The Conservatives held the Croydon North-East seat comfortably at the by-election, and captured a marginal six weeks later. The press pointed out that it only needed the Tories and the SDP/Liberal Alliance to join together for the Government and Opposition to be in equal numbers, leaving the seventeen Irish members to decide the fate of the Parliament. Raymond was determined that the Government should hold on for another few weeks so that he could deliver his third budget, which he was convinced would act as a launching pad on which to fight the election.
Andrew had realized that Raymond’s next budget might help Labour’s chances at the polls, and he sought an official meeting with the leader of the Opposition to discuss the possibility of a “no confidence” motion.
Simon agreed with Andrew’s suggestion and thought that they should time the debate for the end of March. If they won that would ensure an election before the budget.
Raymond had accepted an invitation to address a large Labour rally in Cardiff the weekend before the vote of “no confidence.” He boarded the train at Paddington, settled into his compartment, and began to check over his speech. As the train pulled into Swindon a railway official stepped on board and, having discovered where the Chancellor of the Exchequer was seated, asked if he could speak to him privately for a few minutes. Raymond listened carefully to what the man had to say, replaced the speech in his brief case, got off the train, crossed the platform, and returned by the first available train to London.
On the journey back he tried to work out all the consequences of the news he had just been told. As soon as he arrived at Paddington he made his way through the waiting photographers and journalists, answering no questions. A car took him straight to Westminster Hospital. Raymond was shown into a private room, to find the Prime Minister sitting upright in bed.
“Now don’t panic,” he said before Raymond could speak. “I’m in fine shape considering I’m over sixty and with all the pressure we’ve been under this last year.”
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Raymond, taking a chair next to the bed.
“Recurrence of the old trouble, only this time they say it will take major surgery. I’ll be out of this place in a month, six weeks at the most, and then I’ll live as long as Harold Macmillan, they tell me. Now, to more important matters. I want you to take over for me again, which will mean you will have to speak in my place during the ‘no confidence’ debate on Wednesday. If we lose the vote, I shall resign as leader.”
Raymond tried to protest as he had already worked out the implications the moment he had heard his leader was ill again. The Prime Minister held up his hand and continued talking. “No party can fight an election with its leader laid up in bed for six weeks, however well he might be when they release him. If there is to be an election, the voters have the right to know who is going to lead the party in Parliament, and of course in such an emergency under standing order number five (four) of the Labour party’s constitution,” continued the Prime Minister, “the National Executive would meet and automatically select you to take over as party leader.”
Raymond raised his head. “Yes. The importance of that particular standing order has already been pointed out to me.”
The Prime Minister smiled. “Joyce, no doubt.”
“Her name was Kate, actually.”
The Prime Minister looked puzzled and then continued. “I think you must get used to the idea, Raymond, that you may well be running for Prime Minister in three weeks’ time. Because if we lose the ‘no confidence’ vote on Wednesday I am given no choice but to advise the Queen to call an immediate general election.”
Raymond remained silent.
“I can assure you,” continued the Prime Minister, “the National Executive will not want an internal bloodbath three weeks before a general election. Nothing could be more certain to guarantee a Tory victory. If, however, we do win the ’no confidence vote then it’s a different matter altogether because I’ll be back and running the ship long before the Easter recess is over. That will give us enough time to call the election after you’ve delivered your third budget. So make sure you win on Wednesday.”
“I am unable to express how much we will all miss your leadership,” said Raymond, without guile.
“As every member of the House except the Irish will know which lobby they’ll be voting in long before the debate begins, my leadership may turn out to be less important than any single vote. And don’t forget it will be the first occasion at which they’ve allowed television on the floor of the Commons, so make sure Joyce picks out one of those smart shirts you sometimes wear.”
Raymond spent the final few days before the “no confidence” vote preparing his speech. He canceled all the engagements in his diary except for the Speaker’s dinner to celebrate the Queen’s sixty-fifth birthday, at which he would be standing in for the Prime Minister.
The Government and Opposition Whips spent Monday and Tuesday checking that every member would be present in the House by ten o’clock on Wednesday night. The political journalists pointed out that, if the vote were a tie, Mr. Speaker Seymour had already made it clear that he would abide by the ancient tradition of giving his casting vote to the Government of the day. Charles was armed with precedents from Speaker Addington in the eighteenth century to Speaker Denison in the nineteenth. Charles pointed out that, in line with the principle, he must vote in such a manner as not to make the decision of the chair final.
Simon was to open the debate for the Opposition while Andrew was being allowed to wind up, the only concession Simon had granted the SDP/Liberal Alliance for ensuring their support in the lobbies. Neil Kinnock was to open for the Government with Raymond winding up.
When Raymond read his speech out to Joyce on the Tuesday night the entire rehearsal took only twenty-four minutes, but he explained to her that with the noise and interruptions that would occur in the Chamber he would be on his feet the full thirty minutes. In fact he might have to cut short some lines on the night.
