Breaking the Code

by Gyles Brandreth

  We were seated with Peter Stothard, the curly-headed new editor of The Times (rather a likeable character, self-deprecating, odd-looking, not in a million years would his morning suit ever fit, hardly anyone’s idea of a traditional establishment figure) and every time Her Majesty came up with a sideswipe at the press (and there were several, mostly done more in sorrow than in anger) we gleefully pointed at Peter and giggled. He took it in good part. And he was impressed by the speech. You couldn’t not be.

  All eyes glistening we gave Her Majesty a sustained standing ovation. Then Grace was said and we tucked into the turbot, partridge and ruby soufflé with gusto. The final treat of the outing was to turn round with our glasses of forty-year-old port in hand to find ourselves being caught on camera by Andrew Festing. He has been commissioned to paint the official portrait of the occasion. They picked the right man. Son of a Field Marshal, married a general’s daughter, ex-Sotheby’s, good shot, small house in Kensington, family seat in Northumberland, a gentle gentleman, gifted, civilised, amusing, moderate in all things. The Queen must love him.

  THURSDAY 26 NOVEMBER 1992

  A perk of the place is a free medical check-up. The doctor (thirty-something, a touch insipid and a specialist in ‘occupational medicine’) comes in two or three times a week and is available in a small, airless makeshift surgery located off the Cromwell Lobby. He did all the usual tests and I was given the usual verdict. ‘A little more exercise probably wouldn’t do any harm. Most people put on a stone or so when they come here. You haven’t done too badly. Moderation in all things.’ My cholesterol is at the upper edge of the range. Why did I lie about my alcohol consumption? I said half a bottle of wine a day and it must be two-thirds. (I assume everyone lies and when you say half a bottle he puts down two-thirds.)

  My young war widows did well giving their evidence to the National Heritage Select Committee enquiry on privacy and the press. I met them in Chester and felt their story was one worth telling: in the immediate aftermath of their husbands being killed in Northern Ireland, the grieving widows were plagued by the papers, local and national; and at the funeral of one of the soldiers, the photographers were climbing trees to get better shots.

  The PM did well at PMQs. And at 3.30, when he went off to run the country, I stayed in my place for the statement on Sunday Trading (we’re deregulating and getting a free vote); went to the Tea Room during the statement on the revenue support grant (Tea Room talk is of more trouble in store for the Chancellor); and then returned to the Chamber for a four hour stint: the ‘Management of Public Service’ debate. Not the sexiest of subjects. I was ‘persuaded’ (along with a couple of other saps: Edward Garnier,220 Lady Olga Maitland)221 to make a contribution and since the debate had to be kept going till ten o’clock (God knows why) we were encouraged to be as discursive as we felt inclined. My ramblings included a reference to Jeremiah Brandreth, noted Luddite and, in 1817, the last person to be beheaded for treason in England. He was known as ‘the hopeless radical’. As I sat down William Waldegrave told me that it was his forebear, Edward Waldegrave, who led the brigade of hussars sent to suppress Brandreth’s failed uprising.

  William opened the debate. Robert Jackson222 closed it. It was exactly like being back at the Union in the late ’60s – except at the Union we played to full houses. During my speech tonight there were at most eight people in the Chamber. No one was really listening to what I had to say. No one will read it in Hansard tomorrow. It will go completely unreported. What there any point to it at all? Not really.

  WEDNESDAY 2 DECEMBER 1992

  I have just come from drinks with the Princess of Wales in the Cholmondley Room. Everyone said how wonderful she was looking. I thought (ungallantly) that her skin had rather gone to pot: a sort of light pebble dash effect on her beaky nose. I thought the thing to do was try to make her laugh, so I talked about Norman Lamont. I don’t quite know why. I’d just been looking at a cartoon of him in the paper – Norman as a collection of banana skins. Of course, before I opened my mouth I should have thought it through. Diana is sympathetic to poor Norman! The papers have been rotten to him. Just as they have to her. ‘They make things up, you know.’ In the case of the Chancellor, it seems it was the Thresher’s shop assistant who made it up. Norman was not to be found prowling the back streets of Paddington in search of cheap fizz and fags: yes, he had visited Thresher’s, but it was the Connaught Street branch, where he purchased Chateau Margaux at £9.49 the bottle.

