BOOKS
Rather militant himself
Alan Watkins
HARD LABOUR by Robert Kilroy-Silk
Chatto and Windus, f9.95
Aback benchers of all parties go, Mr Kilroy-Silk was undoubtedly above par for the course. He was good-looking (once described in a newspaper gossip column as `the most handsome man in the House of Commons'). He was industrious, specialis- ing in civil liberties and penal reform, the latter a subject infrequently discussed in the People's Party, except in the most general terms. He came from that almost Celtic political enclave within England, Birmingham in the West Midlands, mother of Joe Chamberlain, Mr Enoch Powell and Mr Brian Walden. He had suffered hard times in his childhood but did not go on about them. Politically he was . on the moderate Left, for the phrase 'Soft Left' had not been invented when he entered Parliament, for Ormskirk rather than Knowsley North in February 1974.
And yet, there was something missing. Somehow the whole seemed to add up to less than the sum of its parts. What was the matter? He was accused of being a self- publicist, but then, so are many politicians self-publicists. His name also aroused suspicion. Why the hyphen? Mr Kilroy- Silk explains it all in the book. His father was killed on active seivice when he was a child. His mother then married his father's best friend, a Mr Kilroy: a not uncommon pattern, in working-class communities at any rate. Young Robert was known as Kilroy in one group, Silk in another. A well-intentioned but perhaps misguided schoolmaster advised him to use both names. This was explained, necessarily briefly, in the reference books, but people were still unclear about it. Nor are good looks of the conventional kind always an advantage in politics. Mr Jonathon Ait- ken has been impeded by his appearance (among other things), though Dr David Owen has not.
Mr Kilroy-Silk's account is more in- teresting as the story of one man's disillu- sion with politics than as the story of Militant's activities in one Merseyside Con- stituency. Admittedly he would still be Labour member for Knowsley North, cer- tain to retain his seat at the general election, if it were not for Militant. It is, however, important to remember that he was never actually deselected: he threw in the towel when the crowd was baying for blood, and his own seconds were urging him to finish the fight, in this case by petitioning the National Executive Com- mittee to disband the constituency party. In view of the evidence produced by his local allies about skulduggery by the TGWU the NEC would almost certainly have taken this action, even though by a narrow majority.
But he had never wished to enter the ring in the first place, despite (here we move from the metaphorical to the real) his feat of knocking an obstreperous Mili- tant through a Victorian stained glass window during last year's Bournemouth conference. More exalted persons than Mr Kilroy-Silk have been similarly reluctant, including King Edward VIII and R. A. Butler. It is quite a common political phenomenon. It is not a moral issue. Intelligent and sensitive persons often say: why should I have to go through all this? Is it worth it? No, life's too short. It would have been understandable enough if he had taken this view after months of acrimo- nious struggle with Militant. But he seems to have taken it from the very beginning.
His account starts with the Liverpool MP Mr Robert Parry, not a member of, but a messenger boy for Militant, approaching him in the House and telling him that he is to relinquish Knowsley North in favour of Mr Tony Mulheam and take over a Conservative-held Liverpool constituency which he would, however, win at the general election. This is the decision of the Militant high command. What does he do? He keeps as quiet as he can about the episode. There is often a lot to be said against talking to the press. This may have provided one of those occasions. His cor- rect, his proper course would have been to send a formal letter of complaint to Mr Neil Kinnock with copies to the Parliamen- tary Labour Party, the National Executive Committee, his local party and the Liver- pool District Labour Party. He might even have tried to bring a breach of privilege case against Mr Parry. Instead of which, his entire pattern of conduct seemed in- tended to show Mr Parry the greatest protection.
The pattern recurrs. Mr Michael Cock- erell wants to make a film about his troubles for Panorama. He is suspicious, though from his point of view the program- me turns out all right in the end. But he does little to ease Mr Cockerell's path. A local factory prohibits filming on its pre- mises because it does not want trouble. He sides with the management. Mr Cockerell films some old-fashioned Labour ladies complaining about Militant after a meet- ing. Mr Kilroy-Silk officiously stops the cameras and asks them whether they know they are being filmed. Oh yes, they say, we've wanted to speak our minds for some time now. Mr Cockerel! and others then assume, without malice, that he has threatened to fight a by-election if de- selected as Mr Frank Field successfully threatened in nearby Birkenhead. But Mr Kilroy-Silk has made no such threat; is indeed, opposed to fighting a by-election. Why, after all, should he, as the proud possessor of a 17,000 majority? That is his view. But he does not make it at all clear. Nor does he make a threat. He just allows matters to drift.
He is similarly ambiguous about his parliamentary colleagues. If they say no- thing, they are passing by on the other side. If they make an offer of help, on the other hand, they are being Meddlesome Matties: he will sort this out on his own, thank you very much. Worst of all are those MP's who make vaguely solicitous inquiries as a prelude to conversation on other matters: 'How's it going, then?' Most journalists learn that, during the periodical crises which overtake their papers, one of the more irritating questions they can be asked is: 'How are things on the Brute today?' But they realise also, or I think they do, that these inquiries are motivated usually by a vague curiosity and an impulse to say something; only rarely by malice. Mr Kilroy-Silk is a hard man to help. He would have told the Good Samaritan to take his filthy oil and wine elsewhere and to stop being a busybody.
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