THE ELECTION

MR KINNOCK GOES TO GROUND

Andrew Gimson follows the Labour

leader but finds that although he wants to be photographed, he will not answer questions

WE START with a question. The answer cannot be found in a dictionary of quota- tions. To get it you will need to rely on intuition. Candidates are warned that tex- tual analysis is unlikely to be of use. Who said, 'It is better to do a few things well than to promise to wallpaper every- one's front room'?

I suggested Confucius, which was wrong. You may also want the second clue, an extract from Chapter One of the major published work by the author in question, which is about political economy. (There may

be things as good in the other chapters, but I have not read them.)

Prudence and practical- The passage is from Making Our Way (Blackwell, 1986, £3.95) by Mr Neil Kin- nock, who claims he will be the next Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. The wallpaper remark was made by him on Friday of last week in the Penllwyn Arms, Pontllanfraith, near to his house in his constituency of Islwyn. For two days I pursued Mr Kinnock through his native valleys, not in a vindic- tive spirit, but to observe his way of campaigning and try to discover what he would do if he became Prime Minister, Like most of the journalists who followed him, I came to the conclusion that his campaign is designed to prevent anyone from finding out anything about what he would do. He wishes to woo the press, or at least the television cameras, but simul- taneously to evade any but the most innocuous questions. He is like a woman who pretends to be interested in men, but really wants nothing except their admira- tion.

We left Paddington at 8.00 on the Friday morning train to Newport. Miss Hilary Coffman, a member of Mr Kinnock's staff and our kind and capable guide, had arranged for us to have an excellent breakfast, which meant some of the other passengers had to go without. She gave us an itinerary, of which the highlight was: `20.00 — Arrive Maes Manor for social evening organised by Gwent County Coun- cil in honour of Chinese Delegation to Gwent.' I heard some of my colleagues starting to make plans. 'We must be able to drop out somewhere. We may have to get a taxi back to Newport.'

A coach took us to Sirhowy Valley Country Park, where we were to meet Mr Kinnock. While we waited for him an argument broke out over whether we were surrounded by mountains or landscaped slagheaps. This week we're going to admit that Labour have just about got their act together, so that next week we can really lay into them,' one of my colleagues said.

`Yes,' said Mr Colin Welch. 'This is an outrageous way to run a campaign. They deserve to lose. All of them deserve to lose.'

Mr Kinnock, wearing a blue suit, was proving amenable as a male model for the cameras. Mrs Kinnock,who as Miss Glenys Parry was once a Miss National Savings beauty queen, looked yet more photo- genic.

Mr Welch had a taxi. He offered me a lift. We had heard that Mr Kinnock was going next to visit the chapel where the poet Islwyn (1832-78), after whom the constituency is named, used to preach. Islwyn was also called William Thomas and was a minister of the Calvinistic Methodist Denomination. We found that his chapel had been deconsecrated, and that an art exhibition was being held there. Three men in suits were hoping Mr Kinnock would turn up, but as soon as we noticed the absence of cameramen we began to feel doubtful. Nor was the chapel mentioned in the official press itinerary.

Unable to appreciate the Welsh, we were shown Islwyn's English verse. The Spectator's chief reviewer thought it 'some- what derivative' but behaved with the greatest courtesy towards our hosts. At length we gave up hope of Mr Kinnock and made for the Penllwyn Arms.

Neil and Glenys arrived a few minutes afterwards, having changed into their pub clothes. We were asked to stand back for the cameramen. After the photographs a group of journalists had a conversation with Mr Kinnock, the first of the day but carried out in less than easy circumstances in a crowded bar. In my notes I find only the quotation about wallpaper given at the start of this article. I gleaned it from a journalist who managed to hear more of the conversation than I did. Make of it what you will. I think that, like the extract given from Mr Kinnock's book, it is in 'the language of priorities'. When English is translated into Latin it takes up less space, but when Mr Kinnock's language of priori- ties is translated into English it takes up no space at all.

After lunch we visited a beautiful hill farm. The cameramen were especially busy. Mr Welch said it looked 'a good place for bed and breakfast'. People began to talk about 'the last good train to London'. A cameraman climbed into a tree to get a better view of Neil, as if he were Jesus. Jesus, however, could deal with the Scribes.

