Based on the story What if Gordon Banks Had Played? by Anthony Wells, with some differences.
The point of divergence: during the 1970 World Cup, England's goalkeeper Gordon Banks was able to play their quarter-final match against West Germany. England went on to win the match 2-1, and advanced to the semi-finals against Italy.
1.
It was March 15th, 1980. A day forever etched into the memories of the British people. Early that morning, Enoch Powell’s black Jaguar was seen hurriedly moving to Buckingham Palace. The route was lined with armed troops, keeping any protestors clogging up Central London from getting within view as the Jaguar passed through the military checkpoint at the Admiralty Arch. In his extensive memoirs, Powell made mention that as he watched rifle-carrying soldiers atop the Victoria Memorial, “I finally understood what kind of country we had made.” No shots were fired, and the Prime Minister of six years entered the Palace for his final audience with Her Majesty. It was to be an awkward meeting at best. Her so-called Royal Dissent to the suspension of the next general election had brought him down amid the general strike, near-civil war, and occupation of Ireland. Now he faced her, not to demand her abdication as some in the Cabinet suggested, but to tender his resignation. Presumably biting his lip or clenching his fists, he recommended Lord Howe be invited to form a government.
Geoffrey Howe, Lord of Tandridge, had been the unofficial leader of opposition to the Powell regime over the last few years amongst exiled British politicians. Since his unceremonious sacking from the Cabinet in 1977, he had tried to serve his country as best he could from France and played a major role in lobbying the European Community to press sanctions against Britain. His anti-Powell credentials were impeccable and that was all many people needed. With seemingly no Prime Minister, the Queen personally ordered her Armed Forces to fetch him. With surprisingly little argument from a quietly relieved Civil Service, No. 24 Squadron RAF dispatched a lone C-130 Hercules to Paris, where Geoffrey Howe waited at Charles de Gaulle Airport after three years in exile. Touching down at RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, near Chippenham, Mr Howe emerged from the vast cargo bay with a platoon of soldiers at his side before quickly being ferried into a waiting Jaguar identical to that which Powell had taken to the Palace. A fairly small group of reporters and photographers observed, only to be disappointed when no press conference or indeed even a speech from the tarmac followed. Downing Street was waiting.
Yet already other elements were in motion. At BBC Television Centre in west London, David Dimbleby was being broadcast to both BBC channels (at the time, Britain had only three television channels, the third being ITV) announcing the momentous events of the day. The government censor, Ben Branson, had been barricaded inside a bathroom to keep him from thwarting the first free news broadcast in five years. Ironically, this only served for the BBC to stay neutral on topics of their own choosing, rather than treat the events as positive or negative. As Dimbleby spoke to the cameras, his words unknowingly encouraging people in their thousands, then millions, to leave their homes and begin congregating in town centres to celebrate, a convoy of armoured vehicles pulled up outside the studio. Soldiers emerged led by General Sir Walter Walker, a former commander-in-chief of NATO who had become Powell’s favourite man in uniform, and would later face war crimes charges for his actions in Northern Ireland. The men marched into the studio as General Walker announced that it was being put under military control, acting under the authority of what he called the Emergency Government. The cameras turned off, and television screens across the nation fell to static. The Chief Operating Officer, seeing soldiers literally approaching from down the corridor, made an urgent phone call to New Broadcasting House in Manchester. From there, broadcasts would continue as other soldiers already present in case of terrorist attacks chose to ignore the so-called Emergency Government.
Just outside London, the convoy taking Geoffrey Howe to Downing Street came to a halt. An Army roadblock on the M4 just south of Reading blocked their way, and troops approached. They said only that they were under government orders to seal off London, and threatened to place Howe under arrest if he did not cooperate. They too claimed to be acting on the order of an Emergency Government. It was starting to become pretty clear what was going on.
The convoy turned around, but made for a nearby country road. On the way, Geoffrey Howe made a desperate phone call to the Palace. From there, he warned Her Majesty that he feared a military coup was taking place. She replied that Heathrow had just shut down and armoured vehicles were on the tarmac, so said the still-free Radio Four. Howe, kicking himself for not doing so sooner, turned on Radio Four to learn that Heathrow had fallen. The Cabinet Office had also been occupied, taking control of Whitehall’s central nervous system, while Downing Street remained unmolested for the time being.
