ANOTHER VOICE

Now that we are at war again, I offer my memoirs of the last one

MATTHEW PARR IS

Shock is not a common feature of an MP's constituency life. My days as a back- bench drudge, contributing his two ha'penceworth to the small change of local affairs in West Derbyshire, were happy ones but rarely surprising. I hope I got on well with local voters. I knew which buttons to press when applause was needed, and they knew when to give it. By 1982, after some three years as their MP, I had never seriously misread my audience there.

My constituency Conservative Associa- tion was neither stupid nor unkind. Julian Critchley has made a decent living parody- ing the more ludicrous elements among Tory activists, and they exist, but I honestly met few such in Matlock, Bakewell, Belper, Wirksworth or Ashbourne, or the farms and villages of the Peak District.

The women in particular I often found intelligent and generous-minded; I hardly recognise the stereotype of the 'blue-rinse Tory lady' who has become such a staple cliché of the lazy political editor. So far from being the baying, Poujadiste mob beloved of satire, the Tory grass-roots are on the whole more thoughtful than the par- liamentary shower whose careers they sus- tain. That is why they prefer John Major's politics to Sir George Gardiner's.

So the occasion which comes to mind now we are at war with Europe stands out as highly unusual; unique, in fact. It was the only time I misread my own Association.

To be precise, it was the Matlock branch of the Association. I was to deliver the Member's Address at a largish gathering — perhaps 50 people — in (as I recall) the hall of the National Farmers' Union offices in Smedley Street. It was 1982. General Galtieri had occupied the Falklands; the British Task Force had been despatched and was heading for the South Atlantic and Francis Pym, the Foreign Secretary, was exploring (not entirely with Mrs Thatcher's blessing) ways of stitching up a compromise to avert war before it began. The Ameri- cans and (I seem to remember) the Peru- vians were involved and there was talk in the air of possible deals.

Press reaction to such talk was mixed. Some commentators were gung-ho for Argie-bashing, others coolly interested in the possibility of a partial climb-down on both sides.

I sided with the compromisers. Some- thing, some defect in my political instincts, always tugs at my sleeve to pull me off a bandwagon just at the point when it really begins to roll. Ever since watching a crowd in Jamaica cheer the demise of a drowning dog, I have become aware of a rising dis- taste for mob emotion, be it in a football crowd, an evangelical church or a Com- mons statement on Dunblane. My late grandfather, Squadron-Leader Leonard Littler, once said 'Whenever I see a wave of public indignation I am filled with a mas- sive calm.' For me the calm can freeze the blood in something close to disgust, a grip- ping alienation, as much an emotion as the emotions it censures.

It seemed to me that if some kind of Falklands stand-off could be engineered, followed by talks with Argentina, then this was to be desired. A number of us at West- minster felt likewise, though perhaps few would now wish to stand up and be count- ed. The Peak District being a most unmili- taristic place inhabited by gentle people of the best English sort, I assumed a fair few of my constituents would share my wish for peaceful compromise. That Matlock meet- ing seemed a good place to explain it. In tentative terms I pledged my support for the Foreign Secretary's efforts. I was nearly lynched. For a young back- bencher accustomed to polite applause, to be heckled by some of your own executive officers is shocking. I looked around a sea of the faces of all the people who liked me and had worked to elect me, and saw, for the first time in my life, nothing but anger. Questioner after questioner told me that Britain was fully in the right and that was that. Besides, they said, like it or not, we were at war and this was no time to rock the boat. I left, much the wiser about British instincts where conflicts with for- eigners are concerned.

During the whole period of the South Atlantic war I never heard from a single constituent with doubts or qualms, except a couple who ran a restaurant in Matlock

's for off-peak calls.'

whose son was with the Task Force. So I decided to shut up, though unhappy throughout the whole business, troubled by the politics of risking all in so uncertain a venture, and sorry for the hundreds of Argentinians who were being killed. It was not that we were in the wrong, but that the response seemed disproportionate, self- righteous, overheated, and terribly expen- sive. I used to say to myself, as constituents applauded the war effort, 'You'll soon stop cheering when the bodies start coming home.'

I think that was probably incorrect. The loss of the Sheffield only made my con- stituents fiercer. As for the sinking of the Belgrano, they cared little whether Mrs Thatcher was lying or not, but simply cheered the drowning of large numbers of the enemy — the more the better. After the war was won I composed a letter to the edi- tor of the Times. Now there was no danger of rocking the boat, I wrote, I wished to say that the jingoism of Parliament and people had made me feel ashamed to be British. Having written the letter, I very sensibly threw it away. I had learned my lesson about the electorate.

Nor do I forget it now. This beef business is faintly preposterous, as more Tory MPs than will admit it publicly have been telling their friends. And of course the issues are less clear-cut and the threat from abroad less pressing, than in the Falklands. But still I think Mr Major may be onto something. We do face a prima facie threat, it does come from foreigners, and Britain does have at least some measure of right on her side. It is doubtful whether more is required. If it is, I dare say a couple of menacing outbursts from anybody with a vaguely Teutonic accent will do the trick,and if these are not forthcoming they could be faked by Conservative Central Office. 'Every few generations', I heard Michael Brown, the Tory MP for Cleethor- pes, telling his local newspaper last week- end, 'Britain has to say No to the Ger- mans.'

Do not discount the possibility that John Major will win his beef war. Do not dis- count the possibility that, even without vic- tory and for as long as he is still fighting, then, come the next election, West Der- byshire will fight with him.

Matthew Parris is parliamentary sketchwriter for the Times.