The other Mr Wilson

POLITICAL COMMENTARY ALAN WATKINS

Just over five months ago, at a dinner given to commemorate the birth—or perhaps it was the death—of Ramsay MacDonald, Mr Harold Wilson slightly surprised his fellow-guests by delivering himself, not of the generalities cus- tomary on these occasions, but of some cogent observations on the deficiencies of national governments. This, it may be recalled, was the period (it was the time of the Labour party conference) when news of the 'July plot' against Mr Wilson first floated from the overheated hotel lounges of Brighton. It does not seem that Mr Wilson took this particular plot, which was supposed to have originated in the parlia- mentary party, with any degree of seriousness, either in the autumn or, previously, in the summer. What he did take seriously was a so- called City plot (it was also called 'the Central Office plot') to compel him to form a national government.

There were, in short, two plots, or rather two non-plots, which must be distinguished from each other. And it was to the City plot that Mr Wilson was obliquely referring in his Ramsay MacDonald speech.

Mr Wilson appears to have convinced him- self that, after the March election, certain in- dividuals in Central Office determined on a new plan. Previously they, and other Conservatives, had believed that it would only be a matter of time, of a few more mistakes, before Labour was out of office. After Mr Wilson's victory in the election they could no longer reasonably hold this belief.

What then was to be done? They could force Mr Wilson to form a national government. This would have two advantages: it would restore the Tories to the delights of office; and at the same time it would split, maybe even destroy, the Labour party. Therefore (according to Mr Wilson) word was put round the City that the country's sole salvation lay in a national govern- ment. This talk went on at a time of heavy sell- ing of sterling. Hence the July crisis, and hence the July measures, whereby Mr Wilson proved to his own satisfaction, and possibly that of the City also, that there was really no very sub- stantial difference between a national govern- ment and his own.

No doubt there is some truth in this version of events. However, it remains vulnerable on several counts. For one thing, the City, which does not approve of or even properly compre- hend party politics, always has a hankering after

a national government; certainly a national government in preference to a Labour one. And, for another thing, Mr Edward Heath dis-

approved of the gossip about national govern- ments. He pointed out that a national govern- ment, far from destroying the Labour party, might destroy the Conservatives. For the Con- servatives would be in a minority position, and Mr Wilson would remain Prime Minister : it might, indeed, be 1931 over again, as a few people in Central Office had tried to argue: but this time the positions of the parties would be reversed.

I begin with this story because it illustrates, not only Mr Wilson's by now notorious sus- picion about plots and rumours of plots, but also his love of office and simultaneous fear of losing it, his extraordinary mixture of utter self- confidence and belief in the ability of his enemies to do him down. Even before the by- elections and the 'dog' speech—even in that period which people are beginning to call (with sadness in their voices, or otherwise, according to their predilections) 'Harold's presidential period'—there was evidence of the Prime Minister's sensitivity to the views of his oppo- nents, both in the parliamentary party and out- side it. How else, for instance, could one explain the recent reshuffle? Some of the choices (I naturally name no names) were so bizarre that the only possible explanation was that Mr Wilson wished to satisfy every single segment of opinion in the parliamentary party, up to and including the flat-earthers.

Nevertheless, though Mr Wilson, like Sir Robert Walpole before him, paid great attention to his placemen, the predominant note struck was one of self-confidence. It is true that he did not expect Labour to do spectacularly well in the by-elections: as he put it to his friends, the voters were not choosing between him and Mr Heath : if they were, there would be no doubt as to what their choice would be. Similarly, Mr Wilson was prepared for some losses in the forthcoming local elections. But he was sure that the opinion polls would remain on his side.

It is doubtful whether Mr Wilson can afford to feel quite so confident today. The by-election results were worse than anything he can have expected. As I wrote last week, he completely misconceived the response to his recent speech from the parliamentary party. And, above all, the opinion polls are no longer solid for Labour.

As long as the polls are with a Prime Minister, so long can that Prime Minister afford to dis- regard, even to insult, his parliamentary sup- porters (though there are, of course, exceptions and qualifications to this principle). After all, he is, or seems to be, delivering the goods. It is when the polls go against a Prime Minister, particularly if they are combined with un- favourable by-election results, that he has to be conciliatory. And we may be fairly sure that in the next few months the accommodating, com- promising, fixing side to Mr Wilson's nature, which has been present all along, will begin to reassert itself.

In which areas of policy will he choose to make concessions? Decimalisation? The Com- mon Market? Here the Government is back- pedalling, with as much dignity as it can summon, not so much because of the pressure of its supporters as because of the pressure of events. Ministers, even including Mr George Brown, have come to the belated, if obvious, conclusion that there is really no very good reason why President de Gaulle should allow us entry if he does not wish it.

Admittedly this week's farm price review, which was agreed under the auspices of Mr Patrick Gordon Walker, was designed with Europe in mind : nevertheless, members of the Government now tend to draw a careful dis- tinction between being in favour of entry and being in favour of applying for entry. Why, they ask, invite a rebuff such as Mr Harold Macmillan endured? Far better, surely, to begin to talk about some vague and improving notion such as an Atlantic free trade area? Certainly the surprisingly large number of Common Market dissentients would not object strongly to this.

Again, there is the East of Suez policy. If Mr Ian Aitken in this week's Guardian is to be believed—as he usually is—even Mr Wilson himself is in favour of withdrawal East of Suez. Specific promises were omitted from the Defence White Paper only because of the shocked intransigence of the Foreign Office. In the next few months, however, we may expect to see those promises made, if only orally.

But it would be a mistake to imagine that all Mr Wilson has to do, in order to regain the confidence of the parliamentary party, is to retreat tactically on a few matters, and generally behave in a more accommodating fashion. For the first time since he came to office in 1964, the proposition 'We must keep Labour in power' is met with the question 'Power for what?' Perhaps it is a pity that the question was not asked previously. The parliamentary party accepted the initial decision not to devalue, it accepted Mr James Callaghan's quite savage deflation of late summer 1965, it accepted the July measures of a year later: everything that has happened since, so Mr Wilson's defenders claim (and there are still a few of them left), follows inexorably from these decisions.

Maybe this is so . . . and yet . . and yet. What the party is looking for is some measure of Socialist conviction, and it is having to discover it in what would, a few years ago, have seemed the most unlikely places—notably in the minis- tries run by Mr Anthony Crosland and Mr Roy Jenkins (though Mrs Barbara Castle also has her defenders). It remains to be seen whether the decision to incorporate a means test in the social services, at least as far as family allowances are concerned, will be quite so popular with the back-benchers. Was this not what those two young Conservatives Powell and Macleod were urging back in the early 1950s? Be this as it may, the important paint to grasp is that the age of pragmatism is gone, at least for the time being. The parliamentary party, reinforced by a freed Mr Emanuel Shinwell, intends to talk about policy, even, who knows? about prin- ciple. And Mr Wilson will at least give the im- pression that he is listening.