'Shame!' cried a voice within the audience, and they laughed nostalgically about the cosy days of Fleet Street and El Vino's wine bar, and the prolonged printers' strikes and disputes which allowed them weeks or even months off to write books or build boats and dream dreams while still on full pay. But they all recognised the inescapable truth in what Landless was saying.
In ten years' time more and more people will be demanding information twenty-four hours a day, from all parts of the world. Fewer and fewer of them will be getting that information from newspapers which arrive hours after the news has occurred and which covers them in filthy printing ink. If we are to survive in business we must no longer think of ourselves as parochial newspaper men, but as suppliers of information on a worldwide basis. So our new group, "TEN", will not just be a traditional newspaper business but will be grown into the world's leading supplier of information to business and homes around the world, whether they want that information printed, televised, computerised or sung by canaries. And to do that we .need the size, the muscle and the resources which only a large group such as "TEN" can provide.'
He gestured generously towards the questioner.
'And as you so rightly point out, we also need the
Government's permission. So the Government have a choice. They can take the narrow view, prohibit the merger and preside over the decline of the British newspaper industry, which will be dead within ten years as the Americans, Japanese and even Australians take over. Or they can be responsible and visionary, and care about the jobs which exist and which can be created in the industry, and think not about narrow British competition but about the much broader international competition which we need to take on and beat if we are to survive. If they do that, they will allow us to build the biggest and finest information service in the world, based right here in Britain
’
A blitz of flash guns greeted him as he sat back in his chair, the carefully rehearsed appeal finished while the journalists who still took shorthand scribbled furiously to catch up with him. The questioner turned to his neighbour.
'What do you think? Will he get away with it?'
If I know our Ben, he won't be relying just on industrial logic or compelling rhetoric. He will have prepared the ground very carefully beforehand. We'll soon see how many politicians owe him favours.'
The answer seemed to be that many politicians owed Landless, at least on the Government side. With nominations closing the following day and the first ballot due in just a week, few contenders seemed willing to risk antagonising the combined might of the Telegraph and United groups and their substantial number of national newspapers. Within hours the endorsements for Landless grew into a stampede of support amongst contenders as they struggled not to be left behind in finding airtime to praise his 'enlightened and patriotic industrial leadership'. By teatime, Landless was well pleased with his day's work and the careful planning which had gone into it. Once again, it seemed that his sense of riming and understanding of politicians had been just right. The
Independent
could not resist the temptation to have a dig at the proceedings. 'The Landless announcement burst like a grenade in the middle of the leadership race -which presumably was his intention. The sight of so many senior politicians falling over themselves to kiss his hand was reminiscent of Tammany Hall at its worst. It is salutary to reflect that these very same politicians, just a few months ago at the time when Landless bought out Telegraph Newspapers, were insisting that he sign a public declaration of non-interference with the editorial policies of his newspapers. Only on the basis of that solemn and binding undertaking did they allow the purchase to proceed. Today, in their craven attempts to placate Landless, they are acting as if they automatically assume that alongside his personal support goes the editorial support of his many newspapers. They seem to prefer to swim with sharks rather than honour their own undertakings.'
Not all the aspirants joined the stampede, however. Samuel was cautious and noncommittal - he had too many knife wounds in his back from the previous weeks to wish to stick his head above the parapet yet again, and he said he wished to consult the workforce of the two groups before reaching his decision. Immediately the union representatives issued their vigorous denunciation of the scheme. They had noted that there were no guarantees about job security in the published document, and they had plenty of experience of Landless's quite ruthless 'industrial rationalisation programmes'. In a careless moment Landless had once joked that he had fired 10,000
people for every million he had made, and he was an exceedingly wealthy man. Samuel realised after his brief consultation with the unions that it would be absurd in the face of their public opposition for him now to endorse the deal, so sought refuge in silence.
Urquhart also stood out from the crowd. Within an hour of the announcement he was on television and radio giving a thoroughly polished and well informed analysis of the global information market and its likely trends, all of which seemed to support the Landless proposal. His technical expertise far outshone his rivals, yet he was cautious.
'While I have the highest respect for Benjamin Landless I think it would be wrong of me to jump to immediate conclusions before I have had an opportunity to consider all the details of the proposal. I think politicians should be careful; it gives politics a bad name if they are perceived as dashing around trying to buy the support of the editorial columns. So to avoid any possible misinterpretation, I shall not be announcing my own views until the leadership contest is over. By which time, of course,' he said modestly, 'they may be of no interest anyway.'
If only all his colleagues could have taken the dignified and principled stand of the Chief Whip', praised the
Independent
,
U
rquhart is establishing a statesmanlike tone for his campaign which marks him out from the pack and will certainly improve his chances.'
Other editorials echoed the line, not least of all the
Telegraph.
We encouraged Francis Urquhart to stand for the leadership because of our respect for his independence of mind and his integrity. We were delighted when he accepted the challenge, and we are still convinced that our recommendation was correct. His refusal to rush to judgement over the Telegraph-United newspaper merger and his determination to consider his views carefully is no less than we would expect from someone with the qualities to lead this country.
We still hope and believe that after due deliberation he will wholeheartedly endorse the merger plans, but our judgement of Urquhart is based on much more than commercial interest. He is the only candidate who so far has demonstrated that he is also a man of principle.
There was the sound around the corridors of Westminster of doors being slammed shut in frustration as ambitious politicians realised that Urquhart had once again stolen a march on them.
