No histrionics from Theresa — just controlled, civilised outrage
ANEARBY clock tower had just tolled 11am when a plainly affected Theresa May stepped out of No 10 to make a statement about the killings. Normally the mood in Downing Street before a Prime Ministerial appearance crackles with chatter. Yesterday the mood of the Press corps was subdued.
The shiny black door swung open and photographers’ shutters clickclick-clicked. There was no other sound. No helicopter droned overhead, as sometimes happens.
No crowd of protesters jeered slogans at the distant gates. And there were no lensmen’s exhortations of ‘over here, Theresa’, when they try to get her to look their way. Not yesterday. Just silence.
She was in black trouser suit, black, flat shoes, respectful jewellery, tidy hair. The narrow legs of that trouser suit accentuated her slim-shouldered frame, more vulnerable than you might expect. As she came out of the doorway I was struck by how fragile and lonely she looked.
Although on show, she retained a contemplative, sombre air. In some ways it was the expression of a churchgoer returning to her place after communion.
Of course, she is the least lonely person in the country, constantly surrounded by aides and bodyguards and general to-do. Yet terrorism makes an island of the person at the top. She was the one who had to make the decisions and find words to reassure the nation. How to describe the indescribable? There was a pause as she braced herself for the off. Then: ‘I have just chaired a meeting of the Government’s emergency committee where we discussed the details of and the response to the appalling events in Manchester last night.’
And she was launched on a long, powerful statement in which she averred that ‘the spirit of Manchester and the spirit of Britain’ would prevail. It was a spirit that ‘through years of conflict and terrorism has never been broken’ and never would be, she said. Her cadence turning Churchillian, she conceded ‘there will be difficult days ahead’ but the terrorists would not win.
Mancunian and British solidarity would prove insuperable. The one chink in its armour, perhaps, came when she mentioned the children who had died, and the voice momentarily wobbled.
May speeches are not always memorable. She can sometimes sound prosaic, the larynx doing that warbly, headmistressy thing. Not yesterday. She had not had any sleep and her timbre had sunk a note or two. Her weariness, stark lipstick contrasting with her pale skin, lent her grit. Though physically weary, she was tough inside.
Downing Street makes a theatrical setting. The building’s facade is as flat as any stage back-wall and the bluey greyness of the old brickwork was lifted by sunshine.
TWO fine British bobbies stood on duty, out of TV shot but either side of No 10. Suited detectives guarded the Jaguar waiting to whisk her north. A few Foreign Office staff stood behind a large, wrought-iron gate directly opposite Mrs May, watching her, rapt.
One of them was a woman in Muslim head-dress. Attempts
to divide our society would not succeed, said Mrs May.
She cited the ‘countless acts of kindness’ that had been seen in Manchester after the attack. The images we hold in our minds should not be those of the senseless slaughter but of the ordinary men and woman who put concerns about their own safety to one side and rushed to help.’
Donald Trump, in his own, direct and welcome way, may have mocked the terrorists as ‘losers’ but vicar’s daughter Mrs May was finding her own way of asserting our values. There was nothing boastful or histrionic in her remarks. She voiced a controlled, civilised outrage at this assault on Manchester’s defenceless children and their families.
Our Prime Minister – and yes, that is very much what she sounded yesterday – is not a woman given easily to emotion. In the past some have accused her of being robotic. Not yesterday, they wouldn’t have done.
Not yesterday. She was poised, sympathetic, sturdy. She spoke her piece well.