Even at the time some developments made me uneasy. When Peter Thorneycroft, Enoch Powell and Nigel Birch — Macmillan’s entire Treasury team — resigned over a £50 million increase in public expenditure in January 1958, Macmillan talked wittily of ‘little local difficulties’. I felt in no position to judge the rights and wrongs of the dispute itself. But the husbanding of public money did not strike me as an ignoble cause over which to resign. The first steps away from the path of financial rectitude always make its final abandonment that much easier. And that abandonment brings its own adverse consequences. Such was the case in the years that followed.
Yet in Macmillan the Party certainly had an immensely shrewd and able politician. As early as the summer of 1957 he had understood that the living standards of ordinary people had been rising fast, and that this offered the best hope of political success. It was then that he observed that ‘most of our people have never had it so good’.[7]
The Labour Party and the critics pounced on this as an example of Macmillan’s complacency and materialism. But in fact it was true and politically potent. There was a feeling that things never had been better, and that this was attributable to private enterprise rather than planning. The last thing the country wanted was to return to hair-shirted austerity. So the attacks on ‘Super-Mac’ rebounded.
That said, the political recovery was by no means immediate. At the time of the October 1957 Party Conference — one of the very few that I did not attend — the opinion polls were showing Labour at 52 per cent and the Conservatives at 33 per cent. On top of that, the Liberal Party dealt us a severe blow by winning the Torrington by-election in March 1958.
It was not until the late summer of that year that the Conservatives caught up with Labour in the opinion polls. By the time of the 1959 general election the two main parties were unashamedly competing to appeal to the nation’s desire for material self-advancement. The Conservative manifesto bluntly stated: ‘Life’s better with the Conservatives, don’t let Labour ruin it.’ It went on to promise a doubling of the British standard of living in a generation. As for Labour, a few days into the campaign the Party Leader Hugh Gaitskell promised that there would be no rise in income tax in spite of all the extra spending Labour planned — even in that political climate of optimism, a fatally incredible pledge.
THE FINCHLEY ROAD
Well before this I myself had re-entered the fray. In February 1956 I wrote to Donald Kaberry, the Party Vice-Chairman in charge of candidates:
For some time now I have been feeling the temptation to return to active politics. I had intended, when I was called to the Bar, to concentrate entirely on legal work but a little experience at the Revenue Bar, and in Company matters, far from turning my attention from politics has served to draw my attention more closely to the body which is responsible for the legislation about which I have come to hold strong views.
I went to see Donald Kaberry the following month. There was no problem in my being put back on the list of candidates — this time to be considered for safe Conservative-held seats only. I was all the more delighted because I found in Donald Kaberry a constant and dependable source of wise advice and friendship — no small thing for an aspiring candidate.
I was less fortunate in the reception I received from Selection Committees. It had begun at Orpington in 1954. It was the same at Beckenham, Hemel Hempstead and then Maidstone in 1957 and 1958. I would be short-listed for the seat, would make what was generally acknowledged to be a good speech — and then the questions, most of them having the same purpose, would begin. With my family commitments, would I have time enough for the constituency? Did I realize how much being a Member of Parliament would keep me away from home? Might it not be better to wait for a year or two before trying to get into the House? And sometimes more bluntly stilclass="underline" did I really think that I could fulfil my duties as a mother with young children to look after and as an MP?
I felt that Selection Committees had every right to ask me these questions. I explained our family circumstances and that I already had the help of a first-class nanny. I also used to describe how I had found it possible to be a professional woman and a mother by organizing my time properly. What I resented, however, was that beneath some of the criticism I detected a feeling that the House of Commons was not really the right place for a woman anyway. Perhaps some of the men at Selection Committees entertained this prejudice, but I found then and later that it was the women who came nearest to expressing it openly. Not for the first time the simplistic left-wing concept of ‘sex discrimination’ had got it all wrong.
I was hurt and disappointed by these experiences. They were, after all, an attack on me not just as a candidate but as a wife and mother. But I refused to be put off by them. I was confident that I had something to offer in politics. I knew that many others who had crossed my political path very much wanted me to get into the House. And most important of all, Denis never had any doubts. He was always there to comfort and support me.
In April 1958 I had another long talk with Donald Kaberry at Central Office. He told me about the constituencies which were likely to select soon and I, for my part, spoke frankly about the difficulties I had faced as a woman with the Selection Committees. Unfortunately, this is not one of the topics on which even the wisest male friend can give very useful counsel. But Donald Kaberry did give me advice on what to wear on these sensitive occasions — something smart but not showy. In fact, looking me up and down, he said he thought the black coat dress with brown trim which I was wearing would be just fine. His sartorial judgement would soon be put to the test. For I now entered my name for — and in July was called to interview at — the safe Conservative seat of Finchley, North London, whose MP was retiring.
Finchley was not an area of London that I knew particularly well. But like any enthusiastic would-be candidate I set to work to find out all there was to know about it. I was determined that no one would know the Finchley equivalent of Locksbottom better than I. But one advantage of an urban seat, particularly a London seat, is that you know that the most topical issues locally will correspond very closely to the most important political issues nationally. And that is not always the case with a rural or regional seat. So, for example, rent decontrol was bound to be controversial in Finchley, as nationally. Immigration too was just starting to figure on the political landscape — it was to lead to the first Notting Hill riots just a few weeks later. The state of the economy, and which party was more likely to keep living standards rising and services improving, were bound to be at the forefront of people’s minds in Finchley as elsewhere. On all of these things I knew exactly where I stood and what I would say.
I was one of a ‘long list’ of some 150 applicants, which contained a number of my future colleagues in the House. I was also one of those called for preliminary interview by the Constituency Selection Committee. I could tell that I had a good deal of support, which was satisfying but hardly grounds for confidence. Being the most popular person on these occasions can sometimes be less important than being the least unpopular person. If, as the weaker candidates are eliminated, all their support goes to your opponent it is quite possible to fall at the last fence — and we were barely out of the paddock.
7
Admittedly he went on, as I used to point out: ‘What is beginning to worry some of us is “Is it too good to be true?” or perhaps I should say “Is it too good to last?” for, amidst all the prosperity, there is one problem that has troubled us in one way or another ever since the war. It’s the problem of rising prices.’