Part 13 - The Call (Saturday, 6 July 1968) Prime Minister Richard 'Rab' Butler was today supposed to be at Checkers, his official country residence. But yesterday was Friday the 5th. A day this morning's papers were already calling 'Black Friday'. Except for the Daily Mirror. It had called yesterday 'BLACK FRIDAY!' in screaming 72 point type. It would have been 96 point, Butler suspected, but the paper was only a tabloid and had used the largest type that would fit. Funny, he'd never thought of the Mirror as a financial paper before now. A run on sterling had begun earlier in the week. Some smarty-pants investors were trying to take 'arbitrage', if that was the right word, from the Government's commitment to protect the value of dollar UK. Other investors were acting as if they didn't believe the commitment and were trying to sell the DUK now in the hope of buying it back more cheaply. But there were precious few buyers and the Bank of England was having to take up the slack. The currency was becoming a dead DUK. By Friday the run had become a marathon. Trade figures had come out on Wednesday showing British consumers on a spending spree with the strong dollar and exporters, unable to match the prices of foreign competition, having to close their doors. Ted was back in Number 11, sending telegrams to the IMF, the World Bank, anyone who could help out. Butler had been trying to contact his good friend, the President of the United States, but without success. Apparently, and despite only a five hour difference in the time zones, it was still the Fourth of July in Washington and Johnson could not be contacted. What if it were an emergency? What am I thinking, thought Butler, this is an emergency. The PM's private secretary, stuck his head through the doorway of the study. "Lords Avon, Stockton[1], Home and Hailsham to see you, Prime Minister." "Show them in Wilfred. They'll make a nice distraction while we try to raise the President. Ask Betty to ring his ranch, she should have the number." The peers were shown to their seats by Wilfred as the Prime Minister came from behind his desk and sat in an armchair facing his guests. "Refreshments?" he asked. "No, thank you, Prime Minister" said Lord Stockton, as the eldest speaking for all of them. "Please, it's just us, call me Rab. Well, to what do I owe the pleasure?" asked Butler. "Rab," said Lord Avon, "you are one of the longest serving Prime Ministers this century." "Well done," murmured Lords Home and Hailsham. "Yes..." said the Prime Minister, not sure where this was leading. "Think of your recent predecessors as Conservative Prime Ministers," suggested Lord Avon, "Baldwin, Chamberlain, Churchill, myself, Maurice here. We all found a suitable juncture where it was time to place our burdens down." "Churchill was defeated at the polls," Butler noted. "In his first term," Lord Avon conceded. "A landslide," observed Lord Stockton, "of a kind the Party would never want to face again." "You're asking me to step down," said Butler. "No," said Lord Home. "Yes," chorused the other three in unison. "There really isn't any other way, Rab," said Lord Hailsham, looking earnest. "We have to devalue to start to get out of this mess and you've publicly pledged that the Government, that your Government, would not do this. We need a new government but of course one that is a Conservative government. Ergo, one that you do not head." "But we can still fight this without devaluation. Import controls, export credits..." Lord Stockton looked down from his chair at the Prime Minister's face, "My dear Rab. You must know that the advice from the Treasury and the City is at one on this. Any path that does not involve devaluation is fraught with danger and will be very costly. For the good of the country we must devalue." Butler's shoulders sagged. "If I must resign, I must. Well, I must take soundings..." Lord Avon shook his head. "We can't do it the way we did in Maurice's day. We must move swiftly to end the haemorrhaging. We, the five of us here, must come up with a name you can take to Her Majesty this weekend, before the City opens for business on Monday." Lord Stockton, relieved that the difficult part of the meeting was over, leaned back. "It must be someone financially sound." "Heath," blurted the outgoing Prime Minister, "You couldn't ask for a better Chancellor..." "No, Rab," said Lord Home. The other three peers had agreed earlier that he could have the easy ones. "Ted is irrevocably tied in the public mind to the dollar sterling." "Reggie, then. As Home Secretary he has..." "No," Lord Hailsham shook his head slowly. In the manner of a conjuror he produced a thin buff folder of papers which he passed to the Prime Minister, who quickly scanned the contents. "This Poulson chap?" asked Butler. "A thoroughly bad egg," the Lord Chancellor confirmed. "But this needn't get out." "Of course not," agreed the chief law officer, "we shall do everything possible to keep it quiet. But if it should leak out... Well, for a minister it would be 'man overboard'. But for a prime minister, a disaster for the whole government." "Well who does that leave?" asked Butler, feeling a little pressured at this point. Lord Stockton looked at his well manicured finger-nails. "There is one man in your cabinet, Rab. He's senior and by all accounts very sound on matters of finance. Highly intelligent..." "You can't mean..." "But I do." "He'll divide the cabinet! The country!" "He'll do no such thing," chided Lord Avon. "He'll do what Maurice and you did. One resigns, the other has a honeymoon with the electorate, goes to the country and Bob's your uncle." "He and the cabinet must understand the need for discipline going into the election. No divisiveness. Then after the election we see what happens," suggested Lord Hailsham. "After the election he'll have the entire cabinet at his throat!" exclaimed Butler. "Then after the election the five of us will have to pay him a little visit," said Lord Home. Wilfred stuck his head through the doorway again. "Prime Minister. Betty's got the President on the line now. But it's a bad connection, it sounds like water running." [If you'll just let me continue.]

[1] Maurice H Macmillan did not accept his hereditary earldom until 1984 in our timeline. In this alternative timeline, where the cachet of a title is not tarnished by the holder being able to declaim, Macmillan decides to go to his reward sooner.