by Roy Jenkins
We were nervous of being left behind when the plane went, as we didn’t trust the competence of our hosts, and the organization of Moscow Airport is well known to be chaotic. So when we had been on the ground for one and a half hours we said firmly that we wished to get back on the plane. This they reluctantly accepted, pooh-poohing our bad nerves. Air France greeted us by saying that they had already held the plane for quarter of an hour and could not have done so for more than another five minutes. My impression of Moscow Airport was not favourable. Beautiful clear night over Western Europe, every light from Amsterdam to Paris sparkling beneath us. Charles de Gaulle at 8.35. We had been around the world in exactly 100 hours and 25 minutes. Brussels by midnight.
SUNDAY, 16 OCTOBER. Brussels.
Early evening meeting with Crispin, Hayden and Christopher Audland, and became rather gloomily aware that a great cock-up had been made about the enlargement paper in my absence, with Natali in a sullen minority of one, and the rest of them deciding to put in nothing worthwhile to the Council at all, which had been very badly received by COREPER, probably accurately foreshadowing their governments.
MONDAY, 17 OCTOBER. Brussels and Luxembourg.
Lee Kuan Yew, Prime Minister of Singapore, and his wife to lunch alone with Jennifer and me. He was mainly concerned to know what the future trade orientation of the Community, protectionist or otherwise, was going to be, and how he should adjust to this. He did not much mind provided he knew, he said. I said I did not see much future for Singapore selling textiles to the Community. He said fine, he would get as fast as he could into financial services and micro-chips. He was very bright and quick as usual; we did not get on to any difficult internal Singapore affairs.
At 2.30 I motored to Luxembourg through a totally splendiferous autumn afternoon and into a joint meeting of the Foreign Affairs Council and the Economic and Financial Council, to deal with two complicated little financial issues. In the intervals of these I did some work with Crispin on the draft statement which had been prepared for me to make in the Council the following morning as a supplement to the enlargement paper and which was clearly of considerable inportance in view of the bad atmosphere which was prevailing and the criticism which had already appeared in Le Monde and one or two other papers about the inadequacy of the Commission contribution. I became gradually aware that the statement as it stood was totally miscast and would do more harm than good. I therefore decided at about 7 o’clock that it had to be rewritten completely, which task, as I had no time, fell on Crispin, who did it brilliantly.
A formal dinner with the Greek negotiators, which happily did not last very long. At 11.00 Crispin produced the redrafted statement, which I worked on until 1.00.
TUESDAY, 18 OCTOBER. Luxembourg and Brussels.
Up at 7.00 for another two hours’ work on the redrafted statement, which I delivered as soon as the Council, punctually for once, assembled at 9.15. It lasted seventeen minutes and, thanks largely to Crispin, went incomparably better than could have been expected. It rather took the wind out of the French and Italian sails, and was supported by nearly everybody else. We were warmly thanked for having made this constructive, clear contribution. It was a very difficult corner happily turned.
A Council working lunch at 1.45, after a restricted working session downstairs in which we tried to deal with JET. No news at that stage, but on the way up to the dining room news came through from Bonn that a settlement (in favour of Culham) had in fact been arrived at between Schmidt and Callaghan which could be endorsed by the Research Council.
Drove back to Brussels and went to a mysterious, hidden-away clinic to see an alleged orthopaedic expert about my ankle which had been revolting against my running habits for about the past ten days. The visit had been arranged through the service médicale of the Commission. It was one of the most ludicrous medical encounters I have ever had in my life. Dr Frère199 was an immensely old man, with a little white hat on his head, who greeted me upstairs in an extremely old-fashioned clinic, accompanied by two other doctors, one, his principal assistant, a fairly old-looking sixty—Frère himself must have been at least eighty-five—and the other, a rather young-looking twenty-five. The consultations took fifty minutes and led to no result at all, except that Frère managed to make me feel that I must be gravely ill with a mildly sprained ankle, arising from a very obvious cause (jogging).
