The End of the Party

by Andrew Rawnsley

  Conservative MPs were just as mired in the scandal as their Labour counterparts. Cameron had tolerated the expenses racket until it was exposed. He had personally exploited the housing allowances to near maximum, taking in excess of £100,000 from the taxpayer for his mortgage, a much higher figure than the claims made by Brown. The Prime Minister often complained to his aides that he was ‘broke’ because he had to meet so many expenses out of his own pocket. More than a third of his salary was consumed just by the cost of child care and his huge dry-cleaning bills. Cameron nevertheless had the better of it presentationally. He put himself in a much more decisive posture by displaying a Blair-like agility in a crisis which nimbly leapfrogged the ponderous Brown. The Daily Telegraph hailed ‘courageous Cameron’ for ‘a bracing blast of real leadership’.66 That might be expected from a Tory newspaper. Less predictably, the Labour-leaning Guardian thought his ‘engaged response’ had ‘showed some leadership’ in contrast with Brown, who was ‘slower to do the right thing’.67 To The Times, he ‘took command of the situation’ while Gordon Brown was ‘letting the furore crash on around him’.68 influenced by the media, voters concluded that the Tory leader was handling the crisis better than the Prime Minister. More than 60 per cent of voters thought that Brown was the most damaged of the two leaders; just 5 per cent said that of Cameron.69

  A panicked Brown tried to wrest back the initiative by giving hastily arranged television interviews that evening. Wanting to look as tough as the Tory leader, he had his revenge on Hazel Blears by making an example of her. She was directly ordered by the Prime Minister to make a payment to HM Revenue and Customs to cover the capital gains tax on the sale of a London flat. The Revenue was not making any demand for the money, but Blears ‘with a gun to her head’ did not feel in a position to resist the pressure from Number 10 to make the payment, and to do it quickly and publicly.70 Appearing on television that night, she declared that she had heard ‘the outrage and anger that the public feel’.71 It was Blears’s own idea to wave on TV a cheque made out for £13,332. The cheque was then walked round to the HMRC headquarters that night. The TV clip, endlessly replayed in news bulletins about the affair, turned into one of the emblematic images of the saga. It did Blears no good at all: most of her constituents in Salford, in common with most other Britons, would never have instant access to a five-figure sum.72 Her cheque-waving simply seemed to demonstrate that MPs inhabited a different planet to most voters.

  A few genuine mistakes, a lot of sly fiddling and some absolutely outrageous scams conflated into a storm of indiscriminate loathing towards all MPs, saints and sinners alike. As Westminster was daily pounded with the revelations, MPs wandered around Parliament like shell-shocked soldiers not knowing which of their number would next step on an expenses mine. The homes and offices of exposed MPs were attacked. Labour’s Diane Abbott said voters wanted ‘dead MPs hanging from lamp posts’.73 The crisis of confidence in Parliament was more acute because it brought to a head questions that had bubbled throughout the New Labour years about the emasculation and corruption of the Commons. Even before this scandal erupted, one survey found that only 19 per cent of Britons thought Parliament worked for them.74 In a desperate attempt to save their skins, there was a shame-faced reversal in the flow of traffic to the Fees Office. Where once MPs jostled to extract money from the cash machine, now they queued to pay it back. By mid-June, they had repaid a total of nearly £500,000 between them.75 Rather than assuage public anger, the effect of these repayments was to make the Commons look even more guilty.

  Selected heads began to roll. Andrew MacKay, a senior adviser to the Tory leader, and Julie Kirkbride, his wife, who was also an MP, had claimed more than a quarter of a million pounds between them. He had claimed the second-home allowance on their London property that his wife declared to be their main home. He was forced to agree that he would step down as an MP after being shouted down at a public meeting in his constituency. A few days later, his wife announced that she would not stand again either.76 Elliot Morley, a former minister who claimed more than £16,000 for a mortgage that had been paid off, announced he would stand down.77 David Chaytor, the Labour MP for Bury North who also claimed for a phantom mortgage, was barred by his party from standing at the next election. So was Margaret Moran of dry rot infamy. In a separate scandal, two Labour peers became the first members of the Lords to be suspended in more than 350 years after undercover reporters recorded them offering to change legislation in return for money.78

