When the story broke, Airey had thought it ‘very silly of her to talk to the Press’, not realising until later that the interview had in fact taken place before the election.26 Though he felt ‘disillusioned’, he told himself ‘not to take it too seriously’. He was right to do so. Mrs Thatcher turned her thrift into a virtue. She told the BBC that, though others might call it stockpiling, ‘I call it being a prudent housewife,’ and invited the media in to inspect the shelves of the larder in the Thatchers’ home in Flood Street, Chelsea.27 Neave, who was always careful to note the effect that she had on women voters, believed that the brisk counter-attack had worked and ‘many housewives think she is taking a commonsense precaution.’28
Margaret undoubtedly had spirit and determination, yet Airey must still have not rated her a winner, for late on 18 December he went to a meeting organised by Nigel Fisher at which ‘we all signed a letter urging [du Cann] to stand in the first ballot.’ He advised the gathering that ‘if [he] did not stand … we should all support Margaret, but there is no unanimity. She has less chance at present. Heath’s stock is rising again.’29
On Christmas Day, the great ‘will-he-won’t-he’ was unresolved. ‘Not too happy about E. Du Cann,’ he wrote. ‘Since his bank Keyser Ullmann is clearly in difficulties. I plan to ring him in a week’s time to discover whether he has decided to stand. If not, we must clearly back Margaret.’ The day was windy, cold and wet. Airey rose early and brought tea to Diana, then walked next door to St Mary’s church to attend matins and read the first lesson. They had a ‘happy Christmas lunch’ and he ‘discussed the future with the boys and we feel we shall somehow fight our way through.’ Airey’s home life could hardly have been happier. On 29 December, he looked out on the garden of the Old Vicarage, at ‘the Christmas roses, the best ever’. It was a date he never forgot: ‘Our wedding day, 32 years ago and still very happy.’
Beyond the walls of the Old Vicarage, the scene was dark. Reviewing the year ahead, he wrote, ‘Everyone expecting the worst in 1975. They do not seem to realise how much they have brought these misfortunes on themselves.’30 He listed the figures that spelt out Britain’s woes: 20 per cent inflation, a £4 billion balance-of-payments deficit and many major enterprises heading, it seemed, for bankruptcy, including British Leyland.31 The car-maker was beset by strikes and had a reputation for lousy workmanship. He had his own personal experience of its shortcomings. Two days before Christmas, he had taken delivery of a new Austin 1800, provided after some haggling as part of his remuneration by Clarke Chapman.32 On driving out of Lex Motors in Swindon, he ‘had a premonition that it would not last the day’. Sure enough, ‘as I was driving Diana back from Farringdon there was a bang … it proved to be the suspension. I took it back after lunch all down on one side.’33
The seemingly permanent national crisis affected all but the very rich, and even among the upper-middle classes there was a strong feeling of precariousness. In Neave’s diaries there are many references to money, or the lack of it, and at the start of the New Year he calculated they would have to borrow £6,000 to get through it.34 As he prepared to return to Westminster after the break, nothing had been resolved. On Sunday 5 January, du Cann rang him and they spoke for forty minutes. Du Cann told him that he had seen Margaret Thatcher and advised her that for her campaign she needed a ‘strong group’ around her. He found her ‘naïve but admired her character’. His willingness to dispense advise to a potential rival seemed evidence of a lack of seriousness and, indeed, he confessed that he ‘still had not made up his mind whether to stand’. He proposed a ‘head count as soon as possible so we know what the probable figures are’, and Neave agreed to talk to Nigel Fisher.
He was in an awkward situation. He had encouraged Margaret and, as he revealed later, had ‘promised her support’ – but had also signed a letter effectively declaring his loyalty to du Cann. The latter’s endless dithering, however, meant he was restrained from honourably switching allegiance. He told du Cann as much, saying ‘it was difficult to commit myself entirely to Margaret and he said I must do what was right for the country!’ This, Airey concluded, ‘did not help. Until we know how many will back Margaret Thatcher I do not think any decisions will be made.’
He was due to have lunch with her in four days’ time. On Thursday 9 January, he and Diana drove to 19 Flood Street, ‘a very nice house, a bit too tidy with everything wrapped in cellophane’. There was some preliminary discussion about tax exemption on historic houses, a cause he had recently taken up, before the real subject was broached.
