Dislocated to Success (2 page)

However, there was a general malaise, a worry about the opinion polls and a feeling that Margaret wasn't working. I maintained that she was seeking her voice again, although only in a rather weak way. I certainly refused to get involved with the cabal who wished to reinstate Ted, who failed to engender much in the way of support apart from a handful of misogynists.  Any attempt to reinstate him would have just led to general mutiny - not that stopped Ian and a few others. If there had to be a replacement it would have to have been Willie at that juncture; there really would have been no alternative. As it was, Willie was far too loyal - and I think his flame of ambition had been quenched.

Chapter 2

Everyone, of course, remembers what they were doing on Dislocation Day. It is one of those party tricks we all dredge up every February the 18th, along with remembering the lost - and, these days, also celebrating the found. Of course, as the years pass, less and less of us are here to remember and I expect that in a score or so of years that it will generally be forgotten, which is why I support the idea of official commemorations.

For me, it started off as an ordinary working day; I wasn’t one of those who was still up for the 4am light show or was awakened by it. I arrived at my office in the House to find a short note saying overseas calls could not be made at this time. I assumed that there had been a failure of the telephone system, which was unusual but not unknown, and shrugged it off. I decided to get on with constituency correspondence - the Liberals had fallen back a little at the last election but were always on the municipal warpath, so correspondence needed to dealt with. By about 10:30, I decided to take morning tea; there was a funny mood in the tea room, people seemed a bit twitchy. One old Labour member kept on telling people rather too loudly that there weren't any planes, but as he was known to be more with the Woolwich than with us - most people ignored him. However, he was right - there weren't any planes. The noise of aircraft could usually be heard from the terrace and it was absent. Most people forget just how noisy Heathrow was.

Just after morning tea, as people were getting ready for departmental Prayers, Joppers
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pulled me aside. One of the best of the Whips, a very worldly man, he informed me quickly that something was up; he didn't know exactly what had happened, but there were no aircraft allowed to fly, no telephone or telex links with anywhere outside the UK and no radio or TV signals being monitored. There had been some freak atmospherics the previous night, whatever that meant, but most worrying was that there was no communication with any BAOR or RAF unit outside of the UK - although, mercifully, the RN appeared to be checking in. He felt business might be disrupted, but would know more later; meanwhile, I should have a word with the speaker about a possible emergency statement.

That alone was slightly disturbing, although at the time I thought it would undoubtedly provoke a few amusing “FOG IN CHANNEL, CONTINENT CUT OFF” headlines in the next day’s papers. However, as we got towards lunch and formal business, there was an air gathering around the place - and not a good one. I was then quietly taken aside by Francis Pym. He wanted to know if I knew of an expert on old German buildings who would be in London or very close by; after some thought I suggested Sir Niklaus Pevnser, whose number I luckily had in my diary. I was still puzzling that one out when Joppers came up again - there would be a Prime Minister’s Statement at 6pm and Cabinet at 7pm; however, the PM would like to see people in her room at 3pm.

I’d just about squared Mr Speaker, and endured once again one of his lengthy stories about the hardships of life growing up in Tonypandy, when Joppers came in yet again. The PM had been summoned to the Palace, with a heavy emphasis on the word ‘summoned’, which was completely unheard of. I found out later through Clarence House that the Private Secretaries had to be quite insistent on the PM attending, using the strongest of code words. We were now to meet up at 4pm and any statement would be tomorrow as first business. So I had to go back to the Speaker’s room and grovel, which was awkward; to be fair, he was very good about all this - and continued to be very good during the trying months to come - but, like a lot of Welshmen, he does go on a bit.

We were to have started with Welsh Questions, but there was a sticky question put to me by Silkin without prior knowledge which George cruelly allowed to run. Of course, I really did know nothing except the rumours, but I stonewalled and then said all would be discussed tomorrow. I didn’t know at the time that Silkin
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actually knew more than I did, having been briefed by Jim Callaghan. The PM was a stickler for involving Jim in matters of national security; she was much less so with Michael. However, we finally got onto Welsh Questions and I went off to the PM’s room. Nick Edwards
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held the fort marvellously; the Speaker stretched time in the way that only he could; and a lot of Welshmen got to talk, which they enjoyed. It’s funny how what is officially half an hour can become an hour when you put your mind to it.

The Prime Minister wasn’t there; she was still at the Palace, having what she described as one of the most uncomfortable but useful conversations with Her Majesty ever.  Willie was, however, in there with a few others, looking at aerial photographs - the problem was, they looked like old towns from the air. Willie handed me a large brandy and said “You might need this,  dear boy”, before passing me a photo and saying - “that’s Dublin”.

I looked at him dubiously and shook my head; he showed me some more photos: sailing ships; more of what was supposed to be Dublin; some very low-level shots of what I was told was Calais, a town surrounded by Vauban style forts; what looked like a haywain; some chap in very old style clerical dress and a tricked hat on a horse - Willie quietly said "Near Newry". Then a photograph of some open moorland; Willie again explained "Paderborn, I'm afraid”. I think I must have been imitating a goldfish by then; I remember Patrick Jenkin
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shouting down the phone - "no, turn them all back, danger of smallpox and God knows what else".

I looked at Willie and enquired what was going on; he shook his head and said "Whatever it is, it is trouble. Everywhere we have overflown is the same - the Navy have spotted what look like 18th century ships of the line". I quavered at that; surely this was impossible? He just shook his head - he said that the UK appeared to be the same, as did the Isle of Man, but there had been no contact with the Channel Islands, Gibraltar or anything that wasn't RN. I asked him about Ulster, and he said "They are still with us" - with a shrug that indicated that perhaps it might not have been his preferred option.

