TOP AND BOTTOM OF THE TORY CLASS

Hugh Montgomery -Massingberd anatomises the new class

structure of the Conservative Party and puts the current collection of Tory MPs in their places

CONTEMPLATING recent Government changes, that veteran clubman the Earl of Stockton is said to have observed, 'I see we now have more Etonians than Estonians in the Cabinet.' Indeed the present quartet of Etonians (Channon, Hailsham, Hurd and Ridley) is, as our graph overleaf shows, the highest tally since Mrs Thatcher flushed out the Wets in 1981. It could be argued that when things are going well for the Prime Minister she , feels free to pack her Cabinet with no- nonsense bower boys, y but when she is feeling insecure the presence of a few more toffs provides some reassuring bal- last.

The class structure of the Tory Party has certainly changed considerably since the days when Lord Stockton was dis- pensing patronage to his wife's relations in the late 1950s and early 1960s. In the Heath era, the Tories, over-anxious to rid themselves of the so-called 'grouse Archer was ludicrously chosen for an agricultural seat in the heart of Lincoln- shire. Events such as Archer's resignation after overstretching himself in a business transaction ultimately helped to discredit this sort of inverted snobbery. Now he is deputy chairman of the party, Archer, one suspects, would be quite happy for people to think 'Wellington' in his curriculum vitae refers to the august 'College' at Crow- !home rather than to the more downmar- ket school in Somerset. handicap have been at Eton is clearly no longer the it was in the late 1960s for Thus Jeffrey obtaining a Tory seat. Today there are 42 Etonian Tory MPs, which represents slightly over ten per cent of the total. They are mostly, however, as different from Macmillan's urbane lieutenants as from the romantic patricians of Young England: earnest go-getters, prepared to beat the modern world at its own game.

Lately, however, the constituency com- mittees seem to have taken against eldest sons of peers. The smooth Earl of Shel- burne, heir of the Marquess of Lansdowne, failed to find a safe seat after putting up a creditable performance at Coventry in the general election of 1979. To the outrage of many traditionalist Scots — and Scotts, for that matter — the Earl of Dalkeith, heir of the Duke of Buccleuch (one of only two present dukes to have sat in the Com- mons), was passed over as a candidate for a Glasgow constituency. At one constituency interview, the Duke of Wellington's eldest son, the Marquess of Douro, a Member of the European Parliament, was apparently asked by the committee whether, if selected, he would be prepared to disclaim upon the death of his father in order to remain in the Commons as their Member. One would hope he employed a variant of the response used by the then Lord Stanley in the 19th century when he was offered the throne of Greece: 'Don't they know I'm going to be the Earl of Derby?'

The closest rela- tion to a duke in the House is Lord James Douglas-Hamilton, brother of the Duke of Hamilton. The Marquess of Loth- ian's heir, the MP for Edinburgh South, (1Z1r- carefully calls himself The only present-day representative in the Commons of the once all-powerful Cecil dynasty, Viscount Cranborne, heir of the Marquess of Salisbury, has decided not to stand again at the next general election. No doubt for him, and for many other young aristocrats, the management and preservation of the family estates has assumed a much greater importance, not to say congeniality, than a career in politics.

TABLE A: CLASS ANALYSIS OF CONSERVATIVE MPs ONE

Earl of Ancram Alan Clark Mark Lennox-Boyd Nicholas Soames William Benyon Viscount Cranborne Charles Morrison William Waldegrave Robert Boscawen Lord James Douglas-Hamilton Peter Morrison Sir George Young Paul Channon Sir Ian Gilmour Bt Nicholas Ridley George Younger Winston Churchill Earl of Kilmorey Thomas Sackville