Margaret revealed that she had gained an important supporter – the social services spokesman Geoffrey Howe, along with ‘one or two’ other members of the Shadow Cabinet.** They shared her view that ‘a change was essential’. Once again it was personality rather than policy that was the problem. Heath had never run ‘a real cabinet’ and ‘never confided in anyone’. Then it was down to brass tacks.
Thatcher agreed with Neave’s proposition that, before a campaign could be launched, ‘a headcounting must come first and it was possible that she and E. Du Cann might get the same type of support. There was so far no campaign structure. I said this was not possible until a provisional assessment of the figures could be made. She had heard from the Press that E. Heath would get 120 (he would have to get 159 to win on the first ballot). I said 70 or 80 was more like it. The numbers for E. Du Cann and her could be close, in which case they would have to settle whether both should stand. I find it difficult because having promised her support, I have also signed the letter to E. Du Cann but do not yet know if he will stand.’ They also discussed whether or not ‘W. Whitelaw who is ambitious would stand. I did not fancy his chances but it was possible that Central Office would influence MPs on his behalf through their constituency associations.’
On Monday 13 January, Nigel Fisher made a further effort to squeeze a decision out of du Cann. Neave had learned from Fisher that their man was citing his wife as a reason for his prevarications. She ‘did not want to give up their beautiful home in Somerset, which they could not afford without the bank’.35 Fisher called a gathering for Wednesday evening at the House, by which time it was hoped things would be clearer. In the meantime, Neave’s thoughts and energies were focused on Margaret. He updated her on developments and told her he would ring her on Thursday with a read-out on the meeting. ‘It looks as though we should mobilise support for Margaret after we have organised a counting of heads,’ he wrote. Despite the assumed backing of Howe, he was ‘still doubtful of the outcome’.
The following day, Tuesday January 14, du Cann at last made up his mind. ‘[He] told me he would definitely not stand,’ wrote Airey. ‘He could not “let down” his wife. It seems she was against his becoming Chairman [of the 1922 Committee] years ago.’
This was a liberation. Neave expressed no word of regret at du Cann’s decision. For the next few weeks he would be absorbed in an adventure that rivalled the great dramas of his life, a game of high stakes and potentially rich political rewards. Over lunch with Margaret, he had revealed a talent for electoral number crunching. Added to that were skills he had developed in his wartime secret service days. Among them were an ability to divine people’s intentions and a capacity to nudge them in directions they might not otherwise have taken. His campaign would also involve a degree of deception, another art of his old trade.
On Wednesday, 15 January, a brief encounter with Nigel Fisher between divisions in the House produced an agreement ‘that I should chair a new group to support Margaret Thatcher’. That evening, in Interview Room J, he took the first steps in building her parliamentary campaign machine. ‘After 1½ hours, with contributions by Bernard Braine,†† Billy Rees-Davis‡‡ and many others, it was agreed that a Campaign organisation should be set up in favour of Margaret,’ he wrote. ‘Many expressed disappointment that Du Cann will not stand and that the choice was so narrow.’ He recorded several ‘anti-woman’ voices being raised, including that of Betty Harvie Anders
on. The dissident was a 62-year-old Scotswoman, member for East Renfrewshire, who had commanded an anti-aircraft regiment on the Home Front during the war. As Neave was to discover in his own constituency, Conservative women did not necessarily look kindly on the idea of one of their own sex leading them.
Margaret Thatcher already had the nucleus of a campaign team in the shape of two back-bench supporters: Fergus Montgomery, a right-wing former teacher from South Shields who had served as her PPS, and Bill Shelton, the hard-working and likeable member for Streatham. Neave approached them both that evening, though the precise details of what passed are not noted in the diary. According to Thatcher’s account, he told Shelton that if they ‘could come to some agreement’, he would bring over du Cann’s supporters to her camp.36 ‘In fact,’ she wrote, ‘the “agreement” simply consisted of Airey taking over the running of my campaign with Bill assisting him.’
Later Neave came to her room and they ‘performed a diplomatic minuet. Slightly disingenuously, he asked me who was running my campaign. Hardly less so, I replied that I didn’t really have a campaign. Airey said: “I think I had better do it for you.”’ She ‘agreed with enthusiasm … Suddenly much of the burden of worry I had been carrying around fell away.’
