For readers of a certain age, political skulduggery is best summed up by Michael Dobbs’s superlative House of Cards and his iconic chief whip-turned-prime minister, Francis Urquhart. Played with silky-smooth steel by the late Iain Richardson, FU (the initials were not accidental) was the ultimate Westminster operator, a dutiful servant who could switch from vulpine charm to a stiletto between the ribs in an instant.
We are currently in the throes of an election for the leadership of the Conservative Party, and the backbiting has begun. Former chancellor Rishi Sunak has been dubbed a traitor by Boris Johnson loyalists for his shock resignation from the cabinet last week, Penny Mordaunt is taking fire from rivals for inexperience and Liz Truss, the foreign secretary, has been pilloried for getting lost on the way out of her own launch event.
Nevertheless, we have yet to see truly classic levels of hard knocks and foul play. We are as yet on the green runs where professionals find their feet. But the history books can provide plenty of examples of what is expected for those who enter the Westminster jungle.
Tony Blair, for all his mateyness and unthreatening Middle England appeal, was a master of covert operations. In 2000, being interviewed on television one Sunday morning, he mentioned almost casually that the UK would increase health spending to meet the EU average. His Downing Street neighbour, Gordon Brown, had not been warned in advance, and was furious as only the brooding son of the manse could be. The two met later and the frustrated chancellor was heard to roar, “You’ve stolen my fucking budget!”
But the Labour Party has known failed stunts as well as successful ones. Harold Laski, chairman of the party in the 1940s, was a notorious meddler who disliked the centrist Ernest Bevin and had tried to keep him out of senior office when Attlee formed his administration in 1945. He continued to intrigue into the following year but the prime minister cut him off witheringly.
“You have no right whatever to speak on behalf of the Government,” Clem wrote to him. “Foreign affairs are in the capable hands of Ernest Bevin… I can assure you there is widespread resentment in the party at your activities and a period of silence on your part would be welcome.” Silence, indeed, followed.
