DECLINE, THEN FALL
George MacFarlane, Southsea Polytechnic
Chapter Two: Year One
On September 21st, 1792, on its first full day in office and on the heels of the abolition of the monarchy, the revolutionary convention nationale of France decreed that the following day would, to signify the final sweeping away of poisoned vestiges of the Ancien Régime, be France’s ‘Year One’. September 22nd, or rather the Vendémiaire 1st, would be the first day of the First Republic of France. Almost a century and a half earlier in 1649, on May 19th, the Long Parliament- following a political purge by the army, naturally- declared Commonwealth, sweeping away, if only for a couple of decades, the lingering vestiges of Britain’s own Ancien Régime. This Year One did not come with a new calendar.
On Floréal 15th, 214- or May 4th, 2001- Claire Montgomery stepped into Number 10 to begin her Year One. Ushered over the threshold of power by Arthur Wilson, Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, there were two things that he instructed the new Prime Minister must do. The first was to greet the staff of Number 10 who had come to welcome her. The traditional purpose of this quaint ceremony was to ensure that those working within the building would recognise their new Boss, although with the advent of television, the ceremony remained as an archaic throw-back of sorts, a pleasantry to be enjoyed by the victor surveying their spoils. On this occasion, it served as a reality check for the staff themselves, many of whom simply did not believe that Montgomery had won, standing to attention either with a forced smile or with blank bewilderment at the unexpected change of management. Wilson himself was entirely uneasy about the new mistress of the manor, although by all accounts remained professional and discreet.
The second thing that the new Prime Minister had to attend to was much less quaint and certainly not pleasant. Following her welcoming, Montgomery was swiftly seized by Sir George Stevenson, the Cabinet Secretary, from the Entrance Hall and brought down the central corridor and through the antechamber into the Cabinet Room. Inside was General Sir Matthew Plumb, Chief of the Defence Staff. Sat down at the coffin shaped table, Montgomery set about the first duty of any new Prime Minister: her letter of last resort. Montgomery was said to have turned pale as Sir Matthew indoctrinated her regarding the capabilities of Britain’s nuclear defence. Gone rigid as he explained what effects a Soviet R-36 strike in central London would have. Become queasy when told what the British equivalent, the T-3 ‘Broadsword’, would do to Moscow. No matter how much she could have braced herself, such preparations for nuclear annihilation and reciprocal genocide was a grim prospect for someone who just promised to build a better tomorrow.
Despite what cosmic loneliness Montgomery must have felt as she contemplated the possibility of atomisation, Number 10 was quickly becoming abuzz with activity. While duty clerks, secretaries, members of the Press Office’s many limbs, wonks and SPaDs from policy units and ministerial departments, messengers, guards, and assorted staff were all waiting for their orders from the nouveau régime, Chairman Stone and a regiment of advisors and aides crept in through the back passage. Many in Stone’s many had been pressed into service at Party HQ, scooping up those who were sober, standing, and who expected to be updating their CVs rather than entering power. Among them was the Mancunian Head of Policy, Marlyn Thorpe, a stout young woman nicknamed “Curry” by Stone (Thorpe would later note this was likely a corruption of ‘Curie’, in reference to the scientist). A major contributor to the manifesto, Thorpe was to be the intellectual backbone of the new Government. As well as her, a new MP crept alongside them, Sir John Kay’s son, Robert Kay. Previously Stone’s man as President of Student Nationals and the Young Nationals liaison with HQ during the election, he had run as a paper candidate in Willesden, a safe LCP seat which had flipped unexpectedly. Now he was to become one of the Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, her eyes and ears among the freshman backbenchers.
As the foot-soldiers swept in, Wilson gave Montgomery a quick tour. Number 10 is, famously, a deceptively large building, much of it spilling into the area we assume would be Number 11. Escorted up Kent’s Staircase, Montgomery would later relate that it felt strange to go past the engravings and portraits of her predecessors, to realise that: “I am stepping into some three centuries of history”. The decor was hardly desirably, although it was certainly modern: spartan and blank and lacking in any ornamentation that Davies had deemed to not be absolutely strictly necessary. Where under Chichester, Number 10 had the feeling that it was not simply a work space but also living space, under Davies, the Welshman had stripped the area of creature comforts to promote the image of a ‘working government’. The apartment of Number 10 was, to Montgomery’s fortune, not in the same manner, although this was because the outgoing Chancellor had taken his residence in Number 10, giving the more spacious flat in Number 11 to Davies. Although much of it would be taken away by movers in the coming weeks, the sight of the cozy apartment after so many minimalist office spaces was reinvigorating.
