| Telegraph.co.uk | - |
The
last lunch that Margaret Thatcher gave at No 10, in November 1990, was
an inspiring and emotional occasion. Surrounded by her closest friends
and supporters, she told us to vote for John Major to secure her legacy,
and Keith Joseph delivered a speech ...
Telegraph.co.uk
Tuesday 09 April 2013
Margaret Thatcher: She never stopped serving her country
Even detractors came to recognise what she did for us, writes Michael Forsyth.
Baroness Thatcher on the benches of the
House of Lords. Although she rarely spoke in the chamber, she was
adamant that it was her duty to attend — evidence of her dedication to
duty and respect for Parliament Photo: REUTERS
The last lunch that Margaret
Thatcher gave at No 10, in November 1990, was an inspiring and emotional
occasion. Surrounded by her closest friends and supporters, she told us to
vote for John Major to secure her legacy, and Keith Joseph delivered a
speech that left most of us in tears. He described her as a beautiful giant
who had achieved more for Britain than any of us had dared dream was
possible.
Now she was leaving Downing Street and the job she loved with her vision for
Britain incomplete, tormented by anxieties about the damage that European
integration could do to our living standards, our values and our way of
life. She was appalled and dismayed that after winning three general
elections she was being forced out by her own colleagues – “treachery with a
smile on its face”. Every instinct she had was that of a fighter, but her
loyalty to her party, and crucially her reliance on Denis for wise counsel –
“they are not worth it, dear” – had persuaded her to throw in the towel.
She was a colossus on the world stage and providence had given her the reins
at the same time as Ronald Reagan. They adored each other, and had fought
and won the Cold War together.
At the very moment when the fruits of their steadfastness were liberating
millions from the tyranny of Communist dictatorship, she was being driven
from office. It was a bitter pill and it would take a long time for her and
the Conservative Party to come to terms with it. Now she was on her own and
increasingly isolated from the government as Major reacted to newspaper
stories about back seat drivers and felt overshadowed by her. A group of us
who were members of the government tried to satisfy her voracious appetite
for briefings on events and policy by visiting her regularly. It was not
enough.
She was being contacted and asked for advice by leaders from around the world.
She was playing a part in the unfinished business of the Gulf War with
George Bush Snr, the Saudis and the Kuwaitis. Boris Yeltsin was encouraged
to oppose the KGB coup plotters in a typically robust telephone
conversation.
In the Balkans she saw the problem as Serb communist aggression and was not
afraid to speak out, sometimes to the government’s discomfort. She
established a foundation, on condition that it was wound up before her
death, to help people in the former Communist countries, and many in Eastern
Europe have cause to be grateful to her today.
John Major never worked out a way to contain her and relations did get strained, particularly over Europe and as she realised his commitment to Thatcherism was not what she had thought.
He asked me to have a word with her as she was seeing large numbers of Tory backbenchers – at their request, I should add – to discuss the Maastricht treaty.
Many of them left these meetings unsettled or determined to vote against, and the prime minister was becoming increasingly irritated. I obliged, and it proved to be a deservedly unpleasant experience for me.
I rang and asked if I could come and talk to her about the Maastricht treaty. I arrived to find her clutching a heavily annotated copy of the impenetrable document, which Kenneth Clarke had once boasted he had never even read.
“Now Michael,” she said, “which section of the treaty would you like to discuss?” “Well Margaret,” I confessed, “I don’t want to talk about the content of the treaty but I am concerned that you are getting yourself into a position where the government machine will start attacking you, and this will harm you.”
It was a stupid mistake and I should have known better. There followed an almost thermonuclear explosion during which I was asked in forceful terms if I thought she had ever cared about herself rather than her country and, if she had done so, did I really think she would have achieved anything at all. I crawled under the door, thoroughly ashamed of myself.
