Margaret Thatcher: The Autobiography

by Margaret Thatcher

  The upshot was that the Steering Committee agreed that the Government could rely on Conservative support if it took firmer action on picketing (to get essential supplies moving), legislated to outlaw secondary picketing and to encourage secret ballots for union elections, and if it made efforts to negotiate non-strike agreements in essential industries. Events are a powerful advocate.

  I opened the debate the following day. I began by describing the crisis. Transport of goods by road was widely disrupted, in many cases due to secondary picketing of firms and operators not involved in the actual disputes. British Rail had issued a brief statement: ‘There are no trains today.’ The CBI had reported that many firms were being strangled, due to shortage of materials and inability to move finished goods. There was trouble at the ports, adding to the problems of exporters. At least 125,000 people had been laid off already and the figure was expected to reach a million by the end of the week. The food industry, in particular, was in a shambolic state, with growing shortages of basic supplies like edible oils, yeast, salt and sugar. And all this on top of a winter of strikes – strikes by tanker drivers, bakers, staff at old people’s homes and hospitals; strikes in the press and broadcasting, airports and car plants; a strike of gravediggers.

  I reminded the arch-moderate Shirley Williams that she had joined the Grunwick picket line. I made the conditional offer of support agreed in the Steering Committee, and I also made it a condition of co-operation that the Government should act on the closed shop; I felt too strongly on this subject not to include it.

  The Prime Minister began his reply in a surprising way:

  I congratulate the Right Honourable lady on a most effective parliamentary performance. It was in the best manner of our debates and the style in which it was delivered was one of which the Right Honourable lady can be proud.

  It was a good start. But all that the Prime Minister then had to offer in the body of his speech were further concessions to the unions – exemptions from the 5 per cent pay limit, tighter price controls and extension of the principle of ‘comparability’ under which public sector workers could expect more money. All these were intended as inducements to the unions to sign up to a new pay policy. But he signally failed to address what everyone except the far Left considered the main problem, excessive trade union power.

  To my offer the Prime Minister made no direct reply. He had clearly been wrong-footed. The question now was whether I should repeat the offer the following evening in our Party Political Broadcast – or limit myself to attacking the Government’s paralysis and pledging that a Conservative Government would reform trade union law.

  I was still uneasy, and toughened the script when I saw it the following day. But after all, the offer had already been made, and the higher the profile we gave it, the more tightly it would bind reluctant colleagues and the more public support we would gain. So we went ahead, filming it in my room at the House of Commons. Again, the Government made no direct reply.

  But now Banquo’s ghost came back to haunt the Labour Government. Devolution, which they had embraced solely as a means of staying in power with support from the Scottish and Welsh Nationalists, returned to grimace and gibber at Jim Callaghan at his lowest point. Following the defeat of the Scotland and Wales Bill in early 1977 Labour had reintroduced devolution legislation in the form of separate Bills for Scotland and Wales, with provision for referenda in each country before they came into effect. Backbench dissent on their own side led to the passage of a number of amendments, including the crucial additional requirement that a minimum of 40 per cent of those eligible to vote had to support devolution in each case. Although I had not publicly campaigned for a ‘No’ vote in the referenda in Scotland and Wales, that was the result I wanted. When the vote took place on 1 March 1979 in Scotland a bare majority of those voting was in favour – well below the required 40 per cent of the total electorate – and in Wales a large majority of those who voted rejected the proposal. For the moment, devolution was dead: I did not mourn it.

  From this point on it seemed likely that the Government would be unable to continue in office; but the circumstances under which a general election would occur were far from predictable. The Prime Minister sought desperately to spin out discussion about devolution rather than go ahead immediately with the repeal of the Devolution Acts. But his potential allies were preparing to desert. The SNP now had no reason to keep Labour in office and wanted an early confidence motion. The Liberals were keen on an early election, even though their standing in the opinion polls was weak; this was principally in order to avoid the embarrassment of the forthcoming trial of their former Leader, Jeremy Thorpe, on a charge of conspiracy to murder, of which he was later acquitted. Admittedly, the Welsh Nationalists, who were more of a socialist party than their Scottish equivalents, might still be persuadable.

  That meant that the Northern Irish MPs – ten Ulster Unionists, one member of the Social Democratic and Liberal Party (SDLP) and one Independent Republican – were likely to be decisive.

  On Thursday 22 March the Prime Minister made a last effort to keep devolution alive and win over the SNP, making a parliamentary statement offering yet more talks and following it with a Prime Ministerial broadcast that evening. He never had any real chance of success, and when assurances of SNP and Liberal support for our motion seemed to be forthcoming – though there was none from the Welsh Nationalists – I agreed that it should be tabled, which was done a little before 7 p.m. The Conservative whips now went all out to persuade the minority parties to see that their less reliable members actually joined us in the lobbies. Equally important, of course, was ensuring that there was a full turn-out of Conservative MPs. Luckily, none was seriously ill – though one Member’s car overturned on the motorway as he was driving down and another insisted on voting for us though he had been shattered by the death of his wife the previous day.