The following day members began arriving hours before the debate was due to begin. The Strangers’ Gallery had been booked days in advance, with many senior ambassadors and even some Privy Councillors unable to be guaranteed a seat. The Press Gallery was filled and editors were sitting at the feet of their political journalists’ desks. The Commons itself was like a stand at a cup final where twice as many tickets had been sold as there were seats. The only difference from a Budget Day was that the House was taken up with lighting equipment that had been tested a dozen times that morning.
Between two-thirty and three-thirty Mr. Speaker Seymour had been unable to stop members chattering during questions to Mr. Meacher, the Secretary of State for Education, but at three-thirty he duly shouted for “Order” and did not have to wait long for silence before calling: “The leader of the Opposition.”
Simon rose from his place on the front bench to be greeted with cheers from his own side. He was momentarily surprised by the brightness of the arc lights which he had been assured he would hardly notice, but soon he was into his stride. Without a note in front of him he addressed the House for fifty minutes, tearing into the Government one moment, then switching to the policies he would implement the next. He ended his peroration by describing the Labour party as “the party of wasted opportunity” then added—jabbing his finger at Raymond—“but you will be replaced by a party of ideas and ideals.”
He sat down to the cheers of his back-benchers who thought they had already won the vote—if not the next election as well. The noise continued for some time before Charles could bring the House back to order and call the next speaker.
Neil Kinnock had always reveled in his Welsh ancestry and had often been compared by older members to Aneurin Bevan. The bête noire of the Tories set in to the Opposition leader with a vengeance, expounding his beliefs and rousing his own side to cheers when he said that the Tories would be routed and would regret this no confidence “trick” for a decade. “The Right Honorable Gentleman,�
� he said, pointing at Simon, “has the nerve to call us the party of wasted opportunities. For the past two years it is he who has led the party of opportunists, and who will be the leader of the Opposition until it is time for him to be replaced.” When Kinnock sat down the television producers couldn’t be blamed for thinking that they were covering a lions v. Christians slaughter. Again it took the Speaker several minutes to bring the House back to order.
The back-benchers also rose to the occasion with speeches from past ministers quoting precedent and from young turks demanding change, which helped confirm old and established new reputations. The House remained packed that night right up until nine o’clock when the Speaker called Andrew Fraser to wind up for the Opposition.
Andrew delivered a “plague on both your houses” speech and shouted above the protests from the two main parties, “When the time comes you will both need to call on an honest broker.” At nine-thirty when he resumed his seat Andrew was cheered as loudly as forty-two members in unison could manage.
When it came to Raymond’s turn to wind up, members wondered how he would make himself heard above the noise that greeted him. He rose to the dispatch box and, looking grave, with head bowed, almost whispered his first words, “Mr. Speaker, I know the whole House would wish me to open my speech by saying how sad we all are that the Prime Minister is unable to be present tonight. I am sure all Honorable members will want to join me in sending him, his wife, and family our best wishes as he prepares for his operation.”
Suddenly the House was silent and, having caught its mood Raymond raised his head and delivered for the eleventh time the speech he had prepared so assiduously. When he had seen Simon give his apparently impromptu speech Raymond had torn up his notes. He spelled out the achievements of the Government during the past two and a half years and assured the House that he was only halfway through his time as Chancellor. “I have not been able to achieve equality in three years, but of one thing I am certain: I look forward to delivering my next budget whatever the outcome of the vote tonight. We shall not see the opportunist Government of the Conservatives or the Alliance’s so-called ‘honest broker.’ Indeed, looking at the Alliance I can say there is no one less honest and no one more broke. We, Mr. Speaker, will see the return of a Labour Government for another full Parliament.” Raymond sat down as the clock reached ten. He found, like the speakers before him, that he was drenched in sweat from the heat sent out by the powerful arc lights.
The Speaker rose and his first words were lost as he put the question:
“This House has no confidence in Her Majesty’s Government. As many as are of that opinion say Aye, to the contrary, No. I think the Ayes have it.”
“No,” hollered back the voices from the Government benches.
“Clear the lobbies,” called the Speaker above the cheers for Raymond Gould. Members departed to the lobbies to cast their votes. The Irish members surprised no one by dividing among themselves. Fourteen minutes later the tellers returned to a noisy Chamber to give the result of the division to the clerk at the table who then entered the figures on a division paper. The four tellers lined up and advanced toward the table from the bar of the House. They came to a halt and bowed for a third time. One of the Opposition Whips read out: “Ayes to the right 323, Noes to the left 322” and passed the piece of paper to the Speaker who tried to repeat it above the bedlam. Few members heard him say:
“The Ayes have it, the Ayes have it.”
Raymond sat on the front bench and watched the delighted Tories bobbing up and down like children on a carousel. He reflected that if the Prime Minister had been present to register his vote the Government would have saved the day.