They made detailed measurements of both ankles, had X-rays taken in incredibly awkward positions. At this stage, with the three doctors peering over me, it was like the scene in Rembrandt’s ‘Operation’, except that happily they did not use any of the rather rusty-looking instruments hanging on the walls. Then they disappeared to consult the photographs, coming back saying that they needed some more X-rays, then coming and saying that there was little to be seen, then Frère saying what he was rather worried about was that the pain didn’t seem sufficient for the swelling! Then a suggestion that I must have a whole series of blood tests, urine tests, kidney tests, everything else you could think of and come back in a week. It was a farcical example of the combination of lack of common sense and slight racketeering of expensive Belgian medicine. After this ludicrous performance I decided to sign off from them and have it fixed if I could in London or at Wantage. Home to rue de Praetère, where Ann Fleming had arrived to stay.
THURSDAY, 20 OCTOBER. Brussels and Belfast.
Avion taxi to Belfast. The beautiful October disappeared on the way. Drove to Hillsborough, the old Governor-General’s residence, and now the Government guest house, lunched with Concannon, Minister of State, Mason200 being kept in London for a Cabinet meeting, and a rather good gathering of twenty-four official and unofficial Northern Irishmen. Then helicopted, in great discomfort, to Stormont. Then to a rather rundown hotel near at hand, where I did three television interviews, one radio interview and a press conference. Dinner speech to a British Institute of Management gathering.
FRIDAY, 21 OCTOBER. Belfast, Birmingham and East Hendred.
To Birmingham and the Midland Hotel, where I gave a sort of civic lunch—both Vice-Chancellors, the Deputy Mayor (the Lord Mayor being away), the Anglican Bishop, the Roman Catholic Archbishop, the editor of one newspaper and the deputy editor of the other, George Canning,201 a trade unionist, two industrialists. At 6.00 I delivered the Baggs Memorial Lecture at the university on ‘Happiness’ (of all subjects), which I interpreted as the quest for national satisfaction; audience of 650, who applauded at the end I thought rather more appreciatively than the lecture deserved.
SATURDAY, 22 OCTOBER. East Hendred.
Went to Oxford with the Bonham Carters (who were staying) and did one or two touristic things I had never done before, like climbing to the top of the Sheldonian, which has a splendid view. Then to see Dr Loudon at Wantage about my ankle, who took only ten minutes to deal with the matter and suggested an elastic bandage, which seemed to work rather well.
TUESDAY, 25 OCTOBER. Brussels, Luxembourg and Brussels.
To Luxembourg in Simonet’s plane for the Research and Energy Council which dealt finally with JET. At last this wretched dispute has been satisfactorily settled.
Then a meeting with Bordu, the French Communist Vice-President of the Parliament. He talked mildly interestingly about the general European situation in a moderate and indeed platitudinous way. I told him that I proposed to follow the same rules for the Communists as I had for the other groups and invite them to a dinner at Strasbourg. He seemed pleased but not excessively so. The main burden of what he really had to say was contained in his last few sentences, when he announced that Marchais would very much like to see me and asked whether I would receive him. I said I would reflect upon that grave matter. (My first reflection was that I had already had enough trouble over Mitterrand.)
Then some sustained work on my speech for Florence, which was in a fairly advanced state of preparation but not sufficiently so. Dinner for the Gaullist Group, which, rather like the Conservative Group, is mainly made up of one part
y, i.e. the French Gaullists, buttressed by the now Irish majority party, Fianna Fáil, and the one statutory and inevitable Dane. Brussels through fog at 12.40 a.m.
THURSDAY, 27 OCTOBER. Brussels and Florence.
Avion taxi to Pisa for Florence, the first time I had been over the Alps in a tiny plane. Excelsior Hotel, Florence, at about 4.30. Delivered the Monnet Lecture at the European University Institute in a fine old gothic chapel, with a good audience of about seven hundred, and a friendly pro-European money demonstration outside. The lecture took almost exactly an hour, sounded rather better than I feared it would, and was certainly well received.
At dinner at Max Kohnstamm’s202 splendid villa I sat next to a rather fascinating elderly lady who had just become French Consul-General in Florence. She had gone to London with De Gaulle in 1940 and had personally typed the Appel aux Français there issued. Then she had gone to Canada for about two years as representative of the Free French. She spoke with great contempt of the Québécois: ‘Vichyites to a man and absolutely intolerable to deal with.’ The Canadian Government was much better, though the American Government at that stage was very hostile; they simply hated the Free French, she claimed. She had been Porte-parole Adjoint to De Gaulle during his 1945/6 period of government, and said that at that time he was remarkably bad with the press, having no idea of how to communicate with or through them. His mastery over this medium developed only after his return to power in 1958.
