There is No Alternative (15 page)
Read There is No Alternative Online
Authors: Claire Berlinski
Back to London. “She was always very conscious of being a woman,” says Charles Powell. “This was a tremendous part of her political personality, and she played it for what it was worthâwhich was a lot. Here was the first woman leader of Britain, first woman head of government in Europe, a whole host of things, and she took advantage of that, and it was very sensible to do thatâafter all there were enough strikes against her as a woman to justify making the most of the advantages of it.”
There is a framed photograph of Thatcher in her prime right above his chair. Flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked, and power-suited, she is staring at me intently. It is one of those curious portraits in which the subject's eyes seem to follow you no matter where you move. It reminds me of a line from her autobiography:
I took a close interest in the physical as well as the diplomatic preparations for our big summits. For example, I had earlier had the swivel chairs around the big conference table at the “QE II” replaced by light wooden ones: I always thought there was something to be said for looking at your opposite number in the eye without his being able to swivel sideways to escape.
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I think momentarily of the campaign for the French presidency and of Nicolas Sarkozy's final debate with the lustrously beautiful Ségolène Royal. Royal's handlers had presumably urged her to try to make Sarkozy lose his famously volatile temper, which wasâsupposedlyâhis great electoral liability. Sarkozy was too sly to fall for it. The more she tried to provoke him, the more unctuously polite he became, until finally the frustrated Royal became nearly hysterical with rage. At this point Sarkozy contemplated her with infinite solicitude and told her patiently that
Madame
, you lose your temper too easily, and a presidential figure must learn to be
calm
. Royal was left spluttering, on the verge of tears. Everyone who watched this sensed what Sarkozy managed to insinuate while of course never saying it outright:
How extremely attractive you are,
ma puce.
It is a pity that you suffer so from your menopausal hormones
. That was the end of poor Ségo. “How
exactly
did Thatcher manage to use her femininity without having it turned against her?” I ask Powell.
Madame
, you lose your temper too easily, and a presidential figure must learn to be
calm
. Royal was left spluttering, on the verge of tears. Everyone who watched this sensed what Sarkozy managed to insinuate while of course never saying it outright:
How extremely attractive you are,
ma puce.
It is a pity that you suffer so from your menopausal hormones
. That was the end of poor Ségo. “How
exactly
did Thatcher manage to use her femininity without having it turned against her?” I ask Powell.
“Well, for one thing, she was extremely shrewd. She could read the character of the English public schoolboys who made up the majority of her cabinet, and she knew they'd been brought up to be polite to women, also to, you know, treat them in a sort of patronizing way, and she would rock them to their foundations by screeching at them and yelling at them and arguing with them and generally treating them very badly in order to get her way. And she knew they would not easily fight back.”
A screeching, yelling, arguing womanâ
oh!
It is every man's nightmare. Yet her ability to be an utter harridan was somehow one of her great strengths, and only one of her many distaff weapons. “Most of them would become defensive,” Powell recalls, “Geoffrey Howe above all, you know, and just withdraw into their shells, and not really punch back, and then they'd go off and cry and complain and moan to the deputy prime minister, Lord Whitelaw, about how awful she was . . . ”
oh!
It is every man's nightmare. Yet her ability to be an utter harridan was somehow one of her great strengths, and only one of her many distaff weapons. “Most of them would become defensive,” Powell recalls, “Geoffrey Howe above all, you know, and just withdraw into their shells, and not really punch back, and then they'd go off and cry and complain and moan to the deputy prime minister, Lord Whitelaw, about how awful she was . . . ”
It was Geoffrey Howe, her longest-serving and longest-suffering cabinet minister, who ultimately put the knife in her back. It is a matter of near-universal consensus that in a court of law he would be acquitted for this crime on a battered-minister defense.
Neil Kinnock, the leader of the Labour Party for the better part of the Thatcher epoch, was unhinged, utterly discombobulated by the simple fact that his opponent was a woman.
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He had no idea how to deal with this.
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He had no idea how to deal with this.
Kinnock happens to be a man of spellbinding charm. I was astonished to discover this, for this is not his reputation. He was mocked as “the Welsh windbag” in the press, continually derided as a weak and ineffectual debater in the House of Commons. But
when I spoke to him he was superbly articulate, and his mellifluous baritone voice, with his melodic Welsh accent, made me want to keep him on the phone for hours. I would gladly have spoken to him about anythingâphilately, maritime law, animal husbandryâjust to keep listening to him.
when I spoke to him he was superbly articulate, and his mellifluous baritone voice, with his melodic Welsh accent, made me want to keep him on the phone for hours. I would gladly have spoken to him about anythingâphilately, maritime law, animal husbandryâjust to keep listening to him.