  In the Tea Room, unfair as it is, I’m afraid we do find the Chancellor’s plight rather comical. ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ chortles Geoffrey Dickens, tucking into his toast and marmalade, leafing through the tabloids in search of more tasty titbits. Geoffrey Johnson-Smith is more circumspect. ‘What was it Napoleon used to ask of his generals? “Is he lucky?” I think we’ve got to concede that Norman has been very unlucky. He’s a decent fellow, but it’s become a bit of a chapter of accidents.’ If Geoffrey’s saying this, then Marcus will be saying it too, and sooner rather than later they’ll be handing poor Norman the dreaded black spot. There’s genuine disquiet at the revelation that Norman’s legal costs for evicting the ‘sex therapist’ from his house last year were covered in part by the Treasury, in part by Central Office. There’s amazement that he allows his Access card to go over the limit and ignores the reminders. There’s a general feeling he’s too accident prone – and too cavalier – for our liking.

  THURSDAY 3 DECEMBER 1992

  Lunch with the Chancellor in the flat at No. 11. It’s more duplex than flat, two floors, spacious but not specially gracious, faded English embassy feel. When I arrived William Hague was in the kitchen warming up the soup. I said I was sorry I hadn’t brought a bottle, but Threshers was closed and my Access was over the limit. Norman laughed. In fact, we both laughed a lot. It was a very jolly little party. The only moment I misjudged it I think was when I stood looking out of the window, peering down onto Downing Street, and said ‘Who’d have thought it? Isn’t it amazing? I’m standing here and you’re Chancellor of the Exchequer!’ That was a touch of lèse-majesté too far. It isn’t amazing to Norman that he’s Chancellor. He believes he’s the right man in the right job – and he’s determined to stay. Inflation remains low, the recession’s bottoming out, the autumn statement went well – ‘the Prime Minister isn’t going to give in to the press and a few disgruntled backbenchers.’ He served a very acceptable wine (not the Margaux, but not at all bad) and couldn’t have been a more relaxed or agreeable host. He does excellent impressions. His Heseltine’s uncanny and his Brandreth’s rather good.

  At 5.00 I made my way to the Foreign Secretary’s room at the House and sat with two or three other new boys while Douglas gave us a masterclass on international relations. He offered an effortless world survey, moving easily from one continent to the next, from one war zone to the next, stopping off in countries I’d hardly heard of, but where Britain has interests, influence and friends. The message (if there was one) is that we shouldn’t become obsessed with Europe: there’s NATO, there’s the UN, there’s the Commonwealth. I got the feeling that he and the PM are cooking up some initiative to turn the spotlight on the Commonwealth … perhaps Her Majesty (in a hoarse whisper) put them up to it on Tuesday?

  At 7.30 it was a masterclass of a different sort. Jonathan Aitken gave a supper party in honour of Richard Nixon.223 We gathered in Lord North Street, in the long low-ceilinged, Aitken drawing-room (it’s another house that’s bigger than you’d think) and Jonathan introduced us to his ‘friend, President Nixon, who has been so right so often’. This was Nixon as hero, elder statesman and freedom fighter, rather than Tricky Dicky, fiend of Watergate. Nixon then gave a wonderful address, a tour d’horizon, without notes, with surprising dry humour. And with great charm. He worked the room, he played the crowd. He’s eighty, but, on a night like tonight, when there’s an audience, the energy’s still there. He said the energy’s been drained from George Bush.224 He’s been sucked dry. He’s got n
o more to give. ‘The voters have sensed it and moved on. You can smell a winner. Clinton225 is a formidable campaigner. I should know.’ He was impressive. It was as Churchill said of his ‘great contemporaries’, ‘one did feel after a talk with these men that things were simpler and easier.’

  MONDAY 7 DECEMBER 1992

  Christopher Hudson226 came to lunch and asked me to produce the two from my intake that I thought destined to go the furthest. I chose Stephen Milligan and David Willetts.227 And told them that’s the reason they were invited.

