Agent Lavender: The Flight of Harold Wilson

by Tom Black

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Mr Cheney,” Kissinger said, “but if a general election is forced, it is highly likely that the British electorate will be polarised between the left and right – which is something that I hoped we could have avoided until at least mid-November.”

  Ford, who had slowly been convincing himself that he may have had job security for another four years, once again made a mental note to get estimates from removal companies.

  “In the unlikely event that the Labour Party wins,” Kissinger continued, “we have to hope that we will be dealing with Mr Jenkins, rather than a party coup d’état deposing him in favour of Mr Benn.”

  “Hold up!” the President yelped as he looked up from the folder with a start, “how on earth can the Labour Party possibly be on the verge of winning, didn’t Wilson basically destroy them?”

  “Not as much as you would have thought, Mr President” the Secretary of State said with practised effortlessness, “they have been wounded, certainly – and I understand that a party split remains a possibility – but the possibility of them remaining united enough to eke out a victory remains – that would, obviously, be almost as bad for our sakes as the idea of Senator Jackson getting in.”

  “Are there grounds for some sort of intervention,” Rockefeller queried, as the President looked on, dumb-founded, “of the, you know, ‘sending a carrier to the mouth of the Thames,’ sort of thing?”

  “Of course,” the Secretary of Defence sniped, pacing the room, “and maybe we could napalm a couple of soccer matches as well – just to make sure people vote for Mr Heath again.”

  “Don is quite correct,” Ford added, bashing the table as the frustration of the past five days finally bubbled over, “I will be damned if the ‘Ford Doctrine’ becomes a by-word for treating every errant ally as some kind-of Latin American Banana Republic.”

  Internally, the President of the United States wondered whether he would be in office long enough to create any kind of doctrine at all. If Britain went to hell again on his watch, that was unlikely.

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Tuesday 26th September 1976 – 9:30pm

  Back in the corridors of power again. For Margaret Thatcher, it did not feel like it had been a long time. She supposed it hadn’t – she’d been back fairly regularly on constituency matters, but had deliberately avoided as many major votes as she could. As her heels echoed their way through the Members’ Lobby, she did her best to eavesdrop on whomever she passed by.

  The Anglo-Irish Agreement, which the Commons was to ratify today, was not something she had expected Mountbatten to attempt. While her instinct was to trust his judgment, she had difficulty seeing the need for the government of the Republic – a separate, sovereign power – to have ‘an advisory role’ and ‘acknowledged interest’ in the governance of Northern Ireland. The implied acceptance of ‘future power-sharing’ was hard to stomach, too. But the country had demanded action after the Mainland Campaign had reached new, horrifying heights. One of the coach passengers killed in the bridge bombing on the A1 had been a constituent of Margaret’s. If this agreement would bring these tragedies to an end, then it was a course of action worth taking. She trusted Mountbatten. He was a figure of impeccable integrity, and had undeniable experience in handling new settlements for troubled and divided regions of the world.

  Yes, but it didn’t quite go to plan in India, did it? Margaret shrugged off any doubts as she rounded a corner. Straight ahead of her stood Airey Neave, upright in pinstripes. Margaret did not change direction, but looked away from him as she passed. She thought she heard him say her name, but she pushed on through the doors in front of her.

  Tony Benn spied Margaret Thatcher entering the Chamber through the gaggle of young left-wing MPs that had been dubbed ‘The Hardie Boys’ by the Mirror’s Parliamentary sketch writer. They had taken to shadowing their Deputy Leader at every opportunity. In between them, Benn noted another former Prime Minister – Ted Heath – in hushed conversation with Roy.

  Tony’s eyes flashed in anger. Despite the necessity of proximity that the two men had endured over the past year, Benn could never quite bring himself to trust a man who seemed more chummy with his old sparring partner at the Oxford Union than with his loyal and long-suffering Deputy Leader. Peter Shore brushed past the EEC Fan Club on his way to the Chamber, talking things through with Roy Mason. Under normal circumstances, either Shore, as Shadow Foreign Secretary, or Mason as Shadow Northern Ireland, would be expected to lead the Opposition response against the Government. However, the Parliamentary Labour Party meeting had agreed, narrowly, that Jenkins would take to the despatch box.