Later in the afternoon, Mr and Mrs Kinnock walked down Blackwood High Street. A wave of television cameramen walked backwards down the street in front of them. I saw Mr Kinnock slapping people on the cheek and noted down one of his remarks verbatim: 'Smashing . . . lovely . . . see you in the morning.'

We reached the Labour Party offices in Blackwood. A mug was on sale in the window. Beneath the legend '1987 General Election' it bore a Union Jack. In the middle of the Union Jack was an oval picture of Mr Kinnock, which for some reason reminded me of the photograph of the loved one sometimes seen on tombs in continental cemeteries. Under the flag and photograph were the words 'The Winner'.

That evening we went to the social evening organised in honour of the Chinese delegation. A male voice choir, founded in 1904, was singing as we arrived. The television filming would be in comfort- able time for the nine o'clock news.

The choir's repertoire includes a large number of religious songs. They sang, for example:

This land is mine, God gave this land to me.. .

With the help of God I know I can be strong.

Most Welshmen, like most Englishmen, nowadays try to manage without the help of God. This and the knowledge that so many of the surrounding mines have closed contributed to the feeling that we were witnessing an interesting survival from a culture most of which has died. Mr Kin- nock joined the choir.

When the singing was over, I spoke to one of the 70 or so performers. He was head of mathematics in a comprehensive school. A hospitable man, like all the South Welsh I met, he insisted on getting me a drink. He said he was taking early retirement. Why? 'I came into a profession and I won't say I'm leaving a rabble but the feel is not the same . . . I'm a firm believer in comprehensivisation but the fact is it's posed so many problems.'

On Saturday morning Mr Kinnock held a press conference in Cardiff to launch Labour's Welsh manifesto, Wales will win. We were at last able to ask him some questions. How, for example, would he ensure that extra public investment, to be co-ordinated by the new Economic Plan- ning Council for Wales, would go to create new jobs rather than increase the incomes of those already in work? 'Our emphasis on the return on investment is the best way to mitigate inflation,' he said, which I think means that if firms are making plenty of money they can pay their employees enough to stop them from demanding higher wages.

A reporter from the Press Association drew a comparison between Mr Kinnock's assurances that he controlled the Labour Party and those given by Mr Andrew McIntosh just before Mr Ken Livingstone deposed him from leadership of the GLC. Suddenly Mr Kinnock lost his temper: `Don't you patronise me, son.'

A hard look came into Mr Kinnock's eyes. At such moments he shows a streak of meanness. I was reminded of the first time I heard him speak, at a debate in Cambridge in the late Seventies. He and Mr Gummer both made excellent speeches of a rabble-rousing sort. At one point Mr Kinnock was interrupted by a stuttering undergraduate who clearly needed all his courage to say he was grateful for the education his direct grant school had given him. `Start to indoctrinate them young, don't they?' said Mr Kinnock with a mock laugh, and the same edge of cruelty as appeared in his 'guts at Goose Green' riposte during the last general election.

The press conference had not lasted long, but Mr Kinnock brought it to an abrupt end. 'We've got to get off to Dr Barnardo's,' he said. If he cannot control himself on a minor occasion such as the launch of the Welsh manifesto, I doubt whether he will last the rest of the cam- paign without some greater eruption. He does not like facing the examiners. He prefers to go off and talk to his mates, an occupation for which he has the highest talent.

On Saturday afternoon it rained, but the cavalcade which had been Alarmed through Mr Kinnock's constituency went ahead. A yellow double-decker bus with 'Labour on the move' painted on its side drove at six miles an hour through the villages, fol- lowed by Mr Kinnock standing in an open Land Rover, followed by several cars with balloons attached, followed by the press. A small number of Mr Kinnock's constituents turned out to see us. We passed a large number of decrepit chapels. An American journalist told us the people of the Third World would be amazed by this exercise in democracy. She was no doubt right. The Third World would be even more amazed to learn that we might elect this dedicated joker to run our affairs. Mr Kinnock assured one political correspondent from a national newspaper that half his press conferences during this campaign would be in London. I doubt whether he will honour that undertaking; I believe that voters as well as journalists will come to realise in the next two weeks that despite all appear- ances, he is running away from us.