POLITICS

A bad shepherd resents an inexperienced Whip.

The outcome: an enthralling farce

BRUCE ANDERSON

The Tory Whips' Office is much mythologised and little understood. There is a simple explanation for this: we know very little about what goes on there. We live in an era which has lost the habit of confidentiality; it is casually violated by princesses, archbishops and generals but the Whips are an exception. They rarely discuss their doings, and though Chief Whips such as James Stuart and Willie Whitelaw have written memoirs, they contain hardly any information about whipping. That is one reason why David Willetts's testimony to the Committee of Privileges was so interesting: in those few hours we learned more information about the work of the Whips' Office than had hitherto been in the public domain.

The Whips' function is to ensure that the government can carry most of its business through the Commons, and that any retreats should be dignified ones. Surprise is their enemy. They pride themselves on giving reli- able guidance to the PM and other minis- ters, even if it sometimes points to an unwel- come conclusion. Most Chief Whips occa- sionally lose a vote, though they hate doing so — but the nightmare is an unexpected defeat. No Chief Whip could survive many of those. This explains one recurrent theme in the Whips' pep talks to new members: if you do ever decide to vote against the gov- ernment, tell us first.

The Whips' Office does its business in two ways: persuasion and intelligence. The latter is much more important, especially these days when traditional whipping is becoming harder because of social changes. The Whips use the language of the hunting field and the practices of the adjutant's office, but they are increasingly dealing with a clientele which has never been in an adjutant's office A generation ago, most Tory MPs had been institutionalised. They had risen from fag to fagmaster in a public school; later, they had at least done a stint as a National Service subaltern. They had all been under authority in hierarchical structures before, in their turn, exercising it. It was much easier to persuade them to see the Commons in similar terms, and to obey orders. Younger Tory MPs have not had such formative experiences. Fewer of them have been to public schools — and anyway modern pub- lic schools are very different places — while hardly any of them have served in the forces. They come from a much more indi- vidualistic generation which is used to argu- ing the toss. It takes an exceptional person- ality to give them an old-fashioned blasting: someone like the late David Lightbown or the late Spencer le Marchant.

A few years ago, I was having dinner with my now Spectator colleague, then still a Tory MP, Matthew Parris. Matthew sud- denly panicked: 'Oh my God, I'm about to miss a division.' He spurred on the taxi- driver; when we got to the House, he ran like a hare: too late. I caught up with him in the bar. Matthew is a tough character, who spends his summers in the guerrilla zones of the high Andes, but that night he was chastened. Spencer le Marchant stood about six foot six: he knew how to intimi- date. 'He called me a c—,' said Matthew mournfully. 'He told me that I was just about the most useless Member of Parlia- ment that there had ever been.' I assured him that this was Whips' Office routine, but Spencer's bollocking had gone deep.

A couple of days later, I was chatting to Spencer, who was a most genial compan- ion, as long as you were not a Tory MP who had missed a vote. Inter alia, I asked how Matthew was getting on. 'Splendid fellow,' came the reply. 'What a likeable chap; what a good man.' No doubt many an adjutant would speak in similar terms of some young officer whom he had just condemned to do extra picquets on his girlfriend's birthday.

The modern Whips' Office has a sec- ondary function: as a staff college. Almost half of all those who have served in the Cabinet since 1979 did a tour of duty as a Whip, including nine members of the pre- sent team. Every one of them with whom I have discussed the topic is convinced that their time in the Office was a vital part of their political education.

The Whips' Office is also used to train able but difficult Members, and especially intellectuals, who may have a grasp of poli- cy but whose political feel is less certain. That is why Nigel Lawson was a Whip for an interlude — surely the most unlikely Whip of all time — and why his sometime private secretary, David Willetts, was also sent to the Whips' Office.

Mr Willetts has now spent four hours explaining what he meant by an aide-memoire he scribbled during his first few days as a Whip — and scribbled is the correct term, as the photocopy makes clear. As David Willetts pointed out, this level of textual scrutiny might be appropriate for a great work of literature or a sacred text: it seems excessive when applied to a hurried note.

The note arose out of a conversation Mr Willetts had with Sir Geoffrey Johnson Smith, the chairman of the Commons Committee on Members' Interests. Sir Geoffrey was concerned that any investiga- tion by his committee might prejudice the libel action which Neil Hamilton then seemed likely to bring. So Sir Geoffrey wondered whether he should expedite his hearings, or postpone them.

It was perfectly in order for Mr Willetts to report this to the Whips' Office, but he went further. Having been told that his job was to collect intelligence, he thought that this was best achieved by using his own intelligence, which is indeed formidable, rather than his ears, which were less well attuned. Instead of reporting what Sir Geoffrey had said, he recorded what David Willetts thought should be done. He had not only written a bad Whip's note; he had not realised that Whips should not try to advise the chairmen of quasi-judicial committees. That was made clear to him at the next Whips' meeting as it might already have been had Sir Geof- frey been a different character. Other chair- men would have snubbed an inquisitive Whip. Sir Geoffrey is not a snubber. A kind- ly man with no side, he probably gave David Willetts the impression that he was grateful for his advice. It was a misleading impres- sion, but Mr Willetts was in the Whips' Office to learn not to form such impressions.

It is an irony that his principal accuser and time-waster should have been Quentin Davies. Mr Davies is as clever as Mr Wil- letts, but far more deficient in political common sense. This has held him back, as have his Euro-fanatic opinions. Frustration has only strengthened a tendency to pom- posity and self-importance. Both qualities were displayed this week, plus a third: envy.

Mr Davies once owned some sheep which were found to be starving. He was fined for neglect. He assured the court that it was not his fault: he had hired a shepherd who had neglected his duties. He had more time to hire his shepherd than Mr Willetts had to write his note.

This week's proceedings of the Commit- tee of Privileges were good theatre. Every- one enjoyed themselves, except Mr Wil- lens. But far from illuminating any great issue of the day, it was merely a farce.