Category Archives: Britain

Tory Leaders We Have Known: Alec Douglas Home

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In what has suddenly become a series, (I wonder why?), number two of the shortest serving prime ministers is Alec Douglas Home, 1963-64. If Bonar Law was the ‘Unknown Prime Minister’, Home, Prime Minister for just 363 days, might be (in Peter Hennessy’s words) the ‘unremembered one’.

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At least until David Cameron, Home was the last genuine toff to occupy number 10. He was, from the age of 15 at Eton and Christ Church, naturally, known as Lord Dunglass; from 1951 he was the 14th earl of Home. He had the ease of manners that some genuine blue bloods do. In a thoughtful and sympathetic DNB entry, Douglas Hurd described him as one of the most courteous politicians he had ever known.

IMG_3379To add to the air of the gentleman amateur, Home spent his university days concentrating on pastimes, notably cricket. Thus he may only have got a third in History, but he has the distinction of being the only British Prime Minister to have played first class cricket: for Middlesex, Oxford and the MCC (he toured South America under Pelham Warner).

That air was misleading. One mighty imagine that his entry into politics came as part of a family tradition. In fact, they had no political tradition to speak of, though his mother was Liberal and he was an admirer of Lloyd George. However, like a number of others of his generation, the charismatic Noel Skelton drew him to Conservatism. Skelton’s Constructive Conservatism (1924) looked to a progressive Conservatism: he coined the phrase ‘property owning democracy’. By that, he looked to winning the working classes from socialism and ‘bridge the economic gulf… between Labour and capital’. Skelton’s followers, nicknamed the YMCA, included the likes of Bob Boothby, Harold Macmillan and Anthony Eden.

Another was Dunglass, who entered parliament on the back of the 1931 tidal wave. By 1936 he was PPS to the chancellor, Neville Chamberlain. He was thus PPS to the new Prime Minister in 1937 and accompanied Chamberlain to Munich. Also, in 1936, he married: one of the most stable and happy political marriages of the era. After his master’s death, Home was seriously ill, rendered immobile for two years following an operation on his spine. In that time he developed a deepened Christian faith, as well as a passionate and robust distrust of Stalin and Soviet communism.

Having been a junior Foreign Office minister in Churchill’s caretaker government, he lost his seat in Labour’s 1945 landslide; having briefly returned in 1950, it was as Lord Home that he became a junior minister in the Scottish Office, and then Commonwealth Secretary. When Macmillan moved Selwyn Lloyd to the Treasury in 1960, Home was (controversially, because he was in the Lords) given the Foreign Office.

That might normally have put him in pole position to have a shot at the succession to Macmillan, but he had two disadvantages. The first was that he was in the House of Lords, and the idea of a PM in the Lords was now unacceptable. However, this problem was now surmountable, after Viscount Stansgate (Tony Benn, as he would become) had passed a law enabling him to renounce his peerage. As luck had it, a vacant seat was available just when Macmillan was on the way out.

 

His other problem turned out to be an advantage: to wit, his low profile. Rather like John Major in 1990, Home benefitted from not being like his rivals. In the classic style of Yes Minister, Home told his colleagues he was not a candidate (though in Home’s case he probably meant it). Meanwhile, his rivals reminded their colleagues of the baggage they carried.

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The star turn was Lord Hailsham, whom Macmillan had identified as his chosen heir. However, in the weeks either side of Macmillan’s decision to resign, Hailsham was interviewed on television, paraded his wife and baby daughter and showed his brilliance in a speech to conference (when he announced his intention to renounce his peerage, it was received with wild excitement). Envy is not attractive, but it was a powerful political force in 1963, and some of his colleagues clearly resented him. To add to that, the Americans then made their distaste for Hailsham clear. Macmillan, secretly, withdrew his support.

,One cannot help but feel that the reason Macmillan adopted Hailsham, and felt able to go in 1963, was that Hailsham would stop Butler. Rab Butler was one of the great statesmen of the age. However, Macmillan and Butler had been rivals since the days of Eden. Home’s entry into the race was clearly a move by many of his colleagues to stop Butler.

Home was helped by a successful conference speech, but his cause was decided by the backing of Macmillan and most of his cabinet: when somewhat dodgy informal soundings were taken, only three cabinet members favoured Butler. The issue then was could Butler be persuaded to serve? Butler’s own sense of duty, Home’s charm and an offer of the foreign office did the trick. In winning the top prize, Home gave credence to Macmillan’s famous description of him to the queen: ‘steel painted as wood’.

