First Among Equals

“Power is what we want and power is what we seek,” he told a mesmerized audience. “For without power we cannot serve.”

After the peroration the delegates duly rose for a genuine six-minute ovation. When the noise had died down Pimkin was heard to remark, “I think I made the right decision.”

The conference season over, members made their way back from the three seasides to Westminster. Sadness overcame the House in their first week back when the aging Mr. Speaker Weatherill suffered a minor heart attack and retired to the Lords. The Government’s overall majority was only two at the time and the Labour party Chief Whip feared that if they supplied the new Speaker from their own ranks and the Conservatives were to retain the old Speaker’s safe seat the Government majority would cease to exist.

Simon reluctantly agreed that the Speaker should come from his own benches and asked his Chief Whip to suggest a suitable candidate.

When Charles Seymour asked to be granted a private interview with the leader Simon agreed immediately.

Charles arrived at the Opposition leader’s office the following morning. It was the first time they had talked alone since the leadership battle. A head of white hair had grown from the roots of Charles’s once Odyssean locks, and the deeper lines in Charles’s face gave him a more gentle look. Simon couldn’t help noticing a slight stoop had replaced his ramrod bearing. Looking at them now no one would have suggested they were contemporaries. Charles’s request came as a shock to Simon for he had never once considered his great rival as a candidate for that particular job.

“But I want you to return to the front bench and be my Chancellor,” said Simon. “You must know I would be delighted to have you back in the team.”

“That’s considerate of you,” said Charles. “But I would prefer the more restful life of being an arbitrator rather than an antagonist. I’ve lost that desire always to be on the attack. For over twenty years you’ve had the advantage of Elizabeth and two sons to keep your feet on the ground. It’s only quite recently that Harry has done the same for me.”

All men are thought to have one great moment in their careers in the House, and for Alec Pimkin it was to be that day. The election of a Speaker in the Co

mmons is a quaint affair. By ancient tradition no one must appear to want the honor, and it is rare for more than one person to be proposed for the post. During Henry Vl’s reign three Speakers were beheaded within a year, although in modern times it has been more the heavy burden of duties that has often led to an early grave. This tradition of reluctance has carried on through the ages, and for that reason a future Speaker frequently does not know who has sponsored him. Dressed in a smart blue suit, sporting a red carnation and his favorite pink-spotted bow tie, Alec Pimkin rose from his seat on the back benches to move that “the Right Honorable Charles Seymour does take the chair of this House as Speaker.” His speech was serious yet witty, informed but personal. Pimkin held the House in his grasp for nine minutes and never once let it go. “He’s done his old friend proud,” one member muttered to another across the gangway when Pimkin sat down, and indeed the look on Charles’s face left no doubt that he felt the same way, whatever had taken place in the past.

After Charles had been seconded the tradition of dragging the Speaker-elect to the chair was observed. This normally humorous affair, usually greeted with hoots of laughter and cheering, became even more of a farce with the sight of the small, portly Pimkin and his Labour seconder dragging the six-foot-four former Guards’ officer from the third row of the back benches all the way to the chair.

Charles surveyed the Commons from his new vantage point. He began by expressing his grateful thanks for the high honor the House had bestowed on him. From the moment he rose and stood his full height, every member knew they had selected the right man to guide them through the parliamentary calendar. The sharpness of his tongue may have gone but there remained a firm delivery and natural authority that left none of his colleagues in any doubt that Mr. Speaker Seymour intended to keep “order” for many years to come.

The Conservatives held the Croydon North-East seat comfortably at the by-election, and captured a marginal six weeks later. The press pointed out that it only needed the Tories and the SDP/Liberal Alliance to join together for the Government and Opposition to be in equal numbers, leaving the seventeen Irish members to decide the fate of the Parliament. Raymond was determined that the Government should hold on for another few weeks so that he could deliver his third budget, which he was convinced would act as a launching pad on which to fight the election.

Andrew had realized that Raymond’s next budget might help Labour’s chances at the polls, and he sought an official meeting with the leader of the Opposition to discuss the possibility of a “no confidence” motion.

Simon agreed with Andrew’s suggestion and thought that they should time the debate for the end of March. If they won that would ensure an election before the budget.

Raymond had accepted an invitation to address a large Labour rally in Cardiff the weekend before the vote of “no confidence.” He boarded the train at Paddington, settled into his compartment, and began to check over his speech. As the train pulled into Swindon a railway official stepped on board and, having discovered where the Chancellor of the Exchequer was seated, asked if he could speak to him privately for a few minutes. Raymond listened carefully to what the man had to say, replaced the speech in his brief case, got off the train, crossed the platform, and returned by the first available train to London.

On the journey back he tried to work out all the consequences of the news he had just been told. As soon as he arrived at Paddington he made his way through the waiting photographers and journalists, answering no questions. A car took him straight to Westminster Hospital. Raymond was shown into a private room, to find the Prime Minister sitting upright in bed.

“Now don’t panic,” he said before Raymond could speak. “I’m in fine shape considering I’m over sixty and with all the pressure we’ve been under this last year.”

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Raymond, taking a chair next to the bed.

“Recurrence of the old trouble, only this time they say it will take major surgery. I’ll be out of this place in a month, six weeks at the most, and then I’ll live as long as Harold Macmillan, they tell me. Now, to more important matters. I want you to take over for me again, which will mean you will have to speak in my place during the ‘no confidence’ debate on Wednesday. If we lose the vote, I shall resign as leader.”

Raymond tried to protest as he had already worked out the implications the moment he had heard his leader was ill again. The Prime Minister held up his hand and continued talking. “No party can fight an election with its leader laid up in bed for six weeks, however well he might be when they release him. If there is to be an election, the voters have the right to know who is going to lead the party in Parliament, and of course in such an emergency under standing order number five (four) of the Labour party’s constitution,” continued the Prime Minister, “the National Executive would meet and automatically select you to take over as party leader.”

Raymond raised his head. “Yes. The importance of that particular standing order has already been pointed out to me.”

The Prime Minister smiled. “Joyce, no doubt.”

“Her name was Kate, actually.”

The Prime Minister looked puzzled and then continued. “I think you must get used to the idea, Raymond, that you may well be running for Prime Minister in three weeks’ time. Because if we lose the ‘no confidence’ vote on Wednesday I am given no choice but to advise the Queen to call an immediate general election.”

Raymond remained silent.

“I can assure you,” continued the Prime Minister, “the National Executive will not want an internal bloodbath three weeks before a general election. Nothing could be more certain to guarantee a Tory victory. If, however, we do win the ’no confidence vote then it’s a different matter altogether because I’ll be back and running the ship long before the Easter recess is over. That will give us enough time to call the election after you’ve delivered your third budget. So make sure you win on Wednesday.”

“I am unable to express how much we will all miss your leadership,” said Raymond, without guile.

“As every member of the House except the Irish will know which lobby they’ll be voting in long before the debate begins, my leadership may turn out to be less important than any single vote. And don’t forget it will be the first occasion at which they’ve allowed television on the floor of the Commons, so make sure Joyce picks out one of those smart shirts you sometimes wear.”

Raymond spent the final few days before the “no confidence” vote preparing his speech. He canceled all the engagements in his diary except for the Speaker’s dinner to celebrate the Queen’s sixty-fifth birthday, at which he would be standing in for the Prime Minister.