LAW-MAKING FOR BEGINNERS
I was very glad, however, that both my parents had seen their daughter enter the Palace of Westminster as a Member of Parliament — quite literally ‘seen’, because the press contained flattering photographs of me in my new hat on the way to the House. My first real contact with the Conservative Parliamentary Party was when on the day before Parliament opened I went along as a member of the 1922 Committee — the Party committee to which all Conservative backbench MPs belong — to discuss the question of the Speakership of the House. I knew only a relatively small number of the several hundred faces packed into that rumbustious, smoky committee room, but I immediately felt at home.
Everyone in those early days was immensely kind. The Chief Whip would give new Members a talk about the rules of the House and the whipping system. Old-stagers gave me useful hints about dealing with correspondence. They also told me that I should not just concentrate on the big issues like foreign affairs and finance, but also find one or two less popular topics on which I could make a mark. Another piece of good practical advice was to find myself a ‘pair’, which I promptly did in the form of Charlie Pannell, the Labour MP for Leeds West.[8] I had met him years earlier when he lived in Erith, in my old Dartford constituency. He was exactly the sort of good-humoured, decent Labour man I liked.
The Palace of Westminster seems a bewildering labyrinth of corridors to the uninitiated. It was some time before I could find my way with ease around it. The Tea Room, the Library and the main committee rooms were all points of reference for me. There were modestly appointed rooms set apart for the twenty-five women Members — the ‘Lady Members’ Rooms’ — where I would find a desk to work at. Neither taste nor convention suggested my entering the Smoking Room. My formidably efficient secretary, Paddi Victor Smith, had a desk in a large office with a number of other secretaries where we worked on constituency correspondence. But the heart of the House of Commons was, even more than now, the Chamber itself. Early on, I was advised that there was no substitute for hours spent there. Finance and Foreign Affairs Committee meetings might be more informative. The weekly 1922 Committee meetings might be more lively. But it was only by absorbing the atmosphere of the House until its procedures became second nature and its style of debate instinctive that one could become that most respected kind of English politician, a ‘House of Commons man’ (or woman).
So that is what I did. I took my pre-arranged place in the fourth row back below the gangway — where thirty-one years later I chose to sit again after I resigned as Prime Minister. The House itself was — and still is — a very masculine place. This manifested itself above all, I found, in the sheer volume of noise. I was used to university debates and questions at the general election hustings, yet my brief previous visits to the Visitors’ Gallery of the House had never prepared me for this. But when I remarked on it to a colleague he just laughed and said, ‘You should have heard it during Suez!’ Masculinity, I soon found, however, did not degenerate into male prejudice. In different ways I had on occasion been made to feel small because I was a woman in industry, at the Bar and indeed in Tory constituency politics. But in the House of Commons we were all equals; and woe betide ministers who suggest by their demeanour or behaviour that they consider themselves more equal than the rest. I soon saw with appreciation that sincerity, logic and technical mastery of a subject could earn respect from both sides of the House. Shallowness and bluff were quickly exposed. Perhaps every generation of young men and women considers that those it once regarded as great figures had a stature lacked by their equivalents in later years. But I would certainly be hard put now to find on the backbenches the extraordinary range of experience and talents which characterized the House of Commons then. Almost whatever the subject, there would be some figure on either side of the House who would bring massive, specialized knowledge and obvious intuition to bear on it — and be listened to with respect by front and backbenches alike.
As it happens, I had very little opportunity during my first few months as an MP for the relaxed acquisition of experience of the House. With 310 other Members I had entered the Commons ballot for the introduction of Private Members’ Bills. Never previously having so much as won a raffle, I was greatly astonished to find myself drawn second. Only the first few Private Members’ Bills have any chance of becoming legislation, and even then the Government’s attitude towards them is crucial.
I had only given the most general consideration to the topic I would choose, but I now had just a week to make up my mind, for the Bill had to be tabled by 11 November. Clearly, it must be something about which I not only felt strongly but also, preferably, in an area I already knew. I got as far as approving a draft long title for a Bill relating to appeals in contempt of court cases — one of those minor Bills which the Whips’ Office keeps in reserve to pass off on unsuspecting backbenchers. But this seemed rather dry and I could not summon up much enthusiasm for it. So I thought again.
Many of us on the right of the Party — and not just on the right — were becoming very concerned about the abuse of trade union power. I had read and discussed with my lawyer friends a pamphlet on the subject produced by the Inns of Court Conservative Society the previous year. Entitled A Giant’s Strength, it was, I understood, largely the work of a brilliant young Tory barrister called Geoffrey Howe. In particular, I was following throughout this period the lengthy and controversial case of Rookes v Barnard, relating to the closed shop. Rookes had resigned from his trade union which thereupon threatened his employer, the airline BOAC, with a strike if he was not dismissed from his post. BOAC promptly and pusillani-mously complied and Rookes sued the trade union officials. I was outraged by the trampling of what I saw as someone’s basic right to join or not to join a union. I also admired Rookes’s determination and courage. I sought advice about whether I could introduce a Bill which would break or at least weaken the power of the closed shop.
But here again there were difficulties. Although younger Tories and many backbenchers were restive on the issue, the prevailing ethos in the upper ranks of the Conservative Party was still one of accommodating and appeasing the unions. It was therefore extremely unlikely that I could effect the change in the law which I wanted. The Whips made it clear to me that I would not have the Party’s support. Moreover, the case itself was still undecided — and would not finally be determined until 1964. At the time that I was considering introducing a Bill the Appeal Court had ruled against Rookes, but in the end the House of Lords found against the trade union. There were, therefore, strong arguments that the law should not be changed partway through a test case. I bowed to these considerations.
8
‘Pairing’ is an informal arrangement by which pairs of MPs from opposing parties agree to abstain in parliamentary votes when one or other of them wishes to be absent from the House of Commons. The arrangement does not usually apply to crucial votes.