First Among Equals

“And now,” said the chairman, “we welcome the Right Honorable Simon Kerslake, MP.”

Simon had to smile at the mistake so many people made in thinking that all ministers were automatically members of the Privy Council, and therefore entitled to the prefix “Right Honorable” instead of the plain “Honorable” accorded to all MPs—and then only when they were present in the House.

“Mr. Kerslake will address us for twenty minutes, and he has kindly agreed to answer questions after that,” added the chairman.

Simon felt confident he had spoken well, but even his few carefully chosen quips received no more than a smile, and his more serious comments elicited little response. This was not a group of people given to showing their emotions. When he had finished he sat down to respectful clapping and murmurs.

“Now the minister will take questions,” said the chairman.

“Where do you stand on hanging?” said a scowling middle-aged woman in a gray suit seated in the front row.

Simon explained his reasons for being a convinced abolitionist. The scowl did not move from the questioner’s face and Simon thought to himself how much happier she would be with Ronnie Nethercote as her member.

A man in a hacking jacket asked: “How do you feel, Mr. Kerslake, about this year’s farm subsidy?”

“Good on eggs, tough on beef, and disastrous for pig farmers. Or at least that’s what I read on the front page of Farmers Weekly yesterday.” Some of them laughed for the first time. “It hasn’t proved necessary for me to have a great knowledge of farming in Coventry Central, but if I am lucky enough to be selected for Redcorn I shall try to learn quickly, and with your help I shall hope to master the farmers’ problems.” Several heads nodded their approval.

“Miss Pentecost, chairman of the Women’s s Advisory,” announced a tall, thin spinsterish woman who had stood up to catch the chairman’s eye. “May I be permitted to ask Mrs. Kerslake a question? If your husband were offered this seat, would you be willing to come and live in Northumbertand?”

Elizabeth had dreaded the question because she knew that if Simon was offered the constituency she would be expected to resign her post at the hospital. Simon turned and looked toward his wife.

“No,” she replied directly. “I am a doctor at St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, where I practice gynecology. I support my husband in his career but, like Margaret Thatcher, I believe a woman has the right to a good education and then the chance to use her qualifications to their best advantage.”

A ripple of applause went round the room and Simon smiled at his wife.

The next question was on Europe, and Simon gave an unequivocal statement as to his reasons for backing the Prime Minister in his desire to see Britain as part of the Common Market.

Simon continued to answer questions on subjects ranging from trade union reform to violence on television before the chairman asked, “Are there any more questions?”

There was a long silence and just as he was about to thank Simon the scowling lady in the front row, without being recognized by the chair, asked what Mr. Kerslake’s views were on abortion.

“Morally, I’m against it,” said Simon. “At the time of the Abortion Act many of us believed it would stem the tide of divorce. We have been proved wrong: the rate of divorce has quadrupled. Nevertheless, in the cases of rape or fear of physical or mental injury arising from birth I would have to support the medical advice given at the time. Elizabeth and I have two children and my wife’s job is to see that babies are safely delivered,” he added.

The lips moved from a scowl to a straight line.

“Thank you,” said the chairman. “It was good of you to give us so much of your time. Perhaps you and Mrs. Kerslake would be kind enough to wait outside.”

Simon and Elizabeth joined the other hopeful candidates, their wives, and the agent in a small dingy room at the back of the building. When they saw the half-empty trestle table in front of them they both remembered they hadn’t had any lunch and devoured what was left of the curling cucumber sandwiches and the cold sausage rolls.

“What happens next?” Simon asked the agent between mouthfuls.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. They’ll have a discussion, allowing everyone to express their views, and then vote. It should all be over in twenty minutes.”

Elizabeth checked her watch: it was seven o’clock and the last train was at nine-fifteen.

“Ought to make the train comfortably,” said Simon.

An hour later when no smoke had emerged from the chimney the agent suggested to all the candidates who had a long journey ahead of them that they might like to check into the Bell Inn just over the road.

When Simon looked around the room it was clear that everyone else had done so in advance.

“You had better stay put in case you’re called again

,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll go off and book a room and at the same time call and see how the children are getting on.”

“Probably eaten the poor baby-sitter by now,” said Simon.

Elizabeth smiled before slipping out and making her way to the small hotel.