Thinking of Margaret Thatcher

Lord Alistair McAlpine, businessman, collector and adventurer became a life peer in 1984. After Margaret Thatcher became leader of the UK Conservatives and opposition leader in 1975, she enlisted McAlpine as a party fundraiser and key party organiser. Alistair McAlpine has close ties to Australia, having once had business interests in Broome and elsewhere. During a return visit Down Under, Alistair McAlpine addressed The Sydney Institute Wednesday 14 March 2012 and recalled his years working with Margaret Thatcher as treasurer and deputy chairman of the Conservative Party. This is an edited transcript of Lord McAlpine’s address

THINKING OF MARGARET THATCHER

ALISTAIR MCALPINE

When we talk about Margaret Thatcher, it’s essential first of all to get through a little background information. Margaret Thatcher came from a poor family in Grantham. The family’s single lavatory was at the bottom of the garden. But she did get to Oxford where she gained a degree in Chemistry. She then went on to practise as a food chemist, worked for J Lyons & Co, worked on Mr Whippy Ice cream, which everybody loves, but it was a big money maker at the time. She became pregnant with twins and so she decided to change her career and studied law. She went on to become a leading tax barrister. Her speciality was pensions where she worked with and against the government on pension legislation. From that you can gather that Margaret had a considerable brain, has a considerable brain. It’s very hard not to speak about Margaret Thatcher in the past tense because she is no longer on the scene, but she is very much alive.

Margaret Thatcher stood for parliament; at the time there were twelve other females in parliament and about 800 men, so it was a pretty tough life going into parliament at that time. But Margaret Thatcher was a tough person. She rose to cabinet rank, much to the dislike of Edward Heath who was the Prime Minister. Heath couldn’t stand her because she always asked questions and told him where he was wrong. That wasn’t what you did with prime ministers in the early 1970s. But Edward Heath got the gloves on with the trade unions and lost an election and Labour’s Harold Wilson took over. There was another election, and Edward Heath lost a second time. And there was a leadership election in the Conservative Party – in February 1975.

Keith Joseph who stood out as a thinker, an intellect, didn’t want to stand for family reasons but he sponsored Margaret Thatcher. She was also supported by Airey Neave who had been in same chambers as her and had been a friend for many years. Much to everybody’s surprise, Thatcher won the leadership election. But it wasn’t something that happened by accident. The person who helped most was Gordon Reece who had been a constituency chairman. Reece had worked in television, produced songs and the ITN News – he was one of the first producers of news. He’d worked on the Daily Express with Sir John Junor, he’d worked in television and he had also worked on Emergency Ward 10 as producer. He knew about soap. Reece told Margaret Thatcher that she could not beat Edward Heath and Willie Whitelaw in a straight race. Instead she had to go straight to the electorate. If she talked to the electorate and if a member of parliament went back to their constituencies to a deluge of letters saying that woman Margaret Thatcher was something, then she would be noticed. That’s how it happened.

Gordon Reece had Margaret Thatcher filmed doing the washing up at home. She did do the washing up at her home. Willie Whitelaw, who was ex Winchester and Oxford, had never washed up in his life. He came from a family who owned coalmines in the north of England, a very nice man in fact. Margaret Thatcher, as an example of her sense of humour, said once much later in all seriousness, “Everybody needs a Willie.” And he was indispensable once she became Prime Minister. But he as no competition at washing up and she won the leadership.

Gordon Reece was crucial for Thatcher in those early years. She won the election as the leader of the Conservative Party, and became leader of the opposition. He advised her that her voice was difficult; how women speaking, when they get excited or angry, the voice shoots up in the air and becomes very aggressive for radio or television. Thatcher needed a voice fix, and the question was who to ask. There was only one person to ask: Sir Lawrence Olivier, and he recommended a very good voice coach. Her voice changed and things got better. Now, we went through a very rough opposition, all the traditional, Conservative donors were fed up with Ted Heath and the Conservative Party. And they were very uncertain about a female leader. The two treasurers of the party resigned.

I had returned from China and by chance happened to be at dinner with Thatcher. The next day, I got a call – would I go round and see Airey Neave’s wife. Airey Neave’s wife Diana was a considerable woman. And she was a very proud woman. I had a cup of tea with her and we talked about treasurers for the party. I recommended at least half a dozen people who would do a good job as treasurer of the Conservative Party.

Later I got a call from Thatcher’s secretary. Could I see her on Monday, 11 o’clock? So I went round to Flood Street, rang the doorbell and Margaret opened the door while talking on the telephone – one of those big, black telephones with a twisted wire which she was stretching right across the hall. She told me to go on upstairs. So I went upstairs. She soon followed greeting me with, “Hello Alistair, what would you like to drink?” When I hesitated (it was about 11.15am) she protested, “No, no, no, we must have a drink.” So I accepted a gin and tonic and her next words were, “I’m so glad you’re going to take the job.” So I just listened until it occurred to me that I’d got the job as treasurer of the Conservative Party. I was to come back on Wednesday to be introduced at Conservative central office and get started.

