Still worse perhaps was the spectre – raised a fortnight earlier at Margate at the annual conference of the Association of Public Health Inspectors – of ‘a new slumdom’ emerging from the housing projects that were replacing the old slums. ‘The condition of common staircases, passageways and refuse disposal arrangements, not being any particular individual’s responsibility, soon deteriorate and foul conditions develop,’ noted Liverpool’s Mr W. H. Wattleworth. ‘Although it may be possible to provide a caretaker in a tower block, it may not be an economic consideration in the three- and four-storey flats, and in any case the attention of the attendant must be mainly concerned with any lift provided.’ For William Amos, writing in the Liverpool Daily Post, Wattleworth’s remarks raised three ‘disquieting questions’: ‘Should it be necessary for the public to clean up after people whose accommodation is already being heavily subsidised? Is it not time that the tenement litterlouts were given a sharp administrative rap over the knuckles by the Corporation? And is Liverpool in fact building modern slums?’ John Betjeman for his part was finally through with high-rise. ‘Walking about in new LCC estates as I have been doing lately,’ he told John Summerson, ‘convinces me that the low blocks and the two-storey and single-storey houses are what we really need. I have found no large blocks I have visited either liked or inviting – they are just plot ratio buildings.’9
Betjeman was writing on 28 September, the day of Benn’s confident diary entry – and, probably about the same time, of Gaitskell’s speech at Newcastle. ‘You can be assured of this,’ he told the 3,000 present that evening. ‘There will be no increase in the standard or other rates of income tax under the Labour Government so long as normal peacetime conditions continue.’ The Daily Herald reported that ‘a terrific cheer’ greeted this unexpected tax pledge, but The Times’s political correspondent was immediately on the money when he called it ‘extraordinary’ and ‘a significantly strong reaction to the massive Conservative attack that is being directed to the cost of the Labour programme’. Among politicians, two instant reactions were recorded: Hailsham’s, telling a meeting in Doncaster that ‘The Lord hath delivered them into our hands’; and Bevan’s, turning to Geoffrey Goodman and angrily saying, ‘He’s thrown it away. He’s lost the election.’ The problem was perceived – however unfairly – as one of credibility, putting Labour firmly on the back foot, and Macmillan next evening, speaking in Glasgow, called Gaitskell’s promise ‘a very queer one for a professional economist and an ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer’. That same evening, ‘amidst applause and cheering’, Mosley was strutting his stuff in Notting Hill. Warning against ‘the cheap coloured labour that is being imported into Britain’, he told his white listeners that ‘no matter how skilled you may be, you can’t compete with a man who is prepared to live on a tin of Kit-E-Kat a day.’ He added: ‘In the whole of my political career I have never been so disgusted as I am now at what is happening in North Kensington. Why should English women suffer this sort of thing? Meanwhile, the police are told to look the other way.’ In short: ‘There is one law for the blacks and one for the whites.’10
On Wednesday the 30th, the opening of the much-delayed Chiswick Flyover, London’s first major two-level highway to be built since the war, had a double twist: the presence – following the unavailability of Harold Watkinson (Minister of Transport), Stirling Moss and Donald Campbell – of the almost inevitable, scarlet-dressed Jayne Mansfield to cut the ribbon, as to a chorus of wolf-whistles she blew kisses to 600 admirers before announcing, ‘It’s a sweet little flyover’; and, a few streets away, a vehement open-air speech from the local Conservative candidate, Dudley Smith, denouncing it as ‘thoroughly irresponsible to turn a fine British achievement into a stunt for a film star who is not even British’. The flyover itself stood up admirably to its first rush hour. ‘A brilliant success,’ claimed the AA. ‘Some motorists even went back for another go.’ That evening, Bevan was at a packed school in nearby Ealing, speaking on behalf of Smith’s Labour opponent. Early on, a slight commotion at the back of the hall prompted Bevan to remark, ‘Perhaps Jayne Mansfield has arrived,’ while later, after he had called the Suez expedition ‘immoral and inept’, a shout of ‘Why was it immoral?’ prompted him to rap out to cheers: ‘It was immoral because by armed might we tried to impose our will on a weaker country. We would never have done it if Nasser had had bombs to drop on London. It was the act of a coward and a bully.’ The place for bullies that evening, though, was Hampstead Town Hall. There, for nearly 20 minutes, David Pitt struggled to make himself heard above shouts of ‘Keep Britain white’ and ‘We don’t want England a dumping ground for niggers,’ before a running fight broke out between members of the White Defence League and Labour Party stewards. Chairs were broken, glass showered everywhere, even an old watercolour of Hampstead was smashed on the wall. Whatever his inner feelings, Pitt ‘remained’, observed the Ham & High, ‘calm and smiling throughout the mêlée’.11
October arrived with the political outlook more uncertain than the meteorological. ‘First signs of the Election – got our voting cards,’ noted Nella Last on Thursday the 1st. ‘I was surprised to find both Mrs Atkinson & Mrs Higham think Labour will win.’ But at Transport House the mood had changed. ‘We feel the Tories have now got us on the defensive,’ reflected Benn, and that evening Macmillan sententiously if effectively declared at Nottingham that ‘elections are very severe tests and Mr Gaitskell has managed to destroy in a week a reputation he had built up over a number of years’. Bevan meanwhile was speaking at the Co-operative Hall in Upper Tooting Road, Wandsworth – 800 inside, 500 outside listening via a loudspeaker – where most of the heckling came from League of Empire Loyalists, but a man with a large ginger beard shouted out that perhaps Bevan would join up in the next war. ‘Obviously you have worn a beard to hide your weak mouth,’ retorted Bevan, who later in his speech claimed that Labour had a ‘moral stature’ that the Tories could not possibly reach. Next morning he was conclusively down with flu and cancelled the rest of his campaign tour.
The Spectator now announced that it could not support the Conservatives (a party that seemed ‘ready to sacrifice almost anything to stay in office’) and published various voting intentions. Wolf Mankowitz and Angus Wilson were unenthusiastic backers of Labour; Evelyn Waugh hoped to see the Conservatives return ‘with a substantial majority’ and recalled his ‘bitter memories of the Attlee-Cripps regime when the kingdom seemed to be under enemy occupation’, but added that he did not personally intend to vote, since ‘I do not aspire to advise my Sovereign in her choice of servants’; and Kingsley Amis, though calling Labour ‘sinister as well as fatuous and revolting’, conceded he would ‘just about rather see a Labour Government in office than another Conservative one’, given that ‘Labour had an idea in its head once, even though it is now almost forgotten’, whereas ‘Conservatism never had an idea at all, except to hold on to its wallet’. Another novelist, Keith Waterhouse, undertook some reportage in a suburban pub on the Friday evening:
The television lounge was populated by a crowd of youths, just touching voting age [21], who had spent a comfortable evening sipping lager and lime and watching Hancock [on BBC from 8.30 to 9, at which point they had presumably switched to ITV]. They were genuinely affronted when [at 10] the election programme came on. One minute they were singing contentedly, ‘The Esso sign means happy motoring,’ and the next they were on their feet shouting abuse. Four adults, sitting with their backs to the television set, turned round idly to see what the row was about, then resumed their drinking. A man came to the door carrying a glass of stout in each hand, called, ‘It’s only the television mention’ over his shoulder, and went out again. The youths switched over to the other channel and then, seeing the same blank politician’s face, pulled the plug out of its socket.
