High tide for Mrs Williams
Geoffrey Wheatcroft
Tripping, even skipping, across the grass she gets down to the sea shore. Mrs Williams is having her picture taken. The photographer wants her with sea and Welsh mountains in the background, the wind tousling her hair (otiose task). It is a beautiful day. Shirley looks happy. The view is grand, she says, though 'The Marina's a bit of a disaster area.' This is not a reference to the author of Joan of Arc but to that feature of the modern riparian scene, a little harbour for yachts.
Come to think of it, she should not complain. Marinaland is natural Sodpal (Social Democrat and Liberal) territory. Crosby is not an industrial relic, like Warrington. Despite what some commentators have suggested it is a modestly prosperous constituency. Many voters commute to offices in Liverpool but they come back sharpish to avoid its 'inner city' nastiness. Here are neither broad acres nor satanic mills. There are light industry and mixed commerce. Formby and Blundell sands seems to be bearing up well through the slump. At least, people are still going about their occasions, under the gaze of workshy journalists: unemployment is much lower than nationally, money is still earned, mortgages and bills still paid. This, as much as Basildon or Southampton, is middle England where the next general election will be decided.
No parliamentary seat has yet been won, as opposed to gained by defection, by the Social Democrats. (Funny name, that, for a party of extreme moderates battling with marxism. 'Why so, child?"But, Daddy, I thought Social Democrats were Marxists.' 'Nonsense child. How could that be? Ask Jenkins.' Which Jenkins?"0h, Roy Jenkins, Peter Jenkins, any Jenkins.' But didn't Lenin lead the majority fraction of the Russian Social Democratic Workers Party?' That's not the . . ."And didn't Karl Kautsky say "The Social Democratic party has always emphasised that it is a revolutionary party"?' Oh bugger off.') As the sports commentators say, this is the big one.
Sodpal are the clear favourites, almost absurdly clear. When a speaker at the Tory press conference compares his candidate to David against Mrs Williams's Goliath there is a ripple of laughter: the Conservatives won the seat at the last election with a majority of 19,272. And yet one knows what he means. The SDP headquarters exude confidence as clearly as the Tories give off the stale smell of defeat. This is aggravated by the incompetence with which the Con servative campaign iS being conducted. They knew that they would be up against Mrs Williams before they chose their can didate. One might think that they would have looked for a bit of star quality. Instead they chose Mr John Butcher, of whom it can be said that he is a very average sort of chartered accountant. Ah, Conservative selection committees. What that party needs is a stern dose of democratic centralism.
Early in the week Mr Butcher was-kicking quite enough own goals by himself without the help of the egregious Mr Bowen Wells, who turned up on Monday, misattributing quotations to Mrs Williams and keckhandedly muffing questions from reporters. And that is the man who beat Shirley at Hertford in May 1979. Perhaps there is hope for the Tories after all. Although when Mr Butcher goes on the stump again it seems unlikely. In the evening he meets the homecoming officer workers off the train: his name, a quick handshake if possible, a pamphlet thrust into hand. `I don't like to hold people up,' he says. 'It creates a negative impression in their minds.' One man allows himself to be held up. He is very old and slow of speech. A definite conservative voter; 'God bless you, sir', he says. But they don't make them like that any more, or not enough of them.
Sodpal don't score own goals, not exactly. At their press conference Mrs Williams tells us how tired she is of being asked about Grunwick. Then she strongly denies that the SDP plans to reduce the tax relief on mortgages, a denial so strong that she may yet regret it. And who is this, now, her supporting speaker? Why, it is Mr Clement Freud who as we all remember is Liberal spokesman on the arts. He immediately goes into a passage of such bravura fantasy that it is not easy to know whether he is being entirely serious. This country is cutting back on arts subsidies, he says, while continuing to spend £28.5 million a year on military bands (glad to hear it). Sodpal's arts policy will follow the example of 'the enlightened city fathers of Edinburgh' (that must be a joke). Station waiting rooms will be opened up for live performances. And — reaching his peroration — 'This insane insistence on total silence in public libaries is something we won't have.'
After that it was a relief to meet the Labour candidate, Mr John Backhouse. A Bennite (although he said that he would not have voted for Mr Benn for the Shadow Cabinet after last week's happenings), he is not the least likeable candidate, and is quite possibly the most intelligent. Of course he is irrelevant to this election, although not to the future of the Labour party. And while the politics he represents are universally abhorred by respectable opinion, there is a case to be made that he and his like are honest compared with the soft centre. In reply to the headmaster of a local Catholic independent (formerly direct grant) school he said that he favoured the abolition of all private education.
This is in refreshing contrast to Mrs Williams's answer, a masterpiece of equivocation: . . . parents' rights to have their children educated according to their wishes . . . end class divisions in our country . . . total segregation of the independent schools from the maintained schools is socially divisive . . . We oppose the Assisted Places scheme.'
It was not the young but the old whom Mrs Williams was busying herself with later that morning. She visited the Sundene Lodge Old People's Home for coffee and conversation. This is a regular turn at byelections and one for connoisseurs of the macabre. 'We'll need your help on Thursday week,' the candidate tells the elderly ladies; and then to the matron, 'Let us know how many cars you'd like.' One or two of them recognise Mrs Williams; almost all of them recognise Mr Freud. The ultimate fame nowadays is to appear on television adverts and radio quiz programmes. Mr Freud will hold his seat for sure at the next election.
But will Mrs Williams? There is one fascinating scenario (as they say) in view. Mrs Williams wins this seat, and then Mr Jenkins wins another apparently unwinnable seat on the tide of enthusiasm. But even though the Sodpal campaign rolls on there is an inevitable ebb from the high tide of success. At the general election both Mrs Williams and Mr Jenkins lose their seats and, while they are looking for more naturally safe SDP seats, Dr Owen takes over the leadership of the party by default. Maybe that is what will happen. Maybe that is what we deserve.
It seems more pointless than usual to predict the outcome of this by-election; noone in Crosby has any doubts that Mrs Williams will win. Eight months ago most of us wouild not have believed that possible by the end of the year. More recently than that the Government seemed to be hanging on suprisingly well, with plenty of time to go before 1983 or 1984. Now the bookmakers make Sodpal favourites to win most seats at the general election, with Labour second favourites and the Tories last. Maybe the odds are right. Maybe within three years the Alliance will have trounced the other two parties, and formed a Government — with Mrs Williams as Home Secretary and Mr Freud as Minister for the Arts, Dog Food and Chemin de Fer. Maybe that is what we deserve.
Previous page
