Margaret Thatcher: The Autobiography (123 page)

Cranley Onslow said that he brought no message from the committee that I should stand down – the reverse, if anything, was true; but nor did they wish to convey any message to Michael Heseltine. In effect, with the ballot going ahead and the result uncertain, the ′22 was declaring its neutrality. Cranley gave his own view that the quality of a Heseltine administration would be inferior to one led by me. As for issues, he did not believe that Europe was the main one. Most people were worried about the community charge and he hoped that something substantial could be done about that. I intervened to say that I could not pull rabbits out of a hat in five days. John MacGregor supported me; I could not now credibly promise a radical overhaul of the community charge, no matter how convenient it seemed.

John Wakeham said that the big issue was whether there was a candidate with a better chance of beating Michael Heseltine. He saw no sign of this. Everything, therefore, hung on strengthening my campaign. Both Ken Baker and John Moore gave their views about the people I needed to win over. Ken noted that those who feared I could not win were my strongest supporters – people like Norman Lamont, John Gummer, Michael Howard and Peter Lilley. John Moore stressed that I needed complete commitment from ministers, particularly junior ministers, in order to succeed. Norman Tebbit came in at the end. Like Cranley, he believed that Europe had faded as an issue in the leadership campaign: the only other major policy issue was the community charge where Michael’s promise of action was proving particularly attractive to MPs from the North-West. In spite of this, Norman declared firmly that I could carry more votes against Michael, provided that most of my senior colleagues swung behind me.

I drew the meeting to a close, saying I would reflect on what I had heard. In retrospect, I can see that my resolve had been weakened by these meetings. As yet I was still inclined to fight on. But I felt that the decision would really be made at the meetings with my Cabinet colleagues that evening.

Before then I had to make my statement in the House on the outcome of the Paris summit. Leaving No. 10 I called out to the assembled journalists in Downing Street: ‘I fight on, I fight to win,’ and was interested to see later on the news that I looked a good deal more confident than I felt.

The statement was not an easy occasion, except for the Opposition. People were more interested in my intentions than in my words. Afterwards, I went back to my room in the House where I was met by Norman Tebbit. It was time – perhaps high time – for me to seek support for my leadership personally. Norman and I began to go round the tearoom. I had never experienced such an atmosphere before. Repeatedly I heard: ‘Michael has asked me two or three times for my vote already. This is the first time we have seen you.’ Members whom I had known well for many years seemed to have been bewitched by Michael’s flattery and promises. That at least was my first reaction. Then I realized that many of these were supporters complaining that my campaign did not seem to be really fighting. They were in a kind of despair because we had apparently given up the ghost.

I returned to my room. I now had no illusion as to how bad the position was. If there was to be any hope, I had to put my whole campaign on a new footing even at this late stage.

I therefore asked John Wakeham, who I believed had the authority and knowledge to do this, to take charge. He agreed but said that he needed people to help him: physically, he had never entirely recovered from the Brighton bomb. So he went off to ask Tristan Garel-Jones and Richard Ryder – both of whom had been closely involved in the 1989 leadership campaign – to be his chief lieutenants.

I now saw Douglas Hurd and asked him formally to nominate me for the second ballot. This he agreed to do at once and with good grace. Then I telephoned John Major at home. I told him that I had decided to stand again and that Douglas was going to propose me. I asked John to second my nomination. There was a moment’s silence. The hesitation was palpable. No doubt the operation on John’s wisdom teeth was giving him trouble. Then he said that if that was what I wanted, yes. Later, when urging my supporters to vote for John for the leadership, I made play of the fact that he did not hesitate. But both of us knew otherwise.

I now went to the Palace for an Audience with the Queen at which I informed her that I would stand in the second ballot, as indeed I still intended to do. Then I returned to my room in the House to see the Cabinet one by one.