  I’d planned to spend the afternoon working on my speech for tomorrow, but walking along the corridor towards the Library I was ambushed by one of the whips.

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Um – er –’

  ‘Good. Go straight to the Speaker’s Office and apply for tonight’s adjournment debate.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand.’

  ‘The planned adjournment debate’s fallen through. We can’t let the opposition get it. You go now and apply for it.’

  ‘What’s it got to be about?’

  ‘Anything you like. Neil Hamilton’s the minister who’s scheduled to answer the debate. Anything to do with the DTI. Inward investment in Chester, deregulation, anything you like. But go. Now. Before anyone else gets in.’

  I trotted along obediently and found the Speaker’s secretary and said I understood there might be an opportunity for an unexpected adjournment debate this very evening. ‘Yes, as it happens, there is. What subject?’ ‘Deregulation and small businesses.’ ‘Very good.’

  So, the afternoon ruined, frantically I tried to cobble together some thoughts for the debate. I did not do very well – but it didn’t matter. At the right moment I was in the right place and got to my feet and burbled away and kept (loosely) to the theme and appeared to please the whips inordinately. When I’d said my piece, others joined in – including my neighbour from Ellesmere Port,228 who is the dullest in Parliament and believes he’s the brightest. Neil had no more notice of the debate than I had, but his reply was polished and to the point. (I say that and it’s true, but several times while he was speaking he caught my eye and I thought we might both burst out laughing because we both knew how contrived and ridiculous the whole thing was. It’s amazing really: middle-aged men, at the taxpayers’ expense, playing pointless games in the mother of parliaments.)

  TUESDAY 8 DECEMBER 1992

  After PMQs I presented my Ten Minute Rule Bill. The speech went well. Good house, warm response. They like it when you’re amusing and at the same time self-deprecatory. I had to have sponsors for the bill and I went for the cross-party approach: Alan Howarth,229 David Willetts, Angela Browning,230 Liz Lynne,231 Joe Ashton,232 Glenda [Jackson].233 (I cornered Glenda in the Smoking Room. She was sitting there alone, smoking a cheroot. She’s often alone. She never looks happy.) When I’d done my turn (and it was a turn really),234 Paul Flynn235 (Labour, Newport West) did a quirky two-minute response, but didn’t press for a division. I was then invited to ‘present’ my bill. This involved my moving from my place to the entrance of the Chamber, bowing once, moving forward five paces, bowing again, moving forward five more paces, by which time I was by the mace, and bowing a final time. Then I moved round the clerk’s desk and handed the bill to the clerk who handed it to the Speaker who ordered the bill to be read a second time.

  ‘What day?’

  ‘Friday 22 January,’ I said (as instructed). And that was that. The Second Reading is just a bit of flummery. The truth is: the bill will never be heard of again.

  WEDNESDAY 9 DECEMBER 1992

  I was closeted with Peter Brooke at the DNH, the meeting was about to begin, and a secretary sidled in, shimmied over to the Secretary of State and handed him a note. Peter read it and looked up. ‘The Prime Minister is making an important statement to the House at 3.30. I think we should go.’

  We arrived just as the PM got to his feet. ‘It is announced from Buckingham Palace that, with regret, the Prince and Princess of Wales have decided to separate.’ Suppressed gasps and a rumble of sympathy. ‘Their Royal Highnesses have no plans to divorce and their constitutional positions are unaffected.’ More murmurings. Major elaborated on this: the succession to the throne is unaffected; the Prince of Wales’ succession as head of the Church of England is unaffected; there is no reason why the Princess of Wales should not be crowned Queen one day! I find that a little hard to credit.

  John Smith was commendably brief. Paddy Ashdown less so. Ted Heath went way over the top: ‘It must be one of the saddest announcements made by any Prime Minister in modern times.’ Willie Ross236 and Ian Paisley237 threw in their Celtic ha’porth and then (this was truly bizarre) Bob Cryer238 was on his feet asking us to remember divorcees everywhere and telling us that it’s poor housing and unemployment that puts marriages under strain and it’s all the government’s fault! Next up popped Dennis Skinner to tell us ‘we don’t need a monarchy any more and why should we swear an oath of allegiance to the Queen and her heirs and successors because it’s now clear we don’t know who they are.’ He did not catch the mood of the House.

