Part 11 - Sterling "Either that man goes or I go!" With that exclamation, George Brown turned around, hiccoughed and strode from the Leader of the Opposition's office, slamming the door behind him. Harold Wilson turned and looked at the other two remaining in the room, Clement Lord Attlee and the Chief Whip, Bob Mellish[1]. "George is right, Harold," said Lord Attlee mildly, "you can't allow such base treachery to the Leader go unpunished." Wilson wondered if Attlee might be making a subtle reference to the events of 1951. Harold regretted, not for the first time, Herbert Morrison's passing the previous year. Herbert had been a wellspring of advice and ideas. (Harold also regretted that Herbert's daughter had not gone into politics, either. Such a loss to the Party!) Still feeling the need for a mentor cum elder statesman, Harold had mended fences with Clem. "What's more," growled the Chief Whip, "this Militant Programme faction of his continues to grow. It needs to be nipped in the bud." "All right," decided Wilson, "I'll sack Jimmy from the shadow cabinet. We can promote Stonehouse to be shadow Postmaster." "Sounds like a reshuffle," said Lord Attlee, "Might as well get rid of Peggy, too." "But she hasn't done anything wrong." Wilson lit his pipe. Puffing furiously he said, "I'd ordered the shadow cabinet not too march. With all that violence at the demonstrations we've been trying to avoid controversy. But the Party still opposes the war and I've put no such restrictions on other parliamentarians. We can't punish someone for a crime they haven't committed." Mellish snorted. "You're starting to sound like a Liberal, Harold me lad. Here in Labour we get our retaliation in early, like. You look at the Militants. It's not Jimmy Stansgate running 'em nor Denis Healey nor Jennie Lee nor any of the long term members of the PLP. It's Peggy Stansgate what's the brains behind 'em. They need a short, strong shock, sharpish like." Wilson pondered in a cloud of smoke. Presently he emerged, saying. "I can't sack her - that would look like petulance and only make her, and by extension her husband, martyrs. And while it might make George Brown happy there'd be Cassius[2] walking out taking the whole Left with him. But in a reshuffle I can move her legitimately. Not a demotion but somewhere where she'll be kept too busy for plotting." He puffed contentedly. "I wonder how Jim will like his new Shadow Chief Secretary to the Treasury?" Lord Attlee looked like he was going to have a heart attack. "You're going to make Peggy Stansgate deputy to Callaghan?" "Yes. She'll do fine. I like to think of myself as a good judge of character," proclaimed Wilson.[3]

Peggy was an outstanding debater in the Commons and the manager of opposition business, Douglas Houghton, gave her every opportunity to speak. Or as Bob Mellish said, "Give 'er enough rope." Enoch Powell was speaking at length on the progress of the war. He had about him the air of a schoolmaster seeking to educate a particularly stupid class of boys, not expecting success, but feeling an obligation toward their parents who had spent so much on fees. It was his suggestion that the British Army was teaching the Vietnamese the virtue of fair play that had Peggy on her feet. "The Right Honourable Member for Wolverhampton South-West suggests this nation's army is on a crusade of education in South-East Asia. More, he is suggesting that these soldiers are latter-day Victorian missionaries, teaching the Vietnamese to play up, play up, and play the game. But this is not the case. We spend a hundred times and more on munitions than medicines. The wages bill of our soldiers dwarves the amount spent on so-called civic action. I draw the honourable member's attention to the village of Caot An Thai, the entire population of which was slaughtered or dispersed on the twenty-second of last month[4]. It would seem Britain is adopting the stance of a reaver when we should all take the missionary position!" At this point Hansard records "Hon Members: [interruption]" which was code for "the House dissolved into laughter" but fails to capture the perplexed looks of Peggy and Enoch at the chaos around them. The Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling leaned over and whispered in Powell's ear. Powell turned and stared at Maudling. Maudling nodded. The Secretary of State for War cleared his throat, "Does the Honorable Member for Bristol South-East intend to maintain the missionary position?" It was Tom Driberg's turn to whisper into Viscountess Stansgate's ear. "Yes," she declared, "The lady's not for turning."

1967 saw revolutionary waves spread over from Britain to the rest of Europe. Americans may have enjoyed 'The Summer of Love' but first in Europe there was the 'Spring of Discontent'. There were riots in Paris. Ludvik Svoboda's Action Program had run headlong into the Brezhnev Doctrine and Warsaw Pact forces were dispatched towards Prague. This was shortly followed by the Israeli invasions of her neighbours. The result was never in doubt. In six days a well-drilled, combined arms army had overcome ragtag forces who possessed more in the way of fanaticism and nationalism than military training. Prague fell. At the United Nations the Security Council debated what could be done about acts of aggression. Apologists claimed the 'aggression' was just a proportionate response to a litany of provocation. Firm action was vetoed by the Soviet Union and the United States, respectively. The more daring broadsheets drew comparisons between events in Central Europe and Western Asia. But certain individuals were drawing comparisons of a different kind...

