POLITICAL COMMENTARY , HUGH MACPHERSON

Mr Harold Wilson recently said to a group of new MPs who enquired about the party difficulties over the Common Market: "This is the most important policy decision taken in a long time. It is not a matter of sacred principle. I have no time for those who put going in or out before their Socialism." A few of those who heard him gleefully added the tale to the annals of Wilson demonology. To them it was a classical example of expediency defeating principle. Fortunately most of them were young — and time will take care of that — for the history of British politics is littered with examples of politians who changed their mind, or closed it, for the sake of their party.

Politicians in the post-war period have certainly not been over-squeamish in changing their minds. Harold Macmillan happily changed his attitude towards the invasion of Suez without a qualm and Aneurin Bevan, on suddenly discovering he was trotting into the council chambers of the world in the buff had little hesitation in protecting his modesty with a splendid nuclear device. In the present Cabinet there is Mr Peter Walker, once a fervent anti-marketeer, now a loyal supporter of Mr Heath's European policies. And there are other members of the Cabinet — one thinks for example of Mr Whitelaw and Mr Maudling — who are no enthusiasts for Europe but who recognise that there is little value in spirited gestures that put posture before party.

In castigating Mr Wilson's move to an anti-market stance some of his colleagues are demanding from him a gesture which simply would tear their party apart. And quixotic gestures in politics are rarely rewarded — a fact which should be particularly obvious in the week when Lord Butler's memoirs are on the market. For although Lord Butler tells how he counsels young men on the value of rebellion, he manages to give an account of the squalid Suez affair without once mentioning the name of Mr Anthony Nutting who resigned from the office of Minister of State at the FO on a point of principle.

Mr Nutting himself relates how Mr Macmillan, then at the Treasury, read his resignation speech and said: This is very damaging. It could easily bring down the Government, and for you, dear boy, it will do irreparable harm. Why say anything at all? You have already been proved right and we have been proved wrong. You have also done the right thing by resigning and, if you keep silent now, you will be revered and rewarded. You will lead the party one day.

Nutting kept quiet and the principals in the affair ended up in such lofty places as No 10 Downing Street, the Master's lodge at Trinity and the Speaker's Chair in the Commons. Mr Nutting, in the meantime, is awaiting canonisation or whatever other kind of reverence Mr Macmillan had in mind. I can also reveal that he is not at present a contender for the Tory leadership. There is a place for rebellion in any party but the full consequences must be weighed, particularly if the person being invited to rebel against the majority view of his party happens to be the leader himself. The last twenty-three isolated years of Lloyd George's life stand as a monument to the fate of political leaders who divide their party.

It is not, however, the memory of Lloyd George which has particularly disturbed Mr Wilson but that of two previous Labour leaders. First there was the threat of a MacDonald style coalition in 1964 when the Labour party's majority could be counted on the fingers of one hand. This he rejected and the ghost of MacDonald was well and truly laid. Then there are memories of Hugh Gaitskell's theological approach to politics over such matters as the absurd clause four of the Labour party constitution which talks about controlling the means of production, distribution and exchange. Gaitskell fought bitterly to have it removed but it is still printed on memberShip cards of the Labour party — and is read as often as the Book of Habakkuk.

From the very beginning of his leadership Mr Wilson has been almost obsessive in his anxiety to avoid the mistakes of Gaitskell. The fact that there has been very little real bitterness so far within the Labour party over the Common Market issue is, in part at least, a measure of his success. What he is now engaged on is an attempt to keep the major part of his party together which is exactly the exercise on which Edward Heath embarked after the Suez fiasco. Mr Crosland to his credit has articulated the perfectly respectable view that the prospect of entry into • the EEC must be balanced against the danger of fragmenting his party and that • those who do not believe in the party system should not be at Westminster.

A former Labour Cabinet Minister remarked recently that the trouble with the Great Debate on the Market is that nobody is representing the majority of people in the country. If Mr Wilson took the advice of people like Mrs Shirley Williams he would put the leadership into the absurd position of not even representing the Labour party, let alone the country. Much of the interpretation of the struggle within the Labour leaders has, quite rightly, concentrated on the personal ambitions of men like Mr Callaghan and Mr Healey for that is the stuff of which politics are made. But who can deny that, quite apart from any personal advantage, if Mr Wilson were to march into the Lobbies behind Mr Jenkins and Mr Stewart he would add his name to that of MacDonald and Gaitskell as men who put the very fabric of the party system in jeopardy? Old habits die hard, however, and many of the more censorious former Gaitskellites remain determined to fight and fight and fight again to save the French peasant whom they have apparently learned to love.

Naked in Cheltenham

Already enormous pressures are being exerted by the Central Office machine on those constituencies which harbour antimarket rebels. The Jesuits of the movement are, of course, the agents who learn more than charm at the party finishing school at Swinton Castle in Yorkshire. One Tory MP ruefully pointed out that the official, whose loyalty was direct to Central Office, was working hard all day in his constituenecy whilst he is at Westminster. "It is, of course, the CBE, MBE and OBE brigade which is being got at," he said. One can certainly understand Mr Heath's enthusiasm for the political honours system which has proved as useful to him in the past as the rack was to the Spanish Inquisition — and so much more painful to those left naked in Cheltenham without an OBE.

Among those upon whom the greatest pressure is being exerted are Mr Neil Marten and Mr Carol Mather of Esher who, as a former member of the Central Office Research Department, must know what to expect. Naturally there has been some reticence to enter into places like Wolverhampton South West but the Constituency Chairman of a like minded colleague has already been interviewed by Mr Heath with the Bell, Book and Candle in full view.

