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Saturday 27 November, 1965
Dear Bob,
Peggy went of to one of those Ban-the-War marches this morning. Wasn't able
to go myself, Harold's insisting the Shadow Cabinet stay well clear of that
stuff. And, as you know Bob, it's very chilly this time of year.
Still, the marches are very useful for recruiting to the Programme; we're
getting lots of new members into the Party, in particular the militant wing
of the Party. It's like the glory days of the CND[1], which Ban-the-War
seems to have largely eclipsed.
Of course a few die-hards, like Bruce[2], insist that CND is still the big
issue. "Who cares about yet another 'little war', of which we've had so
many since the last world war, when it's the next world war and all the
hydrogen bombs that'll kill us all."
Poor Bruce, he doesn't seem to realise that H-bombs are so, well, 1950s. If
we haven't used them in the past eight years we've had them, how likely are
we to ever use them? But by possessing them, by having test blasts on the
Montebello Islands, we show the world that Britain is capable of generating
the white heat of the technological revolution.
No, what motivates the young people today is the fear that they, or their
boyfriends, will be drafted to fight in a distant war that is not in their
interests, in Britain's interests or indeed the interests of those for whom
they are putatively fighting. All these millions of pounds being spent when
there is so much to do at home.
As I said, Bob, the recruitment is going well. We're careful not to sign up
too many new people in constituencies where there are sitting members -
don't want to frighten the horses, after all. But if the member is
retiring, or it's a Conservative or Liberal held constituency, then it's
open slather. If we're going to win the next election, we're going to have
to take seats of the Tories, and we may as well win the seats with
militants.
After the march was over I had to go to Aldermaston to bail Peggy out. I
don't know if you've heard the wireless reports but Peggy wasn't caught up
in the police beatings. I expect it'll be on the telly and in the
newspapers by the time you get this missive. It's disgraceful. Mac didn't
care too much if the police put in the boot or truncheon at a demonstration
and it's got worse under Rab. The insolence of office among those who've
governed for too long!
I offered to bail Bert out too but he was chanting "Gaol - No bail!" so I
just paid for Peggy and Vanessa[3] and we went our way. Good old Bert, he's
93 years old but an inspiration to other peers like me.
Peggy told me after the rally that there's dozens of young activists that
she herself has persuaded to join the party. I reminded her that much of
the real power lay with the trade unions - it was no good having hundreds of
militants join if lazy union bosses could cast millions of votes through
block voting. "We need to ensure that everyone who signs-up gets involved
in their relevant union. A few activists in key places can swing hundreds
of thousands of votes at a Party conference," I explained.
Peggy looked troubled, "These are people who are joining the party because
they are concerned about Britain's return to imperialism in South East Asia.
They'll take some convincing that a career as a union official is the way
to do it."
This was true. I presented Peggy with a distasteful possibility, "We've
come close to winning in 1959 and again in 1964. We've got to win in 1969
or whenever Rab calls the election. It is time. But something could go
wrong. The Liberals could take votes away from both of us and the Tories
could win with 40% of the vote."
Peggy bit her lower lip and conceded it could happen.
"But," I continued, "Labour will continue to be the party representing the
working class, which is the majority of British people. If we cannot
exercise our democratic power in the Commons, we can exercise it
industrially."
"Perhaps not a national strike," I said hastily, because I saw Peggy had
that glint in her eyes, "but a series of strategic, rolling stoppages to
establish peace in Vietnam and the rest of our manifesto regardless of who
the vagaries of the electoral system puts into Westminster."
Peggy gave me a big, sloppy kiss. "Now I remember why I married you," she
said.
I should mention the twins. Carol's doing well at Edinburgh, studying
Chemistry to the delight of both Peggy and myself. Hilary is a bit of a
disappointment, reading Greats at Oxford, still doesn't know what to do with
his life. I've heard some disturbing reports about him dabbling with
Liberalism but when he's home for the holidays it's all, "Mum! Dad! I
don't want to talk about politics," and then he's up in his room listening
to the Beatles. Beatles! If their getting those MBEs on Thursday wasn't a
quid pro quo for their performance at Bah Bang[4] the other month! Why
can't he listen to a decent band that's come out against the Butler
government, like the Rolling Stones? They can be a bit loud but even an
'old fogy' like me can enjoy 'Sympathy for the PM'.
I'd better be going and cook Peggy some supper. She'll be ravenous after
the day's events. Give my best to Alice.
Yours aye,
Jimmy
[If you'll just let me continue.]
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