  Benn had bitten his tongue at the suggestion, but his distaste for the idea had remained off the newspapers – although that was probably because the front pages outside Westminster station had been filled with a variation on ‘THE HEROES KILLED BY WILSON’, along with a rather detailed biography of the two officers that had been unceremoniously shot during the former Prime Minister’s flight in November. The Express had outdone themselves: the juxtaposition of the story with a large number of photographs of the then-Cabinet (currently the Shadow Cabinet) had brought the memories of Wilson’s government back to the forefront of the imagination. The Anglo-Irish Agreement, typically, had been relegated to page five of the Guardian.

  The Morning Star – obviously – had treated the deaths as a ‘regrettable necessity of Vanguardism’, which Benn assumed was not a view shared by the electorate of Tunbridge Wells.

  There was a shout from Central Lobby as the Speaker’s Procession was announced. As the stragglers moved into the Chamber ahead of the mace, Benn found himself being jostled as a group of Ulster Unionists barged in front of him.

  Enoch Powell barely noticed Tony Benn as he walked past the statue of Winston Churchill, wandered through the archway into the Commons Chamber and mounted the steps to the backbenches. Aside from a few murmurs of approval from a few of the more traditionally minded Democratic Unionists, few people paid him much attention. Ian Paisley was sat on the row in front of him, shaking with so much Christian Zeal that Powell would have forgiven people for assuming that the lifelong teetotaler had been drinking for most of the morning.

  The Chamber was packed. Powell had not seen it so full since the post-Wilson Debate back in November. Mountbatten’s centralisation of policy-making via a Kitchen Cabinet, coupled with his ambiguous position within the House of Commons, had reduced the relevance of Parliamentary Debate over the months, with far more attention being paid to the efforts of Select Committees. However, the Commons still had the final say on foreign relations, and few came with as much importance as the perennial question of Northern Ireland.

  The longstanding consensus on Ulster had splintered months ago. Not, as would have been expected, between Government and Opposition, but from within the Tory Party itself. The sundering of the decades-old pact between the UUP and the Conservatives over Sunningdale back in ’74 had cemented itself, but – from what he had heard from the right of the party opposite – mainland MPs had begun to come around to the idea of ‘integration’ as a substitute for the gradualist splintering of the state that had apparently become the new orthodoxy of the Northern Ireland Office.

  The First Lord and the Home Secretary were already sitting on the front bench, with Heath looking characteristically sour as the Chief Whip passed him a note. From the look of his face, the news was not very welcome. A hush descended as the Speaker took to the Chair and the chaplain called the House to stand for Prayers. As he turned to face the wall, Powell was reminded that Jo Grimond was surprisingly suited to the Speaker’s wig. Enoch scowled as his mind wandered to Grimond’s surprise election. The Conservative decision to endorse the former Liberal leader over Peter Thorneycroft in the election that had followed the State Opening had been yet another example of the gradual alienation between the front- and back-benchers. Powell had not liked it one bit – he had no need to call himself a Conservative any more, but he w
as still very much a Tory, and refusing to endorse Powell’s old mentor at the Treasury in favour of a Liberal had sat very badly with him. No one had quite brought themselves to resign over it, but tensions in the 1922 Committee had been heated for quite some time afterwards.

  “Amen.”

  Powell did another about-turn as the Atheists walked into the Chamber. He found his eyes resting, much to his chagrin, on the Leader of the Opposition.

  Roy Jenkins mopped his brow with a spotted handkerchief, half-wondering if he had inadvertently given a Tory backbencher a sign to make a runner for Peking.