The odd thing about him is that his face doesn't match his voice. Had I been given the chance to vote for him while speaking to him on the phone, I would have pulled the crypto-communist lever. His voice was just that charming, just that authoritative. After hanging up I looked again at photos of him. His head is a bit pigeon-like, with a beaky nose and a glabrous skull skirted by thin wisps of pumpkin-orange hair. There is something smirky and schoolboyish about his expression. That beautiful baritone voice is the voice of a leader, but that face? No, not quite. Would history have been different, I wonder, if Kinnock had had a full head of regal silver hair, a square jaw, and a Roman nose?
History is what history was, and the record shows that Kinnock was not much of a match for Thatcher. “Even in Margaret Thatcher's weak moments,” recalls Charles Powell, “he was quite unable to capitalize; he just didn't have the ability. He was absolutely petrified of her, too, because she destroyed him every week in Prime Minister's Questions.” Powell is of course biased, as he freely admits, but Kinnock's own account is not all that different.
I ask Kinnock what it was it like to square off against Thatcher during Prime Minister's Questions. “Well,” he says, “the immediate problem I hadâI had two immediate problems. One was, she's a woman seventeen years older than myself. And there were punches I could throw against, say, John Major, who's a man of my age, that I just couldn't throw against a woman seventeen years older.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you know, there's a form of language thatâyou know, I could accuse Major of hypocrisy, of evasionâ”
I'm puzzled. If you consult the parliamentary record, you will find no shortage of examples of Kinnock accusing the prime minister of hypocrisy and evasion.
Mr. Kinnock:
Is she innumerate, or simply mendacious?
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. . .
Mr. Speaker:
Order!
Mr. Kinnock:
Is she an Iron Lady or is she a closet flexi-toy?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Will the Prime Minister then answer the question, which she evaded yesterday?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Will she admit that last night she was up to her usual tricks of fabrication?
65
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Is it the case . . . that her cynicism and vindictiveness have overwhelmed all sense of duty?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
What is she trying to evade now?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Is it not a fact that the Prime Minister's selfish pride has reached such depths as to require her to threaten the careers of loyal civil servants in order to impose her selfish will?
68
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
The Prime Minister's answer will be regarded both inside and outside the House as complete humbugâ
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Mr. Kinnock:
The Prime Minister's refusal to give a straight answer to a straight question will be noted by the whole countryâ
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. . .
Mr. Speaker:
Order! Order! . . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Why does not the Prime Minister, just for once, answer the question on the subject raised?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Is the right hon. Lady copping out on this one again?
72
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Why will the right hon. Lady not answer straight questions on these matters? Why is she still such a twister?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Frankly, I do not believe the
right hon. Ladyâ
Hon. Members:
Withdraw! . . .
Mr. Speaker:
Order! The right hon. Gentleman is in order!
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Is she innumerate, or simply mendacious?
62
. . .
Mr. Speaker:
Order!
Mr. Kinnock:
Is she an Iron Lady or is she a closet flexi-toy?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Will the Prime Minister then answer the question, which she evaded yesterday?
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. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Will she admit that last night she was up to her usual tricks of fabrication?
65
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Is it the case . . . that her cynicism and vindictiveness have overwhelmed all sense of duty?
66
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
What is she trying to evade now?
67
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Is it not a fact that the Prime Minister's selfish pride has reached such depths as to require her to threaten the careers of loyal civil servants in order to impose her selfish will?
68
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
The Prime Minister's answer will be regarded both inside and outside the House as complete humbugâ
69
Mr. Kinnock:
The Prime Minister's refusal to give a straight answer to a straight question will be noted by the whole countryâ
70
. . .
Mr. Speaker:
Order! Order! . . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Why does not the Prime Minister, just for once, answer the question on the subject raised?
71
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Is the right hon. Lady copping out on this one again?
72
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Why will the right hon. Lady not answer straight questions on these matters? Why is she still such a twister?
73
. . .
Mr. Kinnock:
Frankly, I do not believe the
right hon. Ladyâ
Hon. Members:
Withdraw! . . .
Mr. Speaker:
Order! The right hon. Gentleman is in order!
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“Well,” I say, “you
did
use some pretty strong language with her.”
did
use some pretty strong language with her.”
