The Downing Street Years (100 page)

I began to improvise a little on my own account. That afternoon on our way back from the West Country I had the coach stop at a farm shop, plentifully stocked with bacon, chutney and cream. The following press coaches stopped too and we all piled into the shop. I bought cream and everyone seemed to follow suit. This, I felt, had been my personal contribution to the rural economy; perhaps we might even get some reasonable television film footage at last.

One week into the campaign and in spite of our own difficulties the political situation was still favourable. Our lead in the polls was holding up. Indeed, the polls recorded little net change in party strength during the campaign, though as will be seen there were a few rogue polls which caused some alarm. There had been a big erosion of support for the Alliance, whose campaign was marred by splits and that basic incoherence which is the nemesis of people who eschew principle in politics. Neil Kinnock kept away from the main London-based journalists and Bryan Gould took most of the press conferences. By the second week, however, this tactic was beginning to rebound and the Fleet Street press were becoming frustrated and critical: they were able to cross-question me day after day and they expected to enjoy a similar sport with the Leader of the Opposition. In this they were enthusiastically encouraged by Norman Tebbit, who by temperament and talent was perfectly suited to maul Neil Kinnock and did so effectively in successive speeches as the campaign wore on.

Thursday’s press conference was on the NHS. Norman Fowler had devised a splendid illustration of new hospitals built throughout
Britain, marked by lights on a map which were lit up when he pressed a switch. Like the Kinnocks’ election broadcast, I had him repeat the performance by popular demand. Sadly, like so much of the campaign, it did not come over properly on television. The press conference went smoothly. But what was worrying me, as usual, was my speech that evening in Solihull.

We had worked on the draft late until 3.30 a.m. but I was still not happy with it. I continued to break away to work on it whenever I could during the day — that is when I was not meeting candidates, talking to regional editors, admiring Jaguars at the factory and then meeting crowds at the Home and Garden exhibition at the Birmingham NEC. As soon as we arrived at Dame Joan Seccombe’s house — she is one of the Party’s most committed volunteers — I left the others to enjoy her hospitality and closeted myself away with with my speech writers, working frantically on the text right up to the last moment. For some mysterious reason the more you all suffer in preparing a speech, the better it turns out to be and this speech was very good indeed. It contained one wounding passage which drew a roar of approval from the audience:

But I was to broaden the attack on Labour in this speech. I levelled my sights at the ‘loony Left’s’ policy of municipal socialism and sexual propaganda on the rates. This drew applause which surprised even me. It became clear that there was real public anxiety about the extremism cloaked by Labour’s moderate image. I set out with renewed energy in every speech to win over traditional Labour supporters. Indeed, this became one of my principal themes.

Nick Ridley explained our housing policy at the Friday morning press conference. Then I set off on my tour. This was one of our more successful days, including good photo-opportunities, the chance to meet real people and even a spot of heckling from a Labour councillor when I was making a speech through a loudspeaker to a large crowd on a sports field. The television cameras covered what was thought to be my receiving from No. 10 the news that a British diplomat
kidnapped in Tehran had been released: in fact I knew this anyway and the person I was speaking to over the telephone was a secretary at Conservative Central Office. The best picture of the campaign was in Tiptree, in John Wakeham’s constituency. Followed by three tractors pulling trailers full of perspiring press-men and photographers, I was driven out into a blackcurrant field to be photographed looking through binoculars at a bird sanctuary. It was a surreal picture of splendid isolation.

With ten days to go, David Young gave the press conference on Monday 1 June, arguing that voting Conservative was the only way to keep unemployment coming down. Using striking graphics, he summarized the elements of what we called ‘Labour’s job destruction package’, showing how thousands of jobs would go as a result of their policies for defence cuts, sanctions on South Africa and extra powers for trade unions. It was a good performance and I was glad that we were at last beginning to get across our strong card of economic prosperity.

The next day, after chairing our press conference, which again was on the economy, I flew to Scotland. By now the Labour Party had decided that they had better keep off policy altogether and they leaked that instead they would concentrate on personal attacks on me. Neil Kinnock did not do this with great subtlety: he described me as ‘a would-be empress’ and the Cabinet as ‘sycophants and doormats’. I was determined to make this tactic rebound on them. I spoke at a rally that night in Edinburgh:

In spite of the bad weather it had been a pleasant, old-fashioned day of campaigning. Denis enjoyed it too. We visited the Scottish & Newcastle Brewery in Edinburgh and Denis with somewhat feigned reluctance downed the obligatory pint on my behalf. Next morning after giving press and television interviews I flew to Newcastle and went on to the Gateshead Metro shopping centre where, amid the large crowds which gathered as I went into different shops, I felt that I was at last making proper contact with the electorate.

My satisfaction, however, was marred by the onset of extremely painful toothache. I had been to the dentist before the campaign began and nothing seemed amiss. But the pain grew worse as the afternoon wore on and later that evening after I returned to London I went to the dentist once more. There was apparently an abscess under my tooth which would need proper treatment later. For the moment I had to rely on pain killers. By the time I got back to London I had something else unpleasant to think about. I was told in the course of the afternoon that the next day’s Gallup poll would show a definite shift from us to Labour for the first time, cutting our lead to 4 per cent.

I could not get to sleep that night because of my tooth. At about 4.00 a.m. Crawfie gave me some pain killers. They did the trick for the toothache and allowed me to get some rest. But they made me feel and — as I have later learned — look catatonic when, first thing the following morning, I went across to Central Office. This has gone down in political mythology as ‘wobbly Thursday’ or ‘black Thursday’: since we did not wobble but the news looked black I prefer the second description.