Queen Elizabeth II chose to take matters into her own hands. Marching down the steps of the Palace, she climbed into her Land Rover still waiting to be returned to Balmoral, and demanded to be driven to Television Centre herself. Prince Philip nearly came with her, only to be told to ensure the Queen’s Guard stayed at their posts. The Queen’s Land Rover sped to the BBC studios, while outside the capital Geoffrey Howe’s convoy snuck through unguarded country roads before reaching a main road in Maidenhead. They encountered soldiers again, but these ones hadn’t even heard of an Emergency Government. This coup didn’t seem so slickly organised as Howe feared.
The Queen soon reached west London; her Land Rover was stopped by an Army barricade, only to be quickly let through by alarmed soldiers after they saw who was in the back seat. The soldiers guarding the studio watched silently as Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, Head of the Commonwealth and the Church of England, marched into Television Centre, guided to the main news desk. General Walker was sat before the cameras at that time, ranting about communism and homosexuals to an audience which he had no idea were non-existent as the crew behind the scenes pretended to broadcast. Then, spotting the Queen appear behind the cameras (which soldiers were manning as the BBC staff refused to cooperate), he stopped and demanded they cease broadcasting. “We never were,” shouted one production assistant. The Queen approached General Walker and told him, “General, I order you to stand down this instant.” With tears in his eyes, Walker obeyed. He was then asked the most important question of the day; “who is behind this?” The answer was Lord Mountbatten.
Admiral of the Fleet Louis Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, was a remarkable man. The last Viceroy of India, uncle of Prince Philip and second cousin to the Queen, Supreme Allied Commander South East Asia Command in the war, First Sea Lord, Chief of the Defence Staff, and Chairman of the NATO Military Committee. There had been whispers of his involvement in plots before, against Harold Wilson’s government, but never taken seriously. Now it seemed the seventy-nine year old was trying to use the chaos and confusion of Powell’s resignation to make a grab for power himself.
The Queen then sat before the cameras herself, to broadcast her now-mythical appeal to the nation. She called for calm, for people to return to work, and specifically stated that “I have asked Lord Geoffrey Howe to form a government.” Having already become the one person most credited with bringing down Powell, her place in the hearts of the British people was unassailable. With that speech, the coup was dead. But where was its head?
At that time Mountbatten was in the air, flying from Belfast to Heathrow in preparation for taking power. He had chartered a private flight but, as the small jet passed over the Isle of Man a pair of RAF Harrier jets intercepted the aircraft and forced it to land at RAF Speke outside Liverpool. He was promptly arrested. Handed over to the Metropolitan Police, he was intensely questioned by Special Branch and the Security Service, quickly coughing up the names of his co-conspirators. Admiral of the Fleet Varyl Begg, founder of the Special Air Service David Stirling, Sir Maurice Oldfield, former director of MI6, three former and current generals of the Army and four colonels were named as participating in the plot. Only David Stirling would be acquitted in the subsequent investigation, which would practically turn the country upside down amid Operation Sugarplum, led by the Metropolitan Police Service, to uncover every detail of the plot. Over the next five years more than 1,200 people would be prosecuted, most of them members of the militias formed to seize power. Others would include disgruntled right-wing members of the intelligence services, the powerful newspaper magnate Viscount Rothermere, owner of the Daily Mail, its editor Sir David English, Cecil King, head of the International Publishing Corporation and former head of the Bank of England, Conservative leader John Morse, the comedian Michael Bentine, and the industrialist Lord Cayzer. The list of arrests read like a who’s who of the British Establishment.
Operation Sugarplum would dominate British life throughout the early 1980s, ensuring a deep and lasting suspicion of the privileged sectors of society which provided plenty of capital for governments to strip away the power of the Establishment. Many historians believe that Britain may have become a republic in this anti-establishment mood were it not for the actions of the Queen on that day. When a year later Operation Mustard began to scoop up former politicians and celebrities in a massive paedophilia investigation including Edward Heath, the former conservative leader, and beloved children’s entertainer Jimmy Savile, all because of a single slip of the tongue by Viscount Rothermere in a police interview, the anger towards the Establishment turned to a revulsion which would never go away. But it also meant a crisis of confidence even deeper than the one which the end of the Powell era brought. As the dark underbelly of the country was revealed for all to see, the maze of secrecy penetrating all corners of society, many began to wonder what kind of country Britain really was.
For the time being, the present was what mattered. The coup had failed. What would be known as the Mountbatten Plot had relied on poorly organised private armies, too small to seize control and led by eccentric former officers. It was the last gasp of an Establishment trying to cling to power, and it was over.
So too was the darkest period of modern British history. It would take time but it seemed as though the Troubles, once a term only applied to Ireland, were over.
