to be Tory Leader’, with enraged colonels and indignant dowagers exploding about him in one of Bateman’s more excruciating cartoons.
Ted’s
But to my horror the press on Wednesday 27 November was full of stories of my ‘hoarding’ food. Someone had clearly used this obscure interview in order to portray me as mean, selfish and above all ‘bourgeois’. In its way it was cleverly done. It allowed the desired caricature to be brought out to the full. It played to the snobbery of the Conservative Party, because the unspoken implication was that this was all that could be expected of a grocer’s daughter. It reminded the public of all that had been said and written about me as the ‘milk snatcher’ at Education.
A veritable circus of indignation was now staged. Pressure groups were prompted to complain. A deputation of housewives was said to be travelling from Birmingham to urge me to give them the tins. Food chemists gave their views about the consequences of keeping tinned food too long in the larder. Martin Redmayne, the former Chief Whip, reliable Party establishment figure and now Deputy Chairman of Harrods, appeared on television to say that ‘any sort of inducement to panic buying was… against the public interest’ — although Lord Redmayne’s larder probably contained something more enticing than a few tins of salmon and corned beef. There was nothing for it but to invite the cameramen in and have them check the contents of my Flood Street larder and cupboards. This may have convinced some of the Tory hierarchy that my and my family’s tastes and standards were not at all what should be expected from someone who aspired to lead their party. But it certainly showed that the ‘hoarding’ allegation was malicious nonsense.
Finally, in order to keep the dying story alive my opponents went too far. On Friday 29 November I was in John Cope’s South Gloucestershire constituency when my secretary, Alison Ward, telephoned to say that the radio was now broadcasting that I had been seen in a shop on the Finchley Road buying up large quantities of sugar. (There was a sugar shortage at the time.) Alison had already checked and discovered that in fact no such shop existed; in any case the family consumption of sugar was minimal. It was just a straightforward lie. A firm denial prevented its circulation in the press, and marked the effective end of this surreal campaign.
I suspect that it ultimately backfired. It demonstrated to women throughout the country how ignorant male politicians were about what constituted ordinary housekeeping. It showed many people from modest backgrounds like mine how close to the surface of the Tory grandees lay an ugly streak of contempt for those they considered voting fodder. Most seriously for my opponents, it evoked a good deal of sympathy from fair-minded Conservative MPs who could see that I had been made the target of false and silly attacks.
At the time, however, I was bitterly upset by it. Sometimes I was near to tears. Sometimes I was shaking with anger. But as I told Bill Shelton, the MP for Streatham and a friend: ‘I saw how they destroyed Keith. Well, they’re not going to destroy me.’
What had happened made me all the more determined to throw my hat into the ring. But there was also much talk of Edward du Cann’s putting himself forward as a candidate. As Chairman of the 1922 Committee — and a man — he might reasonably be expected to command more support than me. On Thursday 5 December, with the hoarding story having more or less run its course, I was in Robert Adley’s constituency of Christchurch for a Party function. He was a great du Cann supporter and told me that he thought Edward was going to stand. I said that if he did, I would have to think again about my position. We must not split the right-wing vote.
One of Edward du Cann’s chief supporters, Airey Neave, the MP for Abingdon and a colleague of Edward’s on the 1922 Executive, was someone whom I already knew quite well. Our paths had crossed many times. As barristers we had shared the same Chambers, and he had been a neighbour at Westminster Gardens. When I was Opposition Social Security spokesman I had helped him with his Bill to make provision for pensions for the over- eighties. We both had a strong interest in science. As Secretary of State for Education and Science I had helped persuade Airey to stay on as Chairman of the Select Committee on Science and Technology when he was thinking of resigning.
Airey was a man of contrasts. His manner was quiet yet entirely self-assured. As a writer and a war hero who escaped from Colditz there was an air of romance about him. He had seen much more of the world than most MPs, and suffered a good deal too. He had the benefit, in Diana, of a marvellous political wife who backed him loyally. He had briefly been a junior minister in the late 1950s but had to resign because of ill health, and I understand Ted had unfeelingly told him that that was the end of his career. It was difficult to pin down Airey’s politics. I did not consider him ideologically a man of the right. He probably did not look at the world in those terms. We got on well and I was conscious of mutual respect, but we were not yet the close friends we were to become.
Airey had come to see me shortly after my decision to stand was known. He hoped to persuade Edward du Cann to stand, but Edward himself remained undecided. Excluded by Ted from high office, he had devoted himself to a City career he was now reluctant to give up. Until Edward decided one way or the other it was not, of course, possible for Airey to support me actively, but I knew that I could rely on his advice and he promised to stay in touch, which we did: he came to my room in the House to exchange notes on several occasions between then and the end of the year. The whole ‘hoarding’ episode certainly demonstrated how tough a battle I could expect. If I did finally and formally enter the lists, Airey was the sort of person it would be good to have on my side.
A new factor that weakened Ted and strengthened his potential rivals was the announcement of the Home Committee’s conclusions on Tuesday 7 December. There would be annual elections for the Tory Leader, challengers needed only a proposer and a seconder to put themselves forward, and the majority required to win on the first ballot was significantly increased to 50 per cent plus 15 per cent of those eligible to vote. It was in effect an incentive to challengers, since it meant that a Leader in difficulties needed to retain the confidence of a super-majority of those voting.
Still, Christmas at Lamberhurst that year was less festive than on some other occasions. We could not even walk as much as we usually did; the weather was awful. I knew that I could expect a trying time when I returned to Westminster, whether I actually stood for the Leadership or not. Denis also had business worries because Burmah Oil had run into deep trouble. Neither of us was too confident about what the future held.
SMALL EARTHQUAKE IN WESTMINSTER
On my return to London I resolved to clarify matters as regards the leadership. I invited Airey to lunch at Flood Street to have a proper discussion. I also found waiting for me a letter from Robert Adley urging that Edward du Cann and I should sort out which of us should stand rather than split the vote. The trouble was that this was impossible until Edward knew what he wanted to do, and it was clear from a conversation with him that he remained undecided. This was still the case when Airey and I had our lunch on Thursday 9 January 1975. I told him that I thought Geoffrey Howe might support me. I also told him how impossible proper discussion was under Ted’s chairmanship. Airey gave me his own account of his recent talks with Ted. It was clear to both of us that there had to be a change, and the only question was whether Edward du Cann or I was better placed to effect it. Interestingly and shrewdly, as it turned out, Airey thought that Ted’s support in the Parliamentary Party was overrated.
On Wednesday 15 January Edward du Cann made it publicly known that he would not run for the leadership. The way was therefore open for me. It was now vitally necessary to have an effective campaign team.
Events began to move fast. That same afternoon I was leading for the Opposition on the Committee Stage of the Finance Bill. Fergus had just learned that he would have to go on a parliamentary visit to South Africa, though he still thought (wrongly as it turned out) that he would be back in time for the leadership first ballot. He therefore asked Bill Shelton, when they met in the Division Lobby, to run my campaign in his absence, and Bill