The theme of the party political broadcast was ‘Britain Overseas’, the main politicians featured were Alan Lennox-Boyd (Colonial Secretary) and Selwyn Lloyd (Foreign Secretary), and
Waterhouse added that ‘so far as those youths in the pub were concerned, the Tories might as well have put on an old film of Neville Chamberlain’.12
‘Last day of “summer time” and light evenings,’ recorded Anthony Heap on Saturday the 2nd. ‘But with afternoon temperatures still soaring well up in the seventies there’s no sign yet of any end to this golden summer.’ Next day, speaking in Grimsby’s Alexandra Hall, Anthony Crosland allowed himself a touch of exasperation. ‘Who has never had it so good?’ he asked. ‘I am sick and tired of hearing the Tories trot out this little party piece.’ Among those not having it so good, he identified not only the sick, old-age pensioners and widows but also railway workers, teachers and nurses; while those who were having it so good were Stock Exchange speculators (getting away tax-free) and businessmen who indulged in the ‘expense account racket’. It was the last weekend before polling day, and on Sunday the psephologist David Butler – who in mid-September had privately predicted a heavy Tory victory – rang Wedgwood Benn to tell him the outcome was ‘wide open’. Indeed, Gallup on Monday had the two parties level-pegging – perhaps the provocation for Lord Montgomery, hero of El Alamein, to declare publicly that anyone who voted Labour ‘must be completely barmy, absolutely off his rocker’ – though Richard Crossman privately reflected ‘I still don’t, in my inmost heart, believe in victory.’ Not so Gaitskell. That evening he made his final television appeal, commending Labour’s ‘fine, modern, new, realistic programme’, which was in tune with the British people’s ‘special qualities’ of ‘kindliness, tolerance, decency, a sense of fair play’; later, unable to sleep, he drew up a list of his Cabinet. Nella Last’s preoccupation this Monday, though, was rather different. ‘I was interested in & rather against character in Double Your Money – with an outstanding knowledge of Opera,’ she recorded. ‘When she got her £500 I sighed with relief, hoping she didn’t risk it to reach out for £1,000. £500 can make her dream of going to New York Opera House come true. I feel Hughie Green would contact friendly people to help her. To read his life story of all his different activities and struggles, sounds like fiction rather than fact, & he seems to have a gift for making friends.’13
On Tuesday the 6th the election’s scariest scare story turned up on the front page of the Daily Sketch’s later editions. ‘If you vote the Socialists into power on Thursday,’ it claimed entirely groundlessly, ‘you can say good-bye to commercial television,’ adding for good measure that abolition would take place within six months. Everywhere, the campaigning continued. ‘A monstrous infringement’ was the reaction of Peter Tapsell, Conservative candidate for West Nottingham, to the news that council-house tenants had been told by the Labour-run local authority to take down election posters and window bills. At lunchtime in Luton, heckled by Vauxhall workers that the Tories were the party of privilege, Charles Hill (one-time ‘Radio Doctor’ and now a minister) countered that his origins were ‘just as humble as many of you here’ and that he was ‘not ashamed’ he had ‘made a bit of progress and worked hard’. Shirley Williams at Southampton Test put in her usual 17-hour day, driven around by her husband Bernard in a ‘zippy green sports car’, while in Bristol, after a similarly hectic day of loudspeakers and meetings (including at Robertson’s jam factory), Wedgwood Benn privately conceded that ‘there is not quite as much enthusiasm here as I had expected and the number of workers has not been as great as I had hoped’, that indeed ‘frankly, the campaign has lost some of its impetus’. That evening, Macmillan made his final television pitch and solemnly quoted Churchill: ‘To build is the laborious task of years. To destroy can be the foolish act of a single day.’ In the broadcast’s immediate aftermath, the pro-Conservative members of the BBC Viewers’ Panel noted that he had been ‘in excellent form . . . relaxed . . . calm . . . convincing’, but the anti-Conservative ones found the ‘Old School Tie’ atmosphere ‘out of key with modern times’.
