First Among Equals (11 page)

Simon formally
congratulated him and asked if this made any difference in the company’s timing
for going public. He had advised Ronnie not to allow his company shares to be
traded on the Stock Exchange until the Tories returned to power. “It may mean
waiting a couple of years,” he had told Ronnie, “but few people now doubt that
the Tories will win the next election. Just look at the polls.”

“We’re still
planning to wait,” Ronnie now assured him.
“Although the
injection of cash that the shares would bring in would be useful.
But my
instinct is to follow your advice and wait to see if the Conservatives win the
next election.”

“I am sure
that’s sound,” said Simon, looking around at the other board members.

“
if
they don’t win, I can’t wait that much longer.”

“I wouldn’t
disagree with that decision either, Mr. Chairman,” said Simon.

When the
meeting was over he joined Nethercote in his office for a drink.

“I want to
thank you,” Ronnie said, “for that introduction to Harold Samuel and Hugh
Ainesworth. It made the deal go through much more smoothly.”

“Does that mean
you’ll allow me to purchase some more shares?”

Ronnie
hesitated.
“Why not?
You’ve earned them.
But only another ten thousand.
Don’t get ahead of yourself,
Simon, or the other directors may become jealous.”

In the car on
the way to pick up Elizabeth, Simon decided to take a second mortgage out on
the house in Beaufort Street to raise the extra cash needed for the new shares.
Elizabeth still made little secret of her feelings about Ronnie, and now that
she was
pregnant,
Simon decided not to worry her with
the details.

“If the
Government did a turnabout and devalued the pound, would the Under Secretary
find it possible to remain in office?”

Raymond Gould,
the Under Secretary for Employment, stiffened when he heard Simon Kerslake’s
question.

Raymond’s grasp
of the law and his background knowledge of the subject made all except the
extremely articulate or highly experienced wary of taking him on. Nevertheless,
he had one Achilles heel arising from his firmly stated views in Full
Employment at Any Cost
?.
any
suggestion that the Government would devalue the pound. Time and again eager
backbenchers would seek to tackle him on the subject. But
‘
once
more it was Simon Kerslake who embarrassed his opponent.

As always,
Raymond gave the standard reply: “The policy of Her Majesty’s Government is one
hundred percent against devaluation, and therefore the question does not
arise.”

“Wait and see,”
shouted Kerslake.

“Order,” said
the Speaker, rising from his seat and turning toward Simon as Raymond sat down.
“The Honorable Member knows all too well he must not address the House from a
sedentary position.

The Under Secretary of State.”

Raymond rose
again. “This Government believes in a strong pound, which still remains our
best hope for keeping unemployment figures down.”

“But what would
you do if Cabinet does go ahead and devalue?” Joyce asked him when she read her
husband’s reply to Kerslake’s question reported in the London Times the next
morning.

Raymond was
already facing the fact that devaluation looked.
more
likely every day. A strong dollar, causing imports to be at a record level,
coupled with a run of strikes during the summer of ‘67, was causing foreign
bankers to ask “When,” not “If.”

“I’d have to
resign,” he said in reply to Joyce’s question.

“Why? No other
Minister will.”

“I’m afraid
Kerslake is right. I’m on the record and he’s made sure everybody knows it.
Don’t worry, Harold will never
devalue. He’s assured me of
that many times.”

“He only has to
change his mind once.”

The great
orator lain Macleod once remarked that it was the first two minutes of a speech
that decided one’s fate. One either grasps the House and commands
it,
or 90 dithers and loses it, and once the House is lost
it can rarely be brought to heel.

When Charles
Hampton was invited to present the winding-up speech for the Opposition during
the debate on the Environment, he felt he had prepared himself well. Although
he knew he could not expect to convert Government backbenchers to his cause, he
hoped the press would acknowledge that he had won the argument and embarrassed
the Government. The Administration was already rocking over daily rumors of
devaluation and economic trouble, and Charles was confident that this was a
chance to make his name.

When full
debates take place on the floor of the House, the Opposition spokesman is
called upon to make his final comments at nine o’clock from the dispatch box –
an oblong wooden box edged in brassresting on the table in between the two
front benches. At ninethirty a Government Minister winds up.

When Charles
rose and put his notes on the dispatch box he intended to press home the Tory
Party case on the Goveniment’s economic record, the fatal consequences of
devaluation, the record inflation, coupled with record borrowing and a lack of
confidence in Britain unknown in any member’s lifetime.

He stood his
full height and stared down belligerently at the Government benches.

“Mr. Speaker,”
he began, “I can’t think
. .

“Then don’t
bother to speak,” someone shouted from the Labour benches.

Laughter broke
out as Charles tried to compose himself, cursing his initial overconfidence. He
began again.

“I can’t
imagine...”

“No imagination
either,” came another voice.
“Typical Tory.”

“. . .
why
this subject was ever put before the House.”

“Certainty not for you to give us a lesson in public speaking.”

“Order,”
growled the Speaker, but it was too late.

The: House was
lost, and Charles stumbled through thirty minutes of embarrassment until no one
but the Speaker was listening to a word he said. Several frontbench Ministers
had their feet up on the table and their eyes closed. Backbenchers sat
chattering among themselves waiting for the ten o’clock vote: the ultimate
humiliation the House affords to its worst debaters. The Speaker had to call
for order several times during Charles’s speech, once rising to rebuke noisy
members, “The House does its reputation no service by behaving in this way.”
But his plea fell on deaf ears as the conversations continued. At nine-thirty
Charles sat down in a cold sweat. A few of his own backbenchers managed to
raise
an unconvincing, “Hear, hear.”

When a
Govemment spokesman opened his speech by describing Charles’s offering as among
the most pathetic he had heard in a long political career, he may well have
been exaggerating, but from the expressions on the Tory front benches not many
Opposition members were going to disagree with him.