  Amid clamour and confusion we began to file into the lobbies. Having voted, I returned to my place by the side of Willie, Francis and Humphrey and waited to learn our fate. Humphrey had sought to ensure that I had some advance notice of the result. He asked John Stradling Thomas, one of the senior whips, to go through our lobby very quickly and then stand at the exit of the other one. For some reason, not just when they are in a minority, Conservative MPs go through the lobby more quickly than the Labour Party. As soon as we were all through, the message as to what our numbers were would be given to John Stradling Thomas, who meanwhile was listening to the other (government) lobby being counted out. As soon as they had finished, he would know whether we had won or not. If we had not won he would come back, and just stand next to the Speaker’s chair. If we had won, he would put up a finger so that Humphrey could tell me. Only later was I let into the secret code. I just saw John Stradling Thomas return – and then Humphrey leaned across to me and with a stage whisper said: ‘We’ve won!’

  The announced figures bore it out. ‘Ayes, 311. Noes, 310.’ So at last I had my chance, my only chance. I must seize it with both hands.

  Two days later I was attending a function in my constituency – a fund-raising event organized by Motability, which provided disabled people with special cars at a modest price. I was to make the presentation. My mind was at least half on the Party Election Broadcast I was due to make that evening, when Derek Howe approached me to say: ‘I think you ought to know that a bomb has gone off in the precincts of the House of Commons, in the garage they think. At least one person has been very seriously injured, but we don’t know who.’

  A hundred possibilities – though not the correct one – went through my mind as we drove down to the BBC studios in Portland Place. When I got there, and before I went in to be made up, one of the producers took me aside into a private room and told me who it was. It was Airey Neave. He was critically injured. The Irish National Liberation Army – a breakaway faction from the IRA – had placed a bomb under his car and it had exploded when he drove up the ramp from the House of Commons car park. I
t was very unlikely that he would survive – indeed, by the time I heard the news he may well have been dead. There was no way I could bring myself to broadcast after that. I telephoned the Prime Minister and explained. I felt only stunned. The full grief would come later. With it came also anger that this man – my friend – who had shrugged off so much danger in his life should be murdered by someone worse than a common criminal.

  * His death had a particular significance for me, quite apart from the loss of a courageous friend: within days I was assigned a team of personal detectives who have been with me ever since.

  * Our manifesto pledged us to introduce a British Nationality Act defining British citizenship and the right to abode, to set up a register of dependants from Commonwealth countries who had the right of settlement under existing legislation (whose numbers were uncertain) and to establish a quota system to restrict the rate of entry for settlement from non-EC countries. In the event, only the first of these measures was passed into law. During the 1980s primary immigration – the admission of heads of household in their own right – fell significantly, diminishing the number of future dependants with a right of settlement and reducing the overall total below 50,000 in most years, compared to 82,000 in 1975 and 69,000 in 1979.

  * We had moved into the old dower flat in Scotney Castle at Lamberhurst in 1975. Denis had officially retired from Burmah and the twins, now aged twenty-two, were living very much their own lives. Flood Street remained our London home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Just One Chance …

  The 1979 general election campaign

  A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE MANIFESTO DRAFT of August 1978 and the final text published in April 1979 illustrates both the extent and the limits of the changes which – in varying combinations – Keith Joseph, Geoffrey Howe, my advisers and I secured. The passage on trade unions, of course, was the real test. In 1978 I was prepared to go along with almost everything that Jim Prior suggested, including the promise that we would be ‘even-handed in our approach to industrial problems’. The 1979 text was significantly different. Now we promised to strike ‘a fair balance between the rights and duties of the trade union movement’. Furthermore, we challenged directly the idea that the law had no useful role to play in this area: ‘Labour claim that industrial relations in Britain cannot be improved by changing the law. We disagree. If the law can be used to confer privileges it can and should also be used to establish obligations.’

  I had disliked both the tone and the intellectual confusion which characterized Jim Prior’s suggested manifesto passages on the general role of trade unions in the spring of 1978. But I objected still more strongly to Jim’s suggestions on the closed shop. Although Jim wanted us to say that we were ‘opposed to the closed shop in principle’, he wanted to add that ‘experience has shown that a number of managements and unions consider it a convenient method of conducting their negotiations’. The contrast in the same sentence between the requirements of ‘principle’ and ‘convenience’ struck me as particularly distasteful. There are, of course, many freedoms which it would be ‘convenient’ for powerful groups to suppress: but most of us reckon that ‘principle’ requires that those freedoms should be defended. Jim also wanted us to promise a ‘code of practice’ which would regulate the closed shop. If the code of practice was not honoured ‘it could result (as at present) in workers losing their livelihood without compensation or redress from either employer or union. In this event we would be prepared to legislate to protect their rights.’

