JUST BORIS: A Tale of Blond Ambition (9 page)

On 10 April 1982, just weeks before his A-Levels, there follows another letter from Hammond, which, while still containing words of affection and praise for Boris, also gives some really quite alarming observations. It’s the sort of mixed assessment frequently delivered by his associates today: so many start off by saying how fond they are of Boris before embarking on lengthy descriptions of his failings and the letter from Hammond follows precisely the same pattern. After praising the fact that Boris had achieved ‘some success’ in a divinity scholarship, he goes on to describe the tone of an assessment from personal tutor Andrew Hobson (a mentor chosen by Boris himself) as ‘pretty damning.’ He then rails about his protégé’s ‘disgracefully cavalier attitude’ which he believes is in danger of evolving into ‘sheer fecklessness’ and continues in similarly hostile vein: ‘Boris seems affronted when criticised for what amounts to a gross failure of esponsibility and surprised at the same time that he was not appointed Captain of School [Head Boy] for next half. I think he honestly believes that it is churlish of us not to regard him as an exception, one who should be free of the network of obligation which binds everyone else. I am enormously fond of Boris and saddened that he should have brought upon himself this sort of report.’
⁷

And then in July 1982, Hammond writes again to Stanley: ‘Boris is pretty impressive when success can be achieved by pure intelligence unaccompanied by hard work. He is, in fact, pretty idle about it all.
Boris has something of a tendency to assume that success and honours will drop into his lap: not so, he must work for them. Efficiency and organisation have been constant problems (there was trouble this half with his running of the Political Society, and an unprecedented rebuke from the Provost).’
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Boris himself recalls the rebuke was prompted by his arriving 45 minutes late for a meeting with Lord Charteris, in what must have been seen as a breathtaking display of rudeness. And yet, in what can only be an indication of the power of his charm, Hammond writes in the very next sentence: ‘It was perhaps a bit of a risk to make Boris Captain of the School but he clearly has the personality and the respect necessary for the job, and it’s my hope that the imposition of a public responsibility will energise all else. It’s a particularly important job in the Michaelmas and involves a number of administrative tasks which simply must be done well.’ Indeed, the key to his redemption in Hammond’s eyes comes in the next line: ‘Certainly I look forward to working with him – he’s excellent company, and has a mature understanding of people and things.’
⁹

Boris may have been infuriating, but he already recognised the power of charm and energy, as well as the futility of being a rebel when you want to get on. Enthusiastically and cheerfully, he embraced all the Etonian traditions – House, hymns, the Wall Game, Latin prayers, rugby and searing competitiveness. (Indeed, unlike his sister Rachel – who became a punk and acquired a Mohican-styled boyfriend partial to black nail varnish – he never underwent a teenage rebellion stage.) He also revealed none of the complacent laziness of which Etonians were widely accused in newspapers of the time, being intent, as he himself puts it, on ‘greedily filling himself up to the gills with the finest education that England could offer’.

Other Old Etonians from those years remember a number of boys simply ‘gave up and did nothing’ when they could no longer cope with the merciless and relentless ranking of their academic position. (Each term, every boy would be given a rank between one and 250, according to his exam results. The Scholars would expect to dominate the top slots, and inevitably did, while everyone knew the names of those falling behind.) Following the refusal of some ‘lazy’ boys to go
on a theatre trip, Boris’s contemporary, the celebrity chef Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, even wrote a poem – Whither Apathy – about the extent of the ‘Eton problem’ and it is worth repeating here as an insight into the Eton of the early-1980s.

This was also when the great public schools were often under attack for being unworthy bastions of an elitist class system. Boris’s future rival for Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, then leader of the soon-to-be abolished Greater London Council, summed up the view of many in an interview in the Etonian school magazine, the
Chronicle
, on 4 June 1983 – shortly after Boris left.

‘I think your school should be integrated into the state system, because I don’t think you should have the right [through] what your parents can buy [to] a privileged start over the rest of society. I look at the people who have emerged from Eton and Harrow, Oxford and Cambridge and I think you’re a load of bloody wallies.’

