Bill Van Straubenzee was the minister directly responsible for dealing with consultations on the proposals. But I was the one immediately marked down as the hate-figure to be targeted for them. Student mobs hounded me wherever I went. In early November in Leeds, where I was laying a stone to mark the construction of new buildings, about 500 students tried to shout me down. Later that month 2,000 screaming students tried to prevent my presenting the designation document of the South Bank Polytechnic at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. A dozen mounted police had to protect my car. In December the student protesters found time from their studies to organize a nationwide day of protest. My effigy was burnt at various universities.
By now many of the Vice-Chancellors and college authorities were giving tacit approval to the protests. Edward Boyle even addressed a mass meeting of students at Leeds to declare his opposition to my proposals. Since these had only been put out for consultation — though ‘consultation’ is not the most obvious description of what had occurred — it was perfectly possible to allow tempers to cool and to delay action, which I did. The main problem was that until university authorities themselves were prepared to uphold the values of a university and exert some authority, no proposal for reform was likely to succeed. This was also the time when freedom of speech began to be denied by groups of students, who were then indulged by nervous university authorities. University intolerance was at its most violent in the early seventies. But, less visible and more institutionalized, the same censorship continues today.
TRYING, STILL TRYING…
1971 had been a crucial year for the Government and for me personally. The pressures which mounted were all the more intolerable because they were cumulative. As I shall describe, the Government’s self-confidence broke in early 1972.[17] Somehow, although under greater strain than at any time before or since, my own held.
But a number of commentators, with varying mixtures of relish and regret, thought that I was done for. On my return after the Christmas holiday at Lamberhurst, I was able to read my fate openly discussed in the newspapers. One described me as ‘The Lady Nobody Loves’. Another published a thoughtful article entitled ‘Why Mrs Thatcher is so Unpopular’. But I pushed the stuff aside and concentrated on my red boxes.
In fact, it was not long before the tide — for me personally, though not for the Government — began to turn. Probably the ‘milk snatcher’ campaign had in any case come to the end of its natural life. The far more serious issues of 1972 were now upon us — the miners’ strike and the various elements of the U-turn[18] — and these dwarfed the personal campaign against me. And, of course, I was evidently not going to buckle or depart — at least voluntarily. But I owe a debt of gratitude to Ted Heath as well.
Ted asked me and my officials down to Chequers on Wednesday 12 January to have a general discussion about education. I took with me an aide-mémoire summing up the situation and looking ahead. In spite of all the difficulties, there was only one pre-election commitment which still remained to be implemented: the expansion of nursery education. More money was needed if something substantial was to be achieved. The other area in which our supporters were disappointed was secondary school organization. There the problem was, as I put it, ‘many of our own local councils are running with the comprehensive tide. The question is what sort of balance should be struck between defending existing grammar schools and leaving local education authorities free to make their own decisions?’ We discussed both these points at Chequers, as well as other irritants such as school milk and student unions. Ted was clearly interested. He was keen on nursery education; he had been pressing for action on student unions; and he very reasonably asked whether we could not use educational arguments in justifying our policy on selection, rather than just resting on the arguments about local authority autonomy.
From my point of view, however, at least as important as the discussion was the fact that by inviting me down with my officials Ted implied that there was no intention to move me from Education in the foreseeable future. This was a useful, indeed — facing the problems I did — a vital reinforcement for my authority. Ted went on a few days later in the House to list my achievements. Why did he give me such strong support? Some felt that he needed a woman in the Cabinet and it was difficult to find a credible alternative candidate. But I like to think that it also showed Ted’s character at its admirable best. He knew that the policies for which I had been so roundly attacked were essentially policies which I had reluctantly accepted under pressure from the Treasury and the requirements of public finance. He also knew that I had not tried to shift the blame onto others. However unreliable his adherence to particular policies, he always stood by people who did their best for him and his Government. This was one of the better reasons why his Cabinet reciprocated by remaining united behind him.
Ted’s expressions of support provided me with no more than a breathing space. But it was enough. From the spring of 1972 the chilly political climate in which I had been living began noticeably to thaw. My speech to the NUT in April was well received, not just by most of the audience (which cheered me at the end) but, more importantly, by the press in general. Unusually, the proposals it contained appealed across the political spectrum. I announced an increase in the school building programme, now running at a record level. I also announced the setting-up of a committee to inquire into the teaching of reading in schools and the use of English — matters which were already the subject of widespread concern. I hinted at a further expansion of nursery education, though drawing attention to the problem of financing it. But what seized the imagination of the commentators was my criticism of giant comprehensive schools. (I elaborated on this last point at a press conference after the speech, noting that I had just rejected plans for a school for 2,700 pupils in Wiltshire.)
As I stood up to speak, there was an ill-mannered walk-out by a number of left-wing delegates. But this turned out to be an added bonus. The media not only liked the emphasis on the merits of smaller schools, but had some harsh things to say about the example given to their pupils by teachers who were not even prepared to hear the arguments. In May the same newspaper column which had described me as ‘The Lady Nobody Loves’ was celebrating ‘The Mellowing of Margaret’. And the irony was that the theme which had struck home — my advocacy of small schools — was one which I had held to since my days as a schoolgirl in Grantham.
It was, however, the Education White Paper, published in December 1972, which restored the fortunes of our education policy. The decision to publish it stemmed from discussions of the three Programme Analysis and Review (PAR) Reports which we had prepared in the department.[19] The title was the result of a last-minute decision at Cabinet. Education: A Framework for Advance was the original suggestion but, in a change which appears in retrospect to be all too typical of these over-ambitious, high-spending years, this became Education: A Framework for Expansion. The White Paper set out a ten-year plan for higher spending and better provision. There were six main points to it. There was a programme for improving or replacing old secondary schools. The building programme for special schools for handicapped children would be increased. There would be a modest improvement in school staffing ratios. To help pay for this, the rate of expansion of higher education would be restrained. We published our response to the James Committee’s recommendations on teacher training. But the most important aspect was the announcement of a major expansion of nursery education. This would be provided for up to 90 per cent of four-year-olds and 50 per cent of three-year olds, subject to demand, with priority being given in the early stages to deprived areas. In retrospect, the White Paper marks the high-point of the attempts by Government to overcome the problems inherent in Britain’s education system by throwing money at them.
19
The PAR system was a characteristic innovation of the Heath Government — an ambitious attempt to review existing departmental programmes with the professed intention of radically reducing the role of Government, but with little or no effect.