Saturday 1 June, 1967 Dear Bob, Don't know if you've been following the foreign news in the papers recently. These days I've far more time to keep up with what's going on in the world. Very disappointed by what's happened in Czechoslovakia, that "distant land about which we know little" in Chamberlain's words. Peggy was buzzing about in the kitchen yesterday morning, getting ready for some policy committee or something, while I helpfully read out the headlines from the morning papers. "Some English padre has had himself photographed on a Russian tank," I said, pouring over The Morning Star, "Name of Putterill." That got Peggy's attention quick smart. Apparently Putterill was one of her vicars back in Thaxted when she was growing up. Only in that part of the country I don't think they call them 'vicars'. She examined the photograph closely. "T-54. Polish Army, I fancy." How does she do that? Of course, you and I can tell an Messerschmidt 109 from a barrage balloon but then we're RAF trained. "It's a disgrace, Peggy," I said loudly, "this Jack Putterill chap comes marching with us to Trafalgar Square protesting at a superpower invading a small country, putatively at the request of a puppet regime, then he goes to Prague to praise another superpower for doing exactly the same thing!" "What did you expect, dear?" she replied, "Once a Tankie, always a Tankie. Come the revolution we can't rely on his kind." "But dash it all Peggy, people can change! I mean look at me. A viscount and the son of a viscount. Yet I'm as working class as anyone." Peggy patted my hand reassuringly. "You're a Labour viscount and the son of a Labour viscount. And that's what matters to me." "Yes. But Father was a Liberal before he joined the Party. That doesn't make my heritage hopelessly bourgeoisie does it?" Peggy gave me a peck on the cheek, "Must run now, Jimmy. Don't forget we have dinner at Jennifer Bevan's tonight." I was momentarily lost by the reference to Jennifer Bevan. Then I realised she meant Jennie Lee[5], one of the grande dames of the Labour Party. If one could call someone as resolutely working class as Jennie a 'grande dame'. It irks me that Peggy always displays some asperity to Jennie, who is a genuine proletarian heroine. Does Peggy resent the fact that Jennie kept her own surname despite marriage to one of the stellar lights of the Party? Or is it just that she finds she can't intimidate Jennie in the same way she can so many of the men that surround her? I must have a quiet word to Peggy about this. When the time is right. Dinner wasn't nearly as frightful as I feared. Peggy was polite and Jennie is a surprisingly well-read raconteur. I'd expected her flat would be something of a shrine to Nye but there was just a single photograph of Jennie with him. Lots of photos from the '20s and '30s though, particularly of one chap. Peggy told me afterwards it was Frank Wise, one of our MPs from the early days. I was going to ask Jennie about him but Peggy silenced me. The General Election is two years of less away. Peggy and I are convinced that after 16 years of Tory misrule we're a shoo-in. Jennie was less sanguine. "You see half a million marchers against the war and think all is going well. That's almost 50 million who aren't marching. There are some individuals who are very, very devoted to the Party. But democracy isn't about quality of votes but quantity. Better to have 15 million voters who see you as the lesser of two evils than 10 million voters who think the sun shines out of your manifesto." Peggy looked grim but determined, "Give me one million supporters and I can change the world!" Jennie looked closely at her, "Bonapartism, Peggy?" "Oh, no. I still believe in democratic centralism." This was good to hear. I've always opposed devolution too, because just when you've won office in Westminster; Scotland, Wales and the councils have gone Conservative and they'll oppose you at every turn. As we were driving home I mentioned that with my increased free time perhaps I could take an increased rôle in the Programme. "Yes, dear," said Peggy absently. "Perhaps in the organisational side?" I asked. Peggy's hands clenched on the steering wheel and she swerved alarmingly. Perhaps I should have insisted on driving. But she quickly calmed down. "No Jimmy, I think you should be our theoretician." And for the second time in the one day she patted my hand. Which was nice. But enough of me and my problems. How is Alice and her cyst? Once we're back in, you'll see NHS waiting lists halve. Yours aye, Jimmy

