22 SEPTEMBER 1967, Page 8

SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK

J. W. M. THOMPSON

I can't remember a time when the political parties have simultaneously run into such trouble with their public relations. It's no novelty for one or other of them to strike a bad patch, .but at the moment they all seem to be floundering. The Tories, and Mr Edward Heath in particular, made a thorough hash of the replacement of Mr du Cann by Mr Barber as party chairman. There was no need at all for this comparatively minor change to be carried out with such uproar in the news- papers. But then, there was even less need for the Government, and Mr Gordon Walker in particular, to cut such poor figures in the ridiculous Enfield school affair. It's true that earlier this month I speculated here about Mr Gordon Walker's singular tendency to be politically accident-prone. I scarcely expected him to reach the peak of his form quite so quickly, however. Meanwhile, the Liberals, with their embarrassing Red Guards and all, must be sighing for the happy headlines of 1962. The spectacle of politicians demonstrating loss of touch with such unanimity is curious when one reflects that never before' have the parties devoted so much attention (and money) to the business of improving their 'images.' It sup- ports my belief that skilful PR men cannot indefinitely protect politicians from them- selves : which is in itself a rather cheerful thought. What lies behind these fumblings, of course, is less cheerful, since it appears to be insecurity and uncertainty in all camps.

Swings and roundabouts

There is always a lurking element of irony in the whole question of political public relations. I don't suppose that Mr Macmillan was ever seen to better advantage on the television screen than last Sunday evening, when he talked at length about his wartime memories. As Prime Minister he was frequently far less at ease, and much less effective; indeed, one famous elec- tion broadcast by him inspired a memorable send-up in Beyond the Fringe. I thought it nicely illustrated the ups and downs of this odd business that he should have made this strik- ingly successful appearance in a week when the present Prime Minister, whose skill as an image-projector has been unrivalled in recent years, should have found himself turned into the principal butt of another boisterous piece of theatrical mockery, Mrs Wilson's Diary.

Veto

Colonel Sammy Lohan, the former secretary of the *D' Notice Committee and chief victim of the Prime Minister's quarrel with the Daily Express over the Government's habit of vetting cables, was to have reviewed Greville Wynne's book, The Man from Moscow, in this issue of the SPECTATOR. He hasn't done so, however, for the rather unpleasant reason that Whitehall intervened to stop him—Whitehall in the person of Sir James Dunnett, the Per- manent Under-Secretary at the Ministry of Defence. Sir James has already figured in the preposterous 'D' Notice saga—first as an im- portant witness before the Radcliffe inquiry, and then as one of the 'judges' in the civil ser- vice inquiry set up after the Government had rejected the Radcliffe findings. This latest inter- vention is hard to understand. Lohan had

offered to show his article to the ministry before publication, so as to make sure that nothing contrary to the national interest was disclosed by accident. This wasn't enough, however. Sir James ruled that it would be 'inappropriate' for him to write on the subject at all, and quoted the opinion of MI5 in support of this. The reason given was that the colonel, while still secretary of that famous committee, had had a hand in clearing Wynne's book as not being a contravention of any 'D' Notice. The implications of this for Colonel Lohan, who had to resign his post in circumstances which merited a great deal of sympathy, could be serious. Will this kind of ruling be applied every time he tries to write about something in the defence field on which he has expert know- ledge? If so, as he points out, his task of earning a living is going to be difficult.

Match abandoned

I'm sorry, for various reasons, that the in- vitation to visit Rhodesia which was extended to the Yorkshire cricket team was inflated into a political issue and so had to be turned down. I wish that as a country, we could get out of this boring habit of pretending that trivialities are matters of importance. I wish that White- hall spokesmen would refrain from making solemn pronouncements about things which ought not to belong to their official sphere at all. And I wish that my own county, which has always taken pride in knowing better than a bunch of London politicians how to manage its affairs, would stick to its traditional and admirable custom of doing as it thinks best and telling those who don't like it to lump it.

How many people nowadays remember Ernie Bevin's happy definition of the aim of his foreign policy—so to order things as to allow anyone, at any time, to travel wherever he pleased? What a decline when cricketers, and Yorkshire cricketers at that, cannot even play a few games in Rhodesia without some govern- ment department's approval. My comments, I may add, do not indicate any favour for the racialist policies of the Ian Smith regime, but simply a preference for a sense of proportion in public affairs.

Gale warning.

The Daily Mirror hasn't been the same without Cassandra. I'm pleased to hear that the paper has now acquired a new star writer in George Gale, one of Fleet Street's most talented and engaging individualists. Neither he nor the Mirror would claim that Gale will be filling Cassandra's place exactly, but at least it's safe to say he will become a prominent ingredient in the Mirror mixture. Gale's career so far has taken him from Peterhouse to the Daily Express by way of the Guardian. Sir Denis Brogan, reminiscing somewhat unenthusiasti- cally the other day about the progress of several of his (by conventional standards) distinguished former pupils, cited Gale as one he wasn't ashamed of. I wish him luck on the Mirror.

Happy landings

'That's why we not only like our competitors but hope they do a bang-up job.' (From a Swissair advertisement this week.)