Following the tour, Montgomery returned to the Cabinet Office where Stone, Thorpe, and Sir George were waiting for her to talk Cabinet over lunch. Many of the kitchen staff, having not anticipated a change of Government, booked the morning and midday off, leaving only a Commis Chef, who was able to rummage up a cold meat platter and bottle of Barbaresco over which the forging of a new Government was to be discussed. Said discussion would be quick: of the twenty-two Shadow Ministers, all but six would assume the posts they had been shadowing, with a list of backups drawn by Stone for the planned reshuffle at the six-month anniversary of the election.
The process that followed was swift and efficient, with bodies streaming in through the front door of Number 10, where Wilson brought MPs down the central corridor to the first antechamber, where they then waited to be called into the Cabinet Room. Montgomery, sat at the head of the coffin flanked by Thorpe and Stone, would inform the arrival of their post, and they were invited to stay for a drink. There would be very few neophytes in the Government; indeed, most would be made up of former Cabinet and Junior Ministers, some of whom even retained the portfolios they had held under Chichester.
Roland du Pont, the MP for North Downs and Chief Whip, was the first to arrive at Number 10. He was disappointed to have missed lunch, especially when learning his tippler of choice had been served. Considered a Montgomeryite (in reality, Kayite) by Party insiders, the whiskered Whip could only hope to ensure the process went smoothly, and his presence reminded the Prime Minister who she now owed her Premiership. Historically, the Cabinet would generally wait until the Saturday, once the list of Ministers had been published for the press, however Davies had set a new precedent of efficiency, and Montgomery would form her Government immediately, although those who were not Privy Councillors would have to wait until the Saturday to be sworn in by the Sovereign. With du Pont, Montgomery felt ready.
The first real appointment to arrive was Sir John Kay, emerging with a grimace from his official car. He had spent much of the day, after leaving Montgomery’s retreat in Hampstead, lurking around Central London with his Chief Economic Advisor, the wiry Scot accountant Preston Howell. Nicknamed the ‘Man of the Manse’, Howell’s father had been a Minister in the Kirk, although Howell had decided to become ordained in economics. He cut something of an unassuming figure as he retrieved his and his master’s lunch at Burger King. Hidden from prying eyes in the backseat of Howell’s Land Rover and downing the greasy Whopper and fries, Sir John and Howell discussed Sir John’s new responsibilities, which included the budget and attendance at the upcoming Global Forum of Economists, of which, due to the election, Sir John would now be a keynote speaker at. The call came from switch, and finishing up, he arrived at Number 10 with a grimace described by one onlooker as “looking like Chamberlain in Munich”, although Sir John would insist that this was merely a touch of indigestion. The responsibility of the office was colossal. The Second Lord of the Treasury would be the most powerful man in the Cabinet, and a position that needed someone with the metal to make tough decisions. Montgomery had trusted Sir John in Opposition, and now she extended her trust to him in Government.
But this was a delusion; Montgomery could not trust Sir John Kay. After seeing her in her moment of vulnerability, Sir John had lost faith in his Leader and their project, and now desired to build a fiefdom within the Treasury, filled with his own hand picked team. Chief among them were his trusted lieutenants, Balram Chowdhurdy, MP for Islington North and graduate of the LSE, and Graham Harvey, MP for Kilmarnock & Loudoun and a graduate of Edinburgh, who were made Chief Secretary of the Treasury and the Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Treasury, respectively. Sir John had no desire to be the most powerful man in the Cabinet; by making the Treasury his fiefdom, he would become the most powerful person in the Cabinet.
