Free The Real Iron Lady by Gillian Shephard Page B

fascinating and action-packed years of working for and with Margaret Thatcher, whom I invariably addressed as ‘Prime Minister’.
    Every Friday morning at 10 a.m., I would go for my weekly meeting with her to discuss and plan the business for Cabinet and for Cabinet Committees of which she was chairman, for the ensuing three or four weeks. If she had other engagements that morning, our meeting would be short and business-like. If she did not, our meeting could go on far into the morning, and we would talk about many other things.
    On one such occasion the Prime Minister wanted to discuss a memorandum I had recently submitted to her. She was clearly not persuaded by the recommendation I was making, and she argued quite fiercely, like an advocate (she had been a barrister), testing and contesting my case. After a time, I heard myself say, ‘No, Prime Minister, you’re wrong.’ I wondered if I had gone too far and whether that was not how one should address a Prime Minister. I remembered what Queen Elizabeth I said to Robert Cecil. ‘Must? Is “must” a word to be addressed to princes? Little man, little man! Thy father, if he had been alive, durst not have used that word.’ But the Prime Minister paused, and said, ‘Why do you say that I am wrong, Robert?’ I had burned my boats, and so I said why I thought she was wrong, chapter and verse, facts and figures. She did not interrupt me, and when I had finished, she said, ‘Thank you, Robert, you’re quite right. I was wrong.’
    This incident did wonders for our mutual respect. I knew that she would listen and could be convinced. She knew that I would not put something to her which was not properly thought through. But those
discussions were to be had only
unter vier augen
. I thought that it was not my business to argue with her in that way at meetings when her colleagues were present.
    Henry Plumb recounts a rather similar experience. After nine years as President of the National Farmers Union, from 1970 to 1979, he was elected to the European Parliament, subsequently becoming the President of the Parliament in 1987. It was in his capacity as Chairman of the European Committee on Agriculture that he had regular meetings, every two weeks, with Margaret Thatcher in the early 1980s.
    On one occasion we met late at night following a successful vote in the Commons, to discuss the European issues of the day. She greeted me very warmly and we had an extremely amicable conversation, accompanied by three large whiskies. As I was leaving, her mood suddenly changed, and she said, quite belligerently, ‘Henry, we must discuss the Common Agricultural Policy. I am not going to put any more money into the pockets of these peasant farmers in France, and elsewhere in Europe.’
    I must have been emboldened by the three whiskies and I found myself saying, ‘If you will just shut up for one minute, I will tell you about the CAP.’ Not surprisingly, she looked a little startled at my less than tactful words, and said, ‘You’d better come back in.’ So we went back into her room, more whisky was provided, and I said, ‘Those peasants as you call them, the small farmers, get nothing out of the CAP. It is big farmers like your brother-in-law, on his farm in Essex, who
are getting the money from the intervention payments they receive on their surplus wheat, £50 a ton while we still have a wheat mountain. Yes, the CAP wants changing, but surpluses are not the fault of the so-called European peasants, their problem is social, not economic.’
    Her jaw dropped. ‘How do you know my brother-in-law?’ she asked. ‘I was on his farm only last week,’ I said, ‘and I can tell you that what I said is right. You can ask him yourself if you want.’
    I never again heard her blame ‘European peasants’ for the problems of the Common Agricultural Policy, but I always wondered what kind of