  The précis that Jenkins had been given by a courier from the Foreign Office that morning had been enough to convince him of the merits of the agreement. That said, there was no way that the left of the party was going to endorse anything that Mountbatten proposed – the rumours of Mikardo crossing the floor to the ISP had not amounted to anything yet, but a whipped vote in support of a fragile Conservative-led government headed by an unelected Admiral was not likely to go down well.

  There was silence as Ted Heath rose to the despatch box. Since becoming Chancellor and First Secretary of State, the Member for Sidcup had effectively swapped roles with Whitelaw, who had become Home Secretary when Heath won the Tory leadership. Mountbatten still preferred to only speak in the House when absolutely necessary, however, and had made clear that his preference was for Heath to represent the government in the Commons.

  “Mr Speaker,” Heath therefore began, nasal as ever, “I am grateful to the First Lord of the Treasury for allowing me to lead this afternoon’s debate on Northern Ireland on behalf of Her Majesty’s government.”

  Mountbatten, sandwiched between the Leader of the House and Francis Pym, gave his usual bobbed head of approval.

  “As all members present will be aware, despite the violence and rhetoric that has plagued the province in recent years, the overall security situation – aided by the Armed Forces of the Crown and the tireless efforts of all peace-loving citizens – remains fundamentally sound. The House will already be quite aware of the long-term planning and political initiatives that the National Government is taking aware to promote economic prosperity and smash the gunman. As I warned a number of years ago, our enemy is complacency, and the labour required by all of us to bring a lasting settlement in Northern Ireland must be strenuous and determined. It is entirely right that this government should – in consultation with colleagues in the Republic of Ireland – work to bring about a lasting settlement. I have come to regard the politicians in Dublin as men of proven moderation, steadfastness and peace and I very much long for the day when our conversations can turn to matters of trade and commerce, rather than of bombing and bullets.”

  There was a derisive snort from the government benches. A derisive feminine snort.

  Thatcher could have sworn that Heath clasped his hands together as the sound echoed around the Commons chamber. However, a second attempt at power had apparently served to increase his resolve and, after a momentary pause, he continued.

  The former Prime Minister sat back in her seat. It had been a while since she had elected to sit at the very back of the Government benches, but it was for good reason – it gave a far better view of proceedings. It also allowed for reflection, and Ted’s grandstanding speech was proving very persuasive, just in the opposite way to which he was intending it to be.

  When Thatcher had served as Leader of the Opposition, she had been happy to endorse Airey’s public support for Mason’s rhetoric of treating the IRA and the Loyalist paramilitaries as two sides of the same coin. In principle, the idea of granting the Republic a say in the governance of Northern Ireland was an eminently sensible one, but it was pre-emptive and – so soon after the rejection of the Executive – divisive.

  The debate dragged on. Enoch was a walking cliché, asking “does the Right Hon. Gentleman understand, and if he does not yet understand he soon will, that the penalty for treachery is to fall into public contempt?”

  Public contempt or not, Thatcher, it was still rather mean-spirited of Ted to refuse to even acknowledge her. Critical or not, the only reason the government was going to carry the day was because of her small band of supporters that had followed her into exile. A change of mind now – by contrast – would be sufficient to destroy the majority. After the treatment that she had just received from Heath – well – it was nothing less than he deserved.

  A note was passed to her with the Whips’ calculations on. She opened it and gasped.

  Enoch Powell did not gasp, but the twitching of his moustache after reading the memo that James Kilfedder slipped him informed the reporters in the Press Gallery that the Parliamentary arithmetic had changed.

  Under the Ponsonby Rule, it was convention for the Government to lay any international settlement before Parliament for twenty-one days prior to ratification. While Mr Wilson was now working his way through Dostoevsky and having his portraits taken down, his maxims had persisted and three weeks was a very, very long time in politics. The fermenting Unionist rage against the settlement, coupled with the growing dissatisfaction from the Tory Right, was finally giving the legislature dominance over the executive. Powell permitted himself to take took towards the Chief Whip, who was now scribbling down a list of numbers at the side of the Speaker’s Chair. On the government bench, Mountbatten’s face had taken on a waxy countenance, whilst Jenkins did his best to wind up the debate as the hubbub on the Opposition benches peaked.

