The Complete Pratt (142 page)

‘Go on.’

‘I think we desperately need common sense and compromise in this country. I believe in moderation. There’s nothing wishy-washy in being middle-of-the-road. It’s a dangerous place to stand. I’m a passionate moderate.’

‘You’ll do,’ said Magnus Willis.

‘Sorry,’ said Henry. ‘What’ll I do for?’

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you?’ said Magnus Willis. ‘Sorry. You’ll do for our shortlist of candidates for the Parliamentary Constituency of Thurmarsh.’

Henry gawped.

‘It’s nothing to write home about. We only have one councillor and he’s useless. We’ve no local candidate who’s remotely astute politically, and we must have one local candidate on the shortlist. We’ve no chance of winning, but if you are chosen as candidate, if you put up a good show, a plum may follow. A nice by-election seat. Quite possibly a victory. We’re rather good at by-elections.’

The 230,000 ton
Amoco Cadiz
, carrying oil from the Persian Gulf to England, broke in half in heavy seas off the coast of Brittany and caused the world’s worst pollution disaster … so far. In Rome the body of Aldo Moro, the kidnapped and murdered ex-Prime Minister, was found in the boot of a car. The world’s first ‘test-tube’ baby was born in Lancashire. Pope Paul VI died, his successor, Pope John Paul I, died after thirty-four days in office, and Karol Wojtyla, Archbishop of Krakow, became the first non-Italian pope for four centuries.

Henry had a quiet year. Kate was doing well at Bristol; Camilla surprised everybody by applying to go to art school and being accepted; Jack was building and drinking; Henry and Diana led not unpleasing but largely separate lives in Nether Bibbington, and the market garden company continued its expansion down eastern England, opening the Market Deeping Market Garden and the Downham Market Market Garden.

Just two things broke the even tenor of Henry’s life.

The first occurred in May. He met Hilary in Fish Hill, right in the middle of the redevelopment that he’d fought to prevent. His heart stood still, and he fancied hers did too.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

‘Looking for houses,’ she said. ‘We’re hoping to come back. Dad hates Spain.’

‘And you?’

‘It doesn’t really matter where I live.’

Her face was unlined. She hardly seemed to have aged. In fact she looked as if she had hardly lived.

‘I often think of you,’ he said.

‘Do you?’ she said. ‘I often think of you.’

‘Shall we have a coffee?’ he said. ‘Or a drink?’

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ she said.

‘Are you … er … I heard there was a chap … are you still … er …?’

‘Still happy? Yes. Yes, it’s a very satisfactory relationship.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Henry,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I’ve seen you. You look well.’

That was all. But his heart thumped and his stomach sank and his veins throbbed and he could hardly breathe and he felt that he was going to faint. He leant against the wall of Marks and Spencers and waited until it no longer felt as if his world was disintegrating into ten thousand pieces, and then he set off slowly and sadly on the long path back to real life.

The other thing that occurred was equally unexpected. After a gently polite but thorough grilling by the selection committee, he was elected as Liberal candidate for the Parliamentary Constituency of Thurmarsh.

Three days after he’d been elected, he opened the
Thurmarsh Morning Chronicle
and said, ‘I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.’

‘What?’ said Diana.

‘They’ve named the Labour candidate. It’s Martin Hammond.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Yes. A bit embarrassing.’

Five days after Henry had opened the
Morning Chronicle
and said, ‘I don’t believe it, I just don’t believe it,’ Diana opened the
Morning Chronicle
and said, ‘I don’t believe it, I just don’t believe it.’

‘What?’ said Henry.

‘They’ve named the Conservative candidate. It’s Tosser.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Yes. A bit embarrassing.’

ON TUESDAY, APRIL
3rd, 1979, Mrs Thatcher opened the General Election campaign, promising tax cuts and warning the nation not to accept the attempt of James Callaghan, the Labour Prime Minister, to blame Britain’s problems on the world recession.