Home thus became the last Conservative leader to emerge via the magic circle. It was Home that set in place the election of his successor by a secret ballot of MPs that voted for Heath. It also allowed for the possibility of annual elections and a leadership challenge: thus, inadvertently Home had a role in the fall of Margaret Thatcher 27 years later. He was also one of only three 20th century politicians to go direct from the Foreign Office to Number 10 (two other prime ministers who didn’t last too long, Eden and Callaghan, were the others)

Home had an uphill task, however. There would have to be an election the following year, and Labour held a double-digit lead in the polls. At their lowest, the Conservatives were polling in the low thirties. The Conservatives had been in power since 1951, and the later Macmillan years had seen the government’s problems pile up. It was beset by scandal, most famously the Profumo Affair. The economic problems that Macmillan’s governments and only intermittently (and mostly unsuccessfully) grappled with had seen rising unemployment and balance of payments problems. Macmillan’s flagship policy collapsed when de Gaulle said ‘non’ to British entry into the EEC.

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Home also faced a new opposition leader. Peter Hennessy sees Harold Wilson as the most effective opposition leader of modern times: sparkling, witty and incisive in the Commons; good on TV, with a modernising, upbeat message and a carefully projected man of the people image. In contrast, Home the laird could hardly claim to be a break from the patrician Conservatism of Macmillan, salmon fishing and the grouse moor. Furthermore, whilst Wilson dominated the airwaves, Home was anything but a natural on television. Famously, he once asked a make lady if she could make him look Berger on television. She replied with a curt no, adding by way of explanation that he had a head like a skull. Home thought that surely everyone’s head looked like a skull. The reply was a blunt no. His wife reckoned that his trademark horn-rimmed glasses cost him the electron. As the satirical TV show That Was the Week That Was had it, it was Dull Alec vs Smart Alec.

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He also looks like Chalky, the teacher from the Bash Street Kids, as much beloved in the Beano. Perhaps he sometimes felt like him too.

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Home may have been a toff, but he proved surprisingly effective when it came to restoring the Tories’ electoral position. The quite patently decent and honourable Home defused the sleaze issue. Furthermore, Reginald Maudling’s reckless ‘dash for growth’ looked as if it might to do for Home what Butler and Heathcoat-Amory had done for Eden and Macmillan (that is, stoked a pre-election boom, even if it damaged the economy afterwards: in Maudling’s case bequeathing Jim Callaghan a balance of payments deficit of £880m). But, it paid electoral dividends and when combined with his calm, patrician manner, it helped engender a process common in political history, the erosion of an opposition lead (and a Labour lead) as polling day approached. By polling day, a Labour score that had been as high as 50% in the polls was reduced to a vote of 44%, hardly more than in 1959.

The Conservative score had been as low as 34% in the dog days of Macmillan, and Hume managed to poll 43%. What he failed to do was to kill off a Liberal revival. After their sensational win at Orpington in 1962, the Liberal poll rating, which had been as high as 22%, had slipped back to single figures in 1964. In the end, though, an 11% vote was enough to give Labour victory (as is explained in an article on the 1964 election, here).

For Home, it was too little, too late. He had, however, turned a potential disaster into a narrow defeat. He would go on to be Foreign Secretary under Edward Heath, making one of two former 20th century Prime Ministers to subsequently occupy the Foreign Office (the other was Balfour); he was, thus, Foreign Secretary when Macmillan failed to get Britain into the EEC, and when Heath succeeded.  It also made him one of only three men to hold the office twice (one of those, Eden, held it three times).

Two anecdotes will do to finish. Years later, Home told Hailsham a hitherto unreported story from 1964. Home was staying in Aberdeen when he was followed to a friend’s house where he was staying. Lack of space meant that his security man was stationed next door. A group of students had followed him and knocked at the door. Home himself answered, and was told that the students were going to kidnap him. Home’s reply was to suppose that if they did, it would probably guarantee him a majority of two to three hundred. He then asked for a few minutes to pack, offered them beer and that was the end of the business. And Home told no one, because had the story got out his bodyguard would have been sacked.