“Yeah, sure, but Christ, nothing like
that
. Nothing like I
could
use. You know. So, I'm not complaining about that. That's the way I was brought up, and, the fact is, it wasn't my instinct to be vile to a lady who was seventeen years older. Secondly, in any case, the public would see fellows my age standing toe-to-toe and knocking the hell out of each other and think, âWell, that's what happens,' but if I did it to a woman, a whole segment of society, for understandable reasons, would say, âThat's so disrespectful. That wasn't political antagonism, that was
disrespect
.' And so, both because it was my instinct and because of political realityâ”
that
. Nothing like I
could
use. You know. So, I'm not complaining about that. That's the way I was brought up, and, the fact is, it wasn't my instinct to be vile to a lady who was seventeen years older. Secondly, in any case, the public would see fellows my age standing toe-to-toe and knocking the hell out of each other and think, âWell, that's what happens,' but if I did it to a woman, a whole segment of society, for understandable reasons, would say, âThat's so disrespectful. That wasn't political antagonism, that was
disrespect
.' And so, both because it was my instinct and because of political realityâ”
I interrupt: “You say you really felt put at a disadvantage by her femininity, and yet she was willing to use that when itâ”
“True. Yeah, yeah, yes.”
“Let's talk about the kind of femininity that she used. I keep hearing various accounts of this.”
“Yesâ”
“You know, that she was fully capable of flirting and flattering to get her way. Did you see that in action?”
“Um.” He manages to convey an arctic tundra of distaste in that syllable. “I saw her doing it with others.” He snorts. “Not
my
type o' lady.”
my
type o' lady.”
Kinnock remembers her trying it on him, though, in meetings about Northern Ireland. “You were meeting with her one-on-one?” I ask.
“Yeah, well, there would be some civil servants. Maybe a soldier there, or a security expert. And if she had some difficult requirement, some way where she really wanted cooperation, and they thought I might have interpreted it as a political step too farâI
never didâshe'd take her shoes off, and sort of curl her legs under her on an easy chair, and offer me whiskey. And I used to think, âThis is bloody
pathetic
.' I mean, here's a woman in her
sixties
. I mean, I know why she did itâbecause it worked with other people, you seeâ”
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never didâshe'd take her shoes off, and sort of curl her legs under her on an easy chair, and offer me whiskey. And I used to think, âThis is bloody
pathetic
.' I mean, here's a woman in her
sixties
. I mean, I know why she did itâbecause it worked with other people, you seeâ”
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“That's the odd thing,” I break in. “I've spoken now to a number of people, a number of men, all said, â
Other
men found her attractive.' But not one will admit, â
I
found her attractive.' So who was it who found her attractive?”
Other
men found her attractive.' But not one will admit, â
I
found her attractive.' So who was it who found her attractive?”
“Well, you know, there are people who wrote about it, you knowâMitterrand.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “And Alan Clark. Yeah.” (“But goodness,” wrote Clark, “she is
so
beautiful; made up to the nines . . . quite bewitching, as Eva Perón must have been. I could not take my eyes off of her and after a bit she, quite properly, wouldn't look me in the face.”
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) Of course, there is no sexual desire to which Alan Clark wouldn't have admitted. This was the man who in his diariesânot published posthumously, but while he was still alive and marriedâdescribes with priceless gusto bedding a South African judge's wife and her two daughters. At the same time.
so
beautiful; made up to the nines . . . quite bewitching, as Eva Perón must have been. I could not take my eyes off of her and after a bit she, quite properly, wouldn't look me in the face.”
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) Of course, there is no sexual desire to which Alan Clark wouldn't have admitted. This was the man who in his diariesânot published posthumously, but while he was still alive and marriedâdescribes with priceless gusto bedding a South African judge's wife and her two daughters. At the same time.
“Well,” Kinnock says, “a couple of people have written about it. And, you know, I saw her being what I suppose you'd call coquettish to other people at receptions and whatnot.”
“It's not just sexiness,” I say. “It was also the maternal archetype. I keep getting the sense that people responded to her as a stern mother, a stern schoolmistressâ”
The
matron
. We should linger for a moment on this image; the full dimensions of it may be obscure to the American reader. Men of Margaret Thatcher's generation who attended the public schools were apt to have grown up under the matron's influence. George Orwell described the matron thus in
Such, Such Were the Joys
:
matron
. We should linger for a moment on this image; the full dimensions of it may be obscure to the American reader. Men of Margaret Thatcher's generation who attended the public schools were apt to have grown up under the matron's influence. George Orwell described the matron thus in
Such, Such Were the Joys
:
I think it would be true to say that every boy in the school hated and feared her. Yet we all fawned on her in the most abject way, and the top layer of our feelings towards her was a sort of guilt-stricken loyalty . . . Whenever one had the chance to suck up, one did suck up, and at the first smile one's hatred turned into a sort of cringing love.
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