Margaret Thatcher by Charles Moore; Not for Turning by Robin Harris – Review


April 28, 2013

Margaret Thatcher by Charles Moore; Not for Turning by Robin Harris – Review

Andy Beckett of The Guardianby Andy Beckett, The Guardian, Wednesday 24 April 2013 13.57

Two authorised biographies have lots of new material. Do they have a new honesty too, asks Andy Beckett

How much more is there to say about Margaret Thatcher? That these biographies have the same phrase in their title is not a promising start. Nor is it a title – taken from one of her most self-mythologising moments, her studiedly defiant speech to the doubting 1980 Conservative conference – that suggests these heavy volumes will be leavened with too much fresh or independent thinking. Robin Harris worked with Thatcher, often “closely” in his words, for a quarter of a century from the late 70s, as a speechwriter, ghostwriter, adviser, organiser and diehard supporter.

In her memoirs, she calls him “my indispensable sherpa”. Charles Moore has been one of Britain’s best-known right wing journalists for equally long. Since Thatcher’s death, he has seemed happy to mix his promotional duties as an author with defending her against, as he put it on Question Time, “People who are horrible … promoting the idea that she is [sic] very divisive.”

the-margaret-thatcher-the-authorized-biographyMoore was chosen by Thatcher to be her official biographer in 1997. It was the year her party finally lost power: her reputation, it was reasonable to assume, was going to need some protecting. “The arrangement that Lady Thatcher offered me,” writes Moore, “was that I would have full access to herself … and to her papers. She would assist all my requests for interviews with others … As a result of her support … the then Cabinet Secretary, Sir Richard Wilson, gave permission for all existing and former civil servants to speak freely to me about the Thatcher years, and allowed me to inspect government papers, held back from public view under the thirty-year rule.”

Moore has exploited this unique access with thoroughness and skill; but a sense of the British establishment granting favours to one of its own hangs over this book, and is never quite dispelled.

Harris began his book in 2005, the year of another post-Thatcher Tory general election defeat. Despite the existence of the Moore project, it appears she was keen to collaborate with Harris too.

He reprints a letter from her: “I can think of no one better placed than you to tackle the subject … You know, better than anyone else, what I wanted our reforms to achieve.” Elsewhere in his preface, Harris pointedly describes Moore’s book as “a further, ‘authorized’ work”.

As Prime Minister, one of Thatcher’s ambitions was to make Britain more competitive; posthumously, it’s clear that included her biographers.

Yet as in the utilities she privatised, competition sometimes doesn’t produce much choice for consumers. Both these books begin, as almost every Thatcher biography has for decades, with a reverent depiction of her Grantham childhood, all formative hard graft and small town English virtues, which in the retelling – not least by Thatcher as a rising politician – has long become as sepia-tinted as a rustic Hovis advertisement.

Moore describes her ambitious shopkeeper father as “tall, with piercing blue eyes and wiry blond hair”; Harris calls him “tall, blond and blue-eyed”. As a young girl, writes Harris, Thatcher had “a sweet smile, beautiful hair, flashing blue eyes”. Here, as in much of the rightwing writing about her since her death, Thatcher seems to be becoming a sort of Tory Evita.

Robin Harris' Thatcher

But then Harris’s book wakes up. In Grantham and afterwards, he abruptly remarks, Thatcher “would never be very interested in people’s personalities … only in their actions – and specifically those of their actions that directly concerned her.” Further tart assertions about her personality and habits quickly follow.

When she ate, food would be “hoovered up as quickly as possible”. When she worked on official papers as Prime Minister, she often sat “in her [Downing Street] study in a high-backed chair … Over the years her feet wore a hole in the carpet. She refused to have a new one and had a patch inserted.”

In political conversation, “She had no real sense of place … adopting even in private discussion the same aggressive and self-justificatory stance as she would in a hostile television interview.” As a thinker, although she carried a collection of excerpts from Winston Churchill’s speeches and broadcasts in her handbag, Harris writes, she “did not have much historical sense, merely some rather romantic and fanciful historical notions”.

After all the eulogies, it is refreshing to read about an odd, driven, believable person – rather than some abstract national saviour or demon. In his confident generalisations about Thatcher, Harris is like a long-faithful courtier freed by a monarch’s death to speak the truth about them. He is not that interested in piling up evidence for his assertions. Like an article in the Spectator, the writing can be lordly rather than logical, and the word “probably” appears more often than in most biographies. Much of the book is closer to memoir or polemic – you need to take it on trust.