There are also dark mutterings about the revival of the "dirty book" which is alleged to have been a major weapon in the Whips' office during the difficult days when the present PM was briskly restoring party morale after Suez. At that time the Whips' office seemed to know every minute detail of the lives of difficult members. The carrot was used with care and the cudgel with great skill. At the moment urbane Mr Francis Pym is happily hammering rusty nails into the cudgel.

From where I sit I may, if I wish, stretch out a hand to caress the knobbly, gilded head of an eagle, trace the outline of a little Gothic steeple or lean over a bit (I'm sure nobody would mind) to acquaint my self with a friendly gargoyle. And these are merely my own, physically personal share of the decorations.

The chamber of the House of Lords is a hotbed of adornment in which the eye can achieve no respite from a frenzy of papal embellishment; gold, crimson, statuary, carvings, paintings, chandeliers, stained glass windows; it is as though some old 'twenties Hollywood set-builder of Arabian nights epics had been told to let himself go — "Don't spare the inspiration, Jake boy, give us the lot." In the middle of all this splendour is a large, overstuffed cushion upon which, as though dropped from a great height, sits a lumpy old man clad in inelegant robes and twisted wig, resembling some secondary school theatrical's depiction of a mighty potentate. It, takes an effort of will to call to mind in all sobriety that once upon a time a man called Quintin Hogg became Lord Hailsham became Quintin Hogg became Lord Chancellor and sits (it being the tradition of the land) upon the Woolsack. He makes, I must confess, a job of it, but then he always could take a joke. It is easy enough to admit that the House of Lords is an anachronistic load of old nothing and ought to be abolished/ laughed to scorn/put a bomb under, but that does not seem to stop any good com mon personage (oh look, here comes Lord Avebury) from allowing peerages to be thrust upon them for one reason or an other and picking up their skirts to join the dance. Susceptibilities, after all, can always be rationalized, particularly when they contain no sense whatsoever. And who can resist naked charm?

There is, of course, no shortage of that commodity. The cast is perfectly charm ing. All those dear old men hunched up with their deaf aids, nodding off like wind-in-the-willows beasties upon their gleaming red leather seats of honour. At first glimpse one might be forgiven the folly of passing the whole scene off as a kind of luxurious home for old folk of ad vanced years. But when some of them stumble brokenly to their feet to air their geriatric ward voices, it is staggering how quickly one's pitying blushes fade to the simple awareness that what is being said, albeit from the withered larynx, is undeniably sharp, witty, perspicacious and sometimes, if not frequently, brilliant.

I would not, however, attribute any of those epithets to the debate on Matrimonial Proceedings (Polygamous Marriages) Bill. But in a quaint sort of way it was a valid enough episode. Baroness Summerskill made the introductory remarks in a dutiful, reading-aloud-to-a maiden-aunt voice. She is beige of hair, face and garment, like an over-exposed snapshot of a long-forgotten holiday companion. She does, however, get her facts discreet, and as she remarked, somewhat archly at the end of the debate, she has done so much reading and research on this question that she is ready to sit an examination about it at any moment. It only remains for some noble lord thus empowered to set such a test so that the good Baroness might achieve a gold star of distinction for her efforts. Meanwhile there might conceivably be some deserving Mormon or Moslem somewhere in our midst who will be enchanted to know that Lady Summerskill has their best interests at heart.

Briefly, the problem is that, as the law stands at the moment, our matrimonial proceedings are not available to any immigrant who has contracted, in his country of origin, a marriage that is polygamous or potentially polygamous. Consequently we have, or might have, a handful of dusky ladies around the place with no recourse to law as and when their husbands desert them. National assistance, yes, but proper alimony paid out of the pocket of the erring husband, no. Naturally, no one could possibly quarrel with the Baroness's persuasion that this is all wrong and given a few years and a couple or twenty de bates here and in the Other Place, we'll be well on the way to amending the rules. But we can't just leave it at that. Somebody has to worry about something.

Lord Gardiner, for instance. He's worried about sub-editors on newspapers. Anyone, be says, who has ever had anything to do with the press knows that "not infrequently" the headline to a perfectly accurate story is misrepresentative rather than representative. And for this reason he wishes to emphasize that there will be nothing, nothing at all, in the proposed Bill that would encourage polygamy. Perish the thought.

The nightmare is taken up by the Lord Bishop of Lichfield. He is, he says, particularly grateful to the noble and learned Lord Gardiner for his remarks. A headline in the press, 'Bishop says Polygamy is a Good Thing' would add considerably to his postbag in the next two weeks. One assumes he is being ironic, but nevertheless he is careful to point out, or, as he puts it, "hasten to add," that in saying a word in support of the Bill he is speaking in only a private and personal capacity and can in no way involve a colleague in his sentiments. Which is strange since the burden of his remarks is only to sing three cheers for the good old British institution of monogamy.

The rest is all three cheers for everyone else. Most particularly for the Baroness. Lord Simon of Glaisdale came all the way from somewhere or other to eulogize about the good woman, lamenting the fact that such a profound legal mind should have been lost to medicine. How right she is, how right, how righf, how right. Even the Lord Chancellor himself nips off the Woolsack, trips the obligatory four steps to its left in his little buckle shoes to make another speech of fulsome praise for the lady of the day. Why, there was even a time in his life when he would have disagreed with her. But now, thanks to her erudition, he knows better.

Lady Summerskill, garlanded with praise but as pale beige as ever, rises to thank everybody for thanking her, and so repetitive is the whole thing that I cannot restrain a chilling dread that we are going to begin all °vet again and thank each other for thanking each other for thanking each other into eternity, V. 'h nothing for relief but the ritual raising and lowering of deaf aids. And that this is what it means to be noble.