At this point, Jim Prior wandered in with a sheaf of papers in his hand - his civil servants had dug into the Civil Defence papers, it seemed - and he went into a huddle with Willie. I realised I hadn't contacted my other office and went to ring them. They knew nothing as well, and I suggested they looked up their civil defence papers; there was a quiet giggle at the other end in response. I later learned that the Arts plan mainly consisted of moving valuable items to old salt mines in case of nuclear war. There wasn't anything else except a few scraps of paper about morale-building using local theatre groups and community singing - much of which was a holdover from the war.  By the time I came off the phone, there were half a dozen of us in the room and Jim and Peter loosely outlined to us all what was to be the number one priority of the nation for the next few years: feeding ourselves.

It was all quite shocking; I knew we imported food, but I had never really thought how much we imported. Peter Walker
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has often said thank goodness it was February when we were dislocated - had it been in, say, high summer there might have been some very serious problems. Norman Tebbit had joined us by then, and passed on the information that it looked like everything in Europe west of the Iron Curtain was the same. We had, of course, not flown over the curtain at that point; there were concerns about what that might have provoked. Jim was still rattling on - the gist of his argument seemed to be that the Civil Defence preparations and stocks were based on a considerable number of people having been incinerated, and that we would find it very difficult to feed ourselves. His hope was that America hadn't been affected and was just under radio silence because of these peculiar atmospherics. Norman hoped that the Russians had gone otherwise things could be tricky. We were told that Quintin
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and Francis had joined the PM at the palace, which given the time was pretty unprecedented; things were obviously difficult there. Whilst the Queen always kept to the protocols, she has always liked to be fully informed.

I had to pop out and try and get the Clerk of the House to arrange things for later; whilst we waited for the nod, it had generally been decided to abandon business at 6pm and start with a PM's statement tomorrow. However, that was subject to the PM - I just wanted to make sure the option was known. Personally, I wondered if it was wise; business as usual would mean less loose lips and idle speculation from the second most gossipy group I know. Needless to say, there were very few in the Chamber but plenty in the lobby - and even more in the bars. I was stopped a dozen times by people who wanted to know what was happening, but I just said “we are waiting for the PM”. I didn’t mention she was at the Palace having a very lengthy audience; that was known, but not well-known at that time.

When I got back, the PM had arrived; she explained roughly what we knew already, with the added proviso that we believe that Europe strongly resembled somewhere around the 1720s or 1730s. Part of the reason why they had been delayed was that the Queen did not want to fully enact Queen’s Order Two - at which point there was a collective gasp; that was part of the preparation for war - but had agreed that a number of measures from it would and could be needed. We were, at least, to be spared the armed Traffic Wardens. They had gone through point-by-point, deciding what to enact. I was informed later that at some point in the conversation the American Forces in the UK had come up, and that was what had prolonged the discussion. There was a fear that they might do something under stress, or that their orders might be somewhat drastic in case of not being able to contact the authorities. Francis told me at a much later date that we were very glad that all four Polaris submarines had come through and checked in, because the sealed order of the time was "STRIKE BACK"; had one of them been dislocated who knows what would have happened to those who were lost.

There was a flurry of questions, to which the answers were far, far too often “we don't know” - that was understandable, but was very unusual. There was no contact from any aircraft, radio station or anything but RN ships outside of the UK and the Isle of Man, but the vast majority of the RN, the RFA's and what was left of our Merchant Navy had come with us - that felt like Divine Providence, looking back on it. Whilst having the RN was vital, if we hadn’t had the Merchant Navy as well we might have faltered. It later became apparent the only ships we had lost had actually been in port overseas; we also had our North Sea oil rigs and other bits associated with them, which proved more than handy, but there was no sign of the rigs in the Norwegian fields.

The PM approved of sending the House home. I think it was Peter who suggested that there might be problems talking to the press; he was informed that D-Notices were in operation, and I learnt later that the Redtops, in particular, had their copy inspected. This was to stop panic and unfounded speculation; the way things were, we could have done with a censor in the PM's room. It then struck me what had happened - and what it meant. I asked if anyone had been to The Hague, and Francis looked at me with very sad eyes and pulled out another photo - "was Adrian there? Gone as well, I'm afraid". I started shaking and took another swig of the brandy. I really wasn't sure what to do, but I knew that I couldn't possibly manage the evening's emergency Cabinet. I quietly had a word with the Prime Minister, who knew somewhat of my circumstances, and begged leave; it was granted - as it was for Ian, who had two boys in the BAOR and who sadly never fully recovered from the shock. I was urged to come back as soon as possible, as she felt my role might become far more important. Willie said he'd square the Speaker for me, for which I was very grateful.

Chapter 3

I'm gay.

There, that's that done with. It was hardly exactly the biggest secret in politics; after all, I was once described by the vile Junor
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as the Tories' answer to Liberace. But, apart from my immediate circle of very close friends and a few people in politics who had to know, I had never confirmed it to a living soul. In fact it wasn't until a couple of years after the Dislocation that I actually said those exact words - and that was in very awkward circumstances. Everything was done in code back then; not the rough palare of Soho, nor the more strident voices of modern Gay Liberation. You were "So" or you were "musical"; amongst friends you were "family"; to the papers you might be "devoted to your mother" or a "confirmed bachelor".

It was a consequence of the times I grew up in. Like many Catholic boys, I tried to sublimate myself by taking a vocation; like many, I fell by the wayside after only a few months - there were far too many pretty young men in Rome with the same idea. I was camp at Cambridge and outré at Oxford; it was a still a slightly permissive era after the war. However, things clamped down quite hard - look what happened to poor Turing or the Montagu boy. There was pretty much a full retreat to the closet or to more liberal foreign parts by most people; it was over a decade before any hint of sexual freedom raised its head.