On Wednesday, April 4th, the BBC admitted that their exclusive film of the Loch Ness Monster had in fact been film of a duck.

On Thursday, April 5th, Henry sat on a raised platform in the Committee Room above the Liberal Club, and listened to Mr Stanley Potts, Chairman of the Thurmarsh Liberals, introducing him to the small gathering of the faithful who had turned up for his adoption meeting.

Suddenly, all the nerves which had plagued him for the last weeks left him and he felt that he could even face the House of Commons without fear.

There were several familiar faces in the audience. Magnus Willis, who had turned out to be his agent. Archie Postlethwaite, the lone councillor. Diana, nervous and embarrassed. Jack, awkward but relaxed. Ron Prendergast, wishing he was downstairs playing snooker. Ginny Fenwick, hoping for fireworks. Eric Mabberley, a lifelong Liberal. Oscar, the redundant waiter from the Pigeon and Two Cushions. Mr Gibbins, six foot two, almost eighty, and as bald as a coot, in whose class, in the days when he’d been six foot four, Henry had emitted a legendary fart. And … it couldn’t be. But it was … Cousin Hilda, who looked … yes … proud!

He stood up, to loud applause.

In a dark suit and orange shirt that matched his rosette, forty-four years old and becoming a bit of a roly-poly, with his hair streaked with grey and a bald patch on the top of his head, Henry was a comforting rather than an impressive figure. But he spoke well and with passion.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘I’m grateful to you all for turning out tonight. I am Thurmarsh born and Thurmarsh bred.’ There was applause. His old headmaster, Mr E. F. Crowther, from whom he’d stolen the phrase, had known a thing or two. ‘I promise you that, if I am elected, I will serve the people of Thurmarsh with dedication, but I will not be a purely parochial politician. Better street lighting in the York Road area…,’ he paused, forcing them to applaud, ‘… will sit alongside the economy, the arts, the reform of our constitution and the conservation of our planet.’

He spoke briefly about the party’s policies, about proportional representation, about a federal solution to Welsh and Scottish devolution, about democracy in industry, about replacing the House of Lords with an elected second chamber, about switching taxes from incomes to wealth and expenditure. There was laughter when he spoke of being thrown into the Rundle.

He concluded, ‘I said at the beginning, “If I am elected.” We start from a low base, but I don’t believe that we have no chance. I wouldn’t be standing if I did. I believe that the people of Britain are fed up with the counter-productive shuttle between Conservative and Labour dogmas. I believe that the people are hungry for change. I believe that, if we can make people believe that we believe, our hopes will not be make-believe. If we can inspire this town, we can win. I hate the complacent, easy patriotism of those who say that this is the best country in the world. If it is, with its incompetence and apathy, its prejudice and pettiness, its aggression and selfishness, God help the rest of the world. I suggest to you a greater, more honest, more difficult patriotism. Let’s begin, here today, our battle to rid this country of its weaknesses. Let us say, “If we care enough, if we work together enough, this country
can become
the best country in the world.”’

There was loud applause. Afterwards, people were warm with their congratulations.

‘We’ve made the right choice,’ said Magnus Willis.

‘It’s just dawned on me. You’re the farter. Well, it’s turned out not to be your only talent after all,’ said Mr Gibbins.

‘While you talked, I could almost believe I could be a political wife,’ said Diana.

‘I was proud of you. The whole market garden will be proud of you,’ said Eric Mabberley.

‘I shouldn’t be out, not with my tubes. I’ve been bronchial since Christmas. But it were worth it,’ said Oscar.

‘It were very nice. I only wish Mrs Wedderburn had lived to see this day,’ said Cousin Hilda.

On Monday, April 9th, Henry ran into Martin Hammond outside the Thurmarsh and Rawlaston Cooperative Society.

‘Let’s have a clean fight,’ said Henry.

‘I’ve nowt to say to thee,’ said Martin Hammond, whose dialect was becoming more pronounced as polling day loomed.

