The Downing Street Years (49 page)

Though the manifesto took our programme forward, it was somehow not an exciting document. The first years of Conservative administration had been dominated by the battle against inflation and by a different kind of warfare in the South Atlantic. Great as the achievements were, neither economics nor defence is the kind of issue that generates exciting material for manifestos. Social policy is very different, but we were only really starting to turn our attention to this area, which was to become increasingly important in the next two Parliaments. And on this occasion at least, perhaps Geoffrey Howe was too safe a pair of hands. I was somewhat disappointed, though
tactically I could see that it made sense for us to produce a tame manifesto and to concentrate on exposing Labour’s wildness.

Perhaps the most important feature of the manifesto was what it did not contain. It did not promise a change of direction or an easing of the pace. It gave no quarter to the advocates of socialism and corporatism. In the foreword I stated my vision of Britain and the British:

Was I right in believing that this was the spirit of the time? Or was socialism what the people really wanted? The electorate would shortly give their answer.

On Wednesday 5 January 1983 I set aside a full day for discussion of our general election strategy. It was in the recess, so we held it at Chequers, always a relaxing place to think things out. The first half of the morning was spent with Cecil Parkinson, Michael Spicer (Deputy Chairman of the Party), Ian Gow and David Wolfson. We reached provisional decisions on a number of practical issues.

One of the most important things was to decide who would accompany me on my campaign tours. A coach had been hired and specially fitted out to take me around the country. We tried to keep the team as small as possible, though when the election was underway there always seemed to be a sizeable number on the bus. My PPS, Ian Gow, was a natural choice, with Michael Spicer taking his place on days when he had constituency engagements. At various times either Derek Howe or Tony Shrimsley would act as Press Officer. John Whittingdale, years later my political secretary and then only twenty-three, was chosen to do research. From Downing Street, Alison Ward and Tessa Gaisman would type the speeches, while one of the ‘Garden Room girls’ would keep me regularly in touch with No. 10 in case something happened which required my immediate attention. And last, but by no means least, we would be accompanied by my daughter Carol, who wrote and published a daily diary of the campaign. Harvey
Thomas would go ahead to set up arrangements for meetings and reconnoitre for the press, while his wife typed text for the Autocue, which I now used for all big speeches. Travelling in the coach was bound to be tiring but we knew it would allow us to obtain better press and television pictures. Often it would be possible for me to fly or take the train to the spot at which the tour itself began, using the travel time to work on speech notes and briefing.

At this meeting we considered the arrangements for the manning of the correspondence unit which would be set up to deal with my mail during the election period. I decided to ask Sir John Eden, a former minister who was not standing again for Parliament, to take on this task. There was also the problem of deciding who should serve on the Questions of Policy Committee at Central Office, set up at each election to give authoritative answers to difficult questions put to our candidates. I concluded that Angus Maude, who was also standing down as a Member of Parliament, was the ideal person to chair this Committee.

Later that morning at Chequers we were joined by several other senior people from Central Office. They reported on their plans. One difficulty that came around at every election was to know when to produce the Conservative Research Department’s lengthy and rightly famous
Campaign Guide —
an encyclopaedia of political facts used by people of all political persuasions, including left-wing journalists too lazy to do their own research. The
Campaign Guide’s
appearance invariably triggered election speculation. We decided to aim at a publication date in July, though in the event the election came earlier and it had to be produced in a great rush to be ready for the start of the campaign in May. We discussed other literature which would be required for the constituencies. A Boundary Commission report was due and though the Party would benefit substantially from its proposals for the redistribution of seats, by the same token it was difficult to identify precisely the critical marginal seats in which the election would be won or lost. And it was vital that we focus our efforts on the marginals.

We discussed how to handle television: it was likely to be even more important than in earlier elections, though the new breakfast television would have less impact than had often been predicted. Gordon Reece had come over from the United States to help with this aspect of the campaign. Gordon was a former television producer with a unique insight into the medium. He had a much better grasp of popular taste than might have been expected from a man whose principal diet was champagne and cigars. He was always cheerful himself and he never
failed to cheer others too. In fact, this was one of the few occasions when I can remember disagreeing with Gordon. He argued that we should be prepared to accept a series of televised debates between myself and Michael Foot, and (separately) with the Alliance leaders. This was an exceptional suggestion: British prime ministers have never accepted challenges to election debates of this kind. The calculation usually is that prime ministers have nothing to gain from them, and quite a lot to lose. But I stood so much better in the polls than Michael Foot that Gordon thought that on this occasion the orthodoxy was wrong and that I could only gain from such a confrontation. I rejected the idea. I disliked the way that elections were being turned into media circuses. And, as I have already said, I did not underrate Michael Foot as a debater. In any case, the arguments were too important to be reduced to a ‘sound bite’ or a gladiatorial sport.

One of our principal assets was the state of the Party’s organization. Cecil Parkinson had done wonders for Central Office. He had brought the Party’s finances into order in the year or so since he had become Chairman: this was essential, because it is only by husbanding resources in mid-term that you can afford to spend as heavily as required in a general election campaign. Cecil had also brought in some very able people. Peter Cropper had reintroduced rigorous standards in the Research Department. Tony Shrimsley, in charge of press relations, was a highly professional and talented journalist who shared my own outlook; sadly, this was to be his last campaign — he was probably already fatally ill. Cecil had placed Chris Lawson in charge of a new Marketing Department, which dealt with opinion research and publicity; Chris was that rare and useful animal, a businessman with acute political instincts.

