“Why would they want to come to Leeds first?” asked Raymond, trying to hide his anxiety with false humor.
“Once they’ve captured Yorkshire, the rest would be easy.”
“Hard to find fault with that argument. Nevertheless, tell the major I’m deeply concerned but I need to study his claim in more detail and to seek further advice from the Ministry of Defense. Make an appointment for him to see me at the next surgery and by then I should have a strategic plan ready for him.”
Fred Padgett grinned. “That will give him something to tell his friends about for at least two weeks.”
Raymond returned to Mr. and Mrs. Higginbottom and assured them he would have their housing problem sorted out within a few days. He made a note on his file to ring the Leeds Council Housing Officer.
“What an afternoon,” exclaimed Raymond after the door had closed behind them. “One wife-beating, one electricity turned off by the YEB with four children under ten in the house, one pollution of the Aire river, and one appalling housing problem—never forgetting the mad major and his itinerant Martians. And on top of all of that the devaluation news.”
“How can you remain so calm?” asked Fred Padgett.
“Because I can’t afford to let anyone know how I really feel.”
After his surgery Raymond would normally have gone round to the local pub for a pint and an obligatory natter with the locals. This always gave him the chance to catch up on what had been happening in Leeds during the past fortnight. But on this occasion he bypassed the pub and returned quickly to his parents’ home.
Joyce told him that the phone had rung so often that she had finally taken it off the hook, without letting his mother kno
w the real reason.
“Very sensible,” said Raymond.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I shall resign, of course.”
“Why do that, Raymond? It will only harm your career.”
“You may turn out to be right, but that won’t stop me going.”
“But you’re only just beginning to get on top of your work.”
“Joyce, without trying to sound pompous, I know I have many failings but I’m not a coward and I’m certainly not so self-seeking as totally to desert any principles I might have.”
“You know, you just sounded like a man who is destined to become Prime Minister.”
“A moment ago you said it would harm my chances. Make up your mind.”
“I have,” she said.
Raymond smiled wanly before retreating to his study to write a short handwritten letter.
Saturday, 18 November 1967
Dear Prime Minister,
After your announcement this afternoon on devaluation and the stand I have continually taken on the issue I am left with no choice but to resign my position as Under-Secretary of State at the Department of Employment.
I would like to thank you for having given me the opportunity to serve in your administration. Be assured that I shall continue to support the Government on all other issues from the back benches.
Yours,
Raymond Could.
When the red box arrived at the house that Saturday night Raymond instructed the messenger to deliver the letter to No. 10 immediately. As he opened the box for the last time he reflected that his department was answering questions on employment in the House that Monday. He wondered who would take his place.
Because of the paraphernalia surrounding devaluation, the Prime Minister did not get round to reading Raymond’s letter until late Sunday morning. The Coulds’ phone was still off the hook when an anxious Fred Padgett was heard knocking on the front door later that day.