FRIDAY, 28 OCTOBER. Florence and Rome.
Flew to Rome, and drove immediately to the Confindustria building in EUR for my meeting with the so-called Groupe des Présidents. Rather an impressive group of about eight people: Agnelli203 in the chair, Plowden from Britain, the head of Rhône-Poulenc from France, the younger Boël from Belgium, Wagner of Royal Dutch Shell from Holland, etc. No Germans had come because they were too frightened to travel, so I was told. Lunch and discussion on monetary union; they thought it desirable, but were sceptical as to whether the politicians would ever agree to do anything about it.
Palazzo Chigi at 3.15 for a meeting with Andreotti and Forlani. Andreotti was courteous and agreeable as always, but seemed to me not on good form, or on good terms with Forlani. However, he gave an absolutely firm assurance that he would support my monetary union proposal. ‘Certamente.’ he said. Then to the Hassler, with a sense of having got a difficult week over.
SATURDAY, 29 OCTOBER. Rome and Avallon.
9.30 plane to Paris. Jennifer arrived just after me from London. While waiting for her at Charles de Gaulle I read the Economist leader on my Florence speech entitled ‘A Bridge Too Far’. Avallon at 6.00.
SUNDAY, 30 OCTOBER. Avallon and Vézelay.
Drove to Vézelay where we paid our first visit since 1957 to Ste Madeleine, which despite restoration is a magnificent and striking church, and then went for (probably) the last picnic of this magnificent autumn. Installed ourselves at Hôtel l’Espérance at St Père.
MONDAY, 31 OCTOBER. Vezelay.
Jacques and Marie-Alice de Beaumarchais arrived for lunch (and to stay). To Avallon in the afternoon and visited by accident on the way back a little château inhabited by an ex-Deputy called Max Broussé who talked without ceasing (and pretty good nonsense at that).
TUESDAY, 1 NOVEMBER. Vézelay.
To lunch with Jacques Franck at Châtel-Censoir. Franck, a Paris interior designer, was flanked by his elderly American companion, a great cook as well as a second cousin of Adlai Stevenson; another strange little Parisian gentleman; and a lady of unprepossessing appearance with a Dutch name but a great deal of blue French blood. A very pretty house, but I thought a purposeless lunch, with a slightly uneasy atmosphere, curiously reminiscent of Buscot Park in the old days.
WEDNESDAY, 2 NOVEMBER. Vézelay.
To Autun where I had never been: a sombre town, built round a sombre but nonetheless splendid cathedral. Did Talleyrand204 like it? Or did he never visit it? Then back over the high plateau of the Morvan in mist, which added to the striking atmosphere of remoteness and lack of habitation. This part of Burgundy is much less agriculturally rich than I had imagined; it looks rather like Breconshire.
THURSDAY, 3 NOVEMBER. Vézelay and Brussels.
A long (350 mile) drive back to Brussels. The end of this Toussaints holiday suggests a few reflections on this autumn. It has been much better, more enjoyable, I hope more successful, than the period before the summer. I then often deeply regretted my decision to come to Brussels. Since returning in September I have felt much more buoyant, and I think this has reflected itself in my general grip on the work, which has in many (although not all) ways gone successfully. I have got more used to the pattern of living here, find the house more agreeable, and can have relaxed periods without having to rush back to England.
Balancing all this, however, has been a certain continuing regret at the severance from British politics. Was I wise? Who can possibly tell? Clearly had I taken Callaghan up on his offer (in April 1976) to stay as Home Secretary and then become Chancellor again in six or so months’ time, this would, in retrospect, have been a more enticing prospect than it looked at that stage. Would he have stuck to the bargain? I don’t know. But had I been there in the Government and available it might have been very difficult for him, under pressure, not to have moved Healey and put me in the Treasury when everything seemed to be collapsing in November last year, and clearly that would have been very much buying at the bottom of the market with, fortuitously and no doubt undeservedly, a considerable reputation developing over the next six to nine months for having put things right a second time. But that would have been no more than chance, and I suppose one should not regret missing undeserved bonuses. In any case, my mind had become sufficiently detached from the general current of opinion in the Government that it was better that I should leave.
