pacing up and down outside the station, a man with shoulder-length grey curly hair topped by a straw trilby. Piled high behind, all his worldly goods in two wheeled cases and an array of leather bags. He is smartly dressed and looks for all the world like someone who, after long absence, has just alighted from a train and is waiting for a lift home. Except that he isn’t. He is here every day, rain or shine (today, snow), always with his vast baggage, which he moves around the town in shifts. Who is he? Where does he live? He seems too well dressed to be derelict and yet no one seems to know anything about him. The other day I had my assistant, Michael, ring the homeless hostel, but the manager couldn’t help. I guess he may be one of those poor souls who once, until something went badly wrong, causing a switch to flip, knew a better life.

  Wednesday, 3 February

  The Tories appear to be wobbling over their plans for the economy. Shadow Chancellor George Osborne laid out his plans yesterday with a press conference at the British Museum, but he was remarkably light on detail. Gone is all that scary talk of ‘a decade of austerity’, coupled with accusations of government cowardice for failing to announce an immediate programme of slash and burn. Now Boy George speaks only of ‘making a start’ and promises that the first year’s cuts will not be ‘particularly extensive’. What has come over him? Can it be that the Tories have noticed that the Great British Public might not be all that grateful were they to collapse the economy in the name of fiscal rectitude? Witness a slight narrowing in the polls in the last few days, leading to speculation about the prospect of a hung parliament. Nothing to get too excited about, but in these desperate times we must clutch at any straw.

  Thursday, 4 February

  To the Grimond Room in Portcullis House for an emergency meeting of the Reform Committee to discuss how to respond to the growing evidence that the government is in the process of reneging on promises to concede a modicum of power to the backbenches. After almost three months of shilly-shallying Harriet announced that our proposals will be debated on Monday, 22 February, upon return from the mid-term recess, on a one-line whip, which ensures a low turnout and no vote. What’s more, the motion will be put to the House as series of unamendable Orders, requiring only a single Member to object for it to be blocked. It couldn’t be more blatant. Yet again the forces of inertia appear to have triumphed. Yet again lofty statements of intent appear to be no more than empty gimmicks. We decided to summon Harriet to explain, with the cameras switched on, but I doubt she is the principal culprit. Gordon and the whips have their fingerprints all over this.

  Headline in tonight’s Standard: ‘CHEATING MPs IN £1 MILLION PAYBACK DAY – 350 found guilty of milking expenses’. Actually, despite the hysteria, Sir Thomas Legg’s final report turned out not to be the rigorous analysis we were promised. No fewer than 44 of our number – myself included – have had all or part of his findings overturned on appeal. And the inquiry cost marginally more than Sir Thomas managed to reclaim. Not that any of this cuts much ice with the punters. So far as most people are concerned we are all crooks to be despised and vilified. In most of our free press the very act of appeal is treated as evidence of criminality.

  Friday, 5 February

  The Director of Public Prosecutions has announced charges against three MPs – David Chaytor, Jim Devine and Elliot Morley – all Labour, and one peer, Lord Hanningfield, a Tory. It is rumoured that they are being advised to plead not guilty on the grounds that their actions are covered by parliamentary privilege, which, if true, is disgraceful and will bring even more discredit upon our wretched profession.

  Monday, 8 February

  This morning an unscrupulous, disgraceful attempt by Cameron to implicate Gordon in the suggestion that parliamentary privilege may be used to rescue the members accused of fiddling their expenses. This resulted in a statement from the Speaker reminding everyone that the case is sub judice and that the suspects are entitled to a fair trial. At this evening’s meeting of the parliamentary party, the Chief Whip, Nick Brown, solemnly announced the ‘administrative suspension’ of the three alleged offenders, taking care to emphasise that they were entitled to a fair trial. I feel sorry for them, especially Elliot Morley, who looks a broken man. Goodness knows how he got into this mess.

  At lunch in the cafeteria I came across Bernard Donoughue, who offered his assessment of David Cameron: ‘A marketing man, no good on policy. My Tory friends say that he starts to unravel in adversity; he’s fine while he’s winning, but as the polls narrow he doesn’t know what to do. A good general for a short campaign, but no good in a long campaign. That’s the case for a June election.’

  Bernard agrees that that Gordon made the right decisions during the financial crisis. ‘And the Tories made the wrong ones. That’s the one thing we’ve got going for us. We should say it over and over again, even though it bores the public silly, until it gets through.’

  Tuesday, 9 February

  Today’s Times leads with a poll suggesting that 70 per cent of those interviewed have bought the Tory line that we are living in a broken society and that 40 per cent would like to emigrate – many, no doubt, to a country where there were fewer ‘foreigners’. Most people are better off than they have ever been, healthier, wealthier, and they can expect to live longer than their parents. And yet, it seems, they are nostalgic for the days of mass unemployment and inner city riots. What a race of pessimists we have become. Is it all the fault of us poor, despised, inadequate politicians or might it have anything to do with (a) the weather and (b) the tabloid virus?