Boris, who confesses to having become conscious of Tory ‘feelings’ at around this time, wrote a spirited, if pompous defence of Eton and its privileged pupils in the same journal. Whatever his populist appeal may be now, he is nothing if not an elitist. The confident tone – astonishingly similar to his adult writing style – belies his 16 years: ‘I tell you this. The Civilised World can ignore, must ignore entirely these idiots who tell us that by their very existence the public schools demolish all hopes most cherished for the Comprehensive System. Clearly, this is twaddle, utter bunkum, balderdash, tommyrot, piffle and fiddlesticks of the most insidious kind. So strain every nerve, parents of Britain, to send your son to this educational establishment
(forget this socialist gibberish about the destruction of the State System). Exercise your freedom of choice because in this way you will imbue your son with the most important thing, a sense of his own importance.’
¹¹

Boris was certainly imbued with a sense of his own importance – and a near divine, or rather Etonian, sense of a right to rule. Such a feeling of superiority was no doubt reinforced by his starring role in the Wall Game, a sport unique to Eton and one, masters claim, that brings out leadership qualities although another Old Etonian view is that it’s just a ‘mindless scrum, but fun because of its history and uniqueness.’ The game, which sets Scholars against Oppidans in an opaque test of cunning and brute force, was the perfect exhibitionist sport for Boris and in time, he came to captain the College team. The object is to drive an under-size football over a line and then attempt to score. Winning not only requires serious muscle, but also stealth and an ability to inflict and endure pain. The
Chronicle
ran a spoof of the 1960s Vietnam peace chant (the original was written in protest at the escalation of the war by President Lyndon B. Johnson, known simply as ‘LBJ’) in celebration of the legendary aggression of A.B. Johnson when pitted against the Oppidans. They were in no doubt, it seems, when it came to his ruthless purpose on (and off) the field.

The
Chronicle
exhorted boys to ‘watch the Blond Behemoth crud relentlessly through the steaming pile of purple-and-orange [Oppidan] heavyweights, until he’s knocking on the Lower Master’s Door.’
¹²
Playing rugby, Boris took a similarly reck less approach to his own safety and that of others – it is remarkable that they all emerged intact, although his nose took a bit of a beating.

He also showed an early interest in journalism and the attention that went with it. Here, too, he sought – and duly won – the top job: the editor’s chair. In his sixth-form years, he was determined to bag the most prestigious positions to bulk out an already impressive CV. By the summer term of 1981, he was one of two editors of the
Chronicle
,
along with another boy – Roger Clarke. As he would later do at the
Spectator
, he brought in many of his illustrious friends to pen the journal, including Charlie Spencer (Viscount Althorp and brother of Diana, Princess of Wales) on the arts pages, with features by Andrew Gilmour (son of the Conservative minister, Sir Ian Gilmour). Darius Guppy, an exuberant half-Iranian boy whose ancestors on his father’s side included the naturalist who gave his name to the fish and Sir Francis Dashwood, founder of the eighteenth-century ‘Hellfire Club’ notorious for its pagan orgies, was also involved. By now Boris’s cleverness and above all, humour had catapulted him into a tight-knit trio with Spencer and Guppy, two of the best-connected boys in the school.

Although Boris was Charlie Spencer’s editor, this was a reversal of the original hierarchy. A close friend of Spencer’s in his youth recalls: ‘Charles and Darius were the leaders of the pack and Boris was very low down in the pecking order in the early days. I used to go to parties at Althorp [the Spencer family seat] and Boris was relatively invisible. Charles was the richest, Darius the wildest – and Boris the cleverest. But they were all clever, and Charles and Darius were very handsome and Boris was thinner and better-looking then, too – he quickly rose up the ranks.’

As if to the manor born, Boris was by now mixing with the upper echelons of society. The Spencers ranked as one of the leading aristocratic families in Britain and of course married into royalty during Boris’s schooldays. Spencer and Guppy were among Boris’s first close male friends as opposed to the dozens of friendly acquaintances he had previously cultivated and their support and loyalty would no doubt have meant a great deal to him.