FRIDAY, 4 NOVEMBER. Brussels.
A visit from the Spanish Prime Minister, Suárez,205 and Oreja, his Foreign Minister: a very impressive couple, probably the best pair that any European country could produce. Suárez at forty-three is a good-looking, sharply cut man, who can speak nothing but Spanish. But we nonetheless had a good talk with him before, during and after lunch. Spain has had a remarkable evolution, though they face a pile of almost insurmountable economic difficulties.
In the afternoon I addressed the European Federalists’ Conference, with an enthusiastic reception, due no doubt to Florence. Then saw Cheysson, who told me of conversations with Barre and Giscard. Barre very friendly, Giscard less so—doesn’t like the Commission, Cheysson said, but added surprisingly that Giscard’s complaint about the Commission now was that we didn’t put forward enough positive proposals. ‘In previous years we needed the Commission just to manage things; now the state of Europe is such that we need them to do more: Jenkins has put forward his monetary union hobby horse. That is all right in theory. I am not sure it is practical, but it is a good thing he should have said it. However, I would like more proposals, more plans, of this sort to be forthcoming.’ I have my doubts about the reliability of Cheysson’s reporting, but at any rate this was mildly interesting.
MONDAY, 7 NOVEMBER. Brussels.
To dinner at Beloeil, the very grand mansion beyond Mons and close to the French frontier where the Prince de Ligne holds court in considerable style. Great flag-flying, illuminated facade, men in swallow-tail coats and knee-breeches bearing flaming torches on the way in, etc. The house unfortunately was mostly burnt down, in I think 1901, and therefore the main part is an Edwardian rebuild. There are, however, some eighteenth-century pavilions left and some fairly good contents. But the point is more the scale and style than any outstanding furniture or architectural glory.
The Princesse de Ligne, sister of the Grand Duke of Luxembourg, has the appearance of a neat, agreeable-looking schoolmistress. Also present were the Archduke Rudolf of Austria, plus his second and younger wife, who is a sister of Antoine de Ligne—all very Almanach de Gotha, but broadly speaking (apart from the English elemen
t, which included the Dunrossils,206 as well as General Tuzo207 and wife) representing what one might call the King Baudouin side of Belgium society, more serious-minded and less money-oriented than the demi-gratin of La Hulpe.
TUESDAY, 8 NOVEMBER. Brussels.
Lunch for Reuters who brought over an impressive group of newspaper publishers—Garrett Drogheda (Financial Times), Vere Harmsworth (Daily Mail), Barnetson as Chairman of Reuters, and Denis Hamilton. I had Barnetson on one side of me and Denis Hamilton on the other at lunch and heard a lot of good, interesting Observer gossip into one ear and Sunday Times gossip into the other.
Evening meeting with Ortoli about how we handle the preparation of the paper on economic and monetary union for the European Council. He wants to go along the traditional lines of a catalogue of minor economic measures and avoid any dramatic leap. It will be quite difficult to work out a sensible compromise.
THURSDAY, 10 NOVEMBER. Brussels, Bonn and Lisbon.
Avion taxi to Bonn, and lunch with Schmidt. The Chancellery was ringed with tanks, and Schmidt was still suffering from the aftermath of the Lufthansa hijacking and the Schleyer murder. We talked for the first hour about terrorist matters, including our Irish experiences, and I explained to him some of the SAS methods. He was interested and ill-informed about our siege techniques.
Then on to a run-up to the European Council. He was mostly in a negative mood, which is not unusual, but he at least recognizes that there are a lot of questions to which he doesn’t know the answers. He is not unnaturally proud of the way in which he has run the German economy—‘kept the garden tidy’ is the phrase which I think I used, and he agreed with, but he also feels that it is a walled garden the way out of which he doesn’t see. The room for initiative is very limited, the German economy is materially sated; people don’t want to consume more, so he says; if you pump more money in it goes into savings rather than into consumption, and the only way you can stimulate investment is in export-directed investment, and this makes the balance-of-payments position still more favourably unbalanced. Therefore a very boxed-in position and a pessimistic view on his part about the future German competitive position and the world economic situation generally.