The End Of An Era
In danger of losing their leader to drink, the leadership of the Conservative Party pulled together and determined that an intervention should be held and a public statement be made on the state of the Prime Minister’s health. On the 13th February 1979, a statement was released on the steps of Number 10 by Anthony Barber, flanked by William Whitelaw (Home Secretary) and Francis Pym (Foreign Secretary), where it was announced that Macmillan had been struck by flu and would have to take an indefinite period of rest given the situation. Labour suddenly retreated from their attacks on Macmillan’s frequent absences and Rees offered his hopes that the Prime Minister would recover soon.
Speculation as to what the source of Macmillan’s problems was existed, but few journalists were going to voice their opinions in public for fear of offending the public with their allegations. It was only after Maurice Macmillan’s death that the story of his alcohol addiction would break into public discourse, which led to the widespread panic over alcoholism that swept Britain in the mid-1980s and prompted the Labour government of the day to tighten up alcohol licensing laws and implement minimum pricing on alcoholic drinks that would become inaccurately known as the “Tipple Tax”. Still, in 1979, the word wasn’t out and the Conservatives had a new plan to reboot economic growth in Britain that was taking the attention away from Macmillan’s health.
The 1979 budget led to unfettered credit controls, increased consumer spending, and a ten-point lead in the polls for the Conservative Party by May 1979. Britain was, for a few months, in the exact state that Barber had promised. But, as the summer arrived and Macmillan returned to his duties as Prime Minister, the “golden age” of fiscal freedom that Barber had promised was about to turn against the Chancellor.
Barber’s liberalising instincts were proven wrong by the plain facts that faced the government when the summer recess was coming to close and Parliament was due to be reconvened as MPs’ constituents were feeling debt start to claw at their personal finances and net house prices were increasing beyond the financial reach of most Britons. The affordable housing market was shrinking due to the dual pressures of freely available mortgages and the concurrent house price inflation, consumer spending was increasing to a point where exports were being undercut and the balance of payments was set to turn to deficit within two years, and a consensus of economists advising the NCI and the Treasury formed to urge the government to retake control of credit and reconsider Barber’s course of action. It was a swift turnaround from the enthusiastic response Barber had received before his budget was unveiled, leading the cabinet to believe that the unfavourable trade and inflation figures represented a temporary spike. “Britain can take it!” was the message the government gave off, placing them at odds with the country as families began to fear for their living standards for the first time in almost a decade.
As the Conservatives put a brave face on the disaster of the overheating economy, the Labour Party faced a very human tragedy. On the 10th November 1979, Merlyn Rees died in a car crash in Rockville, Maryland. Rees had been invited to the private birthday celebrations of President Shriver in Maryland as an unofficial part of a “diplomatic, political exchange” that saw Rees entertained at the White House and at the Shriver family’s estate whilst Vice President Bentsen was given a tour of Scarborough by members of the NEC. Sadly, Rees’ trip to the United States was cut short by a road traffic accident that occurred whilst the Labour leader was in a taxi on his way back to his hotel on the night of the 10th November.
The sudden death of Rees in such a tragic accident sent shockwaves across Britain. Labour had lost its affable leader – the very man who should have become Prime Minister in the next year – and there was a sudden vacuum in the leadership that needed to be filled. It reminded many people of 1963 and the death of Hugh Gaitskell. Without that tragic event, Anthony Greenwood might never have become leader and fundamentally changed Britain as he did in his six years of office. Despite it being so close to the next general election, the example of Greenwood – of great success arising from dark tragedy – allayed their concerns that the party would be unprepared with a new leader and only a few months left before Parliament had to be dissolved.
Peter Shore declined to seek the leadership out of respect for his former superior’s memory, Michael Foot declared that he felt that a younger man was needed to take the reins of leadership, and Tony Benn was very close to putting his name forward before being dissuaded by a group of Labour left-wingers (supposedly led by Greenwood and Castle, who were equally as excited by Benn’s talent as they were nervous about his divisiveness) who thought that he would serve the party better as Shadow Chancellor. Instead, John Silkin was the first to throw his name forward and be subsequently castigated for his “uncouth” willingness to step into a dead man’s shoes. It was a terrible start for a campaign that began with no momentum and inevitably failed with no momentum. Aside from the quixotic Silkin, there was Albert Booth (Shadow Employment Secretary), Shirley Williams (Shadow Education Secretary), and Roy Jenkins (the aging leader of the party’s social democrats). They stood out as the main three candidates, each polling into double figures amongst party members and MPs, whilst John Silkin and Eric Varley fought to maintain some semblance of relevance.