A parallel effort to manage her image outside Westminster was directed by Gordon Reece, a PR consultant, whose success or otherwise would give some indication of how Mrs Thatcher would play with voters. Neave arranged with Shelton ‘to hold a meeting to discuss “identification”’ of her supporters the following Monday, 20 January, at 9 p.m.
The day after his role at the head of the Thatcher campaign was formalised, the 1922 Committee endorsed the new rules to elect the leader. The game was now afoot. Henceforth Neave would be roaming the corridors, restaurants, cafeterias and bars of Westminster, saying little, hearing much and, with Bill Shelton, endlessly computing the arithmetic of victory.
A slightly complicating factor arose when, on 16 January, Hugh Fraser told Airey that he too intended to stand. The idea had been incubating for weeks. As long ago as 3 December, over lunch with Neave in the Members’ Dining Room – where Airey rarely ventured – he had expressed distaste for both Thatcher and du Cann. He had considered supporting Whitelaw, but after some prevarication had now decided to make a stand himself. It was a quixotic gesture, to raise the standard of traditional Toryism, which Fraser himself knew had zero chance of success. For all the affection Neave felt for his old comrade, he would not be rallying to Fraser’s flag. After their lunch he had remarked that ‘Hugh is invariably eccentric (and wrong).’ Fraser’s intervention ‘would certainly take votes off Margaret and Heath but what would it avail?’37 After this there were no further nominations and it was clear that it was in effect a two-horse race – between ‘a filly and a gelding’, as the joke had it.
Flushed with the excitement of his new role, Airey went down to Ashbury on Friday 17 January and that evening addressed a private meeting of Conservative supporters at Wallingford town hall. The experience ‘was a near disaster’. After explaining why he wanted Heath out and his role in the Milk Street affair, he ‘foolishly’ declared that ‘since there were only two candidates I would support Margaret. I was immediately attacked for deserting Heath, why was there only a woman and so forth. Some of the questioners were quite rude afterwards, especially Mrs Douglas-Pennant of Aston Tirrold. I expect some resignations from the branches. I miscalculated badly.’ The audience seemed particularly aggrieved that the choice of candidates was so narrow and he chided himself that he had ‘not implied that other candidates would stand and otherwise wrapped it up’.
Afterwards he was ‘extremely upset’ and the following day was no better. It was ‘miserable for me and the aftermath of the Wallingford meeting stayed with me all the time. If only I had had time to think how to present the leadership crisis. They were angry because I gave my views instead of allowing them to state theirs.’38
The episode illustrates the sensitivity to criticism noted by Veronica Beckett and by his own family. It is also evidence of a respect for other people’s feelings and opinions, suggesting a far softer personality than the calculating Machiavellian of caricature. Nevertheless, guile would be needed if he was to pull off the feat of propelling Margaret Thatcher into office. She aroused mixed feelings among the 276 other members who sat on the Tory benches, all but six of whom were men. To some she was too suburban, to others too shrill. Those who shared Heath’s centrist, corporatist outlook were suspicious of her identification with the emerging Tory counter-culture of monetarism. Yet those who might be attracted to her emphasis on shrinking the state and rewarding individual effort were, on the face of it, the most likely to be nervous of the idea of a woman leader.
Neave had grasped the crucial factor in the contest, which was that, one way or another, Ted Heath was finished. Even his strongest supporters, and they were still surprisingly numerous both inside and outside parliament, realised that, no matter how much they might admire his abilities and share his opinions, he was ballot-box poison and sooner or later he would have to go. Whatever her faults, Margaret Thatcher was the agent of change. What was more, a vote for her did not mean her inevitable translation to the leadership. Neave and his team would emphasise her qualities to potential converts. But they would also employ a subtle argument to the less enamoured: by voting for her in the first round, you would not necessarily be getting her as leader. But you would be getting rid of Ted and forcing a second round, which would open the field to other candidates.
On Sunday 19 January he got down to work. That morning he spoke on the phone to Mrs Thatcher, who was ‘pleased we are getting started’, and told her who was in the group. She told him that Keith Joseph was backing her. He felt they were off to a good start because ‘that meant that supporters of Joseph, Thatcher and Du Cann were now united’. He ‘told her to forget it and stick to the Finance Bill’. By that he meant she should leave the campaign to him and concentrate on opposing the government legislation going through the House. It was sound advice. In the coming days she pulled off some sparkling performances in her clashes with the Chancellor, Denis Healey, standing up to his special brand of brutal sarcasm and hitting back with some wounding sallies of her own.