Sir John accepted the post without hesitation, and after a brief talk to his son and Balram Chowdhurdy’s confirmation, left to the Treasury. After came Antony Welsh, the Shadow Home Secretary and Deputy Party Chairman. Somewhat still hungover from celebrations, he had expected to be NPA’s acting Leader by now, taking to the stage following an expectedly gracious resignation. Although he was almost enthused to be in Government. The Home Office is a position that is imbued with a great number of powers, such as the ability to levy Whole Life Tariffs and setting the tone of debate over everything from pornography to breakfast serial. But these powers also came with a behemoth of responsibilities, concerning policing, immigration, borders, drugs policies, even constitutional and judicial matters, and at times when conflict bubbles up in Northern Ireland, the Home Secretary could be expected to act as a War Minister. The position requires a certain temperament and steel, which Antony Welsh emphatically did not have, and when Montgomery informed him that he would be made her Foreign Secretary, he felt a wash which was undoubtedly relief.
The Shadow Foreign Secretary, Hugh Braiser, was instead made Leader of the House. An experienced veteran of politics with a glittering career and a great deal of experience, his time as the Shadow Foreign Secretary was an unhappy one, in which he was regularly bullied in debate and the press by the then Foreign Secretary, Brian Davies’ eventual successor as Leader of the LCP, Martin Michael. However, despite this he still commanded the respect of the Caucus and was a keen Parliamentarian, and his time as a Deputy Whip in the last Government and his near ascension to the Speaker’s Chair immediately prior to the ‘96 election only made the decision an easy one for Montgomery. Braiser agreed to the choice of shuffling him to the House Leader without question. He was of an older breed of politicians who honed a sense of responsibility, and were willing and happy to serve wherever they were sent. As an act of kindness for his gracious acceptance of the shuffle, Montgomery accepted Braiser’s recommendation for Minister of Europe: Cherie Dance.
What grace Braiser showed to the Prime Minister could not be found in the man he was replacing, the Shadow Leader Cecil Wingfield, who loudly protested the decision to be moved. Wingfield had spent a happy Parliament leading the caucus, and although he admired Braiser’s resolve, he understandably felt ambushed, believing his shunting to be the work of Sir John. If he was going into the Foreign Office, then this temper would have been tampered, but instead he was offered the Environment brief. A threat to simply not join the Government was met with indifference. There were many other figures who could take the role, and when Robin Orford was offered up instead, Wingfield turned pale and relinquished his protestation to accept the portfolio. Dr Daniel Nash was more enthusiastic when he was offered Health, a return to the post after a five year long absence. Often defined as part of the NPA’s so-called ‘Red Tory’ faction, Dr Nash’s ‘big idea’ was to expand private healthcare by introducing more private sector providers into the NHS and encouraging a more competitive internal market. His end goal was to: “make our NHS merely a means of paying for healthcare, rather than a system that exists simply to provide it”. This reform was not popular with the Cabinet as a whole, and certainly wouldn’t be popular with the NHS itself, but in the wake the majority Dr Nash felt the Government should be ambitious.
It was decided that Jon Taylor would not be given a Cabinet Seat. The Shadow Secretary of Employment had been openly briefing against Montgomery during the campaign, and such dissidents would be unacceptable. With Taylor thrown aside, the Shadow Environment Minister, Donald Smith, was instead given the portfolio for Employment. The Shadow Defence Secretary Siobhan Weaver came next, and Siobhan Weaver left as the Secretary of Defence, the first woman to serve in the position in not just Britain, but indeed in Western Europe. She would not be the only first in the Cabinet: Sean Pak, the MP for Sheffield Hallam, became the Agriculture & Supply Secretary. Hong Kongese, he would be the first East-Asian Cabinet Minister in British history. However his heritage would make him the low hanging target for the so-called satirists, who chose to portray him as an inscrutable schemer who, despite his heavy Salfordian accent, refined by his time at Oxford, spoke in heavy Engrish. Pak would be forced to weather much of this abuse alone during his time in A&S.