On Wednesday, as we were about to set off in my car which was a Mercedes with a driver, she said “Get rid of that, it’s not a British car.” So I said to the driver, “Get me a Jaguar and meet me at 32 Smith Square as soon as possible.” Meanwhile we got in the old Rover, which the leader of the opposition used to have in those days, and we went off to Smith Square. On the way there, Thatcher informed that the two treasurers had withdrawn their resignations when they heard I was to be appointed. I was 32 years old. A 32-year old treasurer of the Conservative Party was unheard of. But on we went. In the street, walking along, I put my hand in my pocket. Margaret said immediately, “Take your hand out of your pocket” just as a photographer from the Daily Telegraph took a shot. It looked as though we were holding hands. Inside Party headquarters, she introduced me to the two former party treasurers and left.

Over six months I managed to get it sorted out. But the interesting thing is that, when I started just one photographer turned up to photograph her; four years later, in 1979 when we were fighting the campaign, 700 journalists wanted to attend her press conferences. Every known newspaper in the world wanted to take a photograph of this phenomenon. The country disintegrated during those years of opposition.

After Harold Wilson left, James Callaghan took over. Callaghan was going to have an election in 1978, but Peter Thorneycroft, who was the chairman for the Conservative Party, decided to run a political advertising campaign over August. No one usually does anything like that because everyone’s on holiday in August, no one’s looking at anything. The campaign was called Labour isn’t working and it caught the imagination, headlines in every newspaper. We had no money for it and later on I had to explain to the organisers why they weren’t going to get paid till after we took government. They had no option but to wait. But the campaign worked. It frightened Callaghan off a 1978 election – a date where he would have won. And the winter of 1978/79 was the winter of discontent. You couldn’t bury your relatives, the grave diggers were on strike, the miners were on strike, everybody was on strike, the lights were going out, the Times newspaper went on strike, there was mayhem. Britain really was a demoralised, deflated, sad – a, sad, sad country.

In the early part of April 1979, there were votes of confidence. With the first vote of confidence for the Labour Party, one of their members voted twice.  Margaret Thatcher was faced with the question of what she would do about it? I was sitting in her office when this was being discussed. She decided to let it pass. In those days when there was a vote of confidence members of parliament would be brought in from anywhere – even if they were sick if they were in the House. They were allowed to be bussed through, even though they didn’t actually physically walk through the lobby. On one occasion two Irish MPs had turned up. Labour felt certain about their votes since they had come into the House. But they didn’t vote. And afterwards when they were asked why, they said, “Because we came to abstain in person.”

The government fell and we were into an election campaign. Just before the campaign started, because there’s always been a rub-up, I was in Smith Square and there was a hell of an explosion. Airey Neave had been assassinated inside the precincts of parliament. He got in his car and drove in up the ramp and it exploded. In the film The Iron Lady, Margaret Thatcher is cast as being in the car park. But she wasn’t in the car park, and her detectives would never have let her run anywhere near an exploded car. In any case, there would have been nothing anyone could do. Airey Neave was dead. I attended his funeral later that week with Margaret Thatcher, an English affair in a village church packed to the rims. The new Secretary of State for Northern Ireland came with the Labour Party minister in an armour plated car. Margaret Thatcher came in the old Rover. There was something very beautiful about that funeral, but you could smell blood in the air. It was obvious that there had been a sea change in politics. Nobody mentioned it, none of us mentioned it to each other, but you knew it was there. I drove back with Thatcher to London and the campaign started.

The campaign had ups and downs. Campaigns always do. But Margaret Thatcher was a very good campaigner. She took infinite trouble with the electorate and we won. She became Prime Minister. The first Sunday after the election, I had a telephone call to say would I take on the job as deputy chairman of the Party as well as treasurer. I was, at this stage, sole treasurer so I controlled all money in and all money out. If I’d known how powerful I was it would have been wonderful for me, but it never occurred to me. I drove Peter Thorneycroft, the chairman, down to Chequers for lunch that Sunday. On the way he asked if I knew what our job was and I told him it was to win elections. “No, no,” he said, “We have a much more serious task than that. We have to force the Labour Party to become electable. We have to manoeuver them into position where they’re saying sensible things, doing sensible things, reforming themselves so that they can be an alternative government.” He was very wise. And some people think we overdid it a bit.

But we got to lunch at Chequers. It was Chequers weather; for some reason in the Chequers Valley it is often filled with sun and light. It was a lovely day. The new Cabinet had just been appointed, sitting round those big tables, the Prime Minister, Lord Chancellor on her right, Chancellor of the Exchequer on her left. I was a couple of places down on the table.

We were having lunch. The waitresses were girls from the RAF. The food was terrible. They had big silver trays of cutlets covered in brown sauce. One waitress came along to serve Margaret Thatcher. But, as she pulled away, the tray tilted and she put all the cutlets in the lap of Geoffrey Howe, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Now, even though history moved on a long way over the next 10-12 years, I don’t think Geoffrey Howe ever forgave her. The girl was in floods of tears; she had gravy all over her uniform. But Margaret Thatcher ignored the Chancellor, jumped up, comforted the waitress and wiped down the gravy. It was extraordinary. And life went on much as before for everybody else around the table.

