DIARY
When the election was at last an- nounced my first reaction was simply re- lief. Now, I thought, I really can escape from the various half-made plans that I have mistakenly committed myself to, half hoping that the election would let me cancel them. That lunch with a long-lost friend; a cookery demonstration and an inconvenient visit to relations: they can go, and with a good conscience. This is quickly followed by the onset of guilt. I will not be able to campaign properly because of my job; I will not be able to look after my children because of the campaign. The dreadful three-way pull has begun. I try and sort out my priorities. The first, of course, is simple: the children. But then which? William's job or my job? When I am at work I think of course my job comes first. Then when I am out with William I hear the reproachful 'Caroline! How nice to see you' from party helpers. (The unspoken implication is: 'Why weren't you here yesterday?') So guilt rears its ugly head, and I think that my place is at my husband's side and that I should forget trying to be a career lady.
Three weeks on the campaign trail. Knocking on doors smiling charmingly. Sometimes it is fun, when people are happy to meet you, keen to vote for William and the weather is lovely. Some- times it is less fun, but practically no one is ever rude. At this election (more than at the last two elections) the electorate is amazingly unpredictable. We met an old- style hippy the other day — long jumble sale overcoat and all — who was a commit- ted Conservative. His argument was this. Unemployment was voluntary, he said. He knew because he had never chosen to work. Inflation was compulsory. So he would vote Tory. An enormous punk turned out to be a firm Conservative supporter. But he had one reservation. He and the lads were off to the Isle of Wight and he didn't much like the sound of the Public Order Act.
If we have a large area to canvass we split into two groups. William with his canvassers goes in one direction and I go off with an efficient councillor and a second group of canvassers. William comes back fascinated by how interested the electorate is in defence and the economy. I come back amazed by the number of sash windows and street lights we've talked about. We canvass every house even where we see a lot of Liberal or Labour posters. They are not necessarily indicative of the whole household. (I am sure that the Converse is also true.) The other day I CAROLINE WALDEGRAVE
knocked on a very Liberal-looking house only to find that the posters had been put up by the son of the house (too young to vote) and that the mother was a Conserva- tive and the father a Labour voter. Some people, particularly our many Asian con- stituents, are so impeccably polite that one is always warmed by their support. But I have a sneaking suspicion that so are all four of the other candidates standing against us.
Iknock at the door, of a huge smiling West Indian man. I ask if he is a supporter of ours. 'Hold on a minute,' he says. A prolonged shout to `Gwyneth' — I don't see that important authority or hear her reply, but I gather that all is well. We had two votes from that household. Sometimes I am amazed by the naivety of the voters. I knocked at one door, explained who I was and the attractive girl with a baby in her arms said 'Conservative' followed by long thought and then 'That's not Labour, is it?' She then explained that her husband was out but she'd heard he might be voting.
The last two writers on this page have been married to famous men. I have noticed a striking change for us between this election and the first one that William fought in 1979 and the second in 1983. Then we would knock at the door and I would have to repeat his name several times. Now that he has become a high- profile minister we never have to repeat his name and the great majority of the people recognise him. One night we went to our local Greek restaurant for a quiet meal alone to have a moment or two of peace. It didn't last. The whole restaurant turned into a friendly political forum. Much free Metaxas was sent to us. I felt sorry for the group of insurance people who had come for a works outing and wanted to dine in peace. We also felt sorry for ourselves next day with two royal hangovers.
Our day is normally divided into morning, afternoon and evening canvass
sessions. If it pours with rain we do blocks of flats and old ladies' homes. If it's sunny we do houses. On Tuesday it poured with rain so William made six speeches in six old people's community centres. Here the competition is not from hecklers but from screeching hearing aids and the clattering of yet more tea being made. In these centres the warden is normally of great political significance and his or her colours are reflected by the residents — at least in theory. At one centre a very large female warden — a Quaker — announced: 'We're all Liberal here.' There was indeed a fine display of orange stickers in the window. Out of his room popped a rather small, smiling old man and stood behind her shaking his head vigorously in a dumb show of rebellious Conservatism.
Standing at my husband's side, I have very quickly learnt to accept my place. We had a hurriedly arranged political lunch when Tom King kindly came to canvass for us. Security meant nothing could be plan- ned in advance. The lunch was in a basement flat. Tom King and the three other Bristol candidates had a smart table and sat down to a sophisticated lunch. The party workers, wives and children then sat where we could on the floor. When Michael Heseltine came to Bristol we had an American-style rally. The candidates and their wives had to walk in slowly to the rallying music of an electric organ. Amidst the television lights we gradually made our way towards a dais. The candidates went up to the front row, the wives were met, even kissed, by the chairmen of their associations (in the second row), given an enormous bunch of flowers and then ushered rather unceremoniously to the back row of the dais. Poor Denis!
Isit and write this diary in the local coffee house, having been evacuated from the association office because of a bomb scare.
0 n Monday evening we encountered that legendary figure, the left-wing polytechnic teacher. Students at a poly- technic hall of residence had politely asked William to address them at a student meeting. We were barred from entry by the said representative of higher learning literally swearing and shouting — perhaps incensed further by the fact that we retired outside in the pouring rain accompanied by 60 or 70 courteous students, by no means all William's supporters, and held a vigor- ous and friendly meeting in the car park.
Previous page