The recounting of Thatcher’s dark-horse dash through the Conservative party pack and tumultuous premiership is efficient rather than revelatory. There are slow stretches where Harris summarises and justifies her policies, one by one; and equally relentless but more quotable attacks on Thatcher’s many Tory enemies and allies-turned-nemeses, such as her chancellors Nigel Lawson (“too clever by half”) and Geoffrey Howe (“raddled with bitterness”).

Moore is more measured. His dense, intricate volume, the first of an intended two, follows Thatcher only up to the autumn of 1982, less than a third of the way into her premiership. For now at least, this cut-off date robs his version of her story of the always-compelling element of rise and fall – the latter vividly and emotionally depicted by Harris – and instead makes Moore’s Thatcher narrative like one of the economic graphs in Thatcherism’s boom years: jagged but generally upward.

There are some surprises, though. Thatcher’s sister Muriel, barely mentioned by other biographers, is revealed as the recipient of frank letters from the teenage Margaret. Of an Oxford university boyfriend, pre-Denis, also previously undetected by biographers, she writes: “Tony hired a car and we drove out to Abingdon to the country inn ‘Crown and Thistle’. I managed to borrow a glorious royal blue velvet cloak … I felt absolutely on top of the world as I walked through the lounge … and everyone looked up.” That Thatcher had a bit of a life before parliamentary politics claimed her in the early 50s is a less sensational discovery than some of the publicity around this book has trumpeted; but Moore, with typical care and perceptiveness, produces a clever coda to his account of the Tony relationship.

In 1974, long after it was over, Tony, now a stockbroker with a professional interest in the housing market, produced a scheme for council tenants to buy their homes. As the shadow minister responsible for housing, Thatcher invited him to the Commons. “She made only the most glancing acknowledgement of their old acquaintance and got straight down to the policy, towards which she was very receptive.”

Margaret Thatcher Blackpool 1972 Jamie Hodgson/Getty Images

This is Moore’s first book (Harris has written or ghostwritten half a dozen), and its prose is understated and less partisan than his journalism. Occasionally, the long, controlled paragraphs curl almost imperceptibly into dry wit. In the mid-60s, he writes, “At the highest levels of the [Tory] party … suspicions were aroused that the rise of Margaret Thatcher might represent some sort of threat to male peace and tranquility.” Nor is Moore a total prisoner of his many sources.

Their testimony is weighed, and sometimes contradicted. Even Muriel, who granted a rare interview, is corrected when she claims that Margaret was too busy to go to their father’s funeral, with reference to Margaret’s “two engagement diaries of the period” and a report in the Grantham Journal.

There is a downside to all this neat dovetailing of material and elegantly murmuring, High Tory style. Thatcherism was in many ways an unsubtle, unstable political project, exhilarating or brutal depending on where you stood; yet only the exhilaration feels fully present in Moore’s narrative, for all his conscientious detailing of Thatcherism’s 70s and 80s ups and downs. Part of the problem may be the slightly sketchy way he deals with the world beyond.

There is not quite enough sense of the social texture of Britain, and how that changed, as Thatcher rose, and how that change helped her. Similarly, events outside Westminster that proved pivotal for her – the 1978-9 winter of discontent that probably won her the 1979 election; the 1981 urban riots that so undermined her early premiership – are recorded too briefly and cursorily. Meanwhile, Moore’s politics surface unhelpfully when he caricatures postwar Britain as in “steep decline”, the economy under Labour in the 60s as a “car crash”, and the IMF that eagerly helped do away with British social democracy in the 70s as “impartial”.

As much of the debate since her death has shown, there are still plenty of takers for this doomy, simplistic view of pre-Thatcherite Britain. But present-day historians are becoming steadily less keen on it, and the struggles of our Thatcherised economy since 2007 don’t augur too well for the long-term reputation of books that present her rule as having solved all our problems.

Moore is more nuanced than that; unlike Harris, he offers a few quiet but stinging criticisms of her policies, for example on council house sales, which led to “the gradual build-up of a housing shortage which, in 1979, had not existed, and the stoking, for the future, of a housing bubble”.

7 thoughts on “Margaret Thatcher by Charles Moore; Not for Turning by Robin Harris – Review

  1. We inherited MBBS, a building society mindset from the Brits. That era, most of the world had near zero inflation. MHousing was good for commoners to control inflation. In some European countries, only municipal housing are affordable on rental basis; purchasing is too expensive and speculate into bubble. Look at HK; need 2 jobs to keep a 500sf unit. Same thing happening to PRC and derailing social stability. Spore did well with HDB and HUDC.

    What do we have now for commoners? Dont people know prop being a major portion of cost inflates everything?