The other story goes that once, on a train to Berwick, an elderly lady approached him to say that both she and her husband were great admirers, and that they thought he would have made a very good prime minister. He, with typical wit and good grace, replied that he had been once, but only for a very short time.

Here’s Home interviewed after the 1964 election.

 

 

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1859 and All That: the Conservatives, that Poll, and Wales

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I thought a few reflections on that opinion poll giving the Conservatives a healthy 10-point lead in Wales might be worthy of a little historical context. And the essence of that context is that a Conservative win in Wales would be unprecedented.
Were there to be a Conservative victory on June 8th, even if the Conservatives were to win narrowly, it would be fair to say it would be the greatest political upheaval since Labour became the largest single party in Wales in 1922.

One might go even further. The 1922 election saw Labour supplant the Liberals in a raft of seats across the country, as that election amounts to one of the key staging posts in the death of the old Liberal party. Between the coming of the household suffrage that gave the votes to around 60% of adult males and the Great War, the Liberals won every election in Wales, with the lion’s share of the popular vote and a majority of seats. At their high point, just as Tony Blair’s 1997 landslide left the Tories without a seat in Wales, so did the Liberal landslide of 1906. The Tories had last won in Wales in 1859 (and that was hardly the era of mass politics: only 2,767 votes were cast for the Conservatives across the whole of Wales to 1,585 Liberal).

Thus, since the advent of modern party politics, the Tories have never won in Wales. 19th century Conservatives were strongly identified in Wales with the upper and middle classes, as well as being seen as the English party (they were strongest in predominantly English-speaking areas), and identified with the Anglican Church. The Liberals became, for many, the authentic voice of Welsh nonconformity and the Welsh language, even of a Welsh identity in itself. In that context, popular Toryism never gained the traction it did in England and Scotland (nor did opposition to Irish Home Rule). Thus, compared to the rest of Britain, politics in Wales was heavily and consistently slanted against the Conservatives. Indeed, after the Tories won 10 seats in 1868 and 14 in 1874, they never broke the 10 barrier again when facing a dominant Liberal party. In short, a Conservative win in Wales would be something very new.

The demise of a great party in Wales would not be. If the recent collapse of Labour in Scotland should offer Labour one warning, so should the history of Labour and the Liberals in Wales.

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The death of Liberalism in Wales was hardly instant. Nor should this surprise us, the Liberals had deep roots in Welsh life. The non-conformism that remained strong gave Welsh Liberalism the fire in its political belly, and a language of politics: think of Lloyd George (a lay preacher himself, preaching in Welsh). As in the rest of Great Britain, Labour became a national party just as Liberalism was in crisis. In 1922, Labour gained the most seats in part thanks to a bitterly divided Liberalism, and thanks to the vagaries of the British electoral system: if we combined the votes for the ‘Squiffite and Lloyd George Liberals, something around 35% of Welsh voters were Liberal (the figure a hastily reunited party secured in 1923). In the Liberal calamity of 1924, when they were reduced to 18% of the UK popular votes and 40 seats, 10 of those seats were Welsh and they still polled 31% of the Welsh popular vote. Welsh Liberalism was die a lingering death: in 1945, 6 of the 12 Liberal MPs in the commons sat in Welsh seats.
And, its new leader in 1945 was the Member for Montgomeryshire, Clement Davies. From 1949, his deputy was none other than Megan Lloyd George.

Megan Lloyd George’s story is instructive. Throughout the ‘thirties she had moved to the left; her party did not. She was well known to be on good terms with Attlee, a rumours of her defection to Labour were commonplace in the ‘forties. In 1951, she lost her Anglesey seat to Labour, and defected the following year, going on to become the Labour MP for Carmarthen. Labour was the only place to go for a figure on the centre-left.

The explanation for that takes us back to the fact that position Labour won in 1922 proved impregnable. In that election, Labour won 40% of the Welsh vote, and 18 seats (the support of the Miners’ Federation was hardly insignificant). Even at their lowest points, in 1924 and 1931, they held onto 16 and 20 seats (with Independent Labour included). In 1945, Labour won 25 of Wales’ 35 seats; in 1966, they won 32 of 36. That dominance looked threatened by nationalism in the ‘sixties and ‘seventies: Plaid Cymru eroded some of Labour’s vote, but never get beyond the odd by election victory, the odd seat or two, and roughly 10% . Even though Thatcher saw the Conservatives secure the most seats since their Victorian heyday, winning 11 and 14 seats in 1979 and 1983 respectively, Labour recovered and, famously, as noted above, in Blair’s 1997 landslide the Tories won no seats at all.