The subject of the day was pensions and social security. I had expressly told Central Office that I wanted Health to be covered as well but this had not been done, which angered me. At the press conference briefing my toothache had come on again and I tore into Norman Fowler’s draft press release, rather unfairly, until David Wolfson, who is one of the few people who gets away with this sort ofthing, told me to ‘shut up’ and read it through first before making any more changes. I did so, agreed it and then faced the news about the poll. The worst was that there would be another poll by Marplan for the next day which was the subject of wild speculation. It would show whether the Gallup result was just a rogue poll, or whether our position really was slipping away.

I had talked to David Young the previous night about my worries about the campaign, which seemed to me to be unfocused and not to stress sufficiently our strongest themes, in particular the record of economic prosperity. The following day, Norman Tebbit and I had a ding-dong row. This cleared the air. We agreed that some of our younger ministers, like John Moore and Kenneth Clarke, should be given a higher billing. I arranged to appear upon the David Frost
programme from which I had been withdrawn. But at this stage we had still not agreed on the advertising for the following week.

The press conference that day was widely considered to be a disaster for us and I was held to blame. The issue arose of private health care. I refused to be apologetic for the fact that I used private health insurance to have minor operations done speedily, without adding to the queue for NHS treatment and using my own money. What I said was immediately exploited as being insensitive, callous and uncaring. I was aware that the press conference had not been a success in public relations terms. But I was not going to back down, however much others around me hoped that I would stay silent on the matter in the interviews when it was bound to be raised. Moreover, my instincts were right and that of the professionals wrong. The press set out on what turned out to be a fruitful hunt for examples of Labour politicians and their families who used private health care. By the end of the campaign I had won this argument — and it was definitely worth winning.

After the press conference I set out my ideas for a major advertising campaign, which I had previously privately discussed with Tim Bell, who had of course been effectively excluded from the campaign by Central Office and Saatchis. I wanted this to be based heavily on our record of achievements, which may have seemed dull to the creative and unpolitical minds of communications specialists but which — as was subsequently demonstrated again at the 1992 general election — are what the electorate is really likely to vote on. Saatchis were to devise one set of advertising for me to see and approve: meanwhile Tim Bell and David Young were working on another which I believed would be better. I went to the Alton Towers theme park in Staffordshire, without being quite in the mood for jollity, still worried about what would come of the advertising, even more concerned about the mysterious opinion poll we were waiting for. There was media speculation that it would show our lead down to 1 per cent. While at Alton Towers I overheard a BBC newscaster remark, ‘that’s it: she’s downhill all the way now.’

I had little time to deal with the advertising when I arrived back at No. 10. I liked the material Tim Bell had prepared. Norman Tebbit, who is always a big man in such situations, frankly acknowledged that the new ideas for the advertising were better. I left him and David Young to deal with it all while I went on with the briefing for my interview with Jonathan Dimbleby. There is only one complaint I still allow myself to nurture against my staff in No. 10: that is that I was not told before I went on television about the results of the poll, which
put us back in a healthy lead and showed that the earlier one was not to be taken seriously. Perhaps it was as well, for it was a tough interview and I really fought back. At least one good — if extremely expensive — thing came out of that rogue poll: for it prompted me to insist on that newspaper advertising blitz on the lines I wanted, which consolidated our support.

I was due to speak in Chester on Friday. I did not really concentrate on my draft speech until I was in the train that morning to Gatwick. I found it far too theatrical. I was expected to use ‘props’ — to ensure that television news concentrated on certain passages — a large key to illustrate the advances in home ownership was just one of several. Stephen Sherbourne and John Whittingdale were promptly asked to bring this flight of fancy down to earth. As is often the case with speeches, panic proved productive. The revised text was first class: the audience approved as well.

Over the weekend I had several more big interviews. The
Today Programme
on Saturday morning was characteristically hostile. However, I enjoyed Channel 4’s
Face the People
later that morning, in which voters from marginal constituencies questioned me on our policies. I loved these occasions: the questions are real and have a life and a depth that one-to-one interviews never evoke. On Sunday I was interviewed by David Frost. The questioning was tough but fair, concentrating heavily once more on the private health issue. We all felt that it had gone quite well.

This was also the day of our final ‘family rally’ at Wembley where, as in 1983, television personalities, actors, comedians and musicians gave us their public support. Ronnie Millar had written a version of the
Dad’s Army
theme song, ‘Who do you think you are kidding, Mr Kinnock?’, to which the audience sang along as at a pantomime. This went down very well and when my turn came to speak I picked up the theme predicting that millions of traditional Labour voters, disgusted with their Party’s swing to the left and neutralism, would soon be joining ‘Mum’s Army’. To my surprise it was the lead item on that evening’s TV news. I felt that this important message, at least, was getting across.

On Monday, after chairing our press conference and then recording an interview with Sir Robin Day, I left for the G7 economic summit in Venice. I had decided before the campaign began that I would almost certainly go to the G7, just as I had gone to Williamsburg in 1983. My role as ‘international statesman’ was a more important element in our election campaign this time; so there were even stronger political arguments for making the visit. In any case, I never missed
the opportunity of talking with President Reagan as I would both at the dinner that evening which concentrated on arms control and at my tête-à-tête meeting with him the following morning before the first formal session on the economy. There was a real point at issue on arms control, on which I wanted to make my position clear. Chancellor Kohl wanted to press ahead with negotiation with the Soviets for the removal of shorter-range nuclear weapons. I was not prepared to see British forces in Germany left without their protection and said so forcefully over dinner. I would not subscribe to any communiqué which established the goal of further reductions, at least until agreement to eliminate chemical weapons and redress the imbalance in conventional forces. In this, I received the crucial backing of President Reagan.