    Do we have the courage to stamp this down to ground zero so commoners can benefit.

    The 1M home also added to inflation. We should raise the floor from 500k to 1.5m for two reasons: prop below that would get speculated and better quality of foreigners can come in. Right now the PRC are coming in to snap our housing.

  2. Take a convenient diversion from our adversarial politics to read this interesting review by Andy Beckett of The Guardian of books on Baroness Thatcher by Charles Moore and Robin Harris. The Iron Lady is my favorite British Prime Minister, second only to war time Prime Minister Sir Winston Spencer Churchill. While she remains controversial, there is no doubt in my mind that she will be remembered as the Prime Minister who transformed the British economy. May she now rest in peace.–Din Merican

  3. Official biographers, having had a unique view of their subjects, can claim special status on their works but to call MT “my Sherpa” is over the top.

    To a country that needed an understanding approach. MT unleashed the “Big Bang” deregulation of the City… the end results of which are the disaster facing not only the UK but Europe and which will be the end of that continent as we knew it. Sherpa?? Some Sherpa.

  4. Dennis, you seems to enjoy being hen-pecked?
    To that he said, “its is a rare privilege to be hen-pecked by a golden chick.”
    Prof. George Homes who landed in Morib during WW2 as a warrant officer and later became VC of RBS, had a crush on Maggie. He was 72 when he told us in class he found her horribly sexy.

  5. I lived in England from 1972 to 1978. I know what life was like in a socialistic system. I did not live under Margaret Thatcher. However, I think she did much good to Britain although my Alma Mater seemed to dislike her in vetoing givng her an honorary doctorate. She hated Oxford and gave her archives to Cambridge. Even on these academic issues, I still regard her being right and the dons wrong in managing the university. This week-end’s Financial Times carries a book review on third books on her.
    _________________________
    Here it is : http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/2/f07583a0-adb1-11e2-a2c7-00144feabdc0.html#axzz2RlwOtuRb

    The Ruler of Britannia-Review by Peter Clarke

    Since her death earlier this month, aged 87, vast tracts of newsprint have been devoted to the question of how we should see Margaret Thatcher. This is the moment when a controversial politician becomes embalmed in words that seek to define her for posterity. Some of the tropes are already wearyingly familiar through constant repetition. Over and over again we have been told that she was the Iron Lady, who boldly declared what she would do – and promptly did it. Thatcherism was so potent, we have been repeatedly assured, simply because it did what it said on the tin.

    The publication of Charles Moore’s eagerly anticipated authorised biography, Not For Turning, is a notable landmark. The first of two volumes, it is not only long and exhaustive but meticulously researched and gracefully expounded. It is not the only biography to appear so opportunely, not even the only one under this same title. Robin Harris worked closely with Thatcher for many years, both in Downing Street and after she left office, and he, too, has appropriated the phrase for his lively and accessible insider’s account. Harris sticks closer to the Lady’s own account of her life, though with a few asides of his own, whereas Moore writes with greater freedom, insight and objectivity.

    Moreover, we already have the work of a younger generation of historians to provide a more dispassionate perspective. In Reagan and Thatcher: The Difficult Relationship, Richard Aldous has explored the transatlantic relationship between the two leaders with great verve but also with some adroit demythologising of this relationship in view of the archival evidence. He makes the point that their friendship, like that of Churchill and Roosevelt before them, was constructed pragmatically to serve their statesmanship. Similar insights inform several of the essays edited by Ben Jackson and Robert Saunders in Making Thatcher’s Britain. This is a further valuable contribution to the Thatcher debate, presenting the research of 16 academics in a lively as well as a scholarly way.

    Both ideologically and personally, we now have a better understanding of the remarkable figure who became Britain’s first woman prime minister. One of Moore’s happy discoveries was a cache of letters that the young Margaret Roberts, leaving provincial Grantham behind to go to Oxford university in the mid-1940s, sent back to her older sister Muriel. Writing in graphic and spontaneous terms, Margaret reveals herself as already ambitious to seek a career in politics. That being so, as she candidly observes, it becomes important to acquire the right sort of hats and handbags, and also the right sort of husband.

    There was, it emerges, a boyfriend at Oxford, Tony, who wasn’t quite the ticket. Then, in the postwar whirl of Young Conservative activities in the London area, comes an encounter with Willie, a Scottish farmer who likewise wouldn’t quite do for Margaret but was adroitly passed on to Muriel, whom he obligingly married. And Margaret, at 24 or so, was also involved for a time with Robert, a doctor twice her age. “I think we are both getting very fond of one another,” she wrote. She eventually settled on a slightly younger suitor than Robert, albeit one with less charm and also a wartime divorce behind him, but, as her father quickly spotted, “of course very comfortably situated financially”.