Francis Preston would receive the Northern Irish brief, the first time in over two decades that an Ulsterman representing a Northern Irish seat received the Portfolio, one which had notoriety of destroying its holders as much as car bombs destroyed the paving in Derry. Dafydd Thomas and Robert Ross received the Welsh and Scottish Secretaries, respectively. Ross would have a particularly hard time ahead of him; when it came to Scotland, Davies’ Government had dedicated itself to the question of devolution, a project that was begun in the first term and expected to be completed during the second. Now it was Ross’ responsibility to complete the agreement with the Scottish Parliament, and although he could not scrap the Scottish Parliament (it would have been political suicide for the NPA in Scotland to do so, something Ross was acutely aware of in his seat of South Lanarkshire), as he wanted, he found himself in a position to ‘prune’ some of what he saw as more egregious provisions in the White Paper for the Scotland Bill, such as STV, tax-varying powers, and the ability to initiate primary legislation. Walter Harris was made the President of the Board of Trade, retaining his role from the previous Government, as did Daniel McIrvine, who returned to Transport.
The Government was taking its shape, and after a quick supper, Montgomery and her team ploughed through the last three appointments of the night: Social Security, the Home Office, and Lord Chancellor. The question of Home Secretary in particular had been circulating since Welsh had accepted Foreign Office, both to the outside world and even those in the Cabinet Room. Even Thorpe had no idea who Montgomery would select for the job, admitting later that “I thought Claire had just forgotten the whole thing.” There was still no sign of the next Home Secretary after the notorious technocratic ‘fixer’ Brian Dunglass took the Social Security brief with the unenviable task of ‘welfare reform’, while the Duke of Leeds accepted the post of Lord Chancellor. The Duke’s appointment, out of tune with the otherwise largely ‘Kayite’ Cabinet, showed where the wind of the Prime Minister’s mind was starting to blow. As the sun had set, the received wisdom among the press was that the Home Secretary would be expected for tomorrow. Names such as George Dick and Martin O’Brien were thrown around- some even believed that Montgomery herself would assume the position.
While the news team outside began to debate if they should call it a night, a black jaguar slithered into Downing Street. From it emerged Robin Orford, MP for Chippenham. Built like an ox, wearing a thick, well trimmed beard, a hairline in retreat but confidently combed back, and glasses that magnified his eyes, he cut something of an impression with the press. “Striding into Number 10 with purpose”, the Guardian would write, “no one could be of any doubt as to what this surplus man of Footlights was here to do”. Minister of Arts under Chichester, Orford was seen as a pragmatic choice on Montgomery’s part, and certainly not part of the ‘Kayite’ clique. Elected as a Liberal, he crossed the floor to join the NPA at the height of the Black Sea Crisis, opposing what he decried as the Alliance’s “pro-Moscow leanings”. In 1996, he stood against Montgomery for Leadership, was defeated, and spent a few years licking his wounds on the backbench. Having dedicated much of the campaign in preparation to mount his leadership campaign, he accepted the Home Office portfolio as an agreeable alternative to this (for now) frustrated ambition. It would help that despite running against his now Prime Minister, the two were, despite popular belief, friends. After all, Montgomery had been the one to persuade him to defect.
The same could not be said for Orford and Sir John. When the BBC confirmed Orford’s appointment, Howell would recall he thought: “John was about to have a heart attack,” something Howell would know about, having saved the now-Chancellor’s life when he collapsed on-stage at the ‘97 Conference. When the news caught Sir John leaving the Treasury shortly after and asked him about the new Cabinet, he could hardly hide his contempt. The two men were ideological polar opposites; where Sir John rejected laissez faire capitalism, Orford embraced it. Whereas the Chancellor believed that we lived in a society where we had a duty to one another that superseded our duty to ourselves, in which the government acted to ensure this ‘social contract’ was fulfilled, the Home Secretary believed that there was no society, just individuals who acted in the self-interest of themselves alone, and the purpose of the government should be to empower the individual.
Understandably the pick felt something of a betrayal to Sir John, who watched in horror from the back of his car as Montgomery and Orford stepped out- together- in front of Number 10. Although unaware of the rift now between her and Sir John and the newfound depths of his ambition, Montgomery was keenly aware of the fragility of her position, and, although she had won a majority, her weak standing within the party. Whereas Davies ran a sofa cabinet, Montgomery decided that it must be a kitchen, a coalition of ideas where men and friends like Orford would be welcome to serve something of an intellectual counterbalance of sorts, the Rosepierre to Sir John’s Danton, where a ‘healthy discussion’ on policy would be encouraged.