That afternoon, while the Cabinet members were all seated in the garden in the sunshine, Thatcher would take one person at a time and walk up and down amongst the roses having a conversation with them. You could see all other members of Cabinet, who had been appointed a couple of days before, thinking: What she is saying to that one? It was a wonderful political scene.

Time went on. The miners wanted an increase. Thatcher was a tough Prime Minister but she gave them the money. People said she capitulated, but Margaret Thatcher knew that if the miners blocked the pithead, you couldn’t get the coal to the power stations. So, all summer, coal was taken in vast quantities to the power stations and if you flew, as I did on occasion across England in a helicopter or across Britain in a helicopter, you would see enormous black mountains beside the power stations. So, come winter, when the miners said they wanted more money there were stockpiles – and there was no giving in. And Thatcher won the miners’ strike. Part of her success was that she was determined to reform the unions. I remember seeing her in the Cabinet Room with papers all over the table. I said Prime Minister: “You look pretty sad.” She replied that she had been defeated in Cabinet on her trade union legislation. I told her she would prevail eventually. She said, “Alistair being prime minister is not just a job. I’ve worked very hard to get this position. I want to do things, I want to change things, and I want to improve things.”

Many years later, when she came back from having given her seals of office to the Queen after her resignation, she came into my house in Great College Street, opposite Parliament. I asked her if she would like a cup of tea and I called her Margaret rather than Prime Minister. She said she would love one. While my chap was making tea, I asked her what was it really like to be Prime Minister. She thought for a moment and said, “Alistair, every day you’re faced with a large number of alternatives none of which are truly congenial to you.” I have reflected many times since then, that Tony Blair must have thought the same. Certainly Gordon Brown thought the same. In time, no doubt David Cameron will be thinking the same. A PM’s scope for action is limited by so many obstacles. One needs that toughness be able to force the thing through. And Thatcher was very good at that.

The Falklands War came and went, and – much to the surprise of many – it was a great success. We won, and got the Falklands back, with comparatively few people killed. It set us off for the next election campaign, which we won handsomely. But it dominated the political scene for one reason: British territory had been invaded. Thatcher took that very badly, that any number of Britons, however small, should be so violated.

Margaret Thatcher was very sharp. I quoted a saying from the only Communist MP we ever had, a Scotsman who had a good way with words. He would say, if you can’t ride two horses at once you shouldn’t be in the bloody circus. I always thought that was a great saying, so I said this to Margaret Thatcher. She looked at me and said, “Alistair it’s quite a trick if they’re going in opposite directions.” Very early on, I learnt not to try to be smart with this woman.

On one occasion, Thatcher sat me down and asked about Central Office – what we should do to change it and make things better? I felt the sweat running down my spine, cold sweat. I wasn’t up to such questions. So I fluffed my way through, and she knew that. But I was very new so she was kind to me. But I never did it again. Whenever I went to see her after that, I was very carefully prepared. Margaret Thatcher was not only a meritocrat where she believed if you could do the job, you should have the job. She also believed in the power of argument. She would argue with you and argue with you. She believed in the power of argument and if you were wrong you just backed off.

Once the chairman of a big British bank was at a small businessmen’s lunch which I attended opined that banks should not be open on a Saturday. Margaret Thatcher countered by saying she disagreed. To her, Saturday was the only day a husband and wife could conveniently visit a bank manager together. The bank manager put up a great defence for only working five days a week. Thatcher looked at him and said, “Nurses work on Saturdays, postmen work on Saturdays, policemen work on Saturdays, what’s more I work on a Saturday.” She was very, very formidable.

At a dinner at Chequers just before she lost the leadership. Party chairman Kenneth Baker announced that Thatcher had the numbers to win. Afterwards she said to me, “Alistair, that’s what they told Ted Heath.” She knew the writing was on the wall. I said, “You’re off to Paris tomorrow, why don’t you stay and fight this?” She said, “Alistair I’ve led this party for 15 years and if they don’t want me now, I’m not prepared to plead with them.” She was going to Paris, she said, because it was the final stages of the collapse of communism. There were things to be signed and dealt with in Europe. She went to Paris, and she missed a majority in the Conservative Party ballot by two votes.

People have said that Margaret Thatcher was perhaps beaten by the IRA because, a few weeks before, Conservative MP Ian Gow, a close friend of mine and then a junior minister, had been murdered by the IRA. If he’d been there for the party vote, he would have undoubtedly supported her and it would have been a draw.

The one thing The Iron Lady depicts brilliantly is the scene of Margaret Thatcher leaving Downing Street, where all the staff were lined up and many of the women, young girls who were secretaries, were crying, and many of the men were crying too. It was a very emotional scene. Margaret went straight from that into the press mob. When she got into the car there were tears in her eyes. People thought she was crying through anger or loss of office. But she was crying because of the emotion that had been created inside Number 10. She was also, and still is, a very emotional person.