  This afternoon, a visit to Speaker Bercow in his grand office overlooking the river, to canvass my suggestion that I be allowed a valedictory speech. He was enthusiastic and promised to do what he can to find a slot before the curtain falls.

  A brief exchange with the Defence Secretary, Bob Ainsworth, re Norine MacDonald’s plan to grow opium under licence for medicinal purposes in Afghanistan. A plan which, hitherto, has been dismissed by all the experts as wholly impractical. To my amazement Bob remarked that she was ‘spot on’. He added, ‘The political classes are so gutless. We even reclassified cannabis. Do we deserve to govern?’

  Wednesday, 10 February

  Harriet, along with her Tory and Lib Dem shadows (George Young and David Heath), duly appeared before the Reform Committee this morning. Much of the heat had gone out of the event, given that we have now been assured that a proper vote will, after all, be permitted.

  Lunch with Keith Hill in the cafeteria. He reported that our farsighted whips had recently been overheard discussing membership of a future Shadow Cabinet. Evidence, if any were needed, that we have given up the ghost.

  Thursday, 11 February

  The lovely Denise Robertson, TV agony
aunt, novelist, first lady of Wearside, was on the train this evening. ‘I’ve never been so depressed,’ she said apropos the political situation. ‘I feel as though I’ve seen the best and everything else is downhill.’ In passing she remarked that today’s politicians were minnows compared to those of yesteryear. Francois Gordon, with whom I stayed last night, said the same. I beg to differ. Blair and Brown for all their faults are no minnows. Jack Straw would have been a significant figure in any post-war Cabinet. Likewise Margaret Beckett, Peter Mandelson, John Reid or Clare Short. To be sure Bevin was a giant. In retrospect we can see that Attlee was, too, although it may not have seemed so at the time. Bevan, for all his undoubted brilliance, had a monstrous ego, which helped to destroy the ‘50–51 government and usher in 13 years of Tory rule. Herbert Morrison was always plotting. They were all, in their way, big men, but perhaps they just seem bigger because they are further away and, of course, they never had to live in the glare of a 24-hour media or submit to the demands of the Freedom of Information Act.

  Friday, 12 February

  Sunderland

  Solved, the mystery of the sad man who lingers with his considerable baggage by the railway station. An item in my Echo column last night brought in a dozen or more calls. His name is Ernie Roll. He lived with his mother in one of the multi-storey blocks in the town centre. When she died he lost the tenancy and has lived rough ever since. Apparently, he washes daily in the toilets at the Park Lane metro and spends his nights in the doorway of one of the university buildings. Lord knows how he has survived the winter or how he manages to look so smart. He is said to be a proud, difficult – and on occasions aggressive – man, resisting all offers of help. One of those who rang in had known him since they were at primary school together 57 years ago and said that, even as a child, Ernie was a loner. The consensus seems to be that he is beyond help.

  Monday, 15 February

  Sunderland

  Through our letter box comes a no-expense-spared brochure from our Tory candidate, a brash, handsome young man called Lee Martin. Each leaflet is individually addressed. Clearly some serious money is being spent. He has a good, positive campaign slogan, ‘Ambitious for Sunderland’, and promises (improbably) to ensure that the city is ‘at the heart of the next Conservative government’. He also promises a better NHS, better schools, more affordable homes – and all at less cost, if you believe the item headed ‘Scrap Labour’s National Insurance Rise’, which, on close inspection, promises to do no such thing. On the back, pictures of three upright citizens, including, to my surprise, a bright young woman who recently did a week’s work experience in my office, into whose mouth the following words have been inserted: ‘It’s my generation that has been lumbered with paying off Gordon Brown’s debt.’ Truly, they have no shame.

  Thursday, 18 February

  To the University of Hull, my alma mater, to see Professor Norton and colleagues, who want me to do a series of ‘master classes’ for their politics students. I arrived early, walked up Beverley Road to the university and whiled away the best part of an hour exploring the campus, which, at first glance, seems remarkably unchanged. The number of students has increased fivefold but they look remarkably similar to those of 40 years ago, except maybe a tad more respectable. I have to pinch myself to realise that not one of them was born when I first set foot here; most indeed were not born when I was first elected to Parliament. Truly, I am a dinosaur.

  Friday, 19 February

  This morning’s Times, which is becoming increasingly excitable, leads with the news that a ‘record’ slump in tax receipts has resulted unusually in a January deficit instead of the expected surplus. Much wild talk that our deficit will soon exceed that of Greece, which, as everyone knows, is a basket case. The implication being that a panic needs to be organised in good time for the election. A sentiment encouraged by a letter in the Sunday Times of five days ago signed by 20 or so leading economists, including that foolish peer Megned Desai, demanding an immediate programme of slash and burn. Happily, however, today’s FT contains letters signed by three times as many economists, including Nobel Prize-winner Joseph Stiglitz, supporting the government’s cautious approach. All of which only goes to prove the old adage that, laid end to end, the world’s economists would circle the globe and still not reach a conclusion. Even so, no escaping the fact that we live in dangerous times. One false move could bring the house down.