In the afternoon Tim Bell presented a paper summarizing the strengths and weaknesses of our position, based upon opinion polls. Tim had a more sensitive set of antennae than most politicians. He could pick up quicker than anyone else a change in the national mood. And, unlike most advertising men, he understood that selling ideas is different from selling soap. Tim set out a communications strategy whose main theme was ‘keep on with the change’, an approach which I welcomed. Its wisdom lay in the perception that it was the Conservative Government rather than the Opposition parties which was the radical force in British society. As we ourselves had shown in 1979, there are few more potent slogans for an Opposition than that it is ‘time for a change’. Tim showed that we could deprive Labour of that slogan and turn the argument against them.

We held another all-day session on general election strategy at
Chequers on Thursday 7 April. Manifesto work was in its final stages by then and I was worried that campaign planning seemed to be taking place in a separate compartment. However, that could not be helped. The key members of the Central Office team, along with Tim Bell, Ferdy Mount, David Wolfson, Ian Gow and myself ran over the style and content of the campaign and, in particular, my part in it. By now speculation about an early general election was feverish and there was little or nothing that I could do to prevent it, without firmly ruling out an early election, which of course would have been a very foolish thing to do. I had already stated in public that I would not go to the country before the end of our fourth year and at this meeting I made no secret of the fact that my own instincts were against an early election; I had in mind an election in October. Certainly, the argument was finely balanced. Were we to wait, there was a danger that if the polls started to turn in Labour’s favour the prospect of their grossly irresponsible economic policies being implemented would weaken sterling and hold back investment. It is also generally true, as Jim Callaghan learnt to his cost when he postponed the election in the autumn of 1978, that in politics the ‘unexpected happens’. However, on the other side of the argument, I was convinced that we were now seeing sustainable economic recovery, which would continue to strengthen the longer we waited: clearly, the more solid economic good news we could show the better.

But, of course, the overriding consideration in choosing an election date is whether or not you think you are going to win. On Sunday 8 May I had a final Chequers meeting with Cecil Parkinson, Willie Whitelaw, Geoffrey Howe, Norman Tebbit, Michael Jopling, Ferdy Mount, David Wolfson and Ian Gow. There had been local government elections on Thursday 5 May and we knew that the results would tell us a good deal about our prospects. Central Office staff had worked furiously to provide a detailed computer analysis by the weekend. We also had the evidence provided by private and public opinion polls.

Even when Cecil Parkinson took us through the information Central Office had brought together, I had some lingering doubt about whether the prospects really were good enough. I needed some convincing: calling an election is a big decision, and by constitutional convention it is a matter for the prime minister alone, however much advice is on offer. It was also, of course, a decision that I had never had to make before. Cecil and the others argued for June. It was pointed out that the main economic indicators would look slightly better then than in the autumn because inflation was due to rise slightly in the second half of the year. We would also probably face a
by-election in Cardiff if we did not go soon: the Welsh Nationalists were threatening to move the writ and we had no way of stopping them. By-elections are unpredictable and there was the risk that the third-party bandwagon could be persuaded to roll if it went ahead. But the argument that told most with me was the level of election fever. The speculation was becoming impossible. Of course, I would be accused of ‘cutting and running’ if I went to the country in June, but the same critics would say I was ‘clinging to power’ if I put the election off; and probably the most damaging thing is to look as if you are afraid of testing your mandate.

By long-established custom, elections take place on a Thursday: if we were to go in June, which Thursday should it be? Again, Cecil and Central Office had done their homework, preparing a list of forthcoming events. From this it seemed that the second Thursday in June would be best, although this meant that the campaign would have to include a Bank Holiday — something electioneers prefer to avoid since it is almost impossible to campaign over that weekend. But Ascot began the following Monday and I did not like the idea of television screens during the final or penultimate week of the campaign filled with pictures of toffs and ladies in exotic hats while we stumped the country urging people to turn out and vote Conservative. Therefore, if we went in June it would have to be the 9th, rather than the 16th or 23rd.

These were persuasive arguments. But I did not make up mind finally that day, returning to No. 10 only provisionally convinced. When I am making a big decision, I always prefer to sleep on it.

The following morning just before 7 o’clock I rang down to the duty clerk asking my principal private secretary, Robin Butler, to see me as soon as he came in: Robin would arrange for an audience with the Queen later that morning. I had decided to seek a dissolution and go to the country on Thursday 9 June.

There was now much to be done. I saw the Chief Whip and the Party Chairman to tell them of my decision, summoned a special Cabinet for II.15 a.m. and went on to the Palace at 12.25 p.m. The rest of the day was spent discussing final election campaign preparations and the manifesto, and recording interviews. We had some important decisions to make about government business in Parliament.
Two major bills — the Telecommunications and the Police and Criminal Evidence Bills — would have to be abandoned, though of course we would be able to reintroduce them if we formed the next government. The Finance Bill had to become law before Parliament dissolved — without it government authority to levy taxation would lapse — and to secure a quick passage for the bill we had to negotiate with the Opposition. Labour was inept: they gave us a parting gift by forcing the abandonment of a number of tax cuts proposed in the Finance Bill, including increases in the threshold at which the higher rate of income tax would begin and in the amount of tax relief for mortgages. They were quite happy to brand Labour the party of higher taxation: so were we.

I also had to make some decisions about my future engagements as Prime Minister, particularly meetings already arranged with foreign visitors: which, if any, should I see? A number of meetings were cancelled, but I carried on with as much of my diary schedule as I could. On Wednesday 11 May, I had talks and lunch with Robert Muldoon, Prime Minister of New Zealand, who had proved such a good friend to Britain in the Falklands crisis. That evening I also saw Alexander Solzhenitzyn and his wife. This courageous man sent a timely message to the British people at a press conference he gave, describing supporters of unilateral disarmament as ‘naïve’.