Bribery? Count me in, minister!
Oh the joy of being an MP when leadership rivals race to offer you plum jobs for your vote, reveals a Tory veteran in this wickedly funny account
ANyONE phoning me at the end of 1990 would have heard the following: ‘ If you’re one of the candidates for PM, I would like to be Governor of the Cayman Islands, but if you have a better offer, please leave it after the tone . . .
This was the answerphone message I recorded after Margaret Thatcher’s defeat in the first leadership ballot, following her resignation that November.
Having been a trouble-making, but devoted, Thatcherite since my election to Parliament in 1979, I was now going to have one of only 372 votes in the subsequent ballot to decide who would succeed her.
Little nonentity backbench Brown had it in the power of his stubby pencil to choose the next Prime Minister — and I milked it for all it was worth.
I had no particular preference between Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd, Michael Heseltine or John Major. I was up for grabs and, boy, did I savour every moment of those frenetic days. After demanding that Hurd came to my broom-cupboard office, I relented and went to his tennis courtsized room at the Foreign Office.
‘Who’d have thought a secondary modern-educated, 11-plus-failed oik like me would be interviewing you, the Foreign Secretary, for the job of Prime Minister,’ I told the stunned grandee with a winning smile. He went very pink and looked horribly embarrassed.
Soon after, I received a call at home from Heseltine. Unfortunately, I was in the bath when the phone rang, so when I answered, I said rather boldly: ‘Michael, I’m going to have to call you back. I’m in the bath.’
In the coming days, scores of today’s Tory MPs will get the same sudden attention from the five candidates who’ve put themselves forward to replace David Cameron.
What’s particularly entertaining is that lots of ambitious Conservatives had already come out for the early Boris Johnson campaign. Now, they’ve got egg on their faces.
The justice minister Dominic Raab came out for Boris in an article in the Sun — 24 hours before Boris quit. Raab’s already thrown his support behind Gove instead.
Another junior minister, Nicholas Boles, had been first out of the traps at the weekend in declaring for Boris. But once Johnson had been knifed, Boles was also first to clamber on the Michael ‘I don’t want to be Prime Minister’ Gove bandwagon.
‘Typical careerist,’ snorted one backbench cynic about this change of horses. In fairness, Boles was chief of staff when Boris became Mayor of London, and has always been close to Gove. Now he is the chief conductor of the Gove machine, but even if Gove loses, Boles may still be rewarded with promotion.
There will be other MPs who are already acknowledged worker bees or even campaign bigwigs for their candidate — and if their man or woman wins may soon be in Cabinet at the Department of Whatever.
Others further down the parliamentary food chain will only select their candidate if he or she is their best hope of a junior post at the Ministry of Paperclips.
But for the poor bloody infantry — the passed over, the disaffected, and even the highly-principled genuine ‘don’t knows’ — the coming days will provide moments to savour for the rest of their parliamentary careers.
Lunches, summer receptions and champagne soirées in posh houses owned by millionaire MPs such as Adam Afriyie will oil the wheels as the plotters for each campaign team charm the mad, bad and sad.
When I was an MP, I had to wait 11 years until the 1990 leadership election before I was told I was a ‘much-valued colleague’ whose views and opinions one candidate or another had always respected and admired . . . blah blah.
But for many of today’s young MPs who only got elected 13 months ago, political Christmas has come early. They will suddenly find themselves flavour of the month, not only with the campaign teams, but with lobby journalists armed with expense accounts who are desperate for scraps of information. The MPs with the real power are those who keep everyone guessing. They will get the most attention.
One as-yet-undeclared Tory of my acquaintance recently went to be schmoozed by Boris at his Islington home with a posh curry.
He told me the evening was ‘fun and gregarious, with plenty of booze’. He also now has a dinner booked with one of the candidates who is still standing, Liam Fox — and now presumably a kitchen supper at the hands of Mrs Gove also awaits his palette.
The real nightmare for campaign number-crunchers are those backbenchers who simply refuse to declare their allegiance until it’s all over. ‘After much soul-searching I voted for you in the end,’ they will tell the winner.
But such smarming never works, because afterwards rival campaign teams get together to suss out who the lying toads are.
Those considering not telling who they are voting for should take their decision to the grave. The great joy is that the whips have no control over this circus. Treachery, back-stabbing, anarchy and mayhem are the watch-words. Bitterness will poison the well of former friendships for ever.
William Shakespeare could not write this play — he’d think the plot too extreme!
There is only ever one certainty in Tory leadership contests: the early favourite never wins — just look at Mr Johnson.
Political murders and ‘stop’ campaigns are carried out by best mates — not whips. Threats — the whips’ normal currency — do not work, because MPs know the party hierarchy may be about to change. Just as the public did not respond to threats in the referendum, you can bet Big Ben on threats having no place in this bear pit.
‘Stop’ campaigns can, however, go deliciously wrong. During the 2001 leadership election, Michael Portillo suffered this fate. In their attempt to prevent him still being a candidate when the vote was put before the party grass roots — who would have backed him against Ken Clarke — the parliamentary party ended up, by accident, with Iain Duncan Smith.
Who knows, this time around we might yet end up, accidentally, with the inexperienced pretty face with the beard (Stephen Crabb), and his sidekick — the ugly bald one (Sajid Javid).
We will see bizarre decisions. Hapless Nicky Morgan, the Education Secretary, has persistently called for a woman leader.
Thankfully, she has not stood herself. But now that she can choose from Theresa May or Andrea Leadsom, she’s voting for Gove. Watch the cat- fight over her Cabinet future if Theresa wins.
The magisterial Old Etonian, Sir Nicholas Soames, meanwhile, called Boris ‘an ocean-going clot’, but came out quickly for . . . Boris, a fellow Old Etonian.
Where does Soames’ vote go now? Gove, May and the Bearded One are all stressing their humble roots. Sir Nicholas generally votes for good lunches and grandeur, not for humility.
Very often, loyalties will be swayed by previous acts of kindness, and favours done for backbenchers by leadership candidates.
In my case, what stuck in my mind was Michael Heseltine’s visit to my constituency association annual dinner (after which he stayed overnight at my home near Scunthorpe) when he was Secretary of State for Defence in 1985.
He stayed at my house with all his security bells and whistles. I loved the whole fandango, and I made sure his favourite tipple, pink champagne, was on offer.
He asked my gardener to show him my trees and, shortly afterwards, he sent me a small sapling from his arboretum. He also came to speak for me at the subsequent
New MPs will think Christmas has come early My vote went to Heseltine — he’d given me a tree
1987 general election. That was why, a day before the final ballot in 1990, while Mrs Thatcher was still in No 10, I announced — publicly — that I was supporting Hezza.
Two hours later, with other Thatcherites, I went to the final lunch Maggie ever gave at No 10. It was a tearful affair, not helped by the fact that she went off the deep end with rage at what I was about to do in supporting her bitter rival. She wanted John Major.
When, years later, she railed at the shambles of the Major government, I had great pleasure in telling her I had ignored her advice.
As for what will happen between now and September, there will be a few twists and turns.
I just hope that it doesn’t ultimately turn on some ridiculous trifle — such as a cat-loving MP like me or Ann Widdecombe only voting for a candidate who promises to keep Larry the No 10 cat in permanent residence. PS: 31 years on, the tree Heseltine sent me is now more than 30ft tall.
Michael Brown was MP for Brigg and Scunthorpe and Brigg and cleethorpes from 1979 to 1997.