A Blackpool Conference Notebook
IT IS appropriate when beginning a notebook devoted to the Tory conference to recall a — quoting the title of the memorial pamphlet just published by the Conservative Political Centre at 20p — Unique Conservative, the late Tibor Szamuely. Tibor would have enjoyed a conference at which — at least at the fringe meetings and in the bars— the nature of conservatism itself was much discussed: Tibor was patient with none of your casual pragmatic conservatism: coming as he did from a Hungarian and Russian background, with long years of enforced service to communism behind him, he felt deeply the necessity for the right to be at least, as ideologically well-armed as the left. Sometimes I felt that he went too far in this direction, and I attempted a rebuttal (in these pages) of his 'Intellectuals and Conservatism ', a piece from The Swinton Journal reprinted in this pamphlet. I had not met Tibor at that time but, when I did, I fell immediately under the spell of his enormous extrovert charm and felt the power of the iron discipline of his mind. Colin Welsh contributes an introduction to Unique Conservative which conveys the essence of the man very well; and another friend, Robert Conquest, is preparing his masterwork, The Russian Tradition, for publication next year.
Raffling Raffan
The Conservative fringe is as yet far from being the rich and luxuriant growth of eccentricity and daftness that is the Labour equivalent. But it seemed to me this year that there was more going on around the edges of the conference than ever before. Most active was, perhaps, young, elfin Keith Raffan and his cohorts from PEST, the left-wing Tory pressure group, designed to carry on the philosophy of Macmillan, Macleod and Boyle. Raffan has an endearing puckishness about him, though I'm not sure how clear he is in his own mind about the calibre or even the nature of the political ideas he has on offer; and he is tremendously energetic. He gave an excellent party, a better dinner for the press, an alcoholic press conference with champagne (which I missed), besides organising more serious meetings and keeping tabs on the four yellow-sweatered, mini-skirted girls distributing PEST literature in the conference itself and getting, poor souls, more miserable and cold looking day by day, as the Blackpool weather beCame colder. Raffan's abandon excited some irritation and some envy on the part of others of the fringe groups, and a splendidly entertaining giant of a man from the Monday Club, who came from Teddy Taylor's Cathcart constituency, put up and presided over a poster announcing the organisation a raffle in which Raffan was to be first prize.
Friends of Israel
A much more sombre note was struck on Wednesday night, at a meeting of the AngloIsraeli Friendship League. This heard speeches from Gilbert Longden, Bill Deedes and Richard Simmonds, as well as a powerful, moving and threatening report on the war from an Embassy spokesman. Without knowing how many people the League invited, I was struck by the large turnout. Throughout, indeed, the previous day or so I had .heard large numbers of delegates say how anxious they were to come along and stand shoulder to shoulder with the Israelis. I met few Tories, as opposed to pressmen, etc., who took the Arab side even mildly. Yet the Embassy spokesman did not *sound like a man looking for sympathy or help. He spoke bitterly about the violation of Yom Kippur, coldly about the revenge which his country would eventually extract, and confidently about Israel's ability first to overcome the Arabs, and then to resist the blandishments and pressures from Arab-supporting UN countries which, he was certain, would be legion at the end of next week. Besides all this, however, there was a terribly, heavy sadness about the man, a sense of a country re-enacting again the ritual of a centuries old tragedy which, each generation, claimed its new victims, but which could never, because of the tight skeins of fate, be torn out of the heart of the Middle East. Even victory, one felt, would be but the meanest consolation to this man; and so one left the meeting with an abiding sense of hopelessness.
Speaking up
The oratorical revelation of the conference was Keith Joseph, the Secretary of State for the Social Services. Joseph has always been a man who excelled in small gatherings, impressing by the weight of.his erudition, and the skill with which he organises material. But, though he has passion, I have never before seen it flow from him with such fire and perfect timing. So deep was the impression he made that on Saturday, when the Prime Minister referred to him, the roar of applause was almost as great as the ovation he himself received on Friday morning. In general the standard of speaking was high: although the Tories have no one (except Enoch Powell, who was deliberately subdued in the economics debate) as good a conference orator as Harold Wilson or Michael Foot at their best, they have one or two powerful unsung performers. Margaret Thatcher, for instance, is the only female I have seen speaking in public with power, panache, and passion, while retaining her natural dignity. Mark Carlisle, the minister of state at the Home Office, is coming on nicely: he made an excellent contribution to the law and osier debate, one in which reason and timing coincided, and he wisely did not try too hard to crush the pro-capital punishment amendment. which was eventually carried by about two hundred votes. Carlisle, as one observer of seasoned experience suggested to me, is likelY to develop into a Tory Jim Callaghan: he has the same build, the same sloping shoulderS, the same easy but formidable sense of political touch. A QC, he probably still has too many courtroom mannerisms, and, through Indulging them, speaks a little too long. In addition, he is a man of immense personal warmth — direct, friendly and straight. Were he to go far, as I fully expect him to do, it will be a very good thing for British politics.
Party hats
" No hats ", exclaimed a pleasant young Left winger unbelievingly as he gazed around the serried ranks in the conference hall. It was his first Tory conference, and this sartorial absence disconcerted him as much as did his subsequent discovery that Tories do not Sal) have horns, (b) eat little children in t e dead of night, (c) deliberately set out to grind the faces of the poor (not, anyway, as Emma Lathen once observed, a very profitable occupation). However, his observation was true few hats were in sight. I rather regretted this, since I like women's hats, but it was als3 true that the Tory women in general were, if possible, even more dashingly turned out than usual. Mrs Charles Morrison, the Lady ViceChairman of the Party, has changed her hair style to incorporate a sort of pony tail which is immensely becoming, and wore a black and red outfit of quite exceptional panache on the morning of the final rally. Mrs Thatcher Was her usual impeccable self, but in paler colourS than for some time, and wearing her hair a trifle shorter than usual. Lady Elles Wa5 another who had altered her hair style since I last saw her, wearing it now becomingly loose; Nicholas Scott's wife Elizabeth could, however, beat off most challenges: each tiMe I saw her, even if it was more than once in the day, she seemed to be wearing a new outfit, more ravishing than the last. All of these women could give a decent lead to the youngsters prettying themselves up for the Young Conservative Ball, and still romp home easy winners in the elegance stakes.
Changing times The standard of chairmanship at the conference was, as is normal with the Tories, high, though I felt that Mrs Roy Smith, wh° was in the chair for most of the time, could have been a little more indulgent in allowing applause to run on for particularly popular speakers. True, it is almost impossible to make conference arrangements perfect, and there is the perennial danger of matters running 00 for far too long. Nonetheless, I felt that Mrs Smith was more than once a trifle churlish in choking off the cheering in order to get on with the business. I sometimes feel that there is too little displayed enthusiasm at these gatherings, and would be inclined to let audiences have their heads when they Want to cheer. The front bench spokesmen were, of course, invariably well-received, but there was particular appreciation for some speakers from the floor, notably for Brian Faulkner, the leader of the Unionist Party in Ulster; and for a sixteen year old schoolgirl who spoke on the left wing side in the immigration debate. She, incidentally, showed great courage in the line she took, and great ability in the clarity and dash of her speaking. She also received a better reception, given what she was saying, than would have been thought possible a year or two ago. Times indeed are changing.
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