What shall we do with Jim?

POLITICAL COMMENTARY ALAN WATKINS

It is possible that one of the reasons why the British political system is so stable is that con- servatives can be as much at ease in the Labour party as are radicals in the Conservative. Para- doxically, perhaps, the class basis of our politics, indeed of our society, tends not so much to exacerbate conflict as to mute it. Thus Herbert Morrison, a natural conservative if ever there was one, and the son of a London policeman, could at the time he entered politics have found no comfortable home except with Labour; today much the same can be said of

Mr Herbert Bowden, an even more 'natural

conservative than Morrison; while Sir Edward Boyle, who is by comparison red in tooth and claw, but also happens to be an old Etonian and a baronet, is constrained to rest—slightly uncomfortably, it is true—on the Tory benches. The present Cabinet contains its due pro- portions of natural conservatives. (I do not, by the way, include Mr Harold Wilson among them, for Mr Wilson is not conservative by in- clination or design: in his case a series of un- related actions merely produce a conservative result, as indeed they must.) Of these natural conservatives, the most striking example is Mr James Callaghan.

On Tuesday Mr Callaghan will rise from the Government front bench and deliver his budget speech. (His fifth, his sixth, his seventh? No doubt the Conservative Research Department has the answer.) Of one thing we may be fairly sure: it will be a very well-received speech. It will be listened to with respect and attention. Heads will nod soberly at the Chancellor's mentions of sterling and the balance of payments; and the proportion of earnest agreement will probably be greater on the Opposition side than on that of the Government.

And this grave spirit in which Mr Callag- han's observations will be heard will be due, not to their conservative content, or to the fact that he is, after all, Chancellor, but to his ability as a parliamentarian. Mr Callaghan is now arguably the best House of Commons per- former on the Government side, not excluding Mr Wilson and Mr Roy Jenkins. The air of slightly forced homeliness which is present on television—`dear me, Mr Day, I'm surprised at your asking that, I must say. I've got my job to do, you know, just as you have yours'—this is absent in the House.

Again, as Mr Callaghan has become more impressive as a parliamentary performer, so has he grown stronger in Cabinet. Partly, of course, this is again due to his position as Chancellor. But it is not all. Mr Callaghan ha,s emerged as a genuinely powerful political per- sonality irrespective of any office he may hold. Here is one example. A few months ago it was widely assumed that the Government was determined to be 'tough with the unions' and to retain full compulsory powers over wages after July. This was the policy favoured by Mr Michael Stewart. Indeed, it remains the policy favoured by Mr Michael Stewart. There is only one thing wrong: it is no longer the policy of the Government. Mr Callaghan, supported, oddly enough, by Mr George Brown, has seen to that; Mr Wilson has come down in favour of Mr Callaghan and against Mr Stewart. Mr Callaghan has always believed that statutory control over wages ('it doesn't make my job any easier, you know') must be temporary; and Mr Wilson, alarmed by the strength of feeling among trade union MPs, which after a recent group meeting he described as 'elemental,' has come to agree with the Chancellor. In fact, Mr Wilson and Mr Callaghan, though it would be going too far to say that they actually like each other, are now on closer terms than for some time.

But Mr Callaghan's strength as a minister, in both the Cabinet and the House of Commons sense, has another, less attractive side: he has become arrogant, even something of a bully. Indeed, he has always had a faintly menacing air: rather like a large, apparently affable police constable, or possibly police inspector, who is prepared to be friendly as long as one plays along with him; if one does not play along, so he contrives to suggest, there will be unpleasant consequences.

Generally, however, the effect produced is one not so much of menace as of petulance.

Mr Callaghan has taken to summoning journalists whose articles have displeased him. Recently a journalist who had ventured some mildly critical observations of the Chancellor came across him at a party, and addressed him as `Jim.' Don't call me Jim,' said Mr Callaghan.

The journalist modified his form of address to `Mr Callaghan.' Even this was not formal enough for Mr Callaghan. 'Don't call me Mr Callaghan,' he said. 'Call me Chancellor.' It may, of course, have been a joke. Or it may not.

Nor is it only members of the press who are liable to be addressed sharply if they offend the Chancellor. Members of the Government are not immune. Mr Stewart came in for some particularly rough handling following his blithe announcement (made, we are told, solely in order to increase the morale of the Department of Economic Affairs) that he was number three in the Cabinet. Mr Callaghan took to refusing to attend committee meetings at which Mr Stewart was to be present. On one famous occasion—a meeting with the trade unions which was also attended by Mr Stewart—he had to be sent for.

However, the real case against Mr Callag- han is not that he is petulant or has bullying tendencies (after all, Mr Brown has more than tendencies in this direction), but that he has shown no imagination whatever over the man- agement of the economy. It is true that he has introduced major reforms in taxation: but not even Mr Callaghan's strongest admirer could claim that these reforms were central to the economy, or even that, within their own terms, they were completely successful.

And the reason why the Chancellor is so un- imaginative is that he labours under a strong and possibly unnecessary sense of his own in- tellectual inadequacy. This is something from which the Prime Minister has never suffered. Mr Brown, on the other hand, does suffer from it: but the result it produces in Mr Brown is different from, and probably politically healthier than, the result it produces in Mr Cal- laghan. Mr Brown demands explanations, fires his civil servants, says that it is all a lot of non- sense anyway and maintains that going to Oxford is a waste of time. Mr Callaghan, how- ever, tends to accept what he is told by the Treasury for fear of appearing foolish if he disagrees or does not understand.

And yet, perhaps surprisingly, the Prime Minister continues to regard Mr Callaghan as a potential rival. The feeling is not as strong as it once was, but it remains present. It is with this in our minds that we should consider Mr Callaghan's future.

At one time it was suggested that he might be moved in the autumn, to be replaced by Mr Anthony Crosland or Mr Jenkins. The difficulty with this timing is to know what to do with Mr Callaghan. The Foreign Office? Mr Brown can hardly be shifted so soon (though it is widely believed in Westminster that Mr Callag- han was behind the recent 'George must go' stories). Leader of the House? Mr Wilson has clearly made a decision to give the Crossman- Silkin show an extended run; moreover, Mr Crossman has to complete his measures of parliamentary reform; and, in any case, Mr Callaghan has frequently made it clear that he regards the Leadership of the House as an appropriate post in which to spend the even- ing of his days, assuming, of course, that in the meantime he has not received a summons from the Palace. The poetic, perfect, just solution would be for Mr Callaghan to be given the DEA, where he would, in fact, be rather good— he could hardly be worse than Mr Stewart— over prices and incomes.

All this, however, is to leave out of account the crucial date, the date of the reflation. This is scheduled to begin towards the middle of 1968. But if government expenditure continues to rise, and taxation to remain constant, it may in practice begin sooner than that. Be this as it may, the question for Mr Wilson is whether Mr Callaghan is to preside over the reflation or whether he is to leave his post before it happens.

For Mr Callaghan, the attractions of staying must be considerable. To be able to say, as he undoubtedly will say—we can all write the script—'. . . weathered the storm . . . better times ahead .. . sterling . .. confidence .. . in balance': surely this is something worth waiting for. Yet there is no evidence to suggest that the reflation will not be followed by another balance-of-payments crisis, with Mr Callag- han's role resembling that of Mr Reginald Maudling in 1964. The life of a Chancellor is hard. Not the least hard part of it is to know when to get out.