On Monday night the Campaign Group, as Neave was now calling it, met at the House. There were twenty present. Names were farmed out among them ‘on the basis of personal knowledge’, so that intentions could be canvassed.39 Neave wrote that the group was ‘formed of people of all shades of thought in the party’. There was a sense of excitement in the air. ‘So the balloon has gone up,’ he wrote with satisfaction.
To pursue the imagery of the turf that was constantly employed during the contest, on form Margaret Thatcher was the outsider. Her political experience was limited and she was a woman, one whose appearance and manner were not universally appealing. Her stable was a scratch squad and she had put in little time on the gallops. But as Neave was soon telling Arthur Palmer, his Labour colleague on the science and technology select committee, and the Scottish Old Etonian Labour MP Tam Dalyell, ‘As particular friends of mine, I’d put your money on the filly.’40
During the course of the day following the Campaign Group meeting, Tuesday 21 January, he wrote that ‘It became evident that Margaret was in the lead and I told her so.’ When they gathered again on the Wednesday evening and compared notes, they decided to ‘release the news that she was ahead on ballot 1 according to our present count’. Neave passed the news on to the BBC Political Editor, Peter Hardiman Scott, and the Daily Mail. When the news was broadcast next morning on the Today programme, it ‘caused a sensation and sent the Establishment into a flat spin’.41 That evening Heath ‘came to the 1922 Committee and woodenly announced that he accepted the rules for election’. It was his prerogative to choose the date and he announced it would be in twelve days, on Tuesday 4 February. Neave felt this was another dirty trick. ‘The Establishment’ had ‘deliberately advanced the date to put us at a
disadvantage.’
While his lieutenants fanned out through Westminster seeking pledges of support, Neave arranged for Margaret’s voice to sound in the Tory press, fixing with the Telegraph editor and former Conservative MP Bill Deedes for her to write an op-ed (in fact penned by Angus Maude) the following week. He also fielded a request from BBC Midweek for Margaret to be filmed for a programme on Thursday 30 January, in which Heath and Hugh Fraser would also appear.
Neave had little time for the new media aristocracy (‘I hate these arrogant, selfish TV teams’),42 but it was all part of the game and he agreed. This put him in conflict with Gordon Reece, to whom he seems to have taken an immediate dislike, referring to him in the diary as ‘one Rees’. Reece complained that by appearing on Midweek she would upset Granada’s World in Action programme, who had already spent five hours filming her.
Neave replied robustly that ‘They could not possibly have monopoly of the whole week. World in Action does not come on till next Monday. I eventually won the day.’43 Mrs Thatcher duly appeared on both, interviewed while having her hair done on Midweek and talking widely and confidently on her background, her beliefs and her conviction that she could cope with the strains of leadership ‘every bit as well as my colleagues’ in the World in Action programme broadcast on the eve of the poll.44
Neave spent the weekend of Friday 24 January in the constituency. He attended another meeting of Tory supporters in Abingdon. To his relief, the mood was much more friendly than it had been the week before in Wallingford and ‘nobody opposed my right to come out for Margaret and act as her manager.’ He noted that people were ‘not yet used to the idea of a woman leader’. He returned to London on Sunday afternoon and went with Keith Joseph and Bill Shelton to Flood Street to see Thatcher. They sat in the drawing room and Neave revealed the latest figures. Their polling gave her 112 pledges and Heath fewer than 80. To win on the first ballot, she needed 159. The figures, he judged, ‘must be too optimistic’. He knew very well that statements of intention were not to be trusted and that there was a tendency for members to give questioners the answer they wanted to hear. ‘One has to remember,’ he told himself, ‘that practically all canvasses are overoptimistic and that in the [1965] Maudling/Heath contest Maudling was told he was in by 30!’45 The numbers possessed the power to shift events one way or the other as MPs weighed the odds. Such data was precious and had to be guarded. Henceforth, he decided, ‘it is essential to give out no figures.’46 The line would be that ‘Margaret was in a “strong position” and leave it at that’.47
The Man Who Was Saturday Page 25