John Strachey adjusted himself in his chair and tried to look relaxed, even though he was anything but. The BBC cameras glared at him dispassionately, and he tried not to think about the millions of people who would hear and more importantly see him speak. He had made radio broadcasts before, he had stood on a stump and hectored a crowd at the top of his lungs. This was some uncomfortable combination of both that required he speak as if addressing a village hall, but in the silent confines of a studio with only a professionally impartial crew and the cold dispassionate lenses of the cameras for an audience. He glanced at his notes once more and repeated the familiar words inside his head. He’d learned the speech inside and out. It wasn’t even particularly impressive or lengthy. But he felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. These last four years had been hard, fighting every moment to drag the country kicking and screaming into the 20th century. They had attained victory eventually, but he felt keenly aware of how important it was to win this election and ensure it hadn’t all been for nothing. With a sigh, he stuffed the notes back into his jacket’s inside pocket, and clasped his hands together, staring wordlessly over the desk.
‘We’re ready for you, Prime Minister.’ Said the director, a corpulent man with saggy jowels. John nodded in response and leaned over the desk, his hands still clasped together in front of him. A boy in a floppy hat leaned in front of him and snapped a board in view of the camera. A red bulb behind the director blinked on, casting him in a sinister light. John took a deep breath and stared down the camera, forcing a smile and hoping the creases around his eyes looked genuine.
‘Good day. For seventeen years, until 1959, the Conservatives governed this country in the same old way. Working on the behalf of a section of society rather than the whole. Progress and reform were seemingly unattainable, and the prospect of change was bleak. But the failure of National Distribution to adequately address the needs of working people finally found reflection at the ballot box, and we were able to establish a reform oriented government. The last four years have been a hard fight to ensure equal access to the ballot for all Britons, to remove the obstacles to political participation and build a new democratic system that can reflect the will of the British people as a whole rather than a narrow section.
‘We have also worked to reform National Distribution and ensure we have an economy that serves all of us, rather than the captains of industry and their croneys. Every step of the way we have been hindered, stalled and frustrated by the Conservatives, and the other beneficiaries of the rigged system. This general election is necessary because under the new laws established since I became Prime Minister, this system will be swept away. This will be an election fought on a new franchise, one that encompasses all of us, and will be to a reformed Parliament that more accurately reflects our nation, united rather than divided on lines that benefit only the narrow section of society that the Conservatives serve.
‘The Labour Party has proven itself over the last four years, as capable of governing the country and managing the economy. Vote Labour and help us continue the work of building a country that reflects our nation’s lofty ideals of liberty, justice and fair play. Thank you.’
The red bulb flicked off and for a moment, the director was obscured by darkness. ‘How was that?’ asked John.
‘Very good, Prime Minister.’ came the sibiliant reply. ‘One small problem though.’
‘Oh?’ replied John, his heart sinking.
‘Your pose. Leaning across the desk like that, you looked hunched over.’
‘I was trying to look conversational.’ He hissed in response.
‘Well, it didn’t work.’ The director’s response was abrupt and John pursed his lips in irritation. ‘Could you sit up in your chair and try to look a bit more relaxed?’
‘I can try.’ John grumbled.
‘Good.’ Smiled the director. He turned the crew. ‘Another take!’
The cameras adjusted their gaze slightly, and the red bulb emitted its unsettling glow once more. John Strachey plastered another smile across his face and tried not to grit his teeth.