The ‘good man’ who also lives at No. 10

Press, 16 June 1983, Page 17

The ‘good man’ who also lives at No. 10

Margaret Thatcher is back in No. 10. for another five years, along with her admiring consort, Denis. Behind every great woman is a good man: a London “Observer” profile.

“She was beautiful, gay, very kind and thoughtful. This is, of course, her greatest quality. Who could meet Margaret without being completely slain by her personality and intellectual brilliance?”

Denis Thatcher was always his wife’s greatest fan. Nearly 24 years after they married she became leader of the Conservative Party and his admiration had not dulled one whit: “She is one of the most brilliant brains in the country. At the same time she is tremendously thoughtful about everything and everybody.” During Britain’s general election this month he was to be seen standing at the back of the hall in Conservative Central Office, attending the daily news conference and loudly approving of his wife’s replies. There has been a strong rumour slopping around among Tory M.P.s for some months that if Mrs Thatcher won the election, she will stay on as Prime Minister for only a couple more years. At that time Denis will have just turned 70. These optimists (they are chiefly on the Wet wing of the party) ask how, since he has given her so much, she can refuse to comfort him at the evening of his life? It doesn’t seem terribly likely. For one thing, though Denis often makes plain his distaste for the whole political circus, he firmly believes that she is the only person on the Westminster scene who is remotely fit to govern the country. If the price of his peace was having Michael Foot as Prime Minister, then Thatcher would regard it as much too high. He is extremely Right-wing in the way that she is, though without ever having tried to back it up intellectually through reading and debate. Some people who know them both believe that he is even more reactionary than she is, though others think this is because his views are not tempered, like hers, by the need for public and parliamentary support. For example, one of his many

famous betises came in December, 1979, when he spoke at a rugby referees’ dinner on sporting links with South Africa. “I might be sticking my neck out, but we are a free people, playing an amateur game, and we have got the right to play who we like. As sure as hell we can play our game in South Africa.”

It is an opinion which his wife would certainly endorse if she, unlike him, did not have to worry about the Commonwealth.

He got a letter from a man who asked whether seat belts were to be made obligatory. He wrote back: “Thank him for his very sensible letter ... say at the end ‘Shouldn’t worry, Government isn’t going to do anything, no chance of legislation’. Blow me, wake up, next day, read the ‘Telegraph,’ seat belt law already passed! Think to myself, ‘Oops, Thatcher, you’ve dropped another whatsit!’ Don’t know what the lovely lady is going to think about that one!” On the one occasion he met John Wells, who wrote “Anyone for Denis” and is co-author of the “Dear Bill” letters, he discussed the Toxteth riots. “As soon as our brilliant police move in and sort them out, there’s not a thing about it on television ... I’ll tell you why. It’s because our television people are a lot of pinkos and closet Marxists.”

A year or so ago he sat next to the chairman of the 8.8. C., George Howard. After a while Howard said: “Thatcher, you’re so far to the Right you’re barely visible.” Significantly, it is Thatcher who tells the story against Howard.

Denis Thatcher was born in May, 1915, into a prosperous business family. His grandfather had discovered that sodium arsenite, as well as being a good sheep-dip, could be used to kill the weeds on railways tracks. He set up companies in both Britain and the United States to market the new product, though during the First World War he sold out his interest to an American company, leaving the family with a decent if not huge shareholding. Tom Thatcher, Denis’s father, expanded the firm into chemicals and paints. During the war Denis served in the artillery, mainly around the Mediterranean. He was mentioned in dispatches, and in 1942 married the first Margaret Thatcher. Four years later he came home and swiftly divorced. “The marriage never had a chance — it was a typical wartime romance ... the divorce was very amicable,” he said.

Very soon after the war his father died and Denis took over the family firm, Atlas Preservatives. He worked obsessively hard and within a few years had increased its turnover to a million pounds a year. It was as an active member of the local Conservative Association that he first met Margaret Roberts. She was 24 then and worked as a chemist for BX Plastics in Colchester. She began her political career in February, 1949, by getting adopted as Tory candidate for Dartford, and after the meeting needed a lift to Liverpool Street to catch her train. The subsequent romance was

conducted with much discretion. Denis would call for her at her digs in the Jag, but would never go into the house. The engagement came as a surprise even to people who knew them quite well. They were married in December, 1951. She wore a blue coat and an ostrich feather hat. Now that he has become one of the best-loved characters in British comic fiction, a lot of myths have grown up around him. Some, like all good myths, are perfectly true. He does call her “the Boss.” He does talk about “a tincture.” He is, to some extent, in awe of her, though equally he will assert himself when he wishes. On a flight to Scotland, the stewardess asked what he would like to drink and he asked for a gin and tonic. “Isn’t it a bit early for a gin and tonic?” the Prime Minister asked. He answered heartily: “It is never too early for a gin and tonic.” He once remarked to a comic actor he met: “When I’m not absolutely paralytic, I like to play a little golf.” Others who know him say that he is actually not often drunk, though alcohol rapidly loosens his tongue. His greatest love is golf and he will talk about it happily for hours. He hated the Wells play, which he thought depicted him as a ninny; unfairly, since he had run a large business. Through a process of big fish eating smaller ones, the family firm wound up in the hands of Burmah Oil, for which he became Director of Planning and Control. In January, 1975, just before his wife became Tory leader, Burmah had to be bailed out by the Labour Government with a $6OO million loan. He had to spend 11 hours a day pruning the budget. There have been a number of embarrassments connected with his career which would probably have mattered more if he were operating in a less Right-wing regime. In early 1980 it turned out that a subsidiary firm of which he was chairman. Chipman, Ltd, was

making a weedkiller which contained 2,4,5-T, the notorious “Agent Orange.” In June, 1980, it emerged that Burmah was paying starvation wages to its black workers in South Africa.

In September, 1981, there was the celebrated affair of the “Dear Nick” letter. Denis Thatcher had written a letter to Nicholas Edwards, the Welsh Secretary, on Number 10 notepaper, asking, on behalf of an old chum, for a bit more speed with a planning appeal. It was classic old boy network nineteenth-hole special pleading, though hardly corrupt. People who know both of the Thatchers say that he is marvellously comforting when she is depressed and uncertain, but that he is far too encouraging when she is on one of her famous “highs.”

Sometimes she needs bringing down to earth, a seed of doubt sown in her mind, and then he has the opposite effect. He almost never tries to influence her decisions, though he is proud of the fact that he can read a balance sheet well. She respects his knowledge of industry and financing.

He has a certain innocence which probably stems from the fact that his life has been active but fairly limited.

But then one of his most attractive qualities is his ability and willingness to say exactly what he means. As he remarked in one of his last interviews before Conservative Central Office decided that consorts should be seen rather than heard: “I don’t pretend that I’m anything but an honest-to-God Right-winger. Those are my views and I don’t care who knows them.”