  Even in 1978 I had felt that we could do better than this. I had insisted that there must be a right of appeal to the courts if someone was unfairly excluded or expelled from their union. But in 1979 we went significantly further by dropping the formula about the closed shop being objectionable but inevitable and making a clear commitment to change the law. Existing employees and ‘those with personal conviction’ (a weasel phrase but still unavoidable in the circumstances) ‘must be adequately protected, and if they lose their jobs as a result of the closed shop they must be entitled to adequate compensation’. The manifesto also promised an inquiry into the coercive recruitment practices of the SLADE printing union. Additionally we made it clear that the code of practice would have statutory force.

  But the main change of substance related to picketing. In 1978 I had gone along with what Jim Prior wanted, which was not very much: ‘In consultation with all parties, we must find acceptable means to regulate the conduct of picketing. The strict arrangements adopted by the NUM in February 1974 could provide a sensible basis for this.’

  There was no mention even of a code of practice, let alone legislation. It was also, in retrospect, not particularly wise to remind voters directly of the occasion when the previous Conservative Government had been broken by the miners’ strike. Thankfully, the shocking scenes of the Winter of Discontent ensured that this feeble approach was now out of touch with reality and people’s expectations. We now promised to make secondary picketing unlawful and to review trade union immunities. Moreover, there was the clear suggestion that we would be prepared to take further legislative steps if these proved necessary: ‘We shall also make any further changes that are necessary so that a citizen’s right to work and to go about his or her lawful business free from intimidation or obstruction is guaranteed.’

  Two other new provisions were inserted between the 1978 and 1979 texts: one was the promise to ‘seek to conclude no-strike agreements in a few essential services’ (which in fact came to nothing), and the other to ‘ensure that unions bear their fair share of the cost of supporting those of their members who are on strike’, which we later implemented. Together with the limited proposals to ease the effects of the closed shop and equally modest proposals to finance postal ballots for union elections and other important issues, these constituted our package of trade union reform. I was very happy with it: indeed, it would turn out that I was far more confident not just in its practicality but also its popularity than some of my colleagues.

  By contrast with my victory over the position on trade unions, I scored no better than a draw on incomes policy. On this question, of course, I could not place my usual reliance on Geoffrey Howe who had developed a fatal attraction for the so-called ‘forum’. In 1978 I had argued that we should be clearer about our intention to break away from incomes policies, suggesting that instead of asserting (as proposed) that ‘the return to flexibility will take time, but it cannot be postponed for ever’, the last phrase should be replaced by ‘but it must start without delay’. And I did not even win this small point.

  In 1979 the manifesto contained, indeed, a somewhat more explicit allusion to the ‘forum’, even mentioning the German model. But this I could live with. Of more practical importance, there was a strongly worded promise to avoid incomes policies in the private sector: ‘Pay bargaining in the private sector should be left to the companies and workers concerned. At the end of the day, no one should or can protect them from the results of the agreements they make.’

  That left one particularly thorny aspect of incomes policy to be grasped in the public sector. The Prime Minister’s offer in January 1979 of new machinery to establish ‘comparability’ between the public and private sectors led to the setting up of a commission under Professor Hugh Clegg to take evidence and make recommendations which, of course, the Government committed itself to honour – after the election. Inevitably, when the election campaign began we were pressed to define our attitude. The question, in effect, was whether we would agree to pick up the bill (size unknown) for Labour’s efforts to buy off the public sector unions.

  Our policy for public sector pay had always been based on the strict application of cash limits. Geoffrey Howe and I did our best to stick to that, but there was intense pressure from colleagues and the Party, frankly concerned not to lose vital votes. And so finally we yielded and pledged ourselves to implement Professor Clegg’s recommendations. It was an expensive but unavoidable commitment.

>   In general, however, I was happy with the manifesto, both as regards contents and style. It contained a coherent philosophy and a limited number of clearly defined pledges. And it passed the most important final test, namely that at no stage in the campaign did we have to modify or retreat from it.

  I was to fight three general elections as Leader of the Conservative Party; and each one was different. The 1983 campaign was perhaps the easiest; the 1987 campaign was certainly the most emotionally fraught; but the general election of 1979 was the most challenging both for me and the Party. I never had any illusion that if we lost or even if we failed to win an overall majority I would be given another chance. I accepted this and was even prepared to speak about it openly. Personally, I had little doubt that it was also a watershed for the Conservative Party and for Britain.

  The 1979 campaign was also different in a number of other ways. It was the first time that the Conservative Party had ever fought so clearly on the theme that it was ‘time for a change’. Implicit in this approach was that Britain had been in retreat for much more than the years since 1974; the 1970–74 Conservative Government, however bravely it had started out, had been part of that retreat. I therefore believed that we should be bold in explaining precisely what had gone wrong and why radical action was required to put it right. I was soon to be aware, however, that this was not how Peter Thorneycroft and Central Office in general saw things. Their belief was that we should at all costs avoid ‘gaffes’, which meant in practice almost anything controversial – in particular, attacks on trade union power – in the belief that the Labour Party was already sufficiently discredited to lose the election. In fact, with a few concessions, I insisted on doing it my way. But this led to tensions.