Notebook

I remember a conversation a couple of years ago in which my illustrious friend the editor of The Times was wondering, as we contemplated the gathering inflation, how long it would be before a suit of clothes cost £1000. That day draws ever nearer. I now read that one of the Savile Row tailors is already charging £414. As for hand-made shoes, you can expect to pay £100 in St James's. A pair of sporting guns? Why, E 11,000.

There is no shortage of customers, however—and I am speaking of natives rather than Arabs or other rich visitors from abroad. This is one of the stranger aspects of the appalling rise in the cost of living: conspicuous personal expenditure has become very conspicuous indeed. Have you ever seen so many Rolls-Royces in the streets—and I mean new ones, frequently driven (when there is no chauffeur) by young people? Not all of their owners can be pop stars or other princes of the entertainment world. Some, no doubt, are chartered accountants of the Ronald Leach class; but there must be others as well.

What I suspect—indeed I know—is that many well-to-do people are drawing on capital, often heavily, as an act of considered domestic policy in the era of the ailing pound. They prefer real things to currency notes (or paper investments) of declining value.

But it is not at either extreme of the social scale that inflation is causing the greatest alarm or the worst hardships. These are to be found in the central salaried (or retired) segments of the community—except, of course, for 'indexed' public servants.

Sir Marcus Sieff was discussing the plight of 'middle and senior management' in a speech the other day. With customary insight, he had this to say: 'Many are beset by difficulties due to financial commitments taken up under different conditions, which they now find hard to meet. In fact many do not know how to make ends meet despite having already greatly reduced their standard of living. They are facing increasing domestic problems brought about by inflation and high personal taxation which starts at a relatively low income level. Many' wonder whether the game is worth the candle . . . For the first time in over forty years I am aware of this being a problem in Marks and Spencer. People are becoming frustrated and to some extent demoralised . . . and it is getting increasingly difficult to attract into wealth-creating industries the right kind of people who have the ability to manage and to lead.' This (alas) is part of the depressing reality of the day. What is lacking above all is a sense of national confidence—of pride in the past, of assurance and hope for the future. And this is due—for it cannot be due to anything else—to a failure of political leadership in recent years. Both of the great ruling parties may be held to account. Neither is blameless. We are living in a period of political infirmity.

As a nation, we are not short of assets. Our assets, material and moral, are in fact stupendous. North Sea oil apart, we possess apparently inexhaustible seams of coal. We have many fine manufacturing industries and an agricultural system which is both productive and congenial. We have the benefits accruing from the City of London and its historic financial institutions, all of worldwide influence. We have our great universities, our learned societies, our centres of scientific research (not least in the field of medicine). As to the Arts, they are flourishing—the envy of half the world, which comes here to enjoy them. As to general social amenity and the broad decencies of what is still a tolerant, humane and liberal order, we have much that is universally admired.

How remarkable, then, that all this is so often more fully appreciated abroad than it is at home. While the British continue to decry their own country, and wring their hands, and allow themselves to surrender to a neurosis of hopelessness and despair, many a sound overseas citizen is actually investing here, demonstrating a faith in our future that we ought ourselves to be emulating.

Given the right political leadership, that faith can be restored. Speaking for myself,

I repose my hopes in Margaret Thatcher. Who else?

Moreover I recognise the exaggeration in the bald (although perhaps permissible) assertion that 'the British' are becoming demoralised. While this is undeniably true of many, it is not true of all, and there is, I believe, a growing determination in the country that things shall not be allowed to remain as they are, or decline still further. Hence the quickening interest in the Tory alternative to socialism with its inevitable restrictions on personal freedom, its attendant bureaucracy and its outrageous cost in taxation. That interest is now very marked, not least among young people.

Other sentiments apart, this surely reflects a desire for a more equitable society. Having long since attained its original—and worthy —objectives, that great movement for social reform and equality, the Labour Party, is in practice producing inequality and is itself in grave need of reform, as both Mr Callaghan and his predecessor have acknowledged, albeit belatedly. But they arc more than belated: they are too late.

An immense moral responsibility thus lies upon the Conservatives. Mrs Thatcher and her colleagues will be called to office to govern for one nation. Disraeli's phrase his precept—was never more relevant than it is today. We are divided: it is for Mrs Thatcher to unite. Hers is a duty of the most exacting order.

As the old year ends and the new one opens, it seems that the ultimate test—the test at the polls—cannot be distant. Nor does the outcome seem in doubt as Labour staggers on, increasingly discredited, unable to govern effectively not because Mr Callaghan is unaware of what he should do but because he is prevented from doing it. He has become the prisoner of influences quite at variance with his own judgment and instincts.

The party of which he is the head is no longer the party of his original allegiance.1 It is regrettably different from the party In which he came to local prominence before the war as a young clerk in the Inland Revenue; different from the party which he first served in Parliament under Attlee. The Fabians and their ideals, which so attracted him in those days, and to which he remains attached, have been betrayed.

I have never come across anyone more assiduous in his work than our road sweeper in Bayswater. He is superb—and the cleanliness of the streets in the vicinity is a testimonial to his own rare qualities. He looks like Fred Astaire. He is of similar build and facial appearance. Moreover he has (surprising though it may seem) something of the same trim elegance and the same spry, nimble movements. In the best

esexnasmepolef to pphetee d all.

a fanatic. He is an

George Hutchinson