Nor has Labour’s decline from that heady peak been either sudden or apparently terminal. When Brown lost in 2010, Labour’s position had slipped, but they still polled 36% and won 26 seats. In 2015, their popular vote held up. Both 2010 and 2015 saw Conservative gains: in 2015 they polled 27% and had 11 seats, but were still well adrift of Labour. There was talk of the UKIP threat to Labour, but they polled 13.6% in 2015.

It may, of course, be just one poll. But the fact that observers are seriously considering the possibility of a Tory win in Wales must send a shudder down the spine of Welsh Labour. It might seem there are three outliers that might be changing things this time round: a collapse in the UKIP vote, Brexit in a Wales that voted Leave, and Jeremy Corbyn. Might they do to Labour what war, the Lloyd George-Asquith split and the Miners’ Federation did to their Liberal forbears in 1922? And might a seismic change be coming to Welsh politics just as it has to Scotland’s? Forward, perhaps, to 1859!

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Snap Elections We Have Known: 1923, 1931, 1951, 1966 and 1974 (October)… Oh yes, and 2017

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I don’t suppose I’m alone in believing that Theresa May’s stated reasons for calling a snap election were both paper thin and transparently disingenuous. That is not necessarily intended as a condemnation. This is politics after all, and May has proved pretty effective at the dark arts.

Immediately after yesterday’s announcement of a 2017 general election (the joys, the joys), an old student mine (take a bow Jacob Baxter) immediately tipped a hat to 1923. And that got me thinking, what about snap general elections we have known?

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And there we begin. All the elections outlined above were called at a moment of the then prime minister’s choosing, more or less. True, in 1931, it was really Baldwin rather than MacDonald who sought the ‘doctor’s mandate’, but MacDonald obeyed His Master’s Voice and went to the country. Attlee’s (mistaken) choice of October 1951 was constrained by George VI’s imminent departure on a royal tour, but it was his call. If we were to count the first 1974 election (and I’m not really inclined to, that was a gamble taken, again mistakenly by a much buffeted figure). In short, each of the were all the PM’s call, just as this one in May’s call.

In all but one case, they all have something else in common. May has gone to the country for one reason above all others: she believes that her wafer thin majority will be transformed into a comfortable majority (and quite possibly a landslide). Here, the election she might have in mind is 1966. After 13 years in opposition, Harold Wilson had got Labour across the line with a majority of just four. The 44% of the popular vote Labour won in 1964 was pretty much the same as they had won in 1959, which had seen Macmillan’s Tories win a 100 seat majority. Wilson won in 1964 primarily thanks to a Liberal resurgence and a commensurate fall in the Conservative vote. No less important was the fact that Labour won 20 seats thanks to a Liberal standing in 1964 where none had stood in 1959 (a full analysis can be read here).

A majority of four was not viable, and in March 1966 Wilson took the plunge. A small fall in the Liberal vote and a slightly larger fall in the Tory vote allowed the British electoral system to do its work and gave Wilson a majority of 96.

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Wilson tried the same trick in October 1974. The February election (read about it here) had been, in effect, a score draw and Labour got the toss of the electoral system coin and were four seats ahead of the Conservatives, but short of an overall majority. Thus it was Wilson went in the October, hoping to turn that into an overall majority. He succeeded, but it was a pyrrhic victory, giving Labour a majority of just three with some extremely choppy waters ahead.

At least Wilson won. In 1950, Attlee’s Labour had seen their 1945 landslide wiped out, and (despite polling more votes than in 1945) won a majority of just five seats. Seeing this as unworkable, Attlee went to the country again in October 1951, hoping to increase that majority. 1951 is one of those textbook first-past-the –post elections (you can read about the elections of 1950 and 1951 here, and here). Attlee succeeded in one sense: Labour won 48.8% of the popular vote (the highest share in its history). However, a resurgent Conservative party won 48% (up by 5.6%), in large part thanks to a collapse in the liberal vote. That Liberal collapse, and their failure to field candidates in a number of Labour-Conservative marginals, gave Churchill his victory. Attlee had gambled, and lost.

