Westminster Corridors
The other day I was driving in an hack through the Town when my attention was taken by a newsboy who shouted: "Heath to be replaced — Tories will rebel." Uncertain of the veracity of the urchin's words, I hastened to the house of my friend Sir Simon in order to inquire of him what exactly was taking place within the Tory PartY at the Club.
As usual now, Sir Simon was in a downcast study, so I asked after his health, his fortunes and his love life. All, he told me, were in as good a shape as could be expected. The real cause of his distemper, he added in melancholy tones, was the acute boredom engendered by attendance at the Club. He had, it seems, been visited in his rooms there by a certain Mr Nicholas Winterton from Macclesfield, who (being secretary of the Anglo-Danish Parliamentary group) is said to be much interested in something known as "hard porn." In the event, this disloyal Tory MP had suggested to Sir Simon that the time was ripe to be rid of Mr Edward Heath and, with the air of a Fletcher Christian, he suggested that the Tory Leader be lashed (rather than whipped) to the mast of Morningcloud and pushed out to sea.
In the same boat The Knight, of course, would have none or it, though he confided to me in private that if both Mr Heath and Mr Harold Wilson could be pushed off in the same boat, possibly as contestants in the two-man round-Britain Race to be sponsored in a few weeks time by the Observer, then there might be some substance in the ploy.
However, as I pointed out, now that the Prime Minister relies so heavily on what we sailors call the "rum ration," and as neither man has shown during the past decade any ability to run the ship of state, what hope would they have of bringing an ocean going barque back safely to port? Sir Simon sighed
Spectator March 30, 1974 heavily at my obtuseness and wrily observed that coming back was not the object of the exercise.
But I digress. This Mr Winterton and his teenage friends at the Club have been rushing about the place like dotties shouting "Heath must go." They think that his removal frohl the leadership would restore the Tory fortunes and they propose a staggeringly amusing list of possible replacements.
Mr Enoch Powell, who used to inhabit Wolverhampton South West before he moved to Parnassus, is one suggestion. Another is Sir Alec Douglas-Home, a former peer of the realm whom Mr Winterton and his friends seem not to know retired from active politics some ten years ago.
Then there are the three wise men, Ridley, Body and Biffen, who, since I used the word "junta" in my Spectator some time ago, have been greatly exercised by the idea of one. Unfortunately, once they had lost their star Powell they wandered off course and, the rumour goes, have been ensnared by a latter day Herod in the Palace.
The banker
Mr Edward du Cann from Taunton is 3 tricky one, says Sir Simon, and make n° mistake. Like Herod, he seeks to lull the three wise men and all the innocents (Mr Winterta, and friends) into an entirely false sense 01 security. As chairman of the Tory 1922 cornmittee, this cider drinking banker protests utter loyalty to his leader and discounts all rumours that there are moves on the back' benches to have Mr Heath replaced. No one would believe the rumours (except, newsboys on street corners) if Mr du Cann di° not make so much of them and, but for the publicity he deliberately gives to the try nocents, few would even hear of the gossip. 8,1 came as no surprise to Sir Simon and myself when, even as Mr du Cann was discounting stories of a leadership crises, the chief TorY sycophant, a Mr Patrick Cormack from Staffordshire South West (Enoch country, ycni will note) announced that by far the best Leader would be — no, wait for it — Mr Edward du Cann.
There are only two points worth making about this Mr du Cann. the first is that he positively loathes and despises Mr Heath — a mutual disaffection which dates from the time when Mr Heath sacked the Westcountryrn“arl as chairman of the Tory Party. Secondly, Par, du Cann has extensive (dare I call them) "banking interests." They are, it is said, even more extensive than those of poor Mr, Reginald Maudling from Barnet and 0t pathetic Mr Jeremy Thorpe of North Devon.
Health worry
Only last night I was talking about banking and business interests to Mr Secretary Callaghan, who is now in charge of 00,r foreign affairs, who of course has none an; declares no knowledge of Julian Hodge 1-t°' Mr Callaghan is very worried about the Prime Minister's health. The problem, it would seem, is that MI; Wilson greatly admires Chancellor Brandt 0 West Germany, who, being of a robust consi titution, is won't to take some refreshMerl„ with his breakfast. The desired tipple concoction of grapes from Cognac. Accordingly, when he again became Prime Minister, Mr Wilson ordered his spouse to send back t° the merchants all the half-empty bottles of all and Wincarnis and order several cases 0 brandy which he pronounced "cogg-nack." Fortunately there is Mr Gerald Kaufttiall who in his spare time is the Ruffian's MP f. Ardwick and who, it is said, has a way the Prime Minister and always contrives t" get his leader to the Despatch box on time ,
Tom Puzzle
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