TWO

Jonathan Aitken Kenneth Carlisle Toby Jesse! Anthony Nelson Julian Amery Michael Colvin Sir Keith Joseph Bt Cranley Onslow Henry Bellingham Sir John Farr Sir Anthony Kershaw Francis Pym Sir Nicholas Bonsor Bt Archibald Hamilton Michael McNair-Wilson Sir Brandon Rhys Williams Bt Tim Brinton David Heathcoat-Amory Patrick McNair-Wilson Richard Ryder Alick Buchanan-Smith Douglas Hogg Francis Maude Tim Sainsbury Esmond Bulmer David Howell Sir Anthony Meyer Bt Sir William van Straubenzee Adam Butler Douglas Hurd Sir Hector Monro Sir John Wells

Jerry Wiggin

THREE

Michael Alison Alastair Goodlad Anthony Marlow Andrew Rowe Sir Humphrey Atkins Ian Gow Michael Marshall Norman St John-Stevas Kenneth Baker Sir Anthony Grant Michael Mates Nicholas Scott Robert Banks Michael Grylls Carol Mather William Shelton Sir Frederic Bennett Jeremy Hanley Robin Maxwell-Hyslop Colin Shepherd Sir John Biggs-Davison Robert Harvey Sir Patrick Mayhew Tim Smith Sir Peter Blaker Sir Michael Havers Hal Miller John Stanley Peter Bottomley Sir Paul Hawkins Norman Miscampbell Anthony Steen Peter Brooke Michael Heseltine Phillip Oppenheim Ian Stewart Nicholas Budgen Alan Howarth Sir John Osborn John Stokes Mark Carlisle Sir Geoffrey Howe Sir John Page Sir Peter Tapsell Lynda Chalker Patrick Jenkin John Patten Peter Temple-Morris Mark Colvin Sir Geoffrey Johnson-Smith William Powell Peter Thurnham Patrick Cormack Michael Jopling Sir David Price John Wakeham Julian Critchley Robert Key James Prior Dennis Walters Edward du Cann Tom King Tim Rathbone Charles Wardle Nicholas Edwards Ian Lang Tim Raison John Wilkinson Timothy Eggar Nigel Lawson Peter Rees Nicholas Winterton Nicholas Fairbairn Richard Luce Timothy Renton Mark Wolfson Nigel Forman Nicholas Lyell Robert Rhodes James Tim Yeo Dr Alan Glyn David Madel Sir Julian Ridsdale

Sir Philip Goodhart Paul Marland Mark Robinson

FOUR TO TEN

The rest. . .

TABLE B: ETONIANS IN THE CABINET

Lord Hailsham Lord Halifax Duff Cooper Anthony Eden Lord Eustace Percy Oliver Stanley William Ormsby-Gore Harold Macmillan Lord Home Lord Hailsham Derick Heathcoat Amory John Hare Duncan Sandys Sir Ian Gilmour Lord Hailsham of St Marylebone Francis Pym Lord Soames Lord Thorneycroft Paul Channon Lord Hailsham of St Marylebone Douglas Hurd Nicholas Ridley Lord Hailsham of St Marylebone Francis Pym Lord Hailsham of St Marylebone Nicholas Ridley