Comments?
The point of divergence: during the 1970 World Cup, England's goalkeeper Gordon Banks was able to play their quarter-final match against West Germany. England went on to win the match 2-1, and advanced to the semi-finals against Italy.
1.
It was March 15th, 1980. A day forever etched into the memories of the British people. Early that morning, Enoch Powell’s black Jaguar was seen hurriedly moving to Buckingham Palace. The route was lined with armed troops, keeping any protestors clogging up Central London from getting within view as the Jaguar passed through the military checkpoint at the Admiralty Arch. In his extensive memoirs, Powell made mention that as he watched rifle-carrying soldiers atop the Victoria Memorial, “I finally understood what kind of country we had made.” No shots were fired, and the Prime Minister of six years entered the Palace for his final audience with Her Majesty. It was to be an awkward meeting at best. Her so-called Royal Dissent to the suspension of the next general election had brought him down amid the general strike, near-civil war, and occupation of Ireland. Now he faced her, not to demand her abdication as some in the Cabinet suggested, but to tender his resignation. Presumably biting his lip or clenching his fists, he recommended Lord Howe be invited to form a government.
Geoffrey Howe, Lord of Tandridge, had been the unofficial leader of opposition to the Powell regime over the last few years amongst exiled British politicians. Since his unceremonious sacking from the Cabinet in 1977, he had tried to serve his country as best he could from France and played a major role in lobbying the European Community to press sanctions against Britain. His anti-Powell credentials were impeccable and that was all many people needed. With seemingly no Prime Minister, the Queen personally ordered her Armed Forces to fetch him. With surprisingly little argument from a quietly relieved Civil Service, No. 24 Squadron RAF dispatched a lone C-130 Hercules to Paris, where Geoffrey Howe waited at Charles de Gaulle Airport after three years in exile. Touching down at RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, near Chippenham, Mr Howe emerged from the vast cargo bay with a platoon of soldiers at his side before quickly being ferried into a waiting Jaguar identical to that which Powell had taken to the Palace. A fairly small group of reporters and photographers observed, only to be disappointed when no press conference or indeed even a speech from the tarmac followed. Downing Street was waiting.
Yet already other elements were in motion. At BBC Television Centre in west London, David Dimbleby was being broadcast to both BBC channels (at the time, Britain had only three television channels, the third being ITV) announcing the momentous events of the day. The government censor, Ben Branson, had been barricaded inside a bathroom to keep him from thwarting the first free news broadcast in five years. Ironically, this only served for the BBC to stay neutral on topics of their own choosing, rather than treat the events as positive or negative. As Dimbleby spoke to the cameras, his words unknowingly encouraging people in their thousands, then millions, to leave their homes and begin congregating in town centres to celebrate, a convoy of armoured vehicles pulled up outside the studio. Soldiers emerged led by General Sir Walter Walker, a former commander-in-chief of NATO who had become Powell’s favourite man in uniform, and would later face war crimes charges for his actions in Northern Ireland. The men marched into the studio as General Walker announced that it was being put under military control, acting under the authority of what he called the Emergency Government. The cameras turned off, and television screens across the nation fell to static. The Chief Operating Officer, seeing soldiers literally approaching from down the corridor, made an urgent phone call to New Broadcasting House in Manchester. From there, broadcasts would continue as other soldiers already present in case of terrorist attacks chose to ignore the so-called Emergency Government.
Just outside London, the convoy taking Geoffrey Howe to Downing Street came to a halt. An Army roadblock on the M4 just south of Reading blocked their way, and troops approached. They said only that they were under government orders to seal off London, and threatened to place Howe under arrest if he did not cooperate. They too claimed to be acting on the order of an Emergency Government. It was starting to become pretty clear what was going on.
The convoy turned around, but made for a nearby country road. On the way, Geoffrey Howe made a desperate phone call to the Palace. From there, he warned Her Majesty that he feared a military coup was taking place. She replied that Heathrow had just shut down and armoured vehicles were on the tarmac, so said the still-free Radio Four. Howe, kicking himself for not doing so sooner, turned on Radio Four to learn that Heathrow had fallen. The Cabinet Office had also been occupied, taking control of Whitehall’s central nervous system, while Downing Street remained unmolested for the time being.
