Westminster Corridors

Many of my fair readers, as well as very gay and well received persons of the other sex, are much perplexed at all the gossip about this Government and something called its 'public relations.' My friend, Sir Simon d'Audley, and I, when last we met at the Club, discoursed upon this very issue for a great part of the evening until we were driven out by the somewhat sullen talk of four diners at another table whose speech abounded with mentions of this PR and some of whom, in truth, we presumed to have indulged far too freely of sack posset.

One of the revellers, a Mr Enoch Powell from Wolverhampton, opined that for his part he was glad that the Prime Minister's relations in this public field were bad. His companions, Mr Nicholas Ridley of Cirencester, Mr Richard Body of Holland with Boston, and Mr John Biffen of no fixed address but who is the tribune of the people of Oswestry, all agreed. Of the view that when a man with steady faith must look back upon the great catastrophe of this day, these gentlemen resolved, by exhibiting their own relations as publicly as possible, to save the country from Mr Edward Heath and by their piety and gentleness of demeanour to form an alternative Government rooted in the philosophy of the Right and right with all the principles of these public relations.

Fie and fiddle faddle

To this end, they started by stopping the idle speculation that there should be a general election. Mr Powell had inadvertently fanned the speculation when he told Mr Heath that to hold an election would be immoral. "Fie and fiddle faddle," rejoined the Prime Minister. And, to spite the Wolverhampton fellow, resolved to call one.

Now Mr Ridley, on the occasion at the Club just mentioned, said that if Mr Powell declared there should after all be an election and that it would be positively moral, then Mr Heath would say faddle, fiddle and fie and not call one. So, Mr Powell duly, and in the right and proper form, pledged his undying support for his leader in this matter of the appeal to the nation. Nay, he said Mr Heath was a Solomon to whom all just men and true owed allegiance in this time of need. Support the Prime Minister at the polls, avowed the MP.

And it came to pass, just as the three wise men Ridley, Body and Biffen had told their star Powell that it would, that the Prime Minister decided it would be immoral to hold an election. It was, he thundered, the duty of the Government to govern with firm and fair measures. He went further. He asserted that the nation had a strong Government and, in faith, a fair one.

Mr Ridley had good cause to smile. For by this device he and his friends had ensured that they would soon be rid of their musical leader; which was a great relief to those who thought that if Mr Heath were to win the next election he might declare himself President for life. Instead, he will shortly be free to resume his study of the organ in Oxenford which has caused a flurry and a stir among the yeomanry who dwell beneath the dreaming spires.

Fallen crests

The loathing of the wise men for their erstwhile beloved leader is understandable, my good friend Sir Simon says. The Prime Minister is obdurate, the explanation goes, in the matter of conferring honours. Many a crest was fallen, Sir Simon adds, when the honours were announced at last New Year. The mutterings in the shires gave way to murmurings and other profane things when the names of the worthy were seen to be absent.

Mr William Clark of East Surrey, a faithful Tory servant if somewhat right of right in his politics, had looked forward to some small evidence of Mr Heath's beneficence. In fact, he had been heard to say in the Club that he liked well the ringing sound of the words 'Sir William.' Then, fatally, a wellwisher told Mr Heath that Mr Clark deserved a reward. "Fie and fiddle faddle," said the patron of the arts; and my readers will well be able to gauge the rest.

Not that patronage or the lack of it has allowed Mr Ridley to become downcast. He has, Sir Simon tells me, made arrangements to change his name by the deed poll. The minute the Sovereign calls him to the Palace to form the next Administration, Mr Ridley whispers, he will become known as Sir Selsdon Mann.

Greek to them

Sadly, the whisperings reached the ears of Mr Powell who cared not a fig about the Ridley aspirations to a knighthood, but, with that logic for which, as a Greek Colonel (I mean a classical scholar),he is famous, divined that it was the appalling Ridley who would reach for the crown, the power, the Downing Street bedsitter and all.

Mr Enoch Powell wishes it to be known that his is the star that must be followed. There will be no junta when his junto comes to power. Mr Body and Mr Biffen are still trying to find out what a junto is, and Mr Ridley is justly peeved.

Last night, my great friend Sir Simon and I saw the four men dining at the Club. Each ate alone and stared fixedly before him when the Prime Minister entered. "Hello, Simon," said Mr Heath, wearing his'Volpone smile. "Mosca Kitson tells me he has soundings of a palace revolution so I thought I would look in and do a little PR."

As he led Sir Simon into the smoking room I could not help but notice that each of the wise men had been joined by a companion. Mr Secretary Whitelaw ate with Mr Ridley, Sir Keith Joseph was with Mr Body, Mr Secretary Walker (who is supported by the young) had engaged Mr Biffen in conversation, and there, a brace of pheasant between them, sat Sir Alec Douglas-Home and Mr Powell. I thought Sir Alec looked uncommon well as I called for a much needed jug of porter.

Tom Puzzle