It also led to an odd reversal of roles between Government and Opposition. From the very beginning of their campaign, Labour more or less ignored their own manifesto — with the exception of vote-buying promises like free television licences for pensioners — and offered only limited excuses for their record. Instead, they concentrated on attacking real and alleged Conservative policies. Jim Callaghan largely discarded his image of avuncular bonhomie and led an extremely effective but wholly negative campaign. This was carried on at three levels. First, the media were fed with a daily diet of scare stories — ranging from the doubling of Value Added Tax to large cuts in the National Health Service — which would allegedly occur if we were elected. Secondly, doubt was cast on the credibility of our promises, particularly the pledge to cut income tax. Thirdly, there was an attempt to portray me as a dangerous right-wing ideologue, unsuited to the complex and demanding tasks of the premiership. Labour’s strategy presented us with a fundamental dilemma. Should we reply to their attacks? Or should we stick to our own message and our own ground? We only ever partly solved this dilemma.
ORGANIZING THE CAMPAIGN
The fact that we had been expecting an election for so long before it was actually called had given us plenty of time to make preparations. For the first time, the Party hired a campaign bus which was fitted up as a mobile office in which we would travel from one campaign stop to another. In overall charge on the bus was David Wolfson — who stood in for John Stanley after John fell down the steps in Bristol on our first day out, slipped a disc and was rushed off to hospital where he spent the whole campaign. Derek Howe was my Press Officer on the ‘battle bus’, while David Boddy was the second Press Officer travelling with the press in a second bus. Roger Boaden was responsible for ensuring that we knew where we were going and what to do when we got there — a taxing task on occasions. My old friend and now Deputy Chairman of the Party, Janet (Lady) Young, travelled with us to keep in touch with the Chairman’s office. Michael Dobbs, the future author of lurid tales of political skulduggery, was given the role of travelling librarian, accompanied by a bulging collection of sources for facts and figures I might need in answer to questions at my whistle-stops. Harvey Thomas travelled ahead of us, making the arrangements for my speeches and preparing the rallies. And three long-suffering secretaries — Tessa Jardine Paterson, Caroline Stephens and Sally James — coped with the almost impossible task of typing my speech drafts as the bus wound and bumped its way over country roads.
The lack of word processors, faxes or photocopiers made life much more complicated than it would be in later elections. We did have a radio telephone, but it was not really satisfactory; for example, on one occasion the driver reversed the bus and knocked the aerial off. So whenever we arrived at a Conservative office there would be a mad rush to telephone through changes to speech texts to Conservative Central Office, while someone else on another line would receive an account of the day’s events in London.
To allow me to cover more ground, I spent several nights away from London on tour. But I found this unsatisfactory and did not repeat it in future campaigns. It is easy to get — or at least feel — out of touch in an election campaign when you are away from London; it is also possible for other people to substitute their judgement for yours on crucial matters. Neither is acceptable in a life or death election. Usually, however, I would return late in the evening to Flood Street where secretaries would come in to serve up hot meals for me and my speech-writing team — John Hoskyns, Peter Utley, Hugh Thomas, Alfred Sherman and sometimes Ronnie Millar. Frozen cooked foods were our staple diet on weekdays. At the weekends we sampled the modestly exotic flavours of Duck à l’Orange and Sole Véronique. While we were speech-writing, Denis would be upstairs glued to the television, listening to reports on the campaign. I knew that Labour politicians were implanting some particularly hostile barb when I heard Denis yelling ‘Rubbish!’ — or worse.
It is always difficult to coordinate the different aspects of an election campaign. The best-laid plans unravel and in no time at all the morning press conferences are concentrating on one message, the Party Leader’s speeches a second, Shadow ministers a third, and briefing for candidates something else again. In spite of the serious difference I had with Peter Thorneycroft over tactics, Peter and the team which worked with him were extremely capable: moreover their abilities complemented one another. Peter himself stayed in London throughout the campaign, chairing a tactical committee at Central Office which at times seemed to be in almost permanent session. He was always shrewd and massively authoritative. Alistair McAlpine’s extraordinary abilities as a fund raiser ensured that the Party was never prevented from taking the initiatives we wanted by lack of cash. Significantly, there had been a large increase in the smaller subscriptions from business. This reflected the fact that businessmen understood that the Conservative Party was again the party of free enterprise: it also meant that we were not dependent on just a few large donors. Tony Garner, always cheerful, optimistic and dapper, was the Chief Agent in charge of the campaign organization in the country. Gordon Reece, now back at Central Office as Director of Publicity, had made us all face up to the rigorous demands of the media — emphasizing the importance of the tabloid newspapers and of having our best film coverage and press releases available in good time for the early evening news. By now, I had learned a lot from Gordon about what to do (and not to do) to come over properly on the television screen. At least there was not much reason to worry about possible colour clashes. Conservative campaigning has its own version of Henry Ford’s dictum: you can wear any colour you like as long as it’s blue. And for most of the time in my case it was navy blue.
A huge amount of information flows in and out of Conservative Central Office at election time: what comes in has to be analysed for significance and what goes out has to be checked for accuracy. Those responsible are some of the unsung heroes of the political battle. Keith Britto, Central Office’s number-cruncher and opinion poll expert, would struggle manfully with the contradictory psephological material with which we were deluged during the campaign. While Chris Patten was fighting a seat in Bath, Adam Ridley kept the Research Department working at fever pitch. Michael Portillo, from CRD, briefed me for my morning press conferences — a task in which he demonstrated not just his grasp of facts, figures and arguments, but also an instinctive shrewdness in suggesting their deployment. One of my impressions of the campaign was that Michael was a young man who would — and deserved to — go far.
Two important tactical questions had to be addressed before the campaign got under way. The first was whether I should agree to take part in televised debates with Jim Callaghan. Discussions had been going on with the broadcasters since the summer of 1978 when the BBC (on behalf of both networks) had approached my office and the Prime Minister’s simultaneously. Attempts to arrange such debates in previous elections had broken down because of the difficulty of involving the minor parties, which insisted on a presence. Neither Labour nor we would accept that. But this time — July 1978 — the broadcasters were prepared to go ahead with a two-party format regardless of what the minor parties thought. Accordingly we gave the proposal serious consideration, though at the time we did not know the Prime Minister’s position. No final decision was taken because the election expected that autumn did not materialize, but influenced by Peter Thorneycroft and Gordon Reece — who were both strongly opposed — I was inclined to say no.