1935 1959 1979 1981 1983 1986

Nonetheless, there are a few scions of Political dynasties who still find the ersatz excitement of the Commons to their taste. The Churchills are represented by the now not-so-Young Winston and the increasingly visible — and always audible — Nicholas Soames. This expansive character has brought a welcome (and by no means sober) breath of Rex Mottram back into the Smoking Room. 'I wouldn't mind boffing the Honourable Member for Peckham' (Ms Harriet Harman, herself connected to the Pakenham clan) was one of the more memorable Soames °biter dicta to boom across the Chamber. In the best traditions of the House, this former minder of the Prince of Wales rubs along well with his political opponents; he is Particularly fond of Dennis Skinner, the 'Beast of Bolsover', and is said to have promised to drop in on the Skinner home When shooting in Derbyshire. If Soames recalls the world of `F.E.', Jonathan Aitken is not quite so convincing as a representative of 'Max', though he and his Swiss wife Lolicia are trying to revive some old-style political entertaining at Brendan Bracken's former house in Lord North Street. Family political traditions are carried on by Douglases Hurd (son of a le peer and grandson of another Tory MP) and Hogg (son of the longest serving 'Etonian in the present Cabinet and sbb-in-law of a former Paymaster-General, 14:1rd Boyd-Carpenter). The Morrison brothers — one Wet, one Dry — are sons of the formidable Lord Margadale, best remembered as Major John Morrison, the bastion of the 1922 Committee. Paul Channon and Mark Lennox-Boyd both belong to the `Guinnesty' and both live in agreeable country houses, Kelvedon in Essex and Gresgarth in Lancashire respectively. Apart from Alan Clark at Salt wood Castle (which he has grandly _closed to the public) precious few other l'ory country house owners spring to mind. Thomas Sackville is of the Knole family, but that is now owned by the National Trust. Bill Benyon of Englefield, the unlikely MP for Milton Keynes, owns a l ",00 0-acre estate between Reading and Basingstoke. Francis Pym tried to knock bicycling the family seat of Hazells, but the bicycling baronet, Sir George Young, had more success in replacing Formosa Place 011 the river at Cookham by a modernist _structre u. Another baronet, the boxing blue Sir Nicholas Bonsor, and a baronet's nephew, David Heathcoat-Amory, also own country houses, but there are not many more. Of the nouveaux riches Tories Michael Heseltine seems to be the only one t9 .have established himself in an architecturally distinguished 'gent's res' Which he has adorned with a Palladian s ummerhouse by Quinlan Terry. The. most significant change since the lv1acmillan era is the virtual disappearance o the 'Knights of the Shires'. The depressing fact is that the decent paternalistic squire who felt it part of his hereditary duty to the County to sit in the Commons, and had no wish whatever for political advancement, simply no longer exists. That is not to say the squirearchy is extinct, rather that the squires that survive would not touch politics with a pitchfork. Oh my Bromley-Davenport and Anstruther- Gray of long ago!

Gazing down at the Tory benches in the Commons, one sees extraordinarily few countrymen. Willie Whitelaw from the Borders has gone to the Lords; Sir John Wells from Kent — once a favourite butt of Sally Vincent in these pages on account of his 'country pursuits' — and Farmer Jim Prior from Suffolk have both decided not to stand again. In the pre-Heath days, Wells would have been given a baronetcy, not a knighthood. It is a sad sight to see only literally a handful of 13arts among the Tory MI's (Sir Tam Dalyell of the Binns could score for Labour if he wished to place himself on the Roll): Gilmour, Bonsor, Meyer, Joseph, Rhys Williams and Young. Neither Meyer nor Joseph will be standing at the next election. The Prime Minister's continued refusal to bring back the baronetcy, that perfectly harmless hereditary honour, when she has re- introduced hereditary peerages, remains one of the great mysteries of modern times. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Denis's first wife went on to marry a baronet. Or perhaps modern MPs just cannot be bothered with a baronetcy.

When a friend asked me to suggest a Tory MP who would speak up for field sports, I found it hard to think of anyone following the retirement of Sir Marcus (no, Lord) Kimball and Stephen Hastings. Henry Bellingham — whose candidacy for a Norfolk seat in the wake of the Brocklebank Fowler defection to the SDP was a classic example of the Eton Safety Factor in action — used to ride under National Hunt rules. I remember backing the engagingly eccentric Nicholas Budgen in a race at Market Rasen. I am now quite prepared to forgive his lack of finishing prowess for his adding a bit of colour to an increasingly monochrome party. The inevitable conclusion, then, is that the Tory Party in the Thatcher age has become irredeemably middle-class. I hasten to explain that I mean to use this unattractive epithet in its proper sense. Generally 'middle-class' is now used quite indiscriminately. Everyone, with the possible exception of a mere 900 or so peers and their immediate families, is described as 'middle-class'; so that in a nation of 60 million people, the middle is deemed to be situated only a couple of thousand down from the top. Aristocratic traditions are now referred to as 'middle-class values' by those who wish to throw them onto the scrap heap. An official report criticised the British Foreign Service for having too strong a 'middle-class flavour'. One can imagine the shade of some ambassador of yesteryear approving such criticism from quite a different angle: 'Quite right. Can't stand them middle-class fellers.'

