Three Irishmen in a boat

Auberon Waugh One of the oddest results of the Spectator's inquiry into its readers' tastes and aversions

was a demand for more political analysis and comment. In my six years as a political correspondent—only two and a half of them for this paper-1 thought I had established that nobody in England is interested in politics except the politician, and by no means all of them are interested.

But it is not a columnist's job to know best. Perhaps I would prefer to write about ballet this week, or a hundred amusing ways

to redecorate your attics. The voice of the readers is not to be gainsaid, so here goes.

On my last excursion into politics I drew attention to the role of Dr Bernard Donou ghue, senior policy adviser to the Prime Minister as described by Joe Haines in his amusing book, and queried whether his salary should properly be charged to public funds.

I think I can understand why Mr Callaghan retains Mr Donoughue as the only surviving member of Wilson's kitchen cabinet, and the reason is an endearing one. The Prime Minister has an understandable

diffidence—not to say a raging paranoia—

about his own educational and intellectual attainments. It may take the form of ridiculing intellectuals and their preoccu pations, but the point is a sensitive one, nevertheless. Donoughue, with his im pressive doctorate of philosophy at Oxford University, is a guarantee, as he sees it, of intellectual respectability. Nobody can sneer at whatever fatuous suggestions emerge from the Downing Street powerhouse if they carry the stamp of Nuffield College. The Prime Minister simply does not dare sack his chief policy advisor or 'brain' in case we all start laughing at him.

No doubt Donoughue takes comfort from these reflections on his own indis pensability, as he did (if we are to believe Haines) in the days of Wilson. But I still think that his salary (which I now believe to be nearer £14,000 than £13,000 and therefore getting beyond a joke) should more properly be charged to Transport House, or, better still, to the Prime Minister personally.

Perhaps Mr Callaghan has disbanded the circle of East European businessmen who traditionally help a Labour Prime Minister over this sort of problem, but if so he must forgo the luxuries associated with such help. The silence of the Opposition on this subject is much easier to understand, and much

less endearing. From inquiries I have made,

1 receive the impression that Mrs Thatcher has every intention of filling Downing Street with party political dogsbodies of the same sort, and also at the public expense. If true, this strikes me as a shocking state of affairs. Can't her wretched husband work a little harder to provide her with a speechwriter or two? After her performance in the no-confidence debate, it is plain that she needs one.

Be that as it may, the fact that the Tory opposition is in cahoots with Labour (and the Liberals have now thrown in their lot with the chief villains) must mean that the question of who pays Dr Donoughue's wages is a political non-starter, unless we can persuade Enoch to take the matter up. The rest of us may apply ourselves to a study of Dr Donoughue's record as senior policy adviser to the Prime Minister, but it can scarcely have escaped the notice of, Mr Powell's constituents that three of the three top policy-making jobs in the British government are now occupied by the descendants of Irish immigrants. Their three families also appear to have lost the Faith in the course of settling here. Can it be coincidence that Callaghan, Healey and Donoughue are all unmistakably from families of Irish origin ?

Can it be a coincidence that the present time, when these three men are in control of our destinies, has also seen a new craze of Irish jokes? Last week one of the popular newspapers—I think it was the Sun—conducted a survey to find out what made pretty girls in England laugh. Nearly all of them produced Irish jokes as being typical of what made them laugh. Here is one of them : Q: What is black, shrivelled and hangs from the ceiling ?

A: An Irish electrician.

Tactless as these jokes undoubtedly are, and gravely insulting to the Irish, they do raise the serious question of exactly where, under present circumstances, these attractive and relaxed young ladies would expect to find an Irish Prime Minister, an Irish Chancellor of the Exchequer and an Irish Senior Policy Adviser. Oh yes, in Downing Street of course.

This is because it can scarcely have escaped anyone's attention in this country that every single major policy decision taken in the last few years has invariably proved to be the wrong one; whenever a choice has to be made, it is unfailingly the wrong option which is chosen. But if we are to examine this extraordinary phenomenon seriously we must drop the disreputable racial slur and address ourselves per homines ad rem.

I do not personally think it fair to blame a Prime Minister for all the disasters and imbecilities of his administration. A Prime Minister, after all, is also leader of his party. He has vested interests and pressure groups to appease, his own position to protect,

Spectator 2 April 1977 elections and majorities to worry about. Nor would it be fair to blame Mr Healey for everything. He is only responsible for the financial mess, after all, and can't be blamed for the mess in education, the health mess, the industrial relations mess or any of the countless other messes we are in. No, if we are to coin a word to describe this prevailing spirit of our times, the monotonous and predictable taking of every wrong sow by the ear, every stick by the dirty end, then we should surely put the blame where it belongs and call it Donoughuism after the engagingly youthful forty-two-year-old senior policy adviser to the Prime Minister.

This may be useful as a general label, but of course any investigation of the phenomenon reveals that it stretches well beyond the attractive Doctor in every direction. Heath never took a single major decision as Prime Minister—to proceed with Concorde, to build a Channel tunnel, to turn most of Southern England into an airport, to call a general election—which has not alreadY proved to have been the wrong one. Government decisions on comprehensive schooling, on devolution, on high-rise housing for the working classes were all taken long before Dr Donoughue arrived on the scene or miles from his particular area of concern.

He may only have given it a name, this mood or movement or whatever it is bY which every decision taken in Britain is invariably the wrong one, but at least he should be remembered for that. Was not Mrs Thatcher's decision to force a no; confidence vote the purest donoughuism By not forcing such a vote, she had the government of this country in exactly the position that every Conservative would wish to see it, a state of total paralysis, unable t° legislate in any direction. Nobody wants the Tories back, and a paralysed Labour government was the best of all possible worlds.

With hindsight, everyone but Mr Steel can now surely see that his acceptance of the Lib-Lab pact was donoughuistic. Tile Liberals should have demanded a horsetrading session before every vote on government business. To allow the Darlington Sportsground (Miscellaneousprovisions) Bill through, they should have demanded a permanent chauffeur-driven car. for the Liberal leader and a redistribution ot the Orpington boundaries to make it a Liberal seat once more. To allow the Budget through, they should have demanded pro: portional representation at the next genera' election and Ravi Tikkoo's house in HaMP: a

Liberal stead as official residence for the

leader. hich When people realise the extent to w donoughuism has become part of our daltloY life, there might be a popular movement t turn and smite the unfortunate man. Btl am convinced that the real reason for otn national collapse lies much deeper than single gap-toothed Irish arriviste inDownihinng

Street. true reason is to be found o wit