In her speech to the press, shadow looming large over the shining black bricks of Downing Street, Montgomery emphasised the necessity of collective responsibility, for the NPA Cabinet to be “unified on economic and social policy where no major decision is made without joint agreement across all departments,'' and declared “although I am primus inter pares [first among equals], I would like to make it clear that I strongly consider myself inter pares.” In a coalition of ideology, this would only lead to disunity, a disunity that Howell noted now manifested as a pale grimace on Sir John’s face as he watched the new Prime Minister and the Home Secretary retreat back into Downing Street.
When the Chancellor officially arrived back in Downing Street, it was noted by the few straggling members of the press pool that he went straight to 12 Downing Street, rather than 11 Downing Street, or even 10 Downing Street, where Montgomery and Orford were presently (Orford would leave shortly thereafter). Bursting into du Pont’s new study, the Chancellor exploded: “What the fuck happened?” In Sir John’s head, the situation was worse than he could have fathomed. With Orford and the Duke of Leeds, he believed that the tectonics of the Cabinet would now shift, where the likes of Dr Nash and Walter Harris had been previously isolated and disparate, vulnerable in their lower rankings to being dominated by the Treasury apart, now had someone to coalesce around, a big brother in the Home Office. Antony Welsh’s move to the Foreign Office was also a disaster in the eyes of Sir John; in any other position, he could provide a potential counterweight, but in Foreign Affairs he was useless. And the threat of further Ministers finding kin in Orford and the Junior Ministerial ranks being filled with Monetarists and Liberals would only further fan the flames of panic in Sir John.
Sir John’s heart palpitations were perhaps unnecessary. The Orford camp barely existed, and its threat presently was nebulous at best, merely a potential dissidenting voice within the Cabinet collective. Indeed, even the two ‘big beasts’, Orford and the Duke of Leeds, were split on several fault lines. His Grace Simon Augustine Francis Osborne, the 14th Duke of Leeds and Companion of the Order of St Michael and St George, was sixty-five and built like the grim reaper, and wearing clothes and a haircut that had gone out of fashion a quarter of a century earlier appeared on the surface to all as a decisively unradical figure. His ancestors were a smattering of Tory politicians and career diplomats, his father having held all manner of ambassadorial postings, his ancestor the 5th Duke the Foreign Secretary under William Pitt, and his more distant ancestor, Sir Edward Osborne, father of the 1st Duke, a Royalist and member of the Council of the North. Despite his pedigree and the assumptions to Toryism that came with it, the Duke was a notable fissure with his family history. Where Orford was a Liberal who believed in empowering the individual, the Duke was a Whig who believed in the supremacy of Parliament.
From paranoia, the foundation had cracked again. Consensus at the Cabinet table was crucial to the survival of Montgomery’s surprise Government of ‘unity’, where it was necessary to maintain joint consent from all to grease the wheels of Government. Dissidents couldn’t be tolerated, but at the same time had facilitated the Thermidorians among the Montagnards. On ruptured foundations the sturdy house of Governance was expected to be built upon it. The appointment of Junior Ministers over the weekend did little to help, a far more decisive mix of Kayite, Monteriest, Liberals, Tories, and at least one Clydesbank Marxist. In many respects, this was the best way forwards for Montgomery- the election was a total shock, after all, and while many new MPs had the zeal of converts, it was just that: zeal. She was paradoxically, during the first few weeks, one of the strongest leaders in the NPA’s history, but also its weakest. She commanded a newfound respect and authority for leading the party into an upset victory, but this was paper-thin at best, a taught veneer over the tensions which had been building for the previous five years. For Montgomery, building such a broad coalition in Government was a survival tactic; no one faction could claim exclusion and thus threaten her as an opponent in the backbenches if all were present in Government. No one could claim their voice was not being heard.
It is understandable, then, how Montgomery did not realise she was sowing the seeds of her downfall.