Four different opinion polls had been appearing regularly, and on Wednesday the Telegraph published its final throw, which unlike the others was restricted to marginal seats and now gave the Tories a 2.5-point edge. That lunchtime, Gaitskell was in Leeds (where his constituency was), speaking at an open-air meeting for factory workers. ‘Don’t let the telly keep you from the poll,’ he urged. ‘Leave the kids at home to watch Rawhide. They can tell you what has happened when you get back.’ That evening, just as the 200th edition of Educating Archie on the Light Programme had Bruce Forsyth taking over from Max Bygraves as Archie’s new tutor, Michael Foot, trying to wrest back Plymouth Devonport from Joan Vickers, ended his campaign at the city’s newly built Guildhall. ‘The Tories haven’t got any dreams or ideals for the future,’ he told an audience of some 1,500. ‘They want the nation to stay as it is. They don’t want anything better.’ As ever, Kenneth Preston in Keighley was tirelessly writing up his diary. After a passing reference to how ‘Spain has latterly become very popular as a Continental holiday place,’ he pondered the situation: ‘It has not been a very exciting election, as far as one can judge. We take things more calmly here than in other lands. The Socialists must be particularly anxious for if they do not win this time their future will be dark indeed.’14
‘A perfect day’ (Benn in Bristol), ‘another glorious day’ (Preston in Keighley), ‘another marvellous autumn day’ (Phyllis Willmott in Highgate) – the weather on polling day declined to deviate from the Tory script. ‘Shares Reach New Peak on Election Hopes’ was the headline in The Times, and indeed the three new opinion polls in that morning’s papers all put the Tories ahead, by between 1.5 and 3.6 points, with Benn gloomily noting how ‘the Gallup poll suggests that the enormous “don’t know” group may be inclining to the right’. But for some there was no room for complacency. ‘Finchley’s attractive Conservative candidate, Mrs Margaret Thatcher, started canvassing at 8 a.m. in a blaze of blue,’ reported a local paper. ‘She wore a glamorous royal blue silk suit with matching shoes and handbag, and was driven round by her husband in a blue Jaguar.’ Churchill too – wearing black overcoat, black homburg and white muffler, as well as sunglasses – was out and about, going on a 12-mile tour of his Woodford constituency in a yellow open car. ‘At one of his stops,’ it was reported, ‘Christine Truman, the tennis star, who is helping out at the committee rooms, leant over and took Sir Winston’s hand and then had a word with Lady Churchill.’ The electorate largely performed its democratic duty – ‘Have been & voted – wish it were for draught beer,’ noted Philip Larkin, while Frank Lewis in south Wales voted despite telling himself he had ‘absolutely NO interest in politics’ – amidst widespread concerns about the impact of the TV set on potential evening voters. ‘Let’s make it the BIGGEST POLL EVER’ the Labour-supporting Daily Mirror that morning had urged its several million working-class readers. ‘Your X Can Make The Difference Today. To Hell with the telly until we’ve all voted.’ Indeed, the Mirror even declined this Thursday to list programmes before nine o’clock, when the polls closed, though presumably it was an open secret that the BBC was showing The Black and White Minstrel Show, and ITV not only Rawhide but also Dotto (‘turns dots into pictures and pictures into pounds’). ‘With The Archers, Top of the Form (sound) & Dotto & This Wonderful World on ITV,’ recorded Nella Last, ‘the evening seemed to pass quickly.’15
Then came her inevitable wifely disappointment – ‘I’d have liked to stop up awhile & listened to the Election results, but knew it was useless to suggest it’ – though 59 per cent of the adult population did stay up to watch or listen. Television was overwhelmingly the medium of choice, and over twice as many watched BBC’s coverage fronted by Richard Dimbleby (‘the firmest base on which any such programme could rest,’ noted one critic, ‘and a most jolly, even skittish, jumbo he became as the night wore on’) as ITV’s under Ian Trethowan. Even so, ‘the usual cheerful election-night crowds jammed into Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square to watch the returns flashed on screens’, observed Mollie Panter-Downes, including ‘parties of young people bobbing along
with Tory-blue balloons and shouting that they wanted Mac’.
Alma Hatt, ambitious Clerk of Basildon Council, was determined that Billericay should declare first, and through meticulous organisation and a 400-strong army of volunteers he succeeded – despite losing eight minutes after a ballot box had been left behind in a car – at almost exactly 10 p.m. This was the moment of truth, including for the Labour veteran Hugh Dalton:
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