Tim Bale is Professor of Politics, at Queen Mary University of London, and this article is adapted from a wider piece published online in Parliamentary Affairs
On a Sunday in early May 1983, a group of top Tory staffers and politicians had spent the best part of frustrating a day at Chequers trying and failing to convince an uncharacteristically dithering Prime Minister to go to the country on 9 June. Then, as one of the handful of advisers who hadn’t yet gone home, Cecil Parkinson, recalled,
“At about 8pm Mrs Thatcher was sitting staring into the fire and suddenly said, ‘Even if I wanted to call an election, the Queen would hardly be available at such short notice.’ Ian Gow slipped out of the room and came back ten minutes later to say that he had spoken to Buckingham Palace and the Queen could see Mrs Thatcher at noon the next day. I am still not sure that the look she gave him was one of gratitude.”
It should have been: a month later, the Conservative Party won a landslide 144-seat majority, allowing Thatcher to bring forward policies that were to transform the politics and the economy of this country forever.
Yet Gow will probably be best remembered for something that happened right at the end rather than nearer the beginning of Thatcher’s time in office. In 1990 he was brutally murdered by an IRA car bomb, triggering a by-election in his Eastbourne constituency that, because it resulted in a supposedly impregnable safe Tory seat falling to the Lib Dems, contributed in no small part to Thatcher’s defenestration a few weeks later.
Gow was targeted for assassination not merely because he was an outspoken advocate of the Unionist cause but because he was seen as exceptionally close to Thatcher, having served as her Parliamentary Private Secretary from 1979, when she first entered Downing Street, through to 1983, when she was re-elected with that impressive majority. In that role, he was widely regarded by those who served the women he called ‘The Lady’ as a brilliant appointment and, by some margin, as the best PPS she – and indeed any Prime Minister – ever had.
Although he didn’t know Thatcher particularly well before his appointment, Gow was already very much a Thatcherite. But while that ideological affinity helped him do a great job, so did the fact that he possessed the requisite temperament and skills. Totally trustworthy, Gow was gregarious but also shrewd, relatable but also ruthless. He knew his boss’s mind, as well as her strengths and weaknesses, and, on occasion, was more than willing to speak truth to power.
Parkinson in his memoirs spoke of Gow’s ‘tremendous capacity for hard work’ – a man whose ‘working day started at 6 a.m. and [who] would rarely return [home] before midnight, quite often accompanied by two or three colleagues from the House’, a man with ‘a wide circle of friends and acquaintances’ who ‘worked very hard at maintaining his contacts’, helped by the fact that he was ‘lively, in touch, and immensely entertaining.’ His sense of humour made him popular not just across the parliamentary Conservative party but across the House as a whole; just as importantly, he was also a good listener who colleagues felt they could relate to – the kind of person who, when anyone talked to him, be it in the Commons or over a White Lady cocktail in the nearby Cavalry club, made them feel as if they were the most important person in the room.
Gow was helped not just by his talent for friendship but also by what his friend (and Thatcher biographer) Jonathan Aitken called his ‘encyclopaedic knowledge of the Conservative Parliamentary Party’ as well as his boss’s rarely commented on ‘enjoyment of gossip’ about their parliamentary colleagues – all of which allowed him to report ‘their murmurings and mischiefs with a humorous fidelity…and kept her attuned to her power base with a depth of understanding that was never again achieved after Gow left her inner service.’ Whether at an impromptu supper at their South London pied-à-terre or at rather grander weekends at Chequers, he and his wife Jane provided something of a safe space where a Prime Minister not exactly famed for her ability to do so could truly relax – even if, on occasions, it meant a hair-raising trip in Gow’s little blue mini with her protection officer squeezed into the back seat.
