Great Britain: Who Is Fit to Govern?

The British tend to think of their politics as urbane and fairminded. In large measure, they are. But at times the heirs of Cromwell and Pitt are apt to be more virulent than the heirs of Jackson and Truman. British political leaders can deftly cut each other’s throats with the most brutal verbal slashes, and British political crowds can raise the fine democratic art of heckling to riotous dimensions. This happened once again in the windup of Britain’s election campaign, suggesting that beneath the initially apathetic contest there was really a good deal of passion.

The proceedings turned particularly lively with the appearance in Plymouth of querulous Quintin Hogg, formerly Lord Hailsham, one of the more erratic of Tory politicians. As Minister of Education and Science in the Conservative Cabinet, Hogg was routinely telling his audience about the superior virtues of the Tories when a heckler shouted: “What about Profumo?”

This conjured up shades of the hapless former Cabinet Minister, memories of that high-echelon prostitute, Christine Keeler, echoes of the whole scandal that had so sorely embarrassed the Tories a year ago. “Profumo!” Hogg replied angrily. “If you can tell me there are no adulterers on the front bench of the Labor Party, you can talk about Profumo. If you can’t tell me that, you had better keep your mouth shut!”

Benched Adulterers. Since the Labor front bench is generally occupied by members of Labor’s “shadow cabinet,” all of them well known to each other, to their colleagues and the country, the statement was uncomfortably close to a specific accusation. Labor Chief Harold Wilson, who had ordered that the Profumo scandal not be raised by party leaders on the assumption that it might boomerang, gleefully picked up his cue and called on Prime Minister Sir Alec Douglas-Home to repudiate Hogg. Next day Hogg made a partial and grudging retraction. But he thought it was all most unfair, since “Mr. Profumo had paid a very high price indeed for a sin which is often committed by people who pay no price at all.” Hogg’s later speeches were plagued by shouts of “Adultery!” and “Hoggwash!”

No sooner had the Minister of Science done his bit to embarrass the Tories than Foreign Secretary Rab Butler had a go at it. Campaigning in Manchester, Home had said that the U.S. and Britain had ready a treaty to prevent the spread of nuclear weapons that “could be produced at a moment’s notice” for Russia’s signature. Whereupon Butler declared airily in an interview that “we’ve had a chat about it with the Americans,” but that there is no such treaty, adding, “After all, I would know. I’m the Foreign Secretary.”*

Then Butler, who has been passed over twice for the prime ministership, handed out compliments to his colleagues that left blood all over the floor. Prime Minister Home? “I think Alec’s done very well. Possibly he has spent too much time outside London.” Ted Heath, President of the Board of Trade and regarded as a comer in the party? “I think Alec’s a bit bored by him.” Hogg? “A great pity.” As for the situation in general, Rab thought things might slip. “Toward Labor?” the reporter wanted to know. “They’re not going to slip toward us,” replied Rab icily.

Penny-Wise. With friends like that, Campaigner Home hardly needed enemies. The polls in fact were slipping toward Labor, for whatever that proved. The Economist, which is read about equally by dons and businessmen, and by Britons and non-Britons, usually takes an independent political line, but last week it somewhat unenthusiastically announced its support of Labor. The neck-and-neck race brought joy to Jo Grimond and the Liberal Party leaders, who have visions of capturing up to ten seats in the new Parliament and holding the balance of power if Labor and the Tories should end up nearly even.

On the campaign trail, the former Lord Home was finding the going rough. Speaking in Watford, a constituency near London, from a boxing ring draped with the blue Tory colors, Sir Alec observed that “going up and down the country, I find people have higher incomes”—when a heckler shouted, “Not as high as yours, mate! I wish I had one of your millions.”

It was a strong reminder of the election’s basic issue: the Tory claim that affluent Britain has never had it so good, against the Labor charge that Britain’s prosperity is still too concentrated at the top, that its economy needs more dynamic management. Appearing in Birmingham’s Rag Market two nights apart, both Home and Wilson were drowned out by boos. Home was faced with a 75-ft. dinosaur manipulated by some 50 Laborites. A large sign read: “Too Much Armor, Too Little Brain, Now Extinct.” When he was shouted down, Home cried angrily into the microphones, “I doubt if anyone can seriously believe that people who depend on this kind of support are fit to govern Britain!” On leaving the Rag Market, Sir Alec insisted on walking with Lady Home through the mob, which continued to boo and throw pennies at the Prime Minister.

*In Washington, the State Department confirmed that Butler’s version was the more nearly correct.