POLITICS

Ann Widdecombe is arrogant and wrong, but the blame for the Big Gaffe lies with Mr Hague

BRUCE ANDERSO N

During the Major government, Ann Widdecombe and Oliver Henley were junior ministers in the same department. On one occasion, Miss Widdecombe's conduct led Lord Henley to raise an eyebrow. He heard one of her civil servants call her 'Ann' rather than 'Minister'. Noticing his surprise, Miss Widdecombe rounded on him. 'But Oliver, God calls me Ann. What does God call you, Oliver?'In the unlikely event of the Almighty addressing me, I assume that he'd call me Lord Henley.'

That illustrates one of the difficulties of dealing with Ann Widdecombe. Someone who believes she is in constant contact with her Maker is unlikely to take orders from the Chief Whip. Since then, her confidence has been further boosted by her apparent popu- larity. A direct link to public opinion and to God: a lot there to confirm a lonely spinster in her simple moral certainties.

She has never been a team player or an easy colleague. During the dispute over the sacking of Derek Lewis, the then director of Prisons, she ignored collective responsibility and made life as awkward as possible for her boss, Michael Howard. Such was her behaviour that she, too, deserved to be sacked, and might well have been but for the government's weakness. Despite her moral image, Miss Widdecombe is capable of unscrupulousness. There is no more hon- ourable man in public life than Michael Howard, and it was absurd to describe him as having something of the night about him. But she wanted revenge.

Ann Widdecombe is also socially awkward. Almost all members of the shadow Cabinet feel more at ease in one another's company than they do in hers. All this helps to explain her colleagues' reluctance to come to her rescue over the past few days. When a politi- cian runs into trouble, it is useful to be able to draw on a capital of friendship; Ann Wid- decombe has no such resource. Contrary to some reports, there was no plot against her, but many of her colleagues were exasperated at being bounced into trouble, and without Consultation. 'This was never discussed in shadow Cabinet' was a constant complaint in Bournemouth last week.

So Miss Widdecombe got no support, only blame. But that was unfair. The drugs imbroglio was not her fault; it was William Hague's. She may have wanted to make a foolish proposal; it was he, or his office, who should have prevented her. The problem goes back to the beginning of the Hague leadership. At that time, a num- ber of Tory MPs believed that in order to regain its identity, the party ought to work out what it believed in a wide-ranging intel- lectual debate. One of Mr Hague's oldest political friends, Alan Duncan, was promi- nent in expressing that view, and wrote a book, Saturn's Children, which was intended to be a contribution to the debate. It includ- ed a chapter on drugs. After analysing the global failure of prohibition, he came out in favour of legalisation.

But Mr Duncan's advice was not taken, on debating or on drugs. Indeed, he was per- suaded to remove the drugs chapter from the paperback edition. (It is now circulating in samizdat form among the membership of Conservative Future, as the Young Conser- vatives are now known: further evidence that prohibition does not work.) One can understand the reluctance to throw the party open to fundamental intel- lectual argument. In view of the Tory party's recent history, the leadership could be forgiven for concluding that the last thing it needed was more debate, and that it was time to bring back the traditional Tory strengths: discipline, loyalty and a strong Whips' office.

Well and good, but having come to that conclusion, Mr Hague failed to follow it through. The party can only march in step if there is clear leadership reinforced by sound staff-work. Mr Hague should not be blamed for failing to think through the implications of the drugs question; he had a lot to do last week. But that is why leaders have staffs.

Someone should have read Ann Widde- combe's speech and noted that on prison reform and on the police, there was strong material which would receive a favourable public response. But this staff officer's anten- nae should have quivered when he read the drugs passage. As it is unlikely that Miss Widdecombe would meekly take directions from a mere staff officer, Mr Hague himself should have been alerted to the need to deploy his charm, and his authority.

The Widdecombe affair cost the Tory party valuable momentum; that can no longer be helped. But there will be further such issues between now and the election. If further momentum is not to be lost, Mr Hague and his office will have to act a good deal more effectively than they did in Bournemouth. AI write this, Donald Dewar is dying in an Edinburgh hospital. Donald is a fine man, who has spent his life and neglected his health in public service. The tributes to him will be heartfelt and richly deserved. But in one crucial respect, they will be mis- leading.

Over the next few days, many of Mr Dewar's colleagues will claim that the Holyrood Parliament is his true memorial. If so, it is a most unworthy and unstable one. To the depths of his being, Donald Dewar did believe that a Parliament in Edinburgh would bring two great benefits. It would be a worthy expression of Scot- land's national identity and it would also strengthen the Union.

But Donald was wrong. By both criteria, Holyrood is a failure. The standard of debate is dire, worthy only of a nation of mental defectives. Scottish Parliament: Holyrood is a mere grudging-house of glot- tal-stopped grievances.

To the Scots' credit, there is widespread public disillusion with Holyrood, but this is not helping to solidify the Union. On the contrary: many Scots will now claim that devolution is failing because it is inade- quate, and that the only way to make the Parliament work is to give it more powers and sovereignty. From 1997 onwards, ignoring the Braveheart rubbish, the real argument took place between those like Donald Dewar who insisted that devolution was the only way to halt the SNP and those of us who feared that there• was no room for two parliaments in one United King- dom. We saw devolution as merely another form of appeasement, which was likely to be as unsuccessful as most of its predeces- sors. There is nothing in the Holyrood experience to prove our fears groundless.

If Scottish devolution ever had an heroic period, it was a brief one, and with Donald Dewar's departure it will fade into a distant memory. He was a big figure, who could explain Scotland to Westminster and vice versa, though even he was finding that an increasingly hard task. His successor, who will be largely unknown at Westminster, will find it impossible.

Donald Dewar had the highest personal qualities and we should salute his passing. But as he dies, the cause to which he devoted his life is foundering. He loved Scotland, but he has bequeathed the country he loved a most uncertain legacy.