Queen Elizabeth II chose to take matters into her own hands. Marching down the steps of the Palace, she climbed into her Land Rover still waiting to be returned to Balmoral, and demanded to be driven to Television Centre herself. Prince Philip nearly came with her, only to be told to ensure the Queen’s Guard stayed at their posts. The Queen’s Land Rover sped to the BBC studios, while outside the capital Geoffrey Howe’s convoy snuck through unguarded country roads before reaching a main road in Maidenhead. They encountered soldiers again, but these ones hadn’t even heard of an Emergency Government. This coup didn’t seem so slickly organised as Howe feared.
The Queen soon reached west London; her Land Rover was stopped by an Army barricade, only to be quickly let through by alarmed soldiers after they saw who was in the back seat. The soldiers guarding the studio watched silently as Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, Head of the Commonwealth and the Church of England, marched into Television Centre, guided to the main news desk. General Walker was sat before the cameras at that time, ranting about communism and homosexuals to an audience which he had no idea were non-existent as the crew behind the scenes pretended to broadcast. Then, spotting the Queen appear behind the cameras (which soldiers were manning as the BBC staff refused to cooperate), he stopped and demanded they cease broadcasting. “We never were,” shouted one production assistant. The Queen approached General Walker and told him, “General, I order you to stand down this instant.” With tears in his eyes, Walker obeyed. He was then asked the most important question of the day; “who is behind this?” The answer was Lord Mountbatten.
Admiral of the Fleet Louis Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, was a remarkable man. The last Viceroy of India, uncle of Prince Philip and second cousin to the Queen, Supreme Allied Commander South East Asia Command in the war, First Sea Lord, Chief of the Defence Staff, and Chairman of the NATO Military Committee. There had been whispers of his involvement in plots before, against Harold Wilson’s government, but never taken seriously. Now it seemed the seventy-nine year old was trying to use the chaos and confusion of Powell’s resignation to make a grab for power himself.
The Queen then sat before the cameras herself, to broadcast her now-mythical appeal to the nation. She called for calm, for people to return to work, and specifically stated that “I have asked Lord Geoffrey Howe to form a government.” Having already become the one person most credited with bringing down Powell, her place in the hearts of the British people was unassailable. With that speech, the coup was dead. But where was its head?
At that time Mountbatten was in the air, flying from Belfast to Heathrow in preparation for taking power. He had chartered a private flight but, as the small jet passed over the Isle of Man a pair of RAF Harrier jets intercepted the aircraft and forced it to land at RAF Speke outside Liverpool. He was promptly arrested. Handed over to the Metropolitan Police, he was intensely questioned by Special Branch and the Security Service, quickly coughing up the names of his co-conspirators. Admiral of the Fleet Varyl Begg, founder of the Special Air Service David Stirling, Sir Maurice Oldfield, former director of MI6, three former and current generals of the Army and four colonels were named as participating in the plot. Only David Stirling would be acquitted in the subsequent investigation, which would practically turn the country upside down amid Operation Sugarplum, led by the Metropolitan Police Service, to uncover every detail of the plot. Over the next five years more than 1,200 people would be prosecuted, most of them members of the militias formed to seize power. Others would include disgruntled right-wing members of the intelligence services, the powerful newspaper magnate Viscount Rothermere, owner of the Daily Mail, its editor Sir David English, Cecil King, head of the International Publishing Corporation and former head of the Bank of England, Conservative leader John Morse, the comedian Michael Bentine, and the industrialist Lord Cayzer. The list of arrests read like a who’s who of the British Establishment.
Operation Sugarplum would dominate British life throughout the early 1980s, ensuring a deep and lasting suspicion of the privileged sectors of society which provided plenty of capital for governments to strip away the power of the Establishment. Many historians believe that Britain may have become a republic in this anti-establishment mood were it not for the actions of the Queen on that day. When a year later Operation Mustard began to scoop up former politicians and celebrities in a massive paedophilia investigation including Edward Heath, the former conservative leader, and beloved children’s entertainer Jimmy Savile, all because of a single slip of the tongue by Viscount Rothermere in a police interview, the anger towards the Establishment turned to a revulsion which would never go away. But it also meant a crisis of confidence even deeper than the one which the end of the Powell era brought. As the dark underbelly of the country was revealed for all to see, the maze of secrecy penetrating all corners of society, many began to wonder what kind of country Britain really was.
For the time being, the present was what mattered. The coup had failed. What would be known as the Mountbatten Plot had relied on poorly organised private armies, too small to seize control and led by eccentric former officers. It was the last gasp of an Establishment trying to cling to power, and it was over.
So too was the darkest period of modern British history. It would take time but it seemed as though the Troubles, once a term only applied to Ireland, were over.
Comments?
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