Edward Heath. Philip Ziegler

Two Nations’, and ever since then liberal Conservatives had from time to time claimed that it was their role to fuse the two nations into one. Heath did as much as anyone to revitalise the concept. When a group of left-wing Tory members with whom he was associated were preparing a pamphlet summarising their beliefs, there was much debate about what to call it. All were agreed that ‘A Tory Approach to Social Problems’ summarised the contents of the paper but, as a title, lacked punch. Some advocated ‘The Strongest and the Weak’, but, Heath recorded, ‘the irreverent feared that this might deteriorate into “Mild and Bitter”’. I do believe, he went on, ‘that what I might call the “One Nation” approach is the only right approach to social and economic problems in this country today’.¹¹ ‘One Nation’ was the title adopted, and the ‘One Nation Group’ was the banner under which assembled a band of young or youngish Tory members, who were disturbed by the reactionary policies of some of their leaders and were resolved to push the party into the modern age. Heath claimed in his memoirs that the group had its genesis in a late-night talk between him, Angus Maude and Gilbert Longden after Duncan Sandys had made a particularly disastrous contribution to a debate on housing. Certainly he was recruited at an early stage but Maude, Longden and Cuthbert ‘Cub’ Alport seem to have been the originators of the movement. Robert Carr, Richard Fort, Enoch Powell, John Rodgers and Heath himself were soon added; Iain Macleod, according to Heath, was something of an afterthought: ‘We were suspicious that he might remain under the influence of the party machine, with which he was closely involved, as part of the Conservative Research Department.’¹²

      In fact Macleod played a highly important part in the group’s deliberations and, though there was never anyone who could formally have been described as the leader, was both the most conspicuous and the most creative among its members. So much so that one member suggested that they should be called not the One Nation but the ‘One Notion’ Group, the notion being that Macleod should be drawn as vigorously as possible to the attention of the leaders of the party. They met, at first, at dinner in the guests’ dining room in the House of Commons; then, when they had begun work on their policy papers, assembled two afternoons a week to discuss progress and inspect each other’s contributions. Heath was charged with producing a paper on the financing and future of the social services, a subject which was bound to create dissent within the party when it returned to power. According to John Rodgers he was not considered one of the more significant contributors or potentially an important innovator: ‘I believe that Enoch thought Ted wasn’t an intellectual at all – he tended to brush him aside. It was true that Ted over-simplified, he didn’t see the light and shade of an argument.’ He would listen to the pontifications of Macleod, Maude or Powell and then surface with some such question as: ‘Well, what are we going to do about it?’ ‘However,’ Rogers added, ‘I can’t recall that he ever told us what we could do.’¹³

      When One Nation was finally published in October 1950 it met with guarded approval from the party leaders. ‘A healthy piece of constructive work,’ R. A. Butler described it, praising the fact that it advocated not laissez-faire but ‘private enterprise in the public interest’. Maude and Powell did most of the work in preparing the pamphlet, though Iain Macleod, co-editor with Maude, got most of the credit.¹⁴ Heath definitely gained in reputation by his association with what was seen as an influential and distinguished group but he did not form any particularly close ties among its members. He was, indeed, generally taken to be something of a loner. After the easy camaraderie of Oxford and the army, with ready-made friends formed almost automatically by the way of life pursued in the two institutions, he found the shifting world of the House of Commons difficult to encompass and a bit alarming. He was quite clear about himself, his abilities, his position in the hierarchy, but found it hard to fit into any coherent, still less cosy pattern. ‘One should never under-estimate the loneliness of a political career,’ says John Selwyn Gummer.¹⁵ Heath was never ‘part of a gang’; it was not in his nature to be so: and a member who is not part of a gang in the House of Commons is confronted by a host of acquaintances and a paucity of friends. It is doubtful whether, in the House of Commons in 1950 and 1951, Heath could have named a single member whom he could properly have described as a close, still less an intimate, friend.

      In January 1951 Iain Macleod wrote to the members of the One Nation Group to report that he had been approached by a Labour backbencher, Reginald Paget (celebrated as being the only Labour MP to have been master of the Pytchley Hunt), to discuss the possibility of a coalition. The suggestion was that Labour should retain the social services and economic ministries, while the Conservatives should take over foreign affairs and defence. ‘It might be an idea if we could know each other’s minds on this subject before the House meets,’ suggested Macleod. ‘It may be, of course, that we cannot reach agreement, but this, above anything else, is precisely the sort of subject on which the voice of a group is of importance, when the individual opinions count for little or nothing.’ There is no reason to think the matter was taken any further. Paget was a lone voice in the Labour Party and he would have commanded little support for his initiative. The enterprise was clearly a hopeless one. If it had become a serious possibility, however, Heath might have been more interested than certain other members of the One Nation Group, Enoch Powell in particular. Heath never felt that the ideological divide between leftwing Tories and right-wing Socialists was insuperably wide and might well have been in favour of at least exploring the possibility of a regrouping which would link the moderates on both sides. The concept would certainly have provoked some lively discussion within the group and might well have put some strains upon its unity. Macleod saw another reason why it might have been difficult for the group to present a united front. ‘It might be again’, he suggested, ‘that the position would be complicated by one of us being offered an important position such as PPS to the Assistant Postmaster General.’¹⁶ Since there was to be no coalition, no such alluring invitation was issued, but within a few weeks of Macleod’s letter Heath received an offer which had similar results. He was invited to become one of the Tory Whips.

      He was uncertain whether he should accept. To become even the most junior of the Whips would be to rise above the ruck of back-bench MPs; he would be the first of his generation to do so and thus would have stolen a march on the others. So far, so good, but by many members the Whips’ Office was seen as something of a dead end. Promotion might be gained within it, but it was not often that a former Whip became a senior minister. ‘It had traditionally been the place for the less bright and imaginative of men,’ wrote the political historian Anthony Seldon. The vacancy which Heath was asked to fill had been caused by the resignation of Sir Walter Bromley-Davenport, a hearty squire from Knutsford who was to become a member of the British Boxing Board of Control. On one unfortunate occasion, Sir Walter had been tempted to exercise his pugilistic skills in the House of Commons. Observing a man whom he thought to be one of his flock sneaking out of the House when he should have been waiting to vote, Bromley-Davenport kicked him heartily, bringing him to the ground. Legend has it that the target of his kick was not a Conservative MP but the Belgian Ambassador; in any case the victim, not unreasonably, took exception to this maltreatment. Bromley-Davenport, it was felt, had gone too far and must be replaced.¹⁷ To be appointed successor to such a boor hardly seemed appealing to Heath. The Chief Whip, Patrick Buchan-Hepburn, insisted, however, that a change of style was intended. The new junior Whip was to be sensitive, a good listener, ready to argue with recalcitrant members rather than kick them. Heath seemed unconvinced. ‘I don’t think he was very keen to come into the Whips’ Office to start with,’ wrote Buchan-Hepburn in 1968. ‘It curtailed his speaking in the H of C and in the days of the 18 majority there was not much time to speak outside either.’¹⁸ The fact that a Whip was precluded from speaking in the House was, indeed, one of the most unfortunate aspects of Heath’s promotion. His forced silence lasted for eight years; by the time that he resumed normal service in October 1959 he had largely lost the knack of handling the Commons in a difficult debate. At the best of times, he would never have been an Iain Macleod or a Michael Foot, have displayed the quicksilver ingenuity of Harold Wilson or the eloquence of Aneurin Bevan; as it was he had to struggle to be merely competent. Only when he was relieved of the burdens of office – and indeed of loyalty to his party’s leadership – did he develop a style which was truly suited to his personality and the needs of the occasion.

      His life