Gow, then, was much more than Thatcher’s sympathetic bag carrier and her eyes and ears – he was a consigliere. He explained the Prime Minister to the parliamentary party and the parliamentary party to the Prime Minister, conveying a sense of pitfalls and problems before they turned into something more serious, reminding her of the need to engage with back-benchers and junior frontbenchers on all sides of the party. Gow, unlike his successors, did not attend Cabinet meetings; but he influenced them, informally. He also had considerable influence on reshuffles and, fairly or unfairly, on how ministers were regarded and rewarded by the PM. He served not just as a sounding board but now and then as her ideological conscience, stiffening her spine as well as helping with key Party Conference speeches. And, as we have already noted, he also played a part in helping the Prime Minister make that loneliest of decisions – namely when to call an election.
All this was crucial – especially in the early days of her premiership when Thatcher was surrounded by less zealous senior colleagues who had not voted for her, did not agree with her, and were unsure, even hopeful, that she would last long in the job). Gow on the other hand was as ‘dry’ as they come on the economy – not least because he had long been a huge admirer of the John the Baptist of Thatcherism, Enoch Powell, who he arranged on several occasions to smuggle into Downing Street in order to meet clandestinely with the PM. Accordingly, in advance of crucial Cabinet meetings, Gow would often take ministers aside and, in the words of one of his colleagues, would let them know that ‘“The Prime Minister is troubled by this issue and she hopes she can count on your support”, thereby getting people who might have been overawed by these big beasts to speak up for her.’ In so doing, Gow helped his boss face down the more centrist ‘wets’ – an iconic term which, incidentally, he may even have invented.
It was no surprise, then, that when Thatcher finally began to run into trouble towards the end of her third term, he returned to serve as one of the leaders of the crack campaign team which saw off a ‘stalking horse’ challenge to her in 1989. Whether, had he not died, Gow would really have been able to help save her when she was challenged by Michael Heseltine the following year is, however, a lot less certain.
One thing, however, is for sure: Gow serves as a reminder of the crucial role that, potentially at least, a good PPS to the PM can play – a role that , for all that the 2020s are not the 1980s, could still be played today as long, that is, an MP willing and able to play it can be found sitting on the backbenches of whichever party takes power at the next general election.
To read more about Gow and the role of the PPS in general, see this piece just published online in Parliamentary Affairs
Tim Bale is Professor of Politics, at Queen Mary University of London, and this article is adapted from a wider piece published online in Parliamentary Affairs
On a Sunday in early May 1983, a group of top Tory staffers and politicians had spent the best part of frustrating a day at Chequers trying and failing to convince an uncharacteristically dithering Prime Minister to go to the country on 9 June. Then, as one of the handful of advisers who hadn’t yet gone home, Cecil Parkinson, recalled,
“At about 8pm Mrs Thatcher was sitting staring into the fire and suddenly said, ‘Even if I wanted to call an election, the Queen would hardly be available at such short notice.’ Ian Gow slipped out of the room and came back ten minutes later to say that he had spoken to Buckingham Palace and the Queen could see Mrs Thatcher at noon the next day. I am still not sure that the look she gave him was one of gratitude.”
It should have been: a month later, the Conservative Party won a landslide 144-seat majority, allowing Thatcher to bring forward policies that were to transform the politics and the economy of this country forever.
Yet Gow will probably be best remembered for something that happened right at the end rather than nearer the beginning of Thatcher’s time in office. In 1990 he was brutally murdered by an IRA car bomb, triggering a by-election in his Eastbourne constituency that, because it resulted in a supposedly impregnable safe Tory seat falling to the Lib Dems, contributed in no small part to Thatcher’s defenestration a few weeks later.
Gow was targeted for assassination not merely because he was an outspoken advocate of the Unionist cause but because he was seen as exceptionally close to Thatcher, having served as her Parliamentary Private Secretary from 1979, when she first entered Downing Street, through to 1983, when she was re-elected with that impressive majority. In that role, he was widely regarded by those who served the women he called ‘The Lady’ as a brilliant appointment and, by some margin, as the best PPS she – and indeed any Prime Minister – ever had.
Although he didn’t know Thatcher particularly well before his appointment, Gow was already very much a Thatcherite. But while that ideological affinity helped him do a great job, so did the fact that he possessed the requisite temperament and skills. Totally trustworthy, Gow was gregarious but also shrewd, relatable but also ruthless. He knew his boss’s mind, as well as her strengths and weaknesses, and, on occasion, was more than willing to speak truth to power.
