Politics

The craving for Cecil

111 efore she left for Austria, Mrs Thatch- er reassured us that she planned no great changes in her Cabinet. At the lower levels of government, she said with alarm- ing frankness, she intended to move people in and out in order to satisfy the ambitions of her party's politicians (a doctrine which she does not apply to the rather large number who like to have a crack at being Prime Minister), but at the top, it was really only a question of replacing poor Jim Prior.

So we have it on the best authority that the present array of familiar faces will survive the autumn, and we must settle down to make the best of it. It is rather as if the impresario of some faintly depressing middle-brow drama which had turned in very marginal profits decided that he might as well keep it in the West End until something better turned up. The photo- graphs of the actors on the boards outside are not inspiring. The press endorsements are either tepid ('Geoffrey Howe is a respectable Foreign Secretary' — Daily Telegraph) or shaming ('Maggie's best for Britain' — Sun). The audience consists of naively enthusiastic American tourists or the retired up from the provinces for 'a nice night out'. The smart set stays away.

Controversy, such as it has been, has centred on one cast change. Why not bring back Cecil Parkinson? it is asked. He may have been an erratic actor with a turbulent private life, but he brought a certain dash and glamour to the show which it now badly lacks. Constitutional experts point out that there are precedents for such a quick recovery from disgrace. In 1947 Hugh Dalton, the Chancellor of the Exche- quer, told the Star lobby correspondent what was in his Budget and had to resign. Next year he was back in the Cabinet. But Mrs Thatcher has responded with the inscrutable wisdom of one who believes she knows her public — it would be nice to have Cecil back, certainly, but the time is not right.

One intends no disrespect to Mr Parkin- son if one says that it is a little odd that so many hopes should be placed in him. Since it was only party conference panic which pushed him out in the first place, there is no reason why he should be kept out of a Cabinet in which his skills in public argu- ment are needed, but it is still hard to believe that his return would work the wonders that are predicted. But the crav- ing for Cecil is a phenomenon which should interest students of the psychology of politics.

Mr Parkinson is one of those politicians whose appearance is very important in his political effect. He is widely thought to be

handsome. There is an alternative school of thought which holds that he looks slick and American, but to, whichever school you belong, you cannot avoid noticing his appearance. Mr George Younger or Mr Michael Jopling might appear on your television screen and leave no more than an air of amiability behind him. Mr Patrick Jenkin might appear and leave no air at all. Mr Parkinson you would re- member.

It is hard to remember the physical impact of the present Cabinet except with what an advertiser would call a negative response. Messrs Rees, Ridley, King, Jo- pling, Younger, Jenkin and Edwards are essentially interchangeable (by which I do not, of course, mean that they look the same). Lord Hailsham, Sir Geoffrey Howe, Messrs Biffen and Prior, and Sir Keith Joseph, look rather odd, but in a more or less likeable way. Mr Heseltine is the only one with pretensions to glamour. Messrs Brittan, Lawson, Walker and Fow- ler, and Lord Cockfield, look, well, plain. Only Lord Whitelaw, Mr Tebbit and the Prime Minister herself have faces which, for better or worse, are unforgettable.

It is hard to be fair, let alone objective in these matters. I find that most private discussion of Mr Brittan centres round his appearance, but although it is true that he is no oil-painting, or not, at least, the sort of oil-painting that one would buy for one's drawing-room, one should not allow that to define one's attitude towards him. In the same way, Mr John Gummer's boyish looks are unfavourably compared with Mr Parkinson to an extent which is quite unreasonable. Yet there is no doubt that people do hope for certain things in the appearance of politicians, and when they do not find them, they feel disappointment and sometimes even revulsion.

Looking at the Opposition frpnt bench, Mrs Thatcher may feel that she can afford to be complacent. For every Mr Brittan on her side, there are one and a half Gerald Kaufmans on the other, and Messrs Hat- tersley and Cook, Silkin and Shore crowd- ing in like figures from the bad dream of Baba the elephant. But when competing for the judgment of Paris it is not enough to have weak opposition, one must have merits of one's own, or the apple will simply be withheld.

For the ancient belief that appearance expresses moral and even intellectual char- acter has survived, even if it is no longer articulated. In the miners' dispute, for example, it is hard to think of someone with the vain, silly appearance of Mr Scargill as a working class hero, and almost equally difficult to sympathise with the impassive, blob-like presence of Mr Mac- Gregor. Would-be partisans look for some- thing, but what they see does not' corres- pond with what they were looking for. So strong is this relation between the sensory and moral qualities of people that it even survives disability. Blind people treat peo- ple's voices as the sighted treat their faces.

Etymologically, the idea of a person arises from the idea of a face; the two are not identical, but they are related; and although it is true that appearances can deceive, we only know this by comparing with other appearances. It may be,possible for political operators to exploit appear- ances — as has constantly happened in American politics since John F. Kennedy but that does not mean that people are shallow in seeking a harmony between appearance and reality. In the faces of really outstanding politicians, it is possible to see the qualities for which they are known. Think of de Gaulle, or Churchill, or Gladstone.

If one had to produce a composite — a sort of police photofit — of one of Mrs Thatcher's Cabinet ministers, what would he look like? He would be a little fat, a little sleek, bespectacled, urban. He would not look shifty, but his eyes would not shine with honesty, indeed, they would not shine with anything. His gestures would be cautious — a hand slightly raised to ward off a criticism, not extended to greet a friend. His expression would be non- committal. He would not be laughing. It is a good thing, of course, that governments are not composed solely of the brightest and best of the sons of the morning. Every Cabinet needs its Arthur Bottomley, its Chuter Ede, its Kingsley Wood. But, in Mrs Thatcher's Cabinet there is a mismatch between the great things that we are told it is attempting, ,and the rather ordinary people who are atteMP: ting them. Most of the time this may 11°.t matter very much; the trouble is that rt does matter now. Whatever one feels about the Government's economic pokey: one ought to be unambiguous in support- ing it against what Mr Scargill is trying to ui. do, and one ought to recognise how much it matters that he does not succeed.Yet one

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this Government's remains unenthused. If looks can kills this Government's cause, they will.

Charles Moore