I could, of course, have concentrated my efforts for the second ballot on winning over the backbenchers directly. But the earlier meetings had persuaded me that it was essential to mobilize Cabinet ministers not just to give formal support, but also to go out and persuade junior ministers
and backbenchers to back me. In asking for their support, however, I was also putting myself at their mercy. If a substantial number of Cabinet colleagues refused their backing, there could be no disguising the fact afterwards. I recalled a complaint from Churchill, then Prime Minister, to his Chief Whip that talk of his resignation in the Parliamentary Party – he would shortly be succeeded by Anthony Eden – was undermining his authority. Without that authority, he could not be an effective Prime Minister. Similarly, a Prime Minister who knows that his or her Cabinet has withheld its support is fatally weakened. I knew – and I am sure they knew – that I would not willingly remain an hour in 10 Downing Street without real authority to govern.

I had already seen Cecil Parkinson after returning from the tearoom. He told me that I should remain in the race, that I could count on his unequivocal support and that it would be a hard struggle but that I could win. Nick Ridley, no longer in the Cabinet but a figure of more than equivalent weight, also assured me of his complete support. Ken Baker had made clear his total commitment to me. The Lord Chancellor and Lord Belstead, Leader of the Lords, were not really significant players in the game. And John Wakeham was my campaign manager. But all the others I would see in my room in the House of Commons.

Over the next two hours or so, each Cabinet minister came in, sat down on the sofa in front of me and gave me his views. Almost to a man they used the same formula. This was that they themselves would back me, but that regretfully they did not believe I could win.

In fact, as I well realized, they had been feverishly discussing what they should say in the rooms off the Commons Cabinet corridor above my room. Like all politicians in a quandary, they had sorted out their ‘line to take’ and they would cling to it through thick and thin. After three or four interviews, I felt I could almost join in the chorus. Whatever the monotony of the song, however, the tone and human reactions of those who came into my room that evening offered dramatic contrasts.

My first ministerial visitor was not a member of the Cabinet at all. Francis Maude, Angus’s son and Minister of State at the Foreign office, whom I regarded as a reliable ally, told me that he passionately supported the things I believed in, that he would back me as long as I went on, but that he did not believe I could win. He left in a state of some distress; nor had he cheered me up noticeably.

Ken Clarke now entered. His manner was robust in the brutalist style he has cultivated: the candid friend. He said that this method of changing
Prime Ministers was farcical, and that he personally would be happy to support me for another five or ten years. Most of the Cabinet, however, thought that I should stand down. Otherwise, not only would I lose; I would ‘lose big’ if that were to happen, the Party would go to Michael Heseltine and end up split. So Douglas and John should be released from their obligation to me and allowed to stand, since either had a better chance than I did. Then the solid part of the Party could get back together. Contrary to persistent rumours, Ken Clarke at no point threatened to resign.

Peter Lilley, obviously ill at ease, came in next. He duly announced that he would support me if I stood but that it was inconceivable that I would win. Michael Heseltine must not be allowed to get the leadership or all my achievements would be threatened. The only way to prevent this was to make way for John Major.

Of course, I had not been optimistic about Ken Clarke and Peter Lilley for quite different reasons. But I had written off my next visitor, Malcolm Rifkind, in advance. After Geoffrey’s departure, Malcolm was probably my sharpest personal critic in the Cabinet and he did not soften his criticism on this occasion. He said bluntly that I could not win, and that either John or Douglas would do better. Still, even Malcolm did not declare against me. When I asked him whether I would have his support if I did stand, he said that he would have to think about it. Indeed, he gave the assurance that he would never campaign against me. Silently, I thanked God for small mercies.

After so much commiseration, it was a relief to talk to Peter Brooke. He was, as always, charming, thoughtful and loyal. He said he would fully support me whatever I chose to do. Being in Northern Ireland, he was not closely in touch with parliamentary opinion and could not himself offer an authoritative view of my prospects. But he believed I could win if I went ahead with all guns blazing. Could I win if all guns did
not
blaze? That was something I was myself beginning to doubt.

My next visitor was Michael Howard, another rising star who shared my convictions. Michael’s version of the Cabinet theme was altogether stronger and more encouraging. Although he doubted my prospects, he himself would not only support me but would campaign vigorously for me.