  The highest-profile casualty was the Speaker. Michael Martin had never been a distinguished occupant of the chair since his installation in 2000 when Labour MPs preferred him for tribal reasons over alternative candidates of greater calibre. He was already a wounded Speaker after his ignominious role in the Damian Green Affair when he allowed the Metropolitan Police to raid the parliamentary offices of the Conservative immigration spokesman. Behaving like the shop steward he once was, Martin was at the fore of the futile court battle to try to shield MPs from exposure of the corrupted expenses system over which he had presided. He came to personify what the press dubbed the ‘Parliament of Shame’. Even then, he might have survived. Out of reverence for the office, MPs had not ejected a Speaker for several centuries, previously tolerating the chair being held by drunks, crooks and total incompetents. Martin sealed his fate by making petulant and undignified outbursts against backbenchers who questioned his handling of the scandal. Westminster had run the gamut of emotions from denial to shock to trauma. Now they needed a blood sacrifice to offer to the angry gods of the electorate. On Monday, 18 May, wrathful MPs from both sides of the aisle gave an unprecedented monstering to the Speaker. To their calls for his resignation, he could only muster an abject and stuttering response. The man who was supposed to represent the authority of the Commons was utterly bereft of it. After being ritually slaughtered in the Chamber that afternoon, he left the chair, crossed Speaker’s court and returned to the magnificent grace and favour apartments overlooking the Thames that had been his for nine years. Shortly afterwards, the Prime Minister paid him an unexpected call. The two Scots had known each other for twenty-five years. Brown had thrown a protective arm around Martin even after several members of the Cabinet warned him that the Speaker had become a joke and a liability.79 Under the rules of Britain’s unwritten constitution, the Prime Minister has no authority to sack the Speaker. As they sat together in his apartments, Brown did not explicitly tell the other man to quit. What he did make clear was that the Government could no longer shield him from the no-confidence motion tabled by backbenchers. David Cameron and Nick Clegg had given the nod to their MPs that they could sign it. Brown invited his old friend to reflect overnight on his position. The next day, Cabinet was just coming to a conclusion when one of Brown’s officials passed him a note. It told him that the Speaker would resign that afternoon. Michael Martin took just thirty-three seconds to read out a statement which changed centuries of history. He was the first Speaker to be unseated since 1695, when Sir John Trevor was removed for the ‘high crime and misdemeanour’ of taking bribes.

  Another Scot was fearful that he was next in line for decapitation. Within hours, Gordon Brown made a further attempt to get control of the convulsion by calling a news conference at Number 10. He announced fresh proposals to end what he called ‘the gentleman’s club’ of Parliament. Centuries of self-regulation would be terminated by transferring oversight of MPs’ pay and expenses to a new statutory independent regulator.

  It was also announced that there would be an audit of MPs’ expenses going back over four years conducted by Sir Thomas Legg, a retired civil servant. Misgivings about this appointment among some of the Cabinet proved well-founded when Sir Thomas was tougher than Number 10 bargained for. Legg reported in the autumn and told more than 300 MPs to make repayments or produce evidence to back up old claims. Brown himself had to refund £12,415. This both reignited headlines about the scandal and created a furious backlash among MPs when Legg imposed
retrospective caps on claims. A ‘star chamber’ was established to deal with transgressing Labour MPs. This also boomeranged. Ian Gibson, the MP for Norwich North, was barred from standing again and instantly quit his seat, triggering a July by-election at which nearly three quarters of the Labour vote evaporated and the Tories won with a swing similar to that at Crewe and Nantwich.