Parkinson in his memoirs spoke of Gow’s ‘tremendous capacity for hard work’ – a man whose ‘working day started at 6 a.m. and [who] would rarely return [home] before midnight, quite often accompanied by two or three colleagues from the House’, a man with ‘a wide circle of friends and acquaintances’ who ‘worked very hard at maintaining his contacts’, helped by the fact that he was ‘lively, in touch, and immensely entertaining.’ His sense of humour made him popular not just across the parliamentary Conservative party but across the House as a whole; just as importantly, he was also a good listener who colleagues felt they could relate to – the kind of person who, when anyone talked to him, be it in the Commons or over a White Lady cocktail in the nearby Cavalry club, made them feel as if they were the most important person in the room.
Gow was helped not just by his talent for friendship but also by what his friend (and Thatcher biographer) Jonathan Aitken called his ‘encyclopaedic knowledge of the Conservative Parliamentary Party’ as well as his boss’s rarely commented on ‘enjoyment of gossip’ about their parliamentary colleagues – all of which allowed him to report ‘their murmurings and mischiefs with a humorous fidelity…and kept her attuned to her power base with a depth of understanding that was never again achieved after Gow left her inner service.’ Whether at an impromptu supper at their South London pied-à-terre or at rather grander weekends at Chequers, he and his wife Jane provided something of a safe space where a Prime Minister not exactly famed for her ability to do so could truly relax – even if, on occasions, it meant a hair-raising trip in Gow’s little blue mini with her protection officer squeezed into the back seat.
Gow, then, was much more than Thatcher’s sympathetic bag carrier and her eyes and ears – he was a consigliere. He explained the Prime Minister to the parliamentary party and the parliamentary party to the Prime Minister, conveying a sense of pitfalls and problems before they turned into something more serious, reminding her of the need to engage with back-benchers and junior frontbenchers on all sides of the party. Gow, unlike his successors, did not attend Cabinet meetings; but he influenced them, informally. He also had considerable influence on reshuffles and, fairly or unfairly, on how ministers were regarded and rewarded by the PM. He served not just as a sounding board but now and then as her ideological conscience, stiffening her spine as well as helping with key Party Conference speeches. And, as we have already noted, he also played a part in helping the Prime Minister make that loneliest of decisions – namely when to call an election.
All this was crucial – especially in the early days of her premiership when Thatcher was surrounded by less zealous senior colleagues who had not voted for her, did not agree with her, and were unsure, even hopeful, that she would last long in the job). Gow on the other hand was as ‘dry’ as they come on the economy – not least because he had long been a huge admirer of the John the Baptist of Thatcherism, Enoch Powell, who he arranged on several occasions to smuggle into Downing Street in order to meet clandestinely with the PM. Accordingly, in advance of crucial Cabinet meetings, Gow would often take ministers aside and, in the words of one of his colleagues, would let them know that ‘“The Prime Minister is troubled by this issue and she hopes she can count on your support”, thereby getting people who might have been overawed by these big beasts to speak up for her.’ In so doing, Gow helped his boss face down the more centrist ‘wets’ – an iconic term which, incidentally, he may even have invented.
It was no surprise, then, that when Thatcher finally began to run into trouble towards the end of her third term, he returned to serve as one of the leaders of the crack campaign team which saw off a ‘stalking horse’ challenge to her in 1989. Whether, had he not died, Gow would really have been able to help save her when she was challenged by Michael Heseltine the following year is, however, a lot less certain.
One thing, however, is for sure: Gow serves as a reminder of the crucial role that, potentially at least, a good PPS to the PM can play – a role that , for all that the 2020s are not the 1980s, could still be played today as long, that is, an MP willing and able to play it can be found sitting on the backbenches of whichever party takes power at the next general election.
To read more about Gow and the role of the PPS in general, see this piece just published online in Parliamentary Affairs