  In the Tea Room William Hague was quite funny: ‘At least this’ll keep the Chancellor of the Exchequer off the front pages.’

  101 Peter Brooke, MP for City of London & Westminster South, 1977–97; later Baron Brooke of Sutton Mandeville CH.

  102 David Trippier, MP for Rossendale 1979–83, Rossendale & Darwen 1983–92.

  103 1914–85; Labour MP for Belper, 1945–70; Deputy Leader of the Labour Party, 1960–70.

  104 Writer and artist; in the ’70s and ’80s, she and GB shared a literary agent.

  105 Lord Privy Seal and Leader of the House of Lords 1990–92; MP for Nelson & Colne 1968–74, Clitheroe 1979–83, Ribble Valley 1983–90. Later Governor of Bermuda, 1992–7.

  106 1910–94; MP for the City of Chester 1956–74.

  107 GB was a non-executive director of the games manufacturer J. W. Spear & Sons which had a French subsidiary.

  108 Leader of Westminster City Council 1983–91, Lord Mayor of Westminster 1991–2. Dame Shirley’s husband, Sir Leslie Porter, was the first chairman of the company that mounted GB’s unsuccessful Royal Britain exhibition.

  109 Dr Stephen Smalley, Dean of Chester Cathedral, 1987–2001.

  110 John Smith, 1938–94; shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer 1987–92; Labour MP for North Lanarkshire 1970–83, Monklands East 1983–94.

  111 MP for Nottingham South 1970–74, Sutton Coldfield 1974–2001; later Baron Fowler. In 1990 he left the Cabinet ‘to spend more time with his family’. During the 1992 election campaign he was a special adviser to John Major and, after the election, became Conservative Party chairman.

  112 Prince Andrew married Sarah Ferguson in 1986. The marriage was formally dissolved ten years later.

  113 MP for Epping 1970–74, Chingford 1974–92. Later Baron Tebbit CH.

  114 Heseltine, as Environment Secretary, had rejected a local plan that would have allowed development on Green Belt land in and around Chester.

  115 1937–2012; MP for Braintree 1974–97; later Baron Newton of Braintree.

  116 Leader of the Liberal Democrats since 1988–99; MP for Yeovil 1983–2001; later Baron Ashdown of Norton-sub-Hamdon GCMG, KBE.

  117 Secretary of State for Trade and Industry 1990–92; MP for St Albans 1983–97; Hitchin & Harpenden from 1997.

  118 During a general election campaign broadcasters are required, when covering a specific constituency, to give equal coverage to all candidates for that constituency.

  119 Cheshire county councillor and Conservative activist.

  120 MP for Wallasey 1974–92; later Baroness Chalker of Wallasey.

  121 MP for Lewisham West 1983–92; Stratford-upon-Avon 1997–2010; later Baron Maples.

  122 1948–94; MP for Eastleigh 1992–4; journalist and broadcaster, contemporary of GB at university.

  123 MP for Falmouth & Camborne 1992–97; Olympic gold medal
list in 1980 and 1984; later Baron Coe of Ranmore CH KBE.

  124 MP for Rushcliffe since 1970; he had been Secretary of State for Education 1990–92, Secretary of State for Health 1988–90.

  125 MP for Edinburgh Pentlands 1974–97; he had been Secretary of State for Transport 1990–92, Secretary of State for Scotland 1986–90. Later MP for Kensington from 2005.

  126 MP for Folkestone & Hythe 1983–2010; he had been Secretary of State for Employment 1990–92. Later Leader of the Conservative Party, 2003–5, and Baron Howard of Lympne CH.

  127 MP for Surrey South West 1984–2005; she had been Minister for Health 1989–92. Later Baroness Bottomley of Nettlestone.

  128 MP for Norfolk South West 1987–2005; she had been a Minister of State at the Treasury 1990–92. Later Baroness Shephard of Northwold.

  129 MP for Enfield Southgate 1984–92.

  130 Graham Bright, MP for Luton East 1979–83, Luton South 1983–97; PPS to John Major as Chancellor of the Exchequer and Prime Minister 1990–94.