On the journey back he tried to work out all the consequences of the news he had just been told. As soon as he arrived at Paddington he made his way through the waiting photographers and journalists, answering no questions. A car took him straight to Westminster Hospital. Raymond was shown into a private room, to find the Prime Minister sitting upright in bed.
“Now don’t panic,” he said before Raymond could speak. “I’m in fine shape considering I’m over sixty and with all the pressure we’ve been under this last year.”
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Raymond, taking a chair next to the bed.
“Recurrence of the old trouble, only this time they say it will take major surgery. I’ll be out of this place in a month, six weeks at the most, and then I’ll live as long as Harold Macmillan, they tell me. Now, to more important matters. I want you to take over for me again, which will mean you will have to speak in my place during the ‘no confidence’ debate on Wednesday. If we lose the vote, I shall resign as leader.”
Raymond tried to protest as he had already worked out the implications the moment he had heard his leader was ill again. The Prime Minister held up his hand and continued talking. “No party can fight an election with its leader laid up in bed for six weeks, however well he might be when they release him. If there is to be an election, the voters have the right to know who is going to lead the party in Parliament, and of course in such an emergency under standing order number five (four) of the Labour party’s constitution,” continued the Prime Minister, “the National Executive would meet and automatically select you to take over as party leader.”
Raymond raised his head. “Yes. The importance of that particular standing order has already been pointed out to me.”
The Prime Minister smiled. “Joyce, no doubt.”
“Her name was Kate, actually.”
The Prime Minister looked puzzled and then continued. “I think you must get used to the idea, Raymond, that you may well be running for Prime Minister in three weeks’ time. Because if we lose the ‘no confidence’ vote on Wednesday I am given no choice but to advise the Queen to call an immediate general election.”
Raymond remained silent.
“I can assure you,” continued the Prime Minister, “the National Executive will not want an internal bloodbath three weeks before a general election. Nothing could be more certain to guarantee a Tory victory. If, however, we do win the ’no confidence vote then it’s a different matter altogether because I’ll be back and running the ship long before the Easter recess is over. That will give us enough time to call the election after you’ve delivered your third budget. So make sure you win on Wednesday.”
“I am unable to express how much we will all miss your leadership,” said Raymond, without guile.
“As every member of the House except the Irish will know which lobby they’ll be voting in long before the debate begins, my leadership may turn out to be less important than any single vote. And don’t forget it will be the first occasion at which they’ve allowed television on the floor of the Commons, so make sure Joyce picks out one of those smart shirts you sometimes wear.”
Raymond spent the final few days before the “no confidence” vote preparing his speech. He canceled all the engagements in his diary except for the Speaker’s dinner to celebrate the Queen’s sixty-fifth birthday, at which he would be standing in for the Prime Minister.
The Government and Opposition Whips spent Monday and Tuesday checking that every member would be present in the House by ten o’clock on Wednesday night. The political journalists pointed out that, if the vote were a tie, Mr. Speaker Seymour had already made it clear that he would abide by the ancient tradition of giving his casting vote to the Government of the day. Charles was armed with precedents from Speaker Addington in the eighteenth century to Speaker Denison in the nineteenth. Charles pointed out that, in line with the principle, he must vote in such a manner as not to make the decision of the chair final.
Simon was to open the debate for the Opposition while Andrew was being allowed to wind up, the only concession Simon had granted the SDP/Liberal Alliance for ensuring their support in the lobbies. Neil Kinnock was to open for the Government with Raymond winding up.
When Raymond read his speech out to Joyce on the Tuesday night the entire rehearsal took only twenty-four minutes, but he explained to her that with the noise and interruptions that would occur in the Chamber he would be on his feet the full thirty minutes. In fact he might have to cut short some lines on the night.
The following day members began arriving hours before the debate was due to begin. The Strangers’ Gallery had been booked days in advance, with many senior ambassadors and even some Privy Councillors unable to be guaranteed a seat. The Press Gallery was filled and editors were sitting at the feet of their political journalists’ desks. The Commons itself was like a stand at a cup final where twice as many tickets had been sold as there were seats. The only difference from a Budget Day was that the House was taken up with lighting equipment that had been tested a dozen times that morning.
Between two-thirty and three-thirty Mr. Speaker Seymour had been unable to stop members chattering during questions to Mr. Meacher, the Secretary of State for Education, but at three-thirty he duly shouted for “Order” and did not have to wait long for silence before calling: “The leader of the Opposition.”
Simon rose from his place on the front bench to be greeted with cheers from his own side. He was momentarily surprised by the brightness of the arc lights which he had been assured he would hardly notice, but soon he was into his stride. Without a note in front of him he addressed the House for fifty minutes, tearing into the Government one moment, then switching to the policies he would implement the next. He ended his peroration by describing the Labour party as “the party of wasted opportunity” then added — jabbing his finger at Raymond — “but you will be replaced by a party of ideas and ideals.”
He sat down to the cheers of his back-benchers who thought they had already won the vote — if not the next election as well. The noise continued for some time before Charles could bring the House back to order and call the next speaker.
Neil Kinnock had always reveled in his Welsh ancestry and had often been compared by older members to Aneurin Bevan. The bête noire of the Tories set in to the Opposition leader with a vengeance, expounding his beliefs and rousing his own side to cheers when he said that the Tories would be routed and would regret this no confidence “trick” for a decade. “The Right Honorable Gentleman,” he said, pointing at Simon, “has the nerve to call us the party of wasted opportunities. For the past two years it is he who has led the party of opportunists, and who will be the leader of the Opposition until it is time for him to be replaced.” When Kinnock sat down the television producers couldn’t be blamed for thinking that they were covering a lions v. Christians slaughter. Again it took the Speaker several minutes to bring the House back to order.
The back-benchers also rose to the occasion with speeches from past ministers quoting precedent and from young turks demanding change, which helped confirm old and established new reputations. The House remained packed that night right up until nine o’clock when the Speaker called Andrew Fraser to wind up for the Opposition.