The joy of losing to Harold Wilson

Fifty years ago, the Prime Minister Harold Wilson called a general election, on 18th June 1970. Labour had a 12 per cent lead in the opinion polls – but Edward Heath’s Conservatives won, with a swing of 4.7 per cent. For me, as a losing Tory candidate, it was still a great night to remember – especially as my opponent was Harold Wilson, in the Huyton constituency on Merseyside.

The sun was shining on election day – the day my wife was due to have our first child. His arrival was late – so my wife joined me in a local pub when the first results started coming through, showing a swing to the Conservatives. We went on to the count in the local Territorial Army hall in a joyous mood. By then, millions were watching our proceedings on TV, to see their first view of Harold Wilson walk into the hall like a presidential candidate, soon to be stripped of his robes.

Wilson walked in slowly, looking red-eyed and dazed. I went over and, without conversation, we shook hands. Mrs Wilson kindly asked after my wife. As soon as the results were announced, I again shook Wilson by the hand and congratulated him on his victory. It appeared I had received 24,509 votes to Wilson’s 45,583 votes.

The returning officer said there was a small discrepancy in the recording of the votes. I accepted this, seeing no need for a recount, and Wilson gave a nod, looking shattered. The returning officer announced my poll – greeted by a huge roar from my supporters – and then the other results, when Wilson got cheers (and one or two boos).

Wilson made a low-key acceptance speech, saying his first majority had been only 800 and noting that he had increased his majority again. I gave my thanks.

Wilson graciously told me I had done well and the Tory Party should now find me a safe seat. We were asked to go outside and repeat our vote of thanks; we were again cheered and booed. Wilson told everyone to be quiet when I was speaking. He said he hoped no one would now throw an egg at him and what a clean fight it had been.

I had never thought that as a defeated candidate I could feel so elated. It was the end of my political career, but what a happy way to end it: I went back home to help my wife with the imminent birth of an 11-pound son.

By John Entwistle, Grangeover-sands, Cumbria, who receives £50

Readers are invited to send in their own 400-word submissions about the past