In the autumn term of 1981, Boris entered ‘Pop’, the self-perpetuating group of the grandest Etonians and the definition of social success at the school. ‘Pop was a self-selecting society of popular boys, like a private club,’ explains another Scholar, who did not share such ambitions to be tribal chief. ‘Teachers are not supposed to have influence on its conduct or composition and generally it is the coolest boys, the best at sport, the richest and most talented that get in. They then mark themselves apart with different, checked trousers, lavish
waistcoats and the Pop swagger. I suppose it is much like the Bullingdon Club at Oxford, but with official blessing. They are supposed to administer discipline in the school, but in practice they don’t.’

Pop had a private room, where members could go to watch videos on a Saturday night – still a fashionable novelty in the 1980s; Pop could also stay at Tap, Eton’s school bar, later than the other boys. Such privileges marked out the elite of the elite and so in turn, Boris’s arrival as a considerable force. To assume he mixed solely with the possessors of stately homes and ancient lineage, however, would be wrong: one of his most admirable qualities also came to the fore at Eton, which had only a smattering of black pupils in the 1970s. It was not easy to be other than white in the world’s most famous school at this time, but Boris did his best to be friendly to everyone. With that gift of including the outsider without being patronising, one black contemporary speaks of how Boris conversed with boys from ethnic minorities while many of his contemporaries ignored them.

He extended his popular appeal – and fame – by taking on the secretary’s position at the Debating Society, which among its attractions had the prospect of trips to girls’ public schools for competitions. The experience allowed him a wider stage and he never lost an opportunity to exploit it. Emma Jenks remembers vividly the time he first came to her school, Wycombe Abbey: ‘We were very excited about debating with Eton and spent ages preparing our speeches. Boris was the head of the Eton debating society – although I am not sure why as he was absolutely useless at organising it. But he was a fabulous debater. We had done all this work beforehand, and he turned up and said: “Ah! Yes, a speech.” He wrote it there and then, resting a piece of paper on the back of a tree. We couldn’t believe it – and it was a fantastic speech. I couldn’t work out whether this show of disorganisation was genuine or a veneer.’ After a pause, she continues: ‘I think probably a veneer as I later saw him running for President of the Union at Oxford and he was very organised then.’

Boris’s observation that Wycombe Abbey resembled a gothic horror movie set on a golf course won him roars of laughter and a great many female fans, but not every girl was impressed. ‘Boris really
quite polarised people. Some of the girls found him very attractive – one girl talked about him for days,’ remembers Jenks. Contemporaries recognise the tones of the Eton Debating Society in his writing and speech-making to this day. ‘It was probably the most influential forum of his life,’ says one, who knows the Johnson family well. ‘It was a place where stars could really shine and have a whale of a time. The debates were lively and funny – it was all the perfect stage for Boris and he has never really escaped it.’

Jenks’ brother attended Eton and she saw Boris again at the annual Fourth of June festivities (celebrating the birthday of Eton’s greatest patron, George III), where his platinum hair made him stand out. He certainly made an impression on her father – the late Sir Brian Jenks, Bt. – despite numerous clever young men at Eton at the time. ‘My father saw him at school from time to time, including once speaking in a debate and right back then, he said, “He’ll be PM.” He just had this charisma and style,’ she recalls.

Those qualities helped to propel Boris and his friend Hugo Dixon, now a dotcom businessman, to ‘steamroller’ their way to the final of the 1981 House Debating Competition on 28 November that year. Against the background of a Thatcherite recession laying waste to much of Britain’s industrial heartland and sparking riots in major cities, the motion was: ‘This House would Emigrate’.

Boris spoke in favour of the motion that night, urging his audience to seek out a new life in space, away from what he chose to refer to as ‘the ghastly dregs’ living on Earth. His side lost the competition as the judges decided that they ‘preferred to be cajoled rather than berated.’ Boris’s anger at this result is reputedly still keenly felt today but at least the audience of boys divided 26–21 in favour of his team, sealing his reputation as a formidable populist. Tim Connor, a highly regarded history master who was one of the two judges, remembers: ‘Boris could always speak readily and wittily but we would judge on the actual quality of debate. Boris did berate people then and I can imagine he does now.’