Her Majesty the Queen visited her Prime Minister in hospital twenty-four hours after his successful operation. He advised the monarch to dissolve Parliament immediately and asked that the general election be set for 9 May. He explained to the Queen that he intended to resign as leader of his party that morning and would relinquish the office of Prime Minister as soon as the outcome of the election was clear.
Before she left the Westminster Hospital the Queen spent some time discussing a private constitutional issue with the Prime Minister. He suggested that when the Labour party had confirmed their new leader he must be the man to offer her advice on such a personal matter.
The National Executive of the Labour party met behind the closed doors of Transport House in Smith Square at ten o’clock the following morning to select their new leader.
Three hours and twenty minutes later the committee issued a one-line press statement: “Mr. Raymond Could has been invited to lead the party at the forthcoming general election.”
Although no one was in any doubt about the fierce arguments that must have taken place during the meeting the press were met by a unified voice once the committee finally broke up.
As Lord Broadstairs, the former Prime Minister, wrote in the center page of the Sunday Express that weekend, “The Labour party in selecting their leader resembled nothing less than the old-fashioned magic circle of Lord Rosebery in their determination to prove unity.” The only leak he had managed to gather from the meeting was that Raymond Gould’s acceptance speech had impressed every one present.
But Lord Broadstairs went on to point out that if the Labour party should lose the general election Raymond Gould could be the shortest serving leader in the Labour party’s history, as under standing order five (four) of the constitution his appointment had to be confirmed by the delegates at the next party conference in October.
It had been two hours before Raymond was able to leave Transport House and escape the press. When he eventually got away he went straight to Westminster Hospital to visit the Prime Minister. The operation had visibly aged him. He was in good spirits, but admitted that he was glad not to be facing a grueling election campaign. After he had congratulated Raymond on his new post he went on to say: “You’re dining with the Queen tonight?”
“Yes, to celebrate her sixty-fifth birthday,” said Raymond.
“There’s more to it than that,” said the Prime Minister gravely and he then revealed the private conversation that he had had with the monarch the previous day.
“And will her decision depend on the four people in that room?”
“I suspect it will.”
“And what’s your attitude?”
“That’s no longer relevant because I shall resign as Prime Minister the day after the election, so it’s more important the new Prime Minister considers what is best for the country.”
For the first time Raymond felt like the leader of the party.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ELIZABETH STRAIGHTENED SIMON’S white tie and took a pace back to look at him.
“Well, at least you look like a Prime Minister,” she said, smiling.
Her husband checked his watch. Still a few minutes to spare before he needed to be at the Speaker’s private apartments—not that he was willing to risk being late for this particular birthday celebration. Elizabeth helped him on with his overcoat and after a search realized he had lost another pair of gloves.
“I do hope you can take care of the nation’s belongings a little better than you do your own.” She sighed.
“I’m sure I’ll find it hard to lose a whole country,” said Simon.
“Do remember that Raymond Gould will be trying to help you,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, that’s true. I only wish I was fighting Kinnock.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because Could was born into the wrong party,” said Simon as he kissed his wife and walked toward the front door, “and a lot of the electorate have already reached the same conclusion.”
The policeman on the gates of New Palace Yard saluted as Simon was driven into the courtyard and dropped at the Members’ Entrance. He glanced at his watch again: ten minutes to spare. He never could resist checking how many people were in the Chamber or what the latest news was on the ticker-tape machine.
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br /> He put his head round the door of the smoking room. A few members were scattered around, mainly from safe seats they felt did not need nursing. Pimkin, surrounded by his usual cronies, hailed him. His face lit up when he saw Simon formally dressed. “I say, waiter, mine’s a double gin and tonic.” His companions duly laughed. Simon responded by asking the barman to give Mr. Pimkin a large gin and tonic and to charge it to his account.
He spent a few minutes moving from group to group chatting to members about how the election might go in their constituencies. Pimkin assured Simon that the Tories would return in triumph. “I wish everyone was as confident as you are,” Simon told him before leaving for the Speaker’s private apartments as Pimkin ordered another gin.
He strolled along the library corridor, lined from floor to ceiling with venerable old journals of the House, until he reached the Speaker’s office, which is the route members take to the Speaker’s private rooms. When Simon reached the Grand Stairway dominated by Speaker Addington’s portrait he was met by the Speaker’s train-bearer clad in white tie and black tails.
“Good evening, Mr. Kerslake,” he said and led Simon down the corridor into the antechamber where a relaxed Charles Seymour stood ready to receive his guests. Charles shook Simon’s hand warmly. Simon thought how well his colleague looked compared with their meeting of a few months before.
Andrew Fraser had already arrived and soon the three men were deep into a discussion about the course the election would take when another guest walked in.
“The Right Honorable Raymond Gould,” announced the train-bearer. Charles went over to greet his guest.
“Many congratulations on your election as leader,” were his first words. “You’ve had one hell of a week; you must be exhausted.”
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