    Denis thus supplied the name and the money for his new wife’s political career, which ultimately made Thatcherism into an international brand. Margaret stood as the Conservative candidate for Dartford in the 1950 general election, asking electors whether they wished the British spirit “to perish for a soul-less Socialist system, or to live to create a glorious Britain”. Moore calls this “the first clear text of Thatcherism”, suggesting that “the emotional force behind the piece is not a doctrine about economic liberty – strong though that is – but a romantic belief in the greatness, and a sad lament at the decline, of her country”.

    When she became prime minister in 1979, the new coinage “Thatcherism” normally meant monetarism, often equated at that time with the fashionable doctrines of Milton Friedman. The context was the reaction against the ostensibly Keynesian policies of the 1970s that had failed to stimulate economic growth, instead simply feeding inflation at levels that threatened social stability. Hence the attraction of a policy that rejected a Keynesian fiscal strategy in favour of a gradual reduction of the money supply.

    Admittedly she never really bought into Friedman herself, preferring the starker insights of Friedrich Hayek, whose writings she often commended. But, on taking office, her government became committed to bringing down inflation by sticking to Friedmanite monetary targets, publicly defined at the time by the formula “M3”. Thatcher herself maintained a distinctive and aloof posture towards this, as towards other policies of her own government, which she often affected to hold at arm’s length. Thus when, in late 1979, her chancellor Sir Geoffrey Howe told her that inflation was unlikely to fall below about 15 per cent, she responded with scorn and incredulity: “How could this be so if the Government were pursuing a tight monetary policy?” This was not at all “what it said on the tin”.

    What actually happened in 1979-1981 was that the monetary targets were always overshot and inflation raced away regardless. The most obvious effect of the high interest rates that were supposed to tame M3 was, instead, to push up the sterling exchange rate, pricing British manufacturing exports out of world markets. What saved the government’s economic credibility at this juncture was a dose of pragmatism. Faced with the failure of monetary targeting, the chancellor’s canny, sceptical, lawyerlike instincts led him to substitute a fiscal squeeze instead. It was an old-fashioned remedy, since inflation would be checked along with the economic activity that generated it.

    This was obviously rather different from what had been promised in 1979 but it had the brutally decisive merit that it worked. Moore quotes an apt comment from the current universities and science minister, David Willetts, then in a junior position in the government: “Though we were trying to do Friedman, we were actually doing Hayek.” The shift was masked by some adroit moving of the goalposts. Above all, the fact that, by the time of the next election, inflation was duly falling. This clinched the political case, allowing Thatcher to achieve her central objective at all costs, without too much fuss about doctrinal consistency. And if the unions did not like it, she was now ready to confront them.

    There were many reasons why Thatcher did not like trade unions. But it is not true that, on coming to power, she engineered a stand-up, knock-down, drag-out fight with them. It was her much despised Conservative predecessor Edward Heath who had staked all on a big trade union reform bill in 1970; and it was her Heathite employment secretary, Jim Prior, bearing the scars of former lost battles, who counselled in 1979 that “it would be fatal to follow the 1970 pattern and rush things too much”. Though Moore shows some reluctance to acknowledge it, Prior seems to have had a shrewd grasp of strategy.

    Moreover, despite some characteristic grumbling, Thatcher accepted Prior’s pragmatic advice. Thus her government trod softly on trade union legislation, opting to tighten the screw, ring by ring, rather than to act more provocatively. In the meantime, when trouble threatened from the miners in 1981, they were bought off. Not until Thatcher had been re-elected in 1983, and was now tactically ready to face a challenge from the mineworkers, was the prime minister ready for confrontation.

    Caution, pragmatism and opportunism were often the watchwords of real-life Thatcherism. Many policies of her government were improvised incrementally, moving tentatively at first and only subsequently with a boldness assured by earlier success. The international appeal of Thatcherism was seen in the policy of privatisation; yet there was little hint in 1979 of the scale or popularity of such proposals. Only when the government saw the success of some early piecemeal sales of shares was the policy developed on a broad front, with a sort of populist hype that brought share ownership to sections of society for whom it was a novelty. The ideological case was for the creation of popular capitalism.

    The pragmatic case was that the proceeds of such sales boosted the public finances, as did the sale of council houses to tenants. Here is a prime example of a policy that was developed by stages when it looked like catching on – and looked like catching out Labour, which was completely wrongfooted by the move. It yielded the political advantage of making Conservative inroads on a section of the electorate who had been thought of as inevitable Labour supporters. Yet Thatcher had started somewhat sceptical here, as Moore admits, and was a lucky beneficiary rather than a prime instigator of this policy.

