That evening — Monday 15 January — I called a Steering Committee meeting. Most of my senior colleagues favoured the idea of a conditional offer and by this stage I had come round to the idea myself. Reforms were essential; and if the Government were prepared to introduce the necessary measures, how could we oppose them? By offering help we enhanced our moral authority. I believed — as did most of the supporters of the idea — that the offer should be set at a level which, though abundantly justified by events, would be unlikely to be accepted by the Government. This was a difficult matter to judge in detail: the Labour Party might just be persuaded to agree to the negotiation of no-strike agreements in essential services, the payment by the taxpayer of the cost of secret ballots in trade unions and even a code of practice to end secondary picketing — though the last was doubtful. Equally, I was clear that if the Government did accept, we were honour-bound to keep our side of the bargain. For me, however, there was an additional and very important consideration. By agreeing to offer cooperation with the Government on selected measures, Jim Prior and his supporters would find it impossible to refuse support to those same measures if and when a Conservative Government introduced them.
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 pulled no punches in the speech. I made the point put to me by George Brown that the unions had been falling more and more under the control of left-wing militancy. I reminded the archmoderate 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 cooperation that the Government should act on the closed shop; I felt too strongly on this subject not to include it.
The Prime Minister spoke next. He 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.
In any case, by now the whole political atmosphere had been transformed. From trailing the Labour Party by several percentage points in the opinion polls before my interview with Brian Walden, we had now opened up a twenty-point lead. From being a liability, our perceived willingness to take on the trade union militants had become an advantage. Within the Shadow Cabinet, the opposition from people like Jim Prior and Ian Gilmour to the approach which Keith Joseph, Geoffrey Howe and I wanted was effectively silenced — for the time being at least. Personally, I was conscious that in some strange way I was instinctively speaking and feeling in harmony with the great majority of the population. Such moments are as unforgettable as they are rare. They must be seized to change history.
THE FALL OF THE GOVERNMENT
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, though not certain, 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. Gerry Fitt, the SDLP Member, had been alienated from the Government by their attempts to court the Ulster Unionists with additional seats for the Province. Frank Maguire, the Independent Republican, was entirely unpredictable. A majority of the Ulster Unionists had been prepared to keep the Government in office until the legislation increasing the representation of Northern Ireland had passed through Parliament: but this it had done by 15 March. There was now much public talk of Unionist demands for a gas pipeline to link the Province to the natural gas network on the mainland and the strengthening of local government powers in Northern Ireland as the price of their support for either of the two parties. Airey Neave, who had by now established close personal links with a number of the Unionists, was responsible for the discussions on our side.
Many of our backbenchers wanted an early confidence motion, but initially the Shad
ow Cabinet held its fire. One reason was that we would need the support of anti-devolution Labour MPs to make absolutely sure that the order repealing the Devolution Acts went through; we did not quite trust the Government on this question. Moreover, unlike previous occasions when there had seemed a possibility of bringing down the Government in a vote in the House of Commons, we were extremely reluctant to put down a Motion of No Confidence until we were assured of its likely success. A Government victory would strengthen it at a bad time. When we considered the matter at Shadow Cabinet on Wednesday 21 March we decided, indeed, that we would not move such a motion unless the SNP, the Liberals and, if possible, the Welsh Nationalists gave firm assurances of support. But there was still no question, as far as I was concerned, of doing deals which would tie my hands in government.
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.
Oddly enough, the most intractable problem that evening was caused by the strike of catering staff at the Palace of Westminster. Not even the most blood-curdling threats by the Whips could prevent Tory MPs drifting off to their clubs or to the Savoy for something to eat. Willie Whitelaw and I dined in the Chief Whip’s office with Humphrey Atkins and his colleagues off the contents of two large hampers brought back by Spencer Le Marchant and Tony Berry from Fortnums. But I could not summon up much appetite. The opening speeches of the debate itself had gone, I felt, more or less as expected — neither was a triumph of oratory. But sitting around our improvised supper table, Willie, Humphrey and I knew that the result, on which so much hung, was too close to call. Perhaps because they really felt that way, or perhaps because they did not want to raise my spirits to have them dashed by the narrowest of defeats, I had the impression that they thought the Government would somehow manage once again to survive. In my heart of hearts, I thought so too.
Then we returned to the Chamber to hear the closing speeches. Michael Foot’s for the Government was one of the outstanding performances of a gifted House of Commons orator. But it would take more than rhetoric to persuade the unpredictable Members upon whose decisions the outcome depended.
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.[57]
AIREY
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. It 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.
CHAPTER XII
Just One Chance…
The 1979 general election campaign
DEFINING THE THEME
As I have already described, I was far from enthusiastic about the first manifesto draft of 1978: it was too long, diffuse and chock-full of costly (but uncosted) spending commitments. The revised draft in August was better. But it was still not adequate. This was no reflection on Chris Patten and Angus Maude who drafted it, but rather on the rest of us who had not been able to agree clear and coherent policies in some crucial areas, particularly the trade unions.
I have also described how I decided to seize the initiative in January 1979. Between the summer of 1978 and the dissolution of Parliament in March 1979 outside events, above all that winter’s strikes, allowed me to shift our policies in the direction I wanted. The balance of opinion in the Shadow Cabinet, following rather than leading opinion in the country, was now that we could and should obtain a mandate to clip the wings of the trade union militants. Similarly — though I was to be less successful in dispensing with this unwelcome aspect of my political inheritance — the collapse of Labour’s pay policy made it easier to argue that the whole approach of prices and incomes controls, both ‘voluntary’ and statutory, should be abandoned. Above all, I was sure that there had been over the winter a sea-change and that our manifesto had to catch that tide.
Before Angus and Chris got to work I sent them a note.
I think the existing [autumn 1978] draft will have to be radically changed consequent upon recent events and our much more robust union policy. But the general approach of the limited objective first (i.e. tax cuts etc. to encourage wealth creation) remains. In my view the average person and a lot of non-average as well wants ‘tax cuts and order’.
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’, that we would ‘not undertake any sweeping changes in the law of industrial relations’ and that instead we would ‘seek to promote an era of continuity and constructive reform’. 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’.
The Path to Power m-2 Page 50