  A visitor who called on the Prime Minister’s office in the Commons one day in early June found Brown sitting amidst a sea of copies of ministers’ expenses records which he was wading through alone. ‘He wanted to clear out all ministers with dodgy expenses because he didn’t want to keep them and then find he had to sack them later.’80 Brown had already publicly put Hazel Blears on ministerial death row by again using her as a whipping girl at his Number 10 news conference. She was far from the only Cabinet minister who had flipped properties and avoided capital gains tax, but the Prime Minister singled out her expenses as ‘completely unacceptable’ – his harshest condemnation yet.81 Blears angrily complained to Brown that he had denounced her property dealings when he defended similar transactions made by other ministers. ‘Hazel was shafted,’ says another member of the Cabinet.82 Brown also pointedly declined to express confidence in Jacqui Smith, which was an encouragement to the media to pronounce that the Home Secretary’s career was circling the plughole.83

  Both women chose to jump rather than wait to be dumped. On Tuesday, 2 June, just two days before the local and Euro-elections, Smith confirmed that she would be standing down as Home Secretary. The Blairite Bev Hughes and the Brownite Tom Watson announced they too were quitting as ministers. Brown’s paranoia about his colleagues intensified when rumours reached Number 10 that Blears had tried to persuade Smith to do a simultaneous resignation ‘to bring Gordon down’.84 Blears felt horribly exposed, scapegoated by Brown over her expenses and had concluded that she was ‘definitely for the chop’.85 One Number 10 official says it had become ‘a game of chicken’ between her and the Prime Minister.86

  After an angry confrontation with Brown at Number 10 on Tuesday, Blears quit the Cabinet on Wednesday morning. She wore a brooch that sported the legend ‘Rocking the boat’, an accessory that thrust two fingers at the Prime Minister. She did not call for him to go, perhaps for fear of how Number 10 might use its information on her expenses against her, but her resignation letter was entirely devoid of any of the traditional expressions of loyalty and esteem for the Prime Minister. Resigning on the eve of the elections was a reputation-wrecking move for which Blears subsequently grovelled apologies to her party. It was also a highly damaging blow to Brown. Two members of the Cabinet had decided on pre-emptive resignation, another savage tear in his tattered authority. At Prime Minister’s Questions, David Cameron cried with delight that the Government was ‘collapsing before our eyes’.87 At noon, there came the first revelation of ‘the Hotmail Plot’, so-called because Labour MPs who wanted Brown out were being asked to add their names to a hotmail account. This threw Number 10 into a frenzy. Six hours later, in a botched attempt to flush out the plotters, Nick Brown, the Prime Minister’s chief enforcer, produced an inaccurate list of the conspirators.

  The previous weekend, in a stab at soft-soap populism, the press was told that Gordon Brown had rung up to inquire about the health of Susan Boyle, a Britain’s Got Talent contestant who had been admitted to the Priory health clinic. The cruel joke now in circulation at Westminster was that Boyle had rung Number 10 to ask after the Prime Minister’s health. ‘Brown at bay’, shouted the Daily Mail.88 ‘Brown fights for survival’, agreed the Financial Times.89 The Guardian, which Alastair Campbell had once mocked as the Gordian because of the paper’s support for him over Blair, called for Brown to resign in a full-page editorial telling Labour to ‘cut him loose’.90

  He had contributed to this wild febrility by allowing his acolytes to brief many journalists at Westminster that he was going to give the Chancellorship to Ed Balls in place of Alistair Darling. It was also briefed that David Miliband was about to be removed from the Foreign Office.91 Darling was in ‘a terrible state’ when he was attacked over his expenses and had to repay nearly £700.92 Three times at Prime Minister’s Questions that week, Brown refused to endorse the Chancellor and spoke of him in the past tense.93 Asked about his future, Darling gave the apparently feeble response: ‘It is up to the Prime Minister … at the end of the day, it is his call.’94 This made it sound as if he were reconciled to being fired. ‘We did not want to put Brown in a corner,’ explains one of his team.95 Darling’s public passivity was misleading. His stoical loyalty had been stretched to breaking point. He was incandescent that Brown appeared to be using his expenses to try to lever him out. He also had the heavyweight support of Jack Straw and other members of the Cabinet who were trenchantly opposed to Balls getting control of the Treasury and ‘encouraged Alistair to fight’.96 When Prime Minister and Chancellor met in the early evening of Thursday, Brown tried to bully him into agreeing to shift to another job. Darling pushed back, saying that he would rather leave the Government if he could not remain at the Treasury.97

  Later that evening, Brown moved to his ‘war room’ at Number 12 to prepare a response to election results which he knew would be diabolical. He had set up this ‘war room’ after being frustrated that his senior staff were not instantly to hand in the rabbit warren of offices at Number 10 and having been impressed by a visit to the ‘war room’ of the Mayor of New York, Michael Bloomberg. The room was dominated by a horseshoe-shaped table with places for all his key aides and officials, and a seat reserved for Peter Mandelson to the Prime Minister’s right.