Twenty years later I found myself thinking of that moment as I listened to Gordon Brown unveiling a portrait of Margaret to hang in No 10. Here was a Labour prime minister thanking her for everything she had done for our country. He pointed out that there were three oils of prime ministers in Downing Street: Walpole, the first to hold the office; Wellington, who had defeated Napoleon; and Churchill, who had saved us and Europe from the Nazis. He thought it entirely appropriate that this portrait would add Margaret to their company.
I was astonished by his generosity but not surprised. The times had changed. I can remember at the height of the poll tax controversy having to choreograph her entry to the directors’ box at a football match to coincide with the teams going on to the pitch to avoid the inevitable booing. In later years a remarkable transformation took place as she turned into an iconic figure who had won admiration and respect from friends and detractors alike. They admired her determined attachment to principle and recognised the service she had done us by sticking to what was right rather than expedient.
One of her oft-repeated quotations was Polonius’s “This above all: to thine own self be true.” In an age of cynicism about the political class she stood for something many people longed for.
In restaurants people would stand up and applaud as she left the room. At Ascot one year I had the greatest difficulty getting her back to the box after the Queen came across to talk to her and the crowd realised she was there. Amid shouts of “Come back, Maggie!” and people jostling to take photographs, we struggled to make progress assisted by her policemen, who were unstinting in their devotion to her. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said as I began to panic. “It’s nice that people are still interested.” The unsung hero of these years was her private secretary, Mark Worthington. He was dedicated to Margaret, running her office with great skill, and was the source of wise advice.
The loyalty of her staff was matched by her own concern for people who do the humdrum jobs in life. The stories are legion of her rescuing waitresses who spilt something accidentally, of insisting on visiting the kitchens to say thank you after dinner, and of unexpected notes to people who had suffered a loss.
In her later years she developed a keen interest in the arts. Once, while I was showing her the Fleming Collection of Scottish pictures en route to a grand dinner, a lift opened and an astonished cleaner found herself face-to-face with Lady Thatcher, who immediately engaged her in conversation. Our timetable was swept aside as she insisted that we must go downstairs to meet the cleaner’s colleagues. She loved people and never forgot the values learnt from her father and her Methodist upbringing.
She did not bear grudges. Geoffrey Howe was invited to her 80th birthday celebration and she in turn attended Geoffrey’s 80th party, at which he delivered a warm tribute to her. Denis’s death in 2003 was a savage blow and was undoubtedly a watershed. Her health was failing and a series of strokes were affecting her short-term memory.
She would have good days when she seemed her old self and bad days when she became confused. On bad days she would often ask the same questions repeatedly. As she continued on a rigorous programme of engagements it was essential that she had people around her whom she could rely on to help. Margaret was always immaculately turned out. Appearances mattered to her enormously and it must have been terrifying for her knowing that she had a problem with her memory and that she might make an embarrassing slip.
She was staying with us at home in Scotland on the 30th anniversary of her election as prime minister, and was attending a dinner in Glasgow for more than 400 people as a surprise guest. In the morning we visited some gardens, as she loved rhododendrons, but in the afternoon she became a bit muddled and I was concerned about the dinner. We had a cup of tea and she spotted a watercolour of an Oxford college. “Is that Oxford?” she asked. “I was at Oxford on the day war was declared.” She then gave me a highly detailed account of that day and the people she had met. In the evening at the dinner she was her old self. Lights, music, and the Lady took to the stage like the professional she was.
I tried repeatedly to persuade her that she did not have to attend the House of Lords as assiduously as she did – she had done her bit. “Nonsense, Michael,” she said. “We accepted appointment to the House of Lords and it is our duty to be there.” She rarely spoke, and sat through some pretty tedious debates, but was always happy to answer the chief whip’s call. It summed her up really: great respect for Parliament and our institutions, a strong sense of duty and a determination to do the right thing.
Some people have told me it was kind of me and others to help and support Margaret as she became more frail. Far from it. We felt privileged to have the chance to offer some gesture of thanks to a great lady who saved our country and to whom we all owe so much.
Lord Forsyth of Drumlean was the MP for Stirling from 1983 to 1997 and secretary of state for Scotland from 1995 to 1997
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