William Waldegrave, my most recent Cabinet appointment, arrived next. William declared very straightforwardly that it would be dishonourable for someone to accept a place in my Cabinet one week and not
support me three weeks later. He would vote for me as long as I was a candidate. But he had a sense of foreboding about the result. It would be a catastrophe if corporatist policies took over, which, of course, was another way of saying that Michael Heseltine should be held at bay.

At this point I received a note from John Wakeham who wanted an urgent word with me. Apparently, the position was much worse than he had thought. I was not surprised. It was hardly any better from where I was sitting.

John Gummer bounced in next. He reeled off the standard formula that he would support me if I decided to stand, but as a friend he should warn me that I could not win, and so I should move aside and let John and Douglas stand.

John Gummer was followed by Chris Patten. Chris was a man of the Left. So I could hardly complain when he told me that he would support me but that I could not win and so on.

Even melodramas have intervals, even
Macbeth
has the Porter’s scene. I now had a short talk with Alan Clark, Minister of State at the Ministry of Defence, and a gallant friend, who came round to lift my spirits with the encouraging advice that I should fight on at all costs. Unfortunately, he went on to argue that I should fight on even though I was bound to lose because it was better to go out in a blaze of glorious defeat than to go gentle into that good night. Since I had no particular fondness for Wagnerian endings, this lifted my spirits only briefly. But I was glad to have someone unambiguously on my side even in defeat,

By now John Wakeham and Ken Baker had turned up to speak to me, and their news was not good. John said that he now doubted whether I could get the support of the Cabinet. What I had been hearing did not suggest that he was wrong. He added that he had tried to put together a campaign team but was not succeeding even at that. I had realized by now that I was not dealing with Polish Cavalrymen; but I was surprised that neither Tristan Garel-Jones nor Richard Ryder were prepared to serve as John’s lieutenants because they believed I could not win. It was a personal as well as a political blow to learn that Richard, who had come with me to No. 10 all those years ago as my political secretary and whom I had moved up the ladder as quickly as I decently could, was deserting at the first whiff of grapeshot.

Ken Baker went on to report that the position had deteriorated since we had spoken that morning. He had found between ten and twelve members of the Cabinet who did not think I could win. And if they
thought that, there would not be enough enthusiasm to carry the day. Even so he believed that I should carry on. But he floated Tom King’s suggestion – that I should promise to stand down after Christmas if I won. The idea was that this would allow me to see through the Gulf War. I could not accept this: I would have no authority in the meantime and I would need all I could muster for forthcoming battles in the European Community.

After John and Ken had left, Norman Lamont came in and repeated the formula. The position, he said, was beyond repair. Everything we had achieved on industry and Europe would be jeopardized by a victory for Michael Heseltine. Everything but Robertson Hare’s ‘Oh Calamity’.

John MacGregor now appeared and somewhat belatedly gave me the news that I lacked support in the Cabinet which he had felt unable to convey to me earlier in the day. Tom King said the usual things, though more warmly than most. He added a suggestion trailed by Ken Baker that I should offer to stand down at a specific date in the future. I rejected this suggestion, but I was grateful for the diversion.

In all the circumstances, it was a relief to see David Waddington enter and sit down on the sofa. Here was a steadfast friend but, as I quickly saw, one in the deepest distress. David said that he wanted me to win and would support me but could not guarantee a victory. He left my room with tears in his eyes.

The last meeting was with Tony Newton who, though clearly nervous, just about managed to get out the agreed line. He did not think I could win, etc. Nor, by now, did I. John Wakeham came in again and elaborated further on what he had earlier told me. I had lost the Cabinet’s support. I could not even muster a credible campaign team. It was the end.

I was sick at heart. I could have resisted the opposition of opponents and potential rivals and even respected them for it; but what grieved me was desertion of those I had always considered friends and allies and the weasel words whereby they had transmuted their betrayal into frank advice and concern for my fate. I dictated a brief statement of my resignation to be read out at Cabinet the following morning. But I said that I would return to No. 10 to talk to Denis before finally taking my decision.