Elizabeth looked
up and smiled as her husband came into the room. “I’ve delivered over a
thousand children in the past five years, but none have given me the thrill
this one did. I thought you’d like to know mother and child are doing well.”

Simon took
Elizabeth in his arms. “How long do I have to wait to learn the truth?”

“It’s a boy,”
she said.

“Congratulations,
darling,” said Simon.

“I’m so proud
of you.” He pushed her hair back tenderly. “So it’s to be Peter, not Lucy.”

“Certainly hope
so, that is if you don’t want the poor little blighter teased all his life.”

A mirse joined
them holding a small child almost swamped in a little sheet and blanket. Simon
took his son in his arms and stared into the large blue eyes.

“He looks like
a future Prime Minister to me.’

“Gocd heavens,
no,” said Elizabeth. “He looks far too intelligent to consider anything as
silly as that.” She put her arms out at full stretch and Simon reluctantly
released his son into the care of his mother.

Simon sat on
the end of the bed admiring his wife and firstbom, as Elizabeth prepared to
feed him.

“Perhaps it
will be possible for you to take a break for a
while.,
You deserve a holiday.”

“Not a chance,”
said Elizabeth, as she watched her son close his eyes.

“I’m back on
duty roster next week. Don’t forget we still need my income while they pay
members of Parliament such a pittance.”

Simon didn’t
reply. He realized that if he was ever going to convince his wife to slow down,
he would have to take a more gentle approach.

“Peter and I
think you’re wonderful,” said Simon.

Elizabeth
looked down at her child. “I don’t think Peter’s sure yet, but at least he’s
sleeping on it.”

The decision
was finally made by the inner Cabinet of twelve on Thursday, November 16, 1967.
By Friday every bank clerk in Tokyo was privy to the inner Cabinet’s closest
secret, and by the time the Prime Minister made tile announcement official on
Saturday afternoon, the Bank of England had lost 600 million dollars of
reserves on the foreign-exchange market.

At the time of
the Prime Minister’s statement, Raymond was in Leeds conducting his
twice-monthly constituency office hours. He was in the process of explaining
the new housing bill to a young married couple when Fred Padgett, his campaign
manager, burst into the room.

“Raymond, sorry
to interrupt you, but I thought you’d want to know immediately. Number Ten has
just announced that the pound has been devalued from $2.80 to $2.40.”

The sitting
member was momentarily stunned, the local housing problem driven from his mind.
He stared blankly across the table at the two constituents who had come to seek
his advice.

“Will you
please excuse me for a moment, Mr. Higginbottom?” Raymond asked courteously. “I
must make a phone call.”

The moment
turned out to be fifteen minutes, in which time Raymond had made contact with a
senior civil servant from the Treasury and had all the details confirmed. He
called Joyce and told her not to answer the phone until he arrived back home.
It was several minutes until he was composed enough to open his office door.

“How many
people are still waiting to see me, Fred?” he asked.

“After the
Higginbottoms there’s only the mad major, still convinced that Martians are
about to land on the roof of Leeds Town Hall.”

“Why would they
want to come to Leeds first?” asked Raymond, trying to hide his growing anxiety
with false humor.

“Once they’ve
captured Yorkshire, the rest would be easy.”

“Hard to find fault with that argument.

Nevertheless,
tell the major I’m deeply concerned but I need to study his claim in more
detail and to seek further advice from the Ministry of Defense. Make an
appointment for him to see me during my next office hours, and by then I should
have a strategic plan ready.”

Fred Padgett grinned.
“That will give him something to tellhis friends about for at least two weeks.”

Raymond
returned to Mr. and Mrs. Higginbottom and assured them he would have their
housing problem sorted out within a few days. He made a note on his file to
ring the Leeds borough housing officer.

“What an
afternoon,” exclaimed Raymond after the door had closed behind them. “One
wife-beating, one electricity turned off by the Electricity Board with four
children under ten in the house, one pollution of the Aire River, one appalling
housing problem, never forgetting the mad major and his imminent Martians.
And now the devaluation news.”

“How can you
remain so calm under the circumstances?” Fred Padgett asked.

“Because I
can’t afford to let anyone know how I really feel.”

After his
office hours Raymond would normally have gone around to the local pub for a
pint and an obligatory chat with the locals, which would give him a chance to
catch up on what had been happening in Leeds during the past few weeks. But on
this occasion he bypassed the pub and returned quickly to his parents’ home.

Joyce told him
the phone had rung so often that she had finally taken it off the hook without
letting his mother know the real reason.

“Very
sensible,” said Raymond.

“What are you
going to do?” she asked.

“I shall
resign, of course.”

“Whi do that,
Raymond? It will only harm your Y career.”

“You may turn
out to be right, but that won’t stop me.

“But you’re
only just beginning to get on top of your work.”

“Joyce, without
trying to sound pompous, I know I have many failings, but I’m not a coward, and
I’m certainly not so self-seeking as totally to desert any principles I might
have.”

“You know,
youjust sounded Re a man who believes he’s destined to become Prime Minister.”

“A moment ago
you said it would harm my chances. Make up your mind.”

“I have,” she
said.

Raymond smiled
wanly before retreating to his study to compose a short handwritten letter,

Saturday, November 18, 1967

Dear Prime Minister,

After your announcement this afternoon on devaluation and the stand I
have continually taken on the issue I am left with no choice but to resign my
position as Under Secretary of State for Employment. I’ would like to thank you
for having given me the opportunity to serve in your administration.

Be assured that I shall continue to support the Government on all other
issues from the backbenches.

Yours,

RAYMOND GOULD

When the red
box arrived at the house that Saturday night, Raymond instructed the messenger
to deliver the letter to Number 10 immediately.