(Thursday, 6 June 1967) Every Thursday morning there was a cabinet meeting and not even the festivities for the 23rd anniversary of the D-Day landings would forestall this meeting. Richard Butler, the Prime Minister, was in the chair. The major agenda item was Chancellor Heath's proposal for decimalised currency. The plan met with some discussion. The Minister for War began speaking on the importance of LSD, which had a few of the younger members sit up. When it became clear that the LSD in question were librae, solidi and denarii the rest of the cabinet assumed comfortable positions and let the erudite lecture wash over them. Health smiled indulgently. "Enoch is certainly right about the rich history of our present money. Yet Britain has to move with the times..." "Do we?" chimed the Foreign Secretary in a voice of concern. He had been spending Powell's speech reliving the triumph of the Munich agreement in his mind[6]. "I thought we were Conservatives." The Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling, offered support to Heath. "Being Conservative means preserving the best as we move forward. As Ted said, we are in an age of electronic computers now. The most sophisticated trading nations in the world now use decimal currency. And Australia and New Zealand have just gone that way, too. We can't have farthings when we've machines that can only understand the numbers one to ten." The Lord Chancellor interjected, "I thought they only understood zeros and ones." Lord Hailsham was that most dangerous of Tory politicians, an intellectual.[7] Heath smoothly resumed putting his case, "Both Quintin and Reggie are correct. The computers themselves work on zeros and ones but the 'programmes'..." Had air-quotes existed then the Chancellor of the Exchequer would surely have used them. "...that come with them understand tens and hundreds. We don't have farthings any more..." A few of the older Lords who had not handled money since the War looked startled. "...but any fraction other than one-tenth or one-hundredth is going to cause complications. Complications that could cost millions of... pounds." "Why did you pause when you said 'pounds'?", Selwyn Lloyd wanted to know. "Because I want to prevent inflation," Heath said, almost by way of explanation. "Oh. Jolly good show." "No, wait a moment. What about inflation?" Peter Thorneycroft demanded. Heath was a grammar school boy and you just couldn't let him say something like that unchallenged. "Well, there are currently 240 pennies in the pound," Heath said redundantly. Even an Eton boy like Thorneycroft knew that. "When the price of something goes up, it can go up by a ha'penny but more typically goes up by a penny. A penny on a pint, a penny on a postage stamp and so on. "But if we were to decimalise the pound, with each pound equal to one hundred, let us say, 'new pence' then a price rise is almost two-and-a-half times greater under decimalization." Lord Hailsham put his brain into gear. "Yes but dash it all, couldn't we have new ha'pennies too? So that a price rise is scarcely more than an old penny?" "You could," Maudling conceded. He and Heath were working tag-team style. "But a half isn't a tenth or a hundredth. It would be bad for the computers, costly to make work and bad for Britain." "Reggie's right," agreed Heath. "What we need is a new unit of currency, equivalent to a ten-shilling note. Then one-hundredth of it will be pretty close to a penny. And each pound will readily convert into two of the new units." "What are you going to call this new thing? The new pound?" Powell asked. "No," said Maudling. "That would be a backward step, having a 'new' thing with only half the value of the old. The opposition would have a field day. No, we thought we'd take a leaf from our allies in Vietnam and call it 'the dollar'. The 'dollar sterling' to distinguish it from other, lesser, dollars." Lord Hailsham looked thoughtful. "Even though our currency has been on a nose dive since the Great War it's always been worth more than an American dollar, which gives the pound an appearance of strength. By halving the notional value of the currency, isn't there a risk that one day the American dollar will be worth more than ours?" Butler intervened. "Ted and I have already thought of that. We are prepared to announce publicly that the dollar sterling will always be worth more than the US dollar." With the Prime Ministerial position made clear, debate spluttered on derisorily. There were a handful of ministers who were concerned with how the traditionalists in the constituency associations would take the disappearance of the pound. These ministers looked to Powell for leadership. But Enoch was strangely silent. In truth, Powell was aghast that such a potent symbol of Britishness might be going. But Powell was a strong believer in sound money too. If there had to be decimalization, it should be non-inflationary. But propping up the new currency, to keep it ahead of the American dollar! That could be a dangerous interference in the market. Sharpers, especially of the Levantine persuasion, could take advantage of this. Yet there would be no denying the psychological impact, superstitious as it might be, if a major foreign currency was more valuable than that of Britain. For once, he said nothing. With some grumbling, the Heath-Maudling plan got up. "Next item, the Common Market," Butler announced. Lord Home spoke, "Following the assassination of General Charles de Gaulle the new government of President Georges Pompidou has dropped any objections to Britain joining the Common Market. Should we seek entrance?" Butler smiled. Here was something non-controversial. "All those in favour?" he asked, anticipating the forest of hands.

A casual observer of the music scene might think that the Bonzos' quirky songs, 'Monster Mash' and 'Urban Spaceman' might have been written by former comedians Bill Oddie and John Cleese. Not so, Monster Mash was a Wilson Pickett song and Urban Spaceman came from the pen of Neil Innes. Oddie and Cleese came up with a far more serious song, a song that became the anthem for an entire generation of British youth. This wasn't just a song that supported the Militant Programme's position on Vietnam, it was a song that endorsed the Programme's entire agenda. If 1966 was the year of 'Johnny Todd', the hit of 1967 was 'New Jerusalem Man'. [If you'll just let me continue.]

[1] In out timeline Bob Mellish did not become Chief Whip until 1969. With Labour having fewer numbers in the Commons in this timeline advancement is faster. [2] Michael Foot. He wrote 'The Trial of Mussolini' in 1943 under the pseudonym of 'Cassius'. [3] Wilson certainly could see good in people where others failed. His retirement honours list being a case in point. [4] A subsequent generation of historical geographers has been unable to establish the existence of 'Caot An Thai'. Yet the Hansard record was never corrected so we must assume the village does, or did, exist. [5] In OTL Jennie Lee became Minister for the Arts in 1964, in Wilson's first ministry. Her lasting achievement was the creation of the Open University. [6] Lord Home, as a former parliamentary private secretary to Neville Chamberlain, is one of Cassius' Guilty Men. [7] Not as dangerous as Enoch Powell, obviously.