Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

Despite being a minister Andrew could only get a small room at Blackpool in a guest house masquerading as a hotel, and that some two miles from the conference center. Such were the problems created by 4,000 self-important people converging on a seaside resort for a week that many had to forgo the Presidential Suite.

Andrew still had to carry on his job as Minister of State, with red boxes being delivered and taken every morning and afternoon, while making his presence felt at the conference. He spent half his time on a phone in the hotel lobby putting through transfer-charge calls to the Home Office. No one in the Soviet Union would have believed it, especially if they had realized that the Minister of State for Defense, who had the room next to Andrew’s, was pacing up and down the corridor waiting for the phone to be free.

Andrew had never addressed the 3,000 delegates at a party conference. Even Cabinet ministers are only allowed a maximum of ten minutes at the rostrum unless they are members of the National Executive. Over half the Labour Cabinet had failed to be elected to this body, which consisted mainly of the leaders of the larger trade unions.

As he left the morning session Andrew was surprised to find Raymond Gould roaming around looking lost. They fell on each other like sane men locked in an asylum and decided to lunch together at the River House, Andrew’s favorite restaurant a few miles outside of Blackpool.

Although they had both been in the House for nearly ten years it was the first time they discovered how much they had in common. Andrew had never considered himself a close friend of Raymond’s but he had always admired his stand on devaluation.

“You must have been disappointed when the PM didn’t ask you to rejoin the Government,” Andrew began.

Raymond stared down at the menu. “Very,” he finally admitted, as a girl joined them in the bar to take their order.

“Nevertheless, you were wise to come to Blackpool. This is where your strength lies.”

“Come on. Everybody knows you’re the trade unions’ pinup boy, and they still have a lot of influence as to who sits in the Cabinet.”

“I haven’t noticed,” said Raymond mournfully.

“You will when they eventually choose the leader.”

“That’s funny, that’s exactly what... Joyce said last week.”

“Sensible girl, Joyce, I fear it will happen in our time as members.”

Bill Scott, the proprietor, told them their table was ready and they went through to the small dining room.

“Why fear?” asked Raymond, as he took his seat.

“Middle-of-the-road democrats like myself will end up as so many leaves on a bonfire.”

“But I’m middle-of-the-road myself, practically right wing on some issues.”

“Perhaps. But every party needs a man like you, and at this moment union leaders wouldn’t mind if you were a card-carrying Fascist; they’d still back you.”

“Then what makes you attend the conference?”

“thank God it still gives one a chance to keep in touch with the grass roots, and I live in hope that the extreme left will never be much more than an unruly child that the grown-ups have to learn to live with.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” said Raymond, “because they’re never going to grow up.” Andrew laughed as Raymond continued in a different mood. “I still envy you your job at the Home Office. I didn’t go into politics to spend my life on the back benches.”

“There may well come a day when I sit and envy you from those same back benches,” said Andrew.

As he spoke, the chairman of the Boilermakers’ Union shouted across as he passed their table, “Good to see you, Ray.” He showed no recognition of Andrew. Raymond turned and smiled at the man and waved back as Caesar might have done to Cassius.

When they had both rejected the choice of date and walnut pudding or Pavlova, Andrew suggested a brandy.

Raymond hesitated.

“You’ll see more double brandies drunk here than you will at the Conservative party conference next week. Ask any waitress.”

“Have you decided how you’re going to vote in the leadership battle?” asked Fiona over breakfast.

“Yes,” said Charles, “and at this point in my career I can’t afford to make the wrong choice.”

“So who have you decided on?” asked Fiona.

“While there isn’t a serious contender to oppose Ted Heath it remains in my best interest to continue backing him.”

“Isn’t there one Shadow Cabinet minister who has the guts to stand against him?”

“The rumor grows that Margaret Thatcher will act as whipping girl. If she gets close enough to force a second ballot the serious contenders will then join in.”

“What if she won the first round?”

“Don’t be silly, Fiona,” said Charles, taking more interest in his scrambled egg. “The Tory party would never elect a woman to lead them. We’re far too traditional. That’s the sort of immature mistake the Labour party would make to prove how much they believe in equality.”

Simon was still pushing Margaret Thatcher to throw her hat in the ring.

“She certainly has enough of them,” said Elizabeth.

It amused Andrew and Raymond to watch the Tory party leadership struggle while they got on with their respective jobs. Raymond would have dismissed Thatcher’s chances if Kate hadn’t reminded him that the Tories had been the first party to choose a Jewish leader, and also the first to select a bachelor.

“So why shouldn’t they be the first to elect a woman?” she demanded. He would have continued to argue with her but the damn woman had proved to be right so often in the past. “Let’s wait and see,” was all he said.

The 1922 Committee announced that the election for leader would take place on 4 February 1975.

At a press conference in early January at the House of Commons Margaret Thatcher announced she would allow her name to go forward to contest the leadership. Simon immediately spent his time exhorting his colleagues to support “The Lady” and joined a small committee under Airey Neave that was formed for the purpose. Charles Seymour warned his friends that the party could never hope to win a general election with a woman leading them. As the days passed, nothing became clearer than the uncertainty of the outcome.

At four o’clock on a particularly wet and windy day the chairman of the 1922 Committee announced the figures:

Margaret Thatcher 130

Edward Heath 119

Hugh Fraser 16

According to the 1922 Committee rules, the winner needed a fifteen percent majority and so a second round was necessary. “It will be held in seven days’ time,” the Chief Whip announced. Three former Cabinet ministers immediately declared they were candidates, while Ted Heath, having been warned that he would get fewer votes a second time round, withdrew from the ballot.

They were the longest days in Simon’s life. He did everything in his power to hold Thatcher’s supporters together. Charles meanwhile decided to play the second round very low-key. When the time came to vote he put his cross on the ballot paper next to the former Secretary of State he had served under at Trade and Industry. “A man we can all trust,” he told Fiona.

When the votes had been counted and confirmed the chairman of the 1922 Committee announced that Margaret Thatcher was the outright winner with a vote of 146 to 79 from her nearest challenger.

Simon was delighted while Elizabeth hoped he had forgotten about the promise to eat her hat. Charles was dumbfounded. They both wrote to their new leader immediately.

11 February 1975

Dear Margaret,

Many congratulations on your victory as the first woman leader of our party. I was proud to have played a small part in your triumph and will continue to work for your success at the next election.