/ POLITICAL COMMENTARY

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HUGH MACPHERSON

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The greatest tory budget since 1904' enthused a backbencher to the Prime Minister as he made his way to a jubilant reception by tory backbenchers after the budget statement. 'We didn't have a tory government in 1904', replied Mr Heath with a smile. The views of Balfour for that matter are, in the nature of things. a little difficult to canvass. However, conservative back- benchers are in little doubt that they have a tory government now.

The verdict of Sir Gerald Nabarro, who, as is his way, was dressed for the occasion in tails and black silk hat like the villain in a victorian pantomime, was 'a thundering good tory budget'. It was a good description which was echoed by a former labour cabinet minister who said that Mr Barber's offering was in conservative terms doctrinally defensible and certain to be popular in the country.

The trouble with this time of the year, of course, is that the honest citizen falls into the hands of one of the two classes of pro- fessional men whom he should studiously avoid—psychiatrists and economists. The reason for avoiding both are distressingly similar. For one thing there are almost as many opinions as there are practitioners. For another, there are, so many imponderables and variables in their black arts that they can never be proved wrong.

Yet year by year, traditionally when the young sun is in mid-trot through the sign of the Ram, every politician must become an economist just as in these days of the striptease psyche everyone must clutch his Penguin special and analyse his friends. So the most benighted trade unionist, country squire, doctor, actor, engineer, plumber or, for that matter, journalist, who happens to inhabit the backbenchers takes a deep breath and sets off down the labrinthine path of the nation's financial and economic affairs.

Even Chancellors sometimes blanch at the thought. Indeed, one recent occupant of No 11 remarked to a visitor that the only comfort he took from the fact that he had been wrong about the economy was the fact that the esteemed Treasury knights who advised him had seldom been right.

Be that as it may, on Budget day there is a special air of expectancy about the House. The atmosphere is always extremely Victorian for just as old troupers love to reminisce about the days when they played the biggest halls so the halls themselves retain something of their greatest days. And the old museum of Westminster is at its best When it takes on its truly Victorian personna. Budget day is like the reading of the will of a stern nineteenth century ironmaster Which will contain as much moral reproof as financial largesse. It is like the AGM of the Shareholders of the Great Western Railway, or of those godly men who were dedicated to delivering the land of the Heathens from error's chain and removing some of their Mineral deposits at the same time.

And everyone is determined to play his Part—hence the peculiar attire of Sir Gerald. Two rather sad figures on the bench behind

him tried to help the atmosphere along by turning up in straw boaters. Alas the effect produced was that of the gentlemen who sell ice-cream at the Battersea Funfair. Yet in a way they were correctly attired, for, if the traditional atmosphere of the House on Budget day is Victorian, the contents of Barber's statement were distinctly twentieth century indeed revolutionary—a thing the victorians would not have permitted, or perhaps, noticed.

This year's budget was of special interest for two reasons. Firstly because the present government is the most red-blooded conser- vative administration for many years. Secondly, the Chancellor himself was on trial. Budget speeches have made political reputations in the past—Gladstone in 1853 and Lloyd George in 1909 come to mind— and the Pm was one of the most anxious listeners yesterday as Mr. Anthony Barber tried to assert his personality on the House. Assert it, he did.

Of course the Budget speech is a set piece and not a test of the command of a brief since there are few genuine interruptions or exchanges. But Mr Barber was under such

fire for his previous performances that he well earned the rare ovation he received from his own benches at the end. One of the Shadow Cabinet put it trenchantly 'yes, Tony Barber's back in the big time'.

The problem for all Prime Ministers is that they must have a strong man at No I for the good and simple reason that in the

Cabinet battles over spending it is all the others against the Chancellor and, in the final analysis, against the Prime Minister himself.

But a strong man at No II is a rival for the move next door. After devaluation Harold Wilson was completely in the power of Mr

Roy Jenkins, for, if Mr Jenkins had resigned. he would have destroyed Mr Wilson's career. On the other hand if the Pm piits his poodle at No 11 he is liable to be without a convenient protection in the Cabinet and also without an iron man to deal with that gloomy cabal, the Treasury knights.

Until now the view of Mr Barber has been that he is Mr Heath's poodle. This seems unkind to such an able man, although there

is no doubt that the PM's hand has been on the Treasury. For good or ill, the revolution-

ary proposals for tax reform and the striking budget, are mainly Mr Heath's creation. That is why Mr Barber should exercise extreme caution. For there is another un-

rewarding role for Chancellors—that of being the PM'S Pascal Lamb. Alas, when the going

gets really tough, the Lamb can be shooed into the wilderness bearing all the sins of its master. Prime examples of this kind of mutton in the past have been Mr Peter Thorneycroft, Mr James Callaghan and, above all, Mr Selwyn Lloyd

No one suggests that such unworthy thoughts disturb the night's sleep of the PM.

Yet one of the brighter of Mr Heath's young men remarked that he certainly hoped the Budget paid off for it was a distinct gamble.

It must be understood that he would describe himself as a Hawk rather than a Dove in matters economic. (Mr Wilson had that extraordinary band of ambitious loyalists, the Young Eagles. Mr Heath is a much more adventurous political ornithologist.) This Young Hawk took the view that in the midst of the present inflationary situation the amount of money pumped into the economy, would, in effect, just about meet the demands made by the National Institute for Social and Economic Research. He could not enthuse over that and rather sourly observed that soft reactions to a Budget were always invariably wrong.

It must be recorded, however, that his views, are not general in the Tory party and the Doves are positively cooing. Equally, not a single sturdy Labour professional to whom I spoke failed to acknowledge that the Budget was a supremely clever piece of political work. Several thought that the in- crease of one pound in the Old Age Pension would save many a tory vote at the forth- coming local elections as would the tax relief to young families. Even that indestruct- ible left-winger, Eric Helfer, said that the Budget was 'clever and partially reflationary' —then, in case he was misunderstood, that it was mainly designed for the rich.

So Mr Barber has convinced almost every- one that he is their friend—from old age pensioners to the occupants of elegant houses in Regent's Park such as Mr Clive Jenkins. For good measure there is the promise of simplifying a horrific tax system which no one understands. In the short-term well nigh the achievement of the impossible.

Augustus De Morgan, the great nineteenth century mathematician and logician, who worked in Gower Street just across from the SPECTATOR, published an interesting treatise which described attempts to square the circle, produce perpetual motion, and other such impossible quests. He entitled it, The Budget of Paradoxes. One could think of no better title for what the Chancellor presented this week.