Nothing Personal
Fortunately, I had heard the day before that the League of Empire Loyalists were to attend one of my meetings in full strength. That means about fifteen. When I arrived to speak, there they were. The vast red-bearded chairman, the pale youth in a white raincoat who was removed from the mass meeting at the Tory Blackpool Conference of 1963, and the harpies who shrill 'Suez' and 'Kenyatta' and, when they run out of ideas, 'Traitor.' They were, of course, very noisY, and, as usual, brave as lambs. My chairman, Mr. Fred Akroyd, copying Lord Home's tech- nique at Blackpool, ordered the three ringleaders to go—and very rapidly and quietly they went. One of the smaller fry, sitting in the second roW behind my wife, tapped her on the shoulder and said, 'Mrs. Macleod, I do really want to assure you that there is nothing personal in this.' And then raising her voice a whole range of octaves, she shrilled at me, 'You bloody murderer. Nothing personal, of course.
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