Martin had telephoned Henry months ago, and said, ‘I can’t think how you can do this. You’re a turncoat.’

‘I’ve found that my true position is left of centre,’ Henry’d said. ‘I have to be true to myself, Martin. I believe Britain needs non-dogmatic, non-centralist government.’

‘Cobblers.’

‘Yes, I believe Britain needs cobblers too. We must support the dying crafts. Good point.’

Martin had rung off, leaving Henry to regret his cheap joke. He didn’t want to argue with his old friend, and a couple of weeks later had written to Martin:

Dear Martin,

I’m sorry that at our last conversation I was so frivolous. It was to cover my embarrassment. I’d like to feel that during this campaign we can be gentlemen, and when it’s over we can be friends. I respect your convictions, though I don’t any longer believe they’re the right way forward. I’m deeply opposed to the Tory Party, and will have no mercy for Tosser, but I’ll oppose you honourably.

With love and friendship,

Your old mate from the Paradise Lane Gang,

Henry

Martin hadn’t replied.

On Wednesday, April 11th, Henry sat next to Tosser in the directors’ box at Blonk Lane. All three major candidates declared their support for ‘the Reds’ though Martin hadn’t been to a match for twenty-seven years, and Tosser had never been.

‘Who’d have thought,’ said Henry at half-time, ‘all those years ago at Dalton, that you and I would share a wife and a constituency?’

‘I asked you to keep Diana out of it,’ said Tosser. ‘But I suppose one can’t expect honour from a grammar-school boy.’

Tosser was referring to a phone call he’d made to Henry several weeks before.

‘Well, this is a funny situation, Henry,’ he’d said.

‘Yes.’ Henry had been very dry. ‘Did you ever get out to Malaga to try and find Benedict?’

‘Well it’s been difficult. I have sent money.’

‘Money’s easy for you. He might appreciate a bit of time spent on him.’

‘He doesn’t deserve it, Henry. Life’s a two-way process. But this is what I wanted to talk to you about. Can we keep our families out of this?’

‘If you wanted to keep your family out of it, it might have been better not to come to the constituency where your wife’s second husband is standing.’

‘I didn’t know you were going to stand. And I hadn’t told them Diana lived in Thurmarsh. Why should I? I never dreamt I’d be sent to your God-forsaken hole, and when I was, I thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. I mean, I didn’t have a choice of constituency, so what was the point of mentioning it? The aim of the exercise is to groom me, Henry. Lose with honour, get myself a nice seat somewhere in civilisation, with a nice fat majority.’

‘Well I’ll do all I can to make sure you lose without honour,’ Henry’d said. ‘I’ll wipe you off the face of the map. I love my home town. I don’t like to see it being used.’

Somehow, it didn’t look as though it was going to be an overwhelmingly friendly campaign.

*

The opinion polls gave the Conservatives 49 per cent, Labour 38½ per cent, the Liberals 9 per cent!

All three candidates toured Thurmarsh in cars with loud-hailers. They toured the parts of the town where they might expect to win most votes. Canvassing wasn’t about changing people’s minds. It was about persuading your supporters to get up off their backsides and vote.

There were areas around Paradise and Splutt and York Road into which it was inadvisable for Tosser to venture, even though he’d been a rugby international.

There were areas like Winstanley and the streets around the Alderman Chandler Memorial Park where it would be a waste of time for Martin to canvass.

Henry’s supporters were more difficult to locate. They could be anywhere. He had the hardest task, and he approached it with an energy and dedication which fired the enthusiasm of his helpers. He could charm people on the doorsteps. The canvassing returns were surprisingly good. He couldn’t imagine that Tosser had a clue about talking to ordinary people, and Martin could hardly be described as inspiring. His confidence grew.

Every morning Henry held a press conference. He was never at a loss for a word. When his former colleague, Ted Plunkett, asked him where he stood on Europe, there was just a little smugness in his voice, as if he hoped to discomfit Henry.