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In 1923, Baldwin gambled. And Baldwin lost. He had not gone to the country for need of a more comfortable majority, as he already had a very comfortable one. Losing 86 seats, he then lost office.

Baldwin lost two elections. However, he is unique in modern British political history, winning three landslides. And the mother of all landslides was the snap election of 1931. As I always tell my students, the 1931 election is unique in all sorts of ways. Whatever else we might say about it (and I will shortly), there was no little party politics and calculation about Baldwin’s decision to force an election on MacDonald in 1931. It would, he knew, deliver a de facto Conservative landslide.

At least there was a genuine national emergency of sorts in 1931. The Great Depression was bad enough, but a lethal combination of the end of the Gold Standard and an unbalanced budget requiring sharp cuts in spending at least gave MacDonald a pretty convincing excuse for it. In truth (with the possible exception of February 1974, and I’m not counting that), there was no compelling national emergency requiring electoral endorsement at any other time.

Jacob Baxter’s point was that 1923 was, in effect, a single-issue election, just as some are coming to see 2017. Baldwin’s reasons for calling that election remain elusive (I will advance, even if not necessarily believing them, a few other explanations below). There is, I think, quite a lot to say for taking him at face value. Baldwin called an election in 1923 over the issue of tariffs. Ever since Joseph Chamberlain had first put the idea forward 20 years before, tariff reform had split the Conservatives down the middle. When the ‘peasant’s revolt’ at the Carlton Club ended the Lloyd George coalition and defenestrated Austen Chamberlain, Andrew Bonar Law had made a spectacular political comeback. He capped that with a comfortable victory in the subsequent general election. In that campaign, the characteristically cautious Bonar Law had tried to take the steam out of the tariff issue, which had hurt the Conservatives electorally so badly in 1906, but again in the two elections of 1910: all three of which they had lost. In short, he promised that there would be no move by a Conservative government towards the systematic implementation of tariffs without recourse to the electorate. Baldwin believed in tariffs. Thus Baldwin went to the country.

He lost. One reading of Baldwin’s 1923 decision was an over-confidence borne of the state of the opposition. First and foremost, the Liberals were bitterly divided between the Lloyd George Liberals and the ‘Squiffites (ironically, the 1923 election saw them reunite after a fashion). Then, the new Labour party further divided that opposition. Thus it was, in 1922, that the Conservatives had a comfortable majority of 72 whilst only commanding 38.5% of the vote (they only fielded 482 candidates).

Baldwin’s gamble failed, primarily because the Liberals, who hastily reunited around the classic Liberal issue of free trade, polled just under 30% and won 158 seats. Labour polled just over 30%, and won 191 seats. The opposition were in far better fettle than Baldwin envisaged.

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Baldwin’s next snap election had a very different outcome. This time, the opposition parties were in anything but fine fettle. The Liberals were in something very like their death throes. The general election of 1924 had reduced them to 40 seats. A Liberal recovery of sorts, allied to Labour winning 37% of the popular vote in 1929 had been enough to see the Conservatives lose 152 seats and leave Labour as the largest party and into (minority) government. However, by 1931, that Labour government had collapsed and Ramsay MacDonald and a few followers had formed a National Government with the Conservatives and a Liberal part now divided into the Samuelites and the Simonites. Bar Lloyd George’s family, Labour was the only opposition to the National juggernaut. And it was an opposition shorn of its credibility in the crisis that had engulfed it. As a parliamentary force, Labour was all but obliterated, reduced to 52 seats.

That had been Baldwin’s intention. The Conservatives, dressed up in National clothing, were set to be in power in what must have looked like perpetuity. In 1935, Labour almost equaled the 8 million votes they won in 1929, but this time in only winning 154 seats. Had there been a 1939 or 1940 election, the government would surely have won comfortably again.

In the era bookended by Attlee and Blair’s landslides, the Conservatives were in power more often than not. In that era, Labour won five elections: 1950, 1964, 1966 and two in 1974. Only one of those gave Labour anything like a workable majority. The elections of 1951, 1966 and October 1974 were all aimed at winning a workable majority. However, in 1951 and 1974, this can hardly be seen as cynical opportunism. Rather, both look rather like a somewhat desperate roll of the dice. In 1951 the Conservatives were in pretty good nick; in 1974, neither Labour nor the Tories were strong.