  “...and so, whilst the Labour Party cannot possibly endorse the continued existence of this unelected and unaccountable government, Mr Speaker, we must also praise the efforts of Members on all sides of this House for considering – seriously – the methods required to bring about a new constitutional settlement in Northern Ireland. Maintaining an errant province in a state of civil strife is unacceptable and, in the long term, unsustainable. The Foreign Secretary should also be granted demonstrable praise for persevering in his efforts to give Dublin a say in the governance of these Isles. It is the opinion of the Labour Party that a treaty of this magnitude cannot be endorsed by a government so lacking in legitimacy. As a consequence of this, it is the intention of this party to stay ratification of the treaty until such a time as a new government – backed by the popular consent of the people – has been formed. The Labour Party will abstain on the question so put.”

  It was a hurried effort, but as Jenkins took to his seat, Powell noticed from the worried face of Bob Mellish that the Labour Party whips had obviously reached the same conclusion as their counterparts on the other side of the Chamber. As the Leader of the Opposition sat down and was immediately drawn into conversation by the Member for Bermondsey (and did his best to avoid speaking to his Deputy, who was almost puce with anger) Heath lunged at the Despatch Box, apparently in an effort to get the vote together before the dissidents could bring the wavering Tories into the ‘Nay’ Lobby.

  “Mr Speaker,” Heath said, stumbling over the hastily-scribbled notes in front of him, “despite the failure of the Honourable Member opposite to put country before party, I sincerely hope that a firm majority of members of this House will join with me in endorsing the principles of this Agreement in the hope that it will grant Northern Ireland the peace that is essential for the continued prosperity of both the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland. It is a cornerstone of a foreign policy that is required for Britain to return to her rightful standing in the eyes of the world. Its passage is vital for the future of this Government as we continue to heal ourselves from the chaos of the past ten months. I commend it to the House.”

  It was a confidence motion now, unquestionably. Powell looked on impassively at the frontbench. Mountbatten was steely-faced – Powell imagined he had worn that look when facing storms at the bridge of the Kelly. He would go today, obviously, and even if Heath emerged as leader of the largest party, it would be just like two years ago. The CEO of HeathCo petulantly engaging in horse-trading over the Liberals instead of ac
cepting the inevitable. A miserable shower, all told.

  Jo Grimond eased himself into a standing position. Enoch could see he was still struggling to get the hang of putting his robes on properly.

  “The Question is,” as all Westminster knew, “that this House approves the treaty before it” he announced, “as many as are of that opinion say Aye.”

  There was a chorus of affirmation, not nearly as loud as it should have been.

  “Of the contrary ‘No’.”

  Powell smiled as he joined in the denunciations.

  A bead of sweat made its way from the Speaker’s brow as he called for a division. He noticed that the former Leader of the Conservative Party had already begun to make her way down from her vantage point at the Government-side of the Chamber, pointedly walking against the line of route taken by the frontbench.

  The Division Bell ringing in his ears, Roy Jenkins watched Margaret Thatcher march triumphantly behind the Speaker’s Chair along with the rest of the Tory rebels. Had she looked at Roy, she could have been forgiven for thinking that the Leader of the Opposition was about to pass out. Not only had he just spontaneously rewritten his agreed remarks to turn them into a call for abstention, but now far too many Conservatives were walking towards the Nay Lobby for his liking. Far, far too many. If they kept this up, and the Labour left continued to ignore him and vote against as well...

  Bugger.

  ‘Bugger’ became replaced by an even stronger word as he saw Benn approach him.

  “This is simply unacceptable, Roy,” the Member for Bristol South West hissed, “the Parliamentary Labour Party made it clear to you only yesterday that we must vote against this half-measure, particularly now it represents our best hope of bringing the whole ghastly edifice crashing down around Mountbatten’s head. Now I hear we’re abstaining?”