Our second problem was how to use to best effect the steady shrinkage and final disappearance in April 1976 of the Government’s original majority of three over all other parties combined. This was obviously a help to the Opposition, but it contained hidden difficulties. The press were inclined to exaggerate our chances of actually defeating a Government which, after all, still had a considerable margin of votes over the Conservatives. So when some measure squeaked through, our supporters in the country became depressed and resentful and looked for someone to blame.
More important, our occasional victories did not seem to lead anywhere. The Government remained insecurely in place. On Wednesday 11 February (on the first anniversary of my becoming Leader) we won a division on a motion to reduce the Industry Secretary Eric Varley’s salary by £1,000 — a formal means of expressing rejection of policies. Then, in the midst of the sterling crisis of March 1976, the Government was defeated as a result of a left-wing revolt on a vote on its public expenditure plans. And, as one does on these occasions, I demanded that the Prime Minister should resign. I never imagined that he would. But the following Tuesday Harold Wilson did just that, letting me know of his decision in a note I received just before the announcement was made.
I can say little in favour of either of Harold Wilson’s terms as Prime Minister. Doubtless he had principles, but they were so obscured by artful dodging that it was difficult for friends and opponents alike to decide what they might be. Yet I regretted his departure for several reasons. I had always liked him personally, I had appreciated his sense of humour, and I was aware of his many kindnesses. He was a master of Commons repartee, and I usually scored nothing better than a draw against him in the House.
This would continue to be the case with his successor, Jim Callaghan. He adopted in the House a manner that appeared avuncular, was in fact patronizing and made it hard for me to advance serious criticism of Government policy without appearing to nag. In a larger sense, Mr Callaghan in those years was a sort of moderate disguise for his left-wing party and its trade union backers. As a result, he articulated views and attitudes — on education, family policy, law and order etc. — which were never embodied in government policy. Tactically brilliant, he was strategically unsuccessful — until eventually in the Winter of Discontent the entire house of cards that was Labour moderation collapsed. Until then, however, he proved extremely talented as a party manager; he had a real feel for public opinion during the three years he was Prime Minister; and under the pressure of economic crisis, he made a brave public break with the Keynesian economics that had underpinned Government policy since the war. He was a formidable opponent.
Within weeks of Jim Callaghan’s becoming Prime Minister, relations between Government and Opposition chilled to freezing point as a result of Labour chicanery on a Bill nationalizing the aircraft and shipbuilding industries. After a long campaign by one of our backbenchers, Robin Maxwell-Hyslop, the Speaker had finally ruled that the Bill was ‘hybrid’ and so subject to special (and time-consuming) Commons procedures. Labour announced that they would ask the House to set aside the relevant Standing Orders, effectively nullifying the Speaker’s ruling. This was bad enough, but there was more to come. That night several MPs on each side were unwell and were paired. It so happened that Labour had one more sick MP than we had, and he was absent unpaired. There were two divisions that evening, the second following immediately after the first. The first was tied. By precedent the Speaker cast his vote for the status quo and the Government lost. But this revealed to the Government Whips that they were one vote short for the next — and crucial — division. So they went out and found a Labour MP who was paired — that is he had agreed with a Tory MP that neither of them would vote that night. They pushed him into the Labour lobby, as a result of which the Government won by a single vote.
Since the Labour Party had in fact lost its majority, the temptation to do this sort of thing was obviously great. But to nationalize two great industries by a single vote, breaking agreements into the bargain, was completely unacceptable. Tempers ran high on both sides. Michael Heseltine, our Industry spokesman who had led for the Opposition in the debate and felt personally affronted, grabbed the Mace and tried to present it to the Labour benches to symbolize their breach of the conventions.[40] This in itself was a grave offence to the order of the House, as Michael recognized as soon as he was calmed down by Jim Prior.
Less dramatically, I called off all pairing arrangements and withdrew cooperation over Commons business, demanding that the Government hold the division again. This was designed to cause the Government maximum difficulty: not only did all their MPs — however eminent — have to turn up for important divisions, but the Government could not know how long to allow for its business, much of which passes by agreement with the Opposition. Government business slowed down to a snail’s pace. This continued for almost a month until Mr Callaghan asked to see me and said somewhat huffily that we could not go on in this way. I told him that I could. In the end we agreed that the Government and Opposition Chief Whips should investigate what had happened, and when their report showed that we were in the right the Prime Minister conceded a second division on the disputed question. The Labour whips made certain that all their Members were present that night and accordingly won.
Against this background of ill-feeling, we decided to propose a Motion of No Confidence in the Government. Had we not done so, we would have been accused of failing to press home the attack on a Government which was resorting to chicanery because it had lost its majority. But the other side of the coin was that we would be made to look foolish if we failed, as we were very likely to do because the minority parties feared an early general election and anyway might be tempted by blandishments from the Government Whips. And, of course, this is what happened. It was not until almost three years later that the Government’s lack of a majority finally brought it down.
Meanwhile, the state of the economy was worsening. In February 1976 the Government had announced spending cuts of £1,600 million for 1977/78 and £3,000 million for 1978/79 (in today’s terms the equivalent of £6,000 million and £11,500 million). Impressive though this might sound, it amounted to no more than a modest cut in large planned increases. In December 1975 the International Monetary Fund had granted an application for stand-by credit to tide over Britain’s finances. Even so, in March there was a full-scale sterling crisis. The pound came under heavy pressure yet again in June, and more international stand-by credit had to be obtained, repayable in six months, failing which Britain agreed to apply again to the IMF. Inflation was falling by then, but large negative interest rates, combined with the failure to make real cuts in public spending and borrowing, prevented the Government from getting to grips with its underlying financial and economic problems. The new sterling crisis in September, which would lead to the humiliating abdication of control over our economy to the IMF, was the final result of an entirely justified loss of confidence by international markets in the Labour Government’s handling of the economy.
It might be expected that all of this would make an Opposition’s life easier, no matter how bad it was for the country. But that was not so.
And this was our third problem. For we were expected to support the Labour Government’s hesitant and belated moves to apply financial discipline. That was fair enough. But we were also under a more general pressure to be ‘responsible’ in dealing with the Labour Government’s self-contrived tribulations. However commendable, this inevitably cramped my attacking style.
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The Mace — a silver gilt staff topped by an orb and cross — symbolizes the authority of the Crown delegated to the Commons. It rests on the table facing the Speaker when the House is sitting, within easy reach of the two front benches.