Wilson pulled it off in 1966, and that election was undoubtedly a classic moment of Wilsonian opportunism (and Harold Wilson was very good at opportunism). It was, however, taking advantage of a wrong footed rather than failing opposition. It was a majority of 96, but one actually won by narrow margins, as 1970 would show.

There is another context to some of these elections that might seem similar to the position faced by Theresa May. 1966 is a classic example. Coming into government in 1964, Wilson faced a looming economic crisis. A combination of a long-term underperforming economy and an overvalued pound had been made far worse by Reginald Maudling’s cynical ‘dash for growth’. With a sterling crisis looming, Wilson went for it.

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Similarly, one might feel that the October 1974 election was similar pre-emptive strike.

In both cases Wilson faced another problem: opposition within his own party, and even cabinet. Wilson’s governments were famously fractious. That made leading his first government hard enough. By 1974, however, Labour’s divisions, especially over Europe and between right and left, threatened to split the party (as it would in 1981). A working majority might have made Wilson’s task a little easier (though his 1966-70 government was hardly a paragon of unity; neither was Attlee’s second government, while we’re at it).

Even his most bitter opponent (by whom I mean Churchill) had to admit that Baldwin was a political operator par excellence (a means by which Churchill’s history writing would condemn him). One explanation for Baldwin’s decision in 1923 is that it was to forestall an attempt to rebuild a coalition with Lloyd George (who was rumoured to be toying with tariffs to that very purpose). What is certainly true is that Baldwin did not have the unalloyed support of the party’s grandees, most of who had been coalitionists and had not served under Bonar Law (hence the government’s nickname of the 2nd XI). One interpretation of 1923 sees Baldwin going for tariff reform as means of securing his control over his party.

If that was his intention, losing office hardly strengthened his position. However, after his defeat in 1929 he certainly was vulnerable. The attack came form within the broad Conservative tent over India and, once again tariffs. It was second issue that saw the immediate threat to Baldwin’s position. Baldwin had never had much time for his own Conservative press barons: in particular, for the owners the Mail and the Express. And Hell, or rather Conservative politics, had no fury like press barons scorned. In the end, Baldwin saw off the threat from their Empire Crusade, and with it that of his own right.

In that he was surely helped by the obvious failing’s of MacDonald’s Labour government. In forming a National Government, and then by winning in 1931, Baldwin had plenty of Conservatives who owed their seats and the prospect of keeping them to their leader. That majority also enabled Baldwin to isolate his own enemies within. Thus the likes of Churchill were confined to ranting on about India, Edward VIII and appeasement; the wilder shores of the right could play with Mosley or become fellow travellers of Hitler and Mussolini. Baldwin had routed them.

And, lastly, those snap elections sometimes had outcomes that were perhaps unexpected. Labour’s win in 1974 hardly had a happy outcome for them and, arguably, enabled the coming of Thatcherism. 1951 ushered in 13 years of Conservative rule. The immediate outcome of the 1923 election was the first Labour government. I suspect many Tories expected the 1931 landslide to give them a more robustly right-wing government; they got something very different.

I suspect that many Conservatives are now dreaming of a 1931-lite, and they may well get one in the form of a thumping majority offering them the opportunity to secure another long run in government, like those of the Thatcher, Macmillan and Baldwin eras. It would also give May the equivalent of MacDonald’s ‘doctor’s mandate’ (a Brexiteer’s mandate, we might call it); it would certainly give the decision to leave the European Union true democratic legitimacy having now been agreed by both parliament and by its inclusion in a general election manifesto. The issue is then how would she use it? She might use it to secure the so-called Hard Brexit some seem to so desire.

It is pretty early to judge May as a prime minister, or to make certain comparisons with Tory leaders before her (though I’m putting a few bob on some comparisons with Ted Heath, but a Ted Heath with no opposition of any worth). But, if in nothing else, she already resembles Baldwin in one way: her ability to best her enemy within and use those oh so sharp elbows (just ask the likes of Cameron, Osborne and Gove; there are, I’m sure, more to come). It is perhaps possible that she might resemble Baldwin in another sense and use the dominance a big win would secure to enable her to do what an orderly and negotiated Brexit might require, even the dreaded transitional arrangements and compromise?

Who knows? But what snap elections of yore show us is that they don’t always work, and when they do they sometimes have unexpected outcomes.

 

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