How the heck does that fart-artist do it?' barked Woolton, discarding any vestige of diplomatic restraint.
In a Mayfair penthouse overlooking Hyde Park, Landless and Urquhart smiled serenely and toasted each other's health and good fortune as they reviewed the success of each other's campaign.
To the next Prime Minister
’
saluted Landless.
'And to his impartial endorsement of the merger
’
responded his companion.
THURSDAY 18
th
NOVEMBER
When nominations closed at noon on Thursday, the only surprise was the last minute withdrawal of Peter Bearstead, who had been the first to announce his intention to stand.
I've done what I set out to do, which was to get a proper election going,' he announced punchily. I'm not going to win and I don't want a consolation prize of a Ministerial job, so now let the others get on with it.'
He immediately signed up with the
Daily Express
to write personal and indiscreet profiles of the candidates for the duration of the campaign.
That left nine declared candidates, an unprecedentedly large field. However, the general view was that only five of them were in with a serious chance - Samuel, Woolton, Earle, McKenzie and Urquhart. With a completed list of contestants, pollsters redoubled their efforts to contact Government MPs and decipher which way the tide was running.
The starter's flag had now officially fallen, and Peter McKenzie was determined to make an immediate showing. The Secretary of State for Health was a frustrated man. Having been in charge of the health service for more than five years, he had hoped as ardently as Urquhart for a new challenge and new responsibility after the June general election. The long years in charge of an unresponsive bureaucracy, watching almost helplessly as the remorselessly expensive progress of medical science grew faster than the taxpayers' ability or willingness to keep pace, had left him deeply scarred. A few years previously he had been regarded as the rising star of the Party, the man who could combine a tough intellectual approach with an obvious deep sense of caring, and many said he would go all the way. But the health service had been utterly unresponsive to his attempts to reform and improve it, and his repeated encounters with picket lines of protesting nurses and ambulance men had left his image as a man of conscience and humanity in tatters. The postponement of his much touted hospital expansion plan had been the last straw. He had become deeply dispirited, and had talked with his wife about quitting politics at the next election if his lot did not improve.
He greeted Collingridge's downfall like a drowning man discovers a life raft. It was the only thing that mattered to him, and drew all his concentration and effort. Of course he had made mistakes during the initial stages of the campaign, as had most of his rivals, but he entered the final five days before the first ballot full of enthusiasm and energy. He had planned from the start to make an impact on Nomination Day itself, determined to get his head above the crowd. So he had asked his staff to find a suitable visit for him to make which would provide some powerful photo-opportunities for the cameramen and a chance to revive his tarnished image as a humane and caring politician.
But no hospitals, he instructed He had spent the first three years in the Ministry visiting hospitals and trying to learn about patient care, only to be met on bad days by massed picket lines of boisterous nurses complaining about pay and on worse days by violent demonstrations from ancillary staff protesting about 'savage cuts'. Even the doctors seemed to have embraced the philosophy that health budgets were now set by the level of noise rather than the level of need. He almost never got to see the patients, and even when he tried to sneak into a hospital by a side or back entrance, the demonstrators always seemed to know beforehand precisely where he would be, ready to throw their personal and deeply hurtful abuse at him just when the television camera crews had arrived. No Minister had ever found an effective way of dealing with protesting nurses; the public will always side with the angels of mercy, leaving the politician in the role of perpetual villain. So McKenzie had simply stopped visiting hospitals. Rather than running an inevitable and image-denting gauntlet of abuse, he opted out and stuck to safer venues.
Just a couple of hours after nominations closed, the Secretary of State's car was approaching the Humanifit Laboratories just off the M4 where he would spend a couple of hours in front of cameras opening the new factory and examining the wide range of equipment which they manufactured for handicapped people. They had just developed a revolutionary new wheelchair which would operate to the voice commands of paraplegic patients unable to move their limbs. The combination of new British technology and enhanced care for the disabled was just what he had hoped his office would find for him, and he was looking forward to his afternoon and the media coverage it would generate.
McKenzie had been careful, however, not taking the success of the visit for granted. He had been ambushed by protesters too many times to take chances that the television camera crews would bring a demonstration with them in order to enhance the vividness of their pictures. 'One good demo is worth a thousand new factory openings to us
’
a friendly television executive had once advised him, and he had taken care to ensure that the media had been informed only three hours before his impending arrival, soon enough to get their camera crews there, but not sufficient time for anyone to arrange a welcoming demonstration. Yes, he thought as the factory came into view, his office had been very efficient and he had been sensibly cautious. It should all work very well.
Unfortunately for McKenzie, his office had been too efficient. Governments need to know where their Ministers and supporters are at all times, in case of emergency or in case of a sudden vote in the House of Commons for which they will need to be called in at short notice. And the office accorded the responsibility for mamtaining and updating the information on the whereabouts of Ministers is, of course, that of the Chief Whip. On the previous Friday, following her standing instructions to the letter, Mc-Kenzie's diary secretary had sent a full list of his forth-corning week's engagements over to Urquhart's office in 12 Downing Street. Thereafter, one telephone call was all it took.
As they drove the last few hundred yards down the country road to the factory's green-field site, McKenzie combed his hair and prepared himself for the cameras. They drew alongside the red brick wall which curved around the site and, as the Minister in the rear seat made sure his tie was straight, the car swept in through the front gates.