  Saturday, 20 February

  Awoke to hear Douglas Alexander being cross-examined by John Humphrys re Labour’s election strategy. Humphrys at his sneering worst, pressing Douglas to say that he really loathed Gordon, pretending that the global meltdown was all Gordon’s fault, resolutely refusing to engage on the big issues. If it were me I’d have been tempted to take the piss (‘Sounds like you’ve been overdosing again on the Daily Mail this morning, John’; ‘Oh, John, you really must get out more . . .’). Instead Douglas, mild-mannered and professional as ever, kept his cool and ploughed resolutely on with his brief, managing to land only one small blow (‘Are you suggesting that the Prime Minister is responsible for the Mississippi mortgage crisis?’).

  Sunday, 21 February

  A huge new onslaught. Today’s Observer is running extracts from the new Andrew Rawnsley book, replete with dark tales of tantrums, paranoia and bullying on the part of our beloved leader. All the more damaging because this cannot be dismissed as the ravings of the Tory tabloids. On the contrary, these latest charges come from left of centre and appear to be impeccably sourced. By midday the bulletins are running interviews with a woman from an outfit called the National Bullying Helpline saying she has received three or four calls from Downing Street staff seeking advice. So intense is the firestorm that one can’t help feeling sorry for Gordon. How can he, how can anyone, hope to survive this relentless bombardment? What a joyless business government has become.

  An outing with Emma to Howick, ostensibly to see the snowdrops. By the time we got there they were submerged in pristine snow, but we managed a pleasant stroll through the grounds and down the Long Walk, even as the snow fell.

  Monday, 22 February

  To London through a frozen landscape, said to be the coldest winter for more than 30 years. This afternoon, the long-awaited debate on the Wright Committee reforms. Harriet, on behalf of the government, was emollient, conceding everything except the most significant of our recommendations – a proper business committee. Likewise, George Young, who is – if anything – more amenable to reform, despite his proximity to power. The trouble is, as we all know, behind them in the shadows lurk the whips, who, one strongly suspects, remain set in their ways. As if to prove the point Hilary Armstrong, the ghost of chief whips past, sat chuntering throughout, intervening occasionally to indicate her implacable opposition. There is to be a vote next week. With any luck we should win the right to choose who shall sit on the select committees, but the great prize – control of the timetable – is likely to elude us.

  Tuesday, 23 February

  Miraculously the ‘Gordon is a bully’ story seems to be imploding. Gus O’Donnell, the Cabinet Secretary, has denied, in terms that appear to be categorical, that he has ever had cause to have words with Gordon about his behaviour. So far, at least, there is no sign of the Number 10 employees who are supposed to have called the anti-bullying hotline and some tabloids have turned their fire on the sole source for the allegation – Christine Pratt – who herself appears to have form in this area. Most improbably of all, today’s Mail carries a full-page article, illustrated by pictures of Elizabeth I, Lyndon Johnson, Margaret Thatcher and Winston Churchill, under the heading ‘Bullies make the best leaders’. On another page Ms Pratt is dismissed as ‘the high priestess of victimhood’. By nightfall the worst seemed to be over. Or at least it would have been, but for some uncharactistically incautious remarks by Alistair Darling to the effect that ‘the forces of hell’ had been unleashed upon him in the summer of 2008 after he had predicted – accurately, as it turned out �
� that the economy was facing the worst downturn for 60 years. He even went so far as to identify one of the culprits, Damian McBride, who was, until his downfall, one of Gordon’s closest henchpersons.

  To Simpson’s-in-the-Strand for an ‘Oldie’ literary lunch, where I found myself sitting next to Tony Benn, who, incredibly, will be 85 in a few weeks’ time, frail but in much better shape than when our paths last crossed. The audience were prosperous Middle Englanders of a certain age. Predominantly Mail and Telegraph readers, I suspect, who would have run a mile from the Benn of old, but when he rose to speak he soon had them eating out of the palm of his hand.

  Wednesday, 24 February

  Happily the Gordon story has died a death, the tabloids being largely preoccupied with the break-up of Cheryl and Ashley Cole’s marriage. Gordon easily saw off Cameron at PMQs. It is even reported that the Tory lead is narrowing, apparently on the grounds that public are beginning to notice that they have nothing sensible to say on the economy.

  Lunch with Bruce Grocott in the Adjournment. We discussed who might inherit the throne when the inevitable happens. Bruce remarked that it was a sign of the times that three of the main contenders – Balls and the two Milibands – had identical career paths. Bright young researchers, parachuted into safe seats and, within a couple of years, wafted into the Cabinet. Little or no experience of the real world. ‘At least,’ he added, ‘the Milibands have been brought up in a household where politics was taken seriously.’