    Thatcher preached the virtues of good housekeeping with earnest conviction. Part of her political legacy was to assert the old-fashioned Gladstonian verities of sound money and balanced budgets. These were the sort of homilies that she remembered hearing from her father, Alfred Roberts, the Grantham grocer who shed his Liberal heritage to become a respected local Conservative. His daughter, in making her own political career, had long used the housewifely idiom to enjoin the importance of balancing the budget; but by such standards she fell short.

    This was masked by a redefinition of the traditional terms. The key shift was to make the public sector borrowing requirement (PSBR) the crucial measure, which allowed the Treasury to pocket one-off gains from the sale of public assets as current income. Together with the tax receipts from North Sea oil (again a temporary bonanza), this pushed the budget briefly into surplus at the peak of the boom under chancellor Nigel Lawson in the late 1980s. After the resignation of Lawson in 1989, and of Thatcher a year later, later chancellors were left to repair their financial legacy.

    Thatcher’s political genius lay in her adroit exploitation of the salient issues of her day, animating them with her own passion. She used the popular media to project a sort of moral populism that crossed traditional class lines. She conquered a new working class constituency for the Tories but at the price of losing traditional, professional middle class support in a way that later destabilised the party. As with many prime ministers, Thatcher achieved some of her objectives, fell short on others and was, especially in foreign affairs, at the mercy of events.

    The most striking event of all was surely the ill-judged invasion of the Falklands/Malvinas by the Argentine military junta. This came out of the blue in 1982, at least for the British government. The crisis was, of course, the making of Thatcher as a national leader. “The Falklands War,” Moore concludes, “brought out Mrs Thatcher’s best qualities – not only the well-known ones of courage, conviction and resolution, but also her less advertised ones of caution and careful study.”

    It was a situation that was thrust upon her, bringing out her capacity to improvise policy, project her own leadership and make her own luck. She spoke with moral fervour of the evils of South American military dictatorships (albeit later showing herself more pragmatic in her dealings with Chile’s Gen Pinochet). Just as North Sea oil provided an adventitious economic bonus for her government, so the Falklands paid a political dividend. She was subsequently taken at her own valuation; she was able to win a general election in 1983 with unemployment figures at levels that would have sunk any previous postwar government; she emerged for the first time as the undisputed boss of a cabinet of her own choosing. Above all, it was surely Thatcher’s ability to link the war in the South Atlantic with the narrative of the economic struggle at home that displayed her own political talents to unique advantage.

    Some now ask, pre-emptively, who wants to go back to the 1970s? But this is a neat ploy to begin an argument, not a short-cut to its conclusion. “There is no alternative” was an effective rhetorical claim in its day; but the range of potential alternatives was never so easily exhausted. Thatcher had learnt much from working under Iain Macleod, an adroit Conservative of an older generation. “Iain was the best politician I ever remember,” she later attested, giving as her reason that “he always understood that politics is a question of alternatives”. Her own achievement was to impose her own priorities as mere common sense and get away with it. Talk of reversing a century of decline was surely a rhetorical trope of this order.

    For the present state of post-Thatcherite Britain hardly supports simple triumphalism. If the ongoing problems of the stagnant and unbalanced British economy continue to confront us, the fact that its industrial base was eroded during Thatcher’s premiership can hardly be left out of the reckoning. We still face some of the same stubborn problems that she confronted. She was not oblivious of the fact that the spectre of inflation returned in the later years of her premiership, heralding the return of recession too. Hence the feeling comment in her memoirs: in politics, “there are no final victories”.

    The death of Winston Churchill in 1965 has often been mentioned as a precedent for the events of the past three weeks, not least for the pomp and circumstance of a public funeral. But by the time of the great man’s death, his reputation had long since become entwined with the “finest hour” of which he had memorably spoken to his compatriots, a moment instantly mythologised by Britons across a wide political spectrum – “My Country Right or Left” as George Orwell had put it. For all the dignified bearing maintained by David Cameron and Ed Miliband alike, the fundamental contrast between 1965 and 2013 remains inescapable. Rather than simply calling the Cameron-Miliband generation “Thatcher’s children”, perhaps we need to recognise that we are all still Thatcher’s contemporaries, still arguing about her notable legacy in her long shadow.

    Peter Clarke is author of ‘Mr Churchill’s Profession: Statesman, Orator, Writer’ (Bloomsbury)

    Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2013.

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