The sort of precise gradations used in my chart are what makes the much abused British 'class system' such an enjoyable pastime. In the version played according to my rules you divide the population up into ten compartments: One, upper-upper class; Two, lower-upper class; Three, upper-middle class; Four, lower-upper- middle class; Five, middle class; Six, upper- lower-middle class; Seven, lower-middle class; Eight, lower-lower-middle class; Nine, upper-working class, Ten, lower- working class.

The compartments are interconnecting and open-plan in the disagreeable manner of modern trains; one is constantly jostled and butted by people passing up and down. Nothing is static or clear-cut; everything is open to question and self-exposure as crass and vulgar. Deep embarrassment and total honesty is the object of the exercise.

Ones are the heavy swells, the grand nobs, the territorial magnates, the stinkingly rich aristocrats (who are not, of course, confined to those with titles) and the stylishly fashionable. Twos, the most sympathetic group, tend to be lesser landed, or stranded, gents. Threes will often be smarter and richer than Twos and yet lack that indefinable stamp of the landed proprietor. Fours will mainly be minor public school men. Fives, as is mathematically proper, are equally distant from the top and the bottom — in short the middle class. Sixes — well, doubtless the differences between the rest are every bit as beguiling and imprecise, but I am happy to leave their delineation to a sociology graduate. It is the upper bit that these types get wrong by bracketing the top five groups as `middle-class'.

The table opposite is a rough and ready conclusion of an attempt to play the game on Tory MPs. The bald list conceals unspeakably snobbish musings. 'The mother is dead common though there is plenty of cash there. Only a Four for her, but she is clearly going up. The son went to Harrow so he might rate a Three.' (No, not Thatcher: Oppenheim.) The game can also be played, of course, at by-elections. At next week's polls the Tories are offering a Two, or possibly even a One at a pinch, in Ryedale (Neil Balfour, landowning, Amplefordian cadet of a Scot- tish laird's family previously married to a Yugoslavian princess who went for a Bur- ton, and now the third husband of a niece of the Duke of Marlborough); and an Eight in West Derbyshire (Patrick Mc Loughlin, ex-miner, now on the way up as an 'industrial representative' of the National Coal Board).

The biggest shock as I pored over the Tory Four Hundred was what one might call the Widmerpool Syndrome — discovering half-forgotten drips from schooldays in positions of power and influence. Schools are a useful shorthand in the assessment. But not all Etonians are Ones or Twos, some rate Three. Harrow seldom rates One and Twos are even rarer. Charterhouse and Westminster are typical Three schools. Other pointers to be borne in mind include the manner, mien, milieu, money and the mug. Lord Sudeley, whose 'living pedigree' can be savoured in 'audio-visual' form in the Domesday show at the fun-packed Public Record Office, once claimed that by studying a peer's physiognomy at the State Opening of Parliament he could tell whether the peerage dates from before or after 1900. In reality, physical characteristics can be a trap for the unwary: in appearance, Sir George Young, for instance, could pass for a poly-Trot.

We must beware of romancing the party stone. After all, the Ones historically tended to be Whigs. Following the Reform Act, the Tory Party became much more broadly based than its previously traditional Two image. For example, by playing the game in 1914— supposedly the end of the 'Golden Age' — we would find that the substantial majority of Tory MPs came from the Threes, the Fours and the Fives. Even then, the Ones and Twos only accounted for little more than double their totals in my present charts. The significant shift is that whereas many of the 1914 Threes were still on the way up, today it seems that Three into Two won't go.

Hugh Montgomery-Massingberd is currently writing a book on the squirearchy.