Jenkins played well with the lingering social democrats in the party who still believed in Europe as an ideal and advocated “In” during the EEC referendum campaign. He had little else to lose at this point and, by maintaining 18% support amongst the party membership and the Parliamentary Labour Party, he could still claim that the social democrats had to be listened to as a sizeable proportion of Labour’s membership. This claim was out of tune with what the party really thought, which was somewhere between the thinking of Booth and Williams. She attempted to stake out a position between Jenkins and Booth, positioning herself as a sensible moderate in the Merlyn Rees mould. This, however, was a strategy that was to backfire quite spectacularly when Williams reportedly derided Tony Benn as a member of the “loony left” and found herself at odds with Rees’ old conciliatory approach. She wasn’t “Merlyn Rees in a skirt” – not matter how she attempted to portray herself.
Albert Booth, in temperament but not in politics, was closer to Rees in a variety of ways. He was humble, modest and consensual in his approach to politics. On the one hand, he was a determined unilateralist; on the other, he wanted to convince rather than force others into agreeing with his position. Luckily, this was a mainstream position and he had the backing of large swathes of the party who needed no convincing. On industrial issues, he aimed to work with the unions as an ally and wanted to push them to take the vanguard position in Labour’s economic plans. Booth pledged to reinstate the Department of Economic Affairs and implement the policies of “worker-directors” in British industries and Bennite mutualisation. All of these policies were aligned with the leadership of the TUC, with General Secretary Len Murray urging Labour MPs to vote for Booth to reignite “Greenwood’s revolution”.
After the first ballot of the contest, Booth came out with a plurality of the votes. John Silkin was knocked out in the first round and Eric Varley dropped out due to his poor showing, leaving just Williams and Jenkins to share the votes of the divided Labour Right. On the second ballot, Booth shot ahead with 58% of the vote and his victory was declared on the 28th November 1979.
With a new and untried leader, Labour looked set to wobble in the polls before it could make inroads in the polls. That was the orthodox analysis, at least. The reality of the polls showed Labour storm ahead of the Conservatives by seven points, in actual fact, and the Liberals also saw a rise of four percent in their share of the votes. Booth and Thorpe were the young stars leading into the 1980 general election.
With the economy worsening and inflation steadily rising by February 1980, it was clear to Macmillan that Barber’s plan had set the country down a road of economic uncertainty and he was quick to admonish the Chancellor for holding the line on his fiscal reforms when the line had been washed away by debt and public disquiet.
On the 5th February, the announcement went out that controls on credit and regulations on mortgages would be re-imposed, with a corresponding lowering of interest rates to remedy the problem of accumulated debt. There was a sense of relief that Macmillan was back in charge following his leave of absence in the previous year and the polls reflected that by adding, on average, two more points to the Conservative total. Whilst this wasn’t enough to displace the Labour Party, it showed that Macmillan could still be a leader. At the same time, it has to be noted, he was receiving treatment for his alcohol addiction and his newfound confidence has, in retrospect, been deemed a reflection of his improving mental and emotional state.
Within two weeks of the announcement, Parliament was dissolved by Maurice Macmillan and polling day was set for the 20th March. Each campaign fought tooth and nail, but there was only ever going to be one winner following the party leadership’s loss in the EEC referendum and Barber’s broken promises in the aftermath. Booth’s style on the campaign trail was personable, if uncharismatic – a fact that he referenced throughout the campaign, which led many wary middle-class voters to be convinced by him due to his modest and self-deprecating nature. He was no hectoring hammer for the “loony left”, but a humble, working-class peacemaker with a sense of anti-charisma that appealed so strongly to the electorate after the Conservatives’ vain attempts to appear “slick” and “professional”.
On the 20th March 1980, the second Macmillan era came to a close as David Dimbleby declared that Labour had won 339 seats to the Conservatives’ 280. Effectively, the two party swapped positions and the Liberals rose to 14 seats.
Maurice Macmillan had set out to achieve so much in office and, having served for longer than Harold Macmillan and Anthony Greenwood, it seems a shame that the greatest accolade he could ever achieve would be “great manager” rather than “great statesman”. He managed the Greenwoodite consensus and updated the Conservative Party to meet the challenges of governing a more left-wing country than they had left in 1964, thus overcoming the debacles of the Maudling and Powell years. Still, he lost his chance at forging a great legacy for himself when he lost the EEC referendum. In British history textbooks, Maurice Macmillan’s time in office is compared quite positively to the 1950s in many areas, but the ending of the second Macmillan era is always compared to the ending of the first in 1963. With a physically weakened leader and a dangerous dash for growth, both eras of prosperity had come to an abrupt end.
Maurice Macmillan would go on to turn back to drink after his election defeat, leading to his ousting later that year in 1980. For another four years, he would struggle with his dependency on alcohol and would eventually die of alcohol poisoning on the 17th January 1985, just four months after Albert Booth’s Labour government was re-elected with a renewed mandate. His father, Harold Macmillan, would outlive his son for another three months before passing away at his home in Sussex.
The two former Prime Ministers would be buried side by side, father and son, in St Giles’ Church, Horsted Keynes in West Sussex.
THE END