  That night, a big magnetic board had been set up to organise the reshuffle which Brown was planning to hold after the weekend. When he had talked over what might happen with Ed Balls, they assumed that any coup attempt would probably start on Friday morning after the results of the local elections. As Thursday evening wore on, the Prime Minister became increasingly fearful that a putsch was about to be launched before midnight. He had Peter Mandelson summoned to Number 12 from a dinner. Jeremy Heywood had just got home when he received an urgent call telling him to return to Downing Street. Having sent his driver away for the night, the Permanent Secretary grabbed a taxi.98

  At just before ten, minutes before the polls closed, Sue Nye came into the room to say that there was a phone call from James Purnell, the Work and Pensions Secretary. This bright young protégé of Tony Blair had always thought Brown would be a disastrous Prime Minister, an expectation that had been amply confirmed by serving in his Government. He also had some specific grievances, one of which was Brown’s refusal to support a second phase of welfare reform. Purnell was among the growing number of ministers who did not believe that it was credible for the Government to carry on pretending that there wouldn’t have to be future reductions in spending to deal with the deficit. At a recent ‘political Cabinet’, Purnell had argued that they ought to acknowledge that some programmes would be cut. If they didn’t, the voters would think massive tax rises were coming and Labour would be rendered incapable of making any plausible promises at the election. Andy Burnham tried to support Purnell only to be cut off by an angry Brown. After Cabinet, Brown hauled Purnell aside and blasted him for twenty minutes. ‘Why are you saying that in Cabinet? You can’t say that. We can’t make the next election our cuts versus their cuts. Take it from me. I’ve won elections on this. It’s got to be Labour investment versus Tory cuts.’99

  Purnell found that argument incredible and Brown’s behaviour impossible. He had been agonising for weeks about whether to resign. He confided to a few close friends that he simply could not stomach the thought of appearing before television cameras on Friday morning to express his continuing support for a Prime Minister in whom he had lost all confidence. He told friends: ‘I could not carry on with the lie.’100 Shortly after his resignation, he explained:

  Over the last six months, I had been thinking: has the elastic stretched beyond where I feel I was being true t
o myself? I remember doing an interview with Andrew Rawnsley and having to find things to say that were just about true enough … I thought: this is too much – too much of a stress.101

  Not wanting to be seen as a plotter, he had shared his intentions with very few people. Blairites like Tessa Jowell were left ‘shocked and very surprised’.102 One of the few he did confide in was his close friend David Miliband. When they spoke earlier that evening, Miliband tried to talk him out of it. The Foreign Secretary entirely shared Purnell’s despair about Brown, but feared the consequences of taking action.103

  At 9.53 p.m., Purnell e-mailed his resignation to Downing Street and then put in the call. ‘James, how are you?’ asked Brown, who had yet to see the e-mail. ‘I’m resigning,’ came Purnell’s blunt reply. ‘You’re doing what?’ said Brown. He did not shout or swear. Brown was too stunned for that. ‘I’m resigning from the Government,’ repeated Purnell. At a loss for words, the Prime Minister said: ‘Let Peter talk to you.’ He passed over the phone to Mandelson, who regarded Purnell as ‘one of my boys’. Mandelson started to argue with him that he was being stupid. ‘What do you think you are doing? This is mad, James.’ Purnell interrupted: ‘It’s too late.’ ‘What do you mean, it’s too late?’ asked Mandelson.104 Purnell had already given copies of his resignation letter to the Guardian, the Sun and The Times. His call for Brown ‘to stand aside to give our party a fighting chance of winning’ would be leading news bulletins from ten that night. ‘I quit, now you quit’ was the Sun headline on display on the TV screens in the ‘war room’ moments after the call.105