2 JULY 1983, Page 23

Labour loyalist?

Eric Jacobs

A Yorkshire Boyhood Roy Hattersley (Chatto & Windus £8.95)

T have only to remember Sid Osgothorpe,' writes Roy Hattersley, `to feel certain that the Labour Party is built on secure foundations.' So who is this admirable Sid? A Sheffield steelworker, a party stalwart, without wish for office or hope of prefer- ment, who at election time — at any rate, election time 1950 — allows his front room to be tramped with mud and his tea drunk by party workers. In short, the sort of de- cent 'fellow over whom ambitious politi- cians like Roy Hattersley clamber on their way to the leadership of the Labour Party. That last sentence was irresistible, though quite unfair to the spirit of Hattersley's book, which is not meant to be a political testament but an amiable tour through the back lanes of his very English childhood. At another time one would be content to judge the book for what it set out to be. But now Hattersley has pitched himself into the struggle to succeed Michael Foot and one can't help reading his book as a kind of per- sonal manifesto.

Anyway, Hattersley can't really com- plain. He has, deliberately or not, scattered his text with political clues. For instance, he reveals he is not a socialist. That sort of language was not used around the Hat- tersley household. There, you were Labour and that was that. Being Labour seems not to have meant much more than not being anything else. Loyalty was all, defection from the party the worst of crimes. For the likes of Ramsey Macdonald there could be no forgiveness. He had 'broken faith with the vow. It was the ultimate heresy.'

Already, at 16, Hattersley had discovered in the Labour party 'the great excitement' of his life. But what variety of excitement was it? Not the excitement of theory, but of practice. 'From the moment 1 knocked on my first door and announced I was "calling on behalf of the Labour candidate" I was infatuated with the business of politics. I enjoyed canvassing above all other political activities.' Hattersley did encounter political ideas but they did not detain him. With the help of his history master he quickly nudged aside infantile leftism and got down to the real thing, which was win- ning office. He joined the local branch of the Labour League of Youth, tried and fail- ed to become chairman or secretary, and settled for the treasurership. It was better than nothing, giving him officious control of the bank account, however small.

Absolute dedication to the party plus a powerful drive for office were enough for the young Hattersley. But he soon discovered there was one more, rather awkward, dimension to politics: choice. In a democracy, this was something that even the most abject loyalist could not always avoid. The discovery came in a banal enough way, in 1950 when the local MP, A. V. Alexander, went to the Lords and a new candidate had to be picked. As good Co-operators, the Hattersleys were asked to back the Co-op party's man, George Darl- ing.. Mother and father were only too ready to agree. But Uncle Syd, who lived with them, was not to be compelled. He wanted to make up his own mind after he had in- spected all the candidates.

Uncle Syd duly reviewed the contenders — and then duly endorsed Darling. But the brief uncertainty disturbed the young Hat- tersley. lay in bed night after night pondering the competing merits of unthink- ing loyalty and high-minded independence. It was the first occasion that I realised that politics posed such conundrums from time to time.'

Ah, yes. From time to time politics does pose conundrums. Indeed conundrums are what politics is all about and solving them is what politicians are there to do. Characteristically, Hattersley does not tell us on which side of this particular conun- drum he came down.

I wonder why he took on the burden of politics at all. There are less conscience- racking ways of getting by. Perhaps he was simply following an early bent for manipulation. At 13, too young for com- petitive cricket at school, he attended assiduously at the local church youth club with a view to forming a cricket team and becoming its captain. 'I was triumphantly successful in both endeavours,' he observes, triumphantly. Beyond the joys of manipulation, success, power, Hattersley's book suggests no reason why he became a professional politician. There appears to have been no trauma, no social hurt, no political revelation. His childhood was 5erene, carefree to the point of tedium. There was always someone around to dote on him — mother, father, invalid grand- mother, one or other of two unemployed uncles. Before the war, this extended family managed to buy a house on mortgage. Hat- tersley was sent for a time to a private school. A three-piece suite was purchased — 'essential to the Hattersleys' self-esteem.' He was a cub and then a scout. He had diphtheria and asthma. Though not much good in the gym, he was a football and cricket fanatic. He dabbled in girls and got a university place.

Scandal of a mild sort did lurk in the background. Hattersley's father had been a priest until he met the girl who became Hat- tersley's mother, but this was never men- tioned. Hattersley did not discover the truth until he was in his forties.

At the end of his book, we leave Hat- tersley poised to step out of the schoolroom and into the world. He is packed and stand- ing at the bus-stop, bound either for univer- sity or National Service, we are not told which. A device, perhaps, to keep us in suspense until the next volume, but also an appropriately symbolic image of Hattersleyean ambiguity. Still, one thing is sure: Hattersley has stayed loyal to Labour. No Macdonald he. No matter that the Labour Party has drifted close to utter destruction, Hattersley will be with it to the end, perhaps even the captain on the bridge when the ship finally slithers under.

But I can't help wondering what old Sid Osgothorpe thinks about it all now. He sounds to me just like one of those skilled workers who defected from Labour in their hundreds of thousands at the election. Is it the Sid Osgothorpes who are the traitors, then? Or is it the Roy Hattersleys, with their penchant for power, their manipulative skills and their blind loyalty to the machinery of the Labour movement, out of which they have done so well?

Who are the traitors now?