The Path to Power

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 Shadow 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’.