Old Man, New Policy

The speaker, Cyril Osborne, M.P. from Lincolnshire's agricultural section of Louth, pivoted, leveled an accusing finger at the Conservative Party bigwigs enthroned in the silver shell of the ballroom bandstand, and roared:

"Where are the representatives of the working class up there?" Before the chairman could stop him, he had added: "It is only the poor who understand the poor. And we are never going to win an election until we get the industrial voters on our side."

Such was the temper of the first postwar conference of Britain's Conservative Party, in the hideously gaudy ballroom of Blackpool's Winter Garden. Tired of limp platitudes, the young bloods arose, one after another, to demand clear answers to hard, embarrassing questions. Spearheaded by bright up-&-comer Peter Thorneycroft and bubble-eyed Quintin Hogg, they asked: What is Tory policy on full employment? Do we believe in planning ahead to prevent mass unemployment? Where do we stand on nationalization? In short, what is our policy? From the bandstand, diehard ex-M.P. Sir Herbert Williams made a weary retort: "I don't know why people should worry so much about . . . policy. It isn't a thing you state, it grows out of circumstance."

Agitated party leaders Lord Woolton and Anthony Eden scurried to Keynoter Winston Churchill in his cerise-&-cream, modernistic suite. After hours of discussion, morning found cigar-smoking Churchill sitting up in bed, dictating a new and more soothing speech in 500-word blocks to two secretaries in relays.* That afternoon, while 4,000 people jammed every balcony and corridor, Senior Oracle Winston Churchill gave the young rebels a few answers, then cannily diverted their attention to subjects on which they could happily agree. Clutching his coat lapel with one hand and stabbing the air with the other, he strode into his 6,000-word speech. First, to a tremendous ovation, he told them he would continue in party leadership "as long as I have the necessary strength and energy and have your confidence."

Then, paternally, he said: "... It would certainly be an error ... for us to plunge into a program of promises and bribes," but "these are some of our objectives: to defend and develop empire trade ... to promote all measures to improve the health and social conditions of the people ... to support as a general rule free enterprise and initiative against state trading and nationalization of industries." Quickly changing the subject, he bitterly assailed the Labor Government with vacillating in Palestine, leaving India's "helpless millions" under "what new power."

The delegates easily understood that he meant Russia.

Concluding he said: "The division at the next election will be between those who wholeheartedly sing The Red Flag and those who rejoice to sing Land of Hope and Glory."

The crowd roared Land of Hope and Glory, with Churchill hoarsely joining in. It was clear that the grand old man had given the party fresh spirit. But had he satisfied the party's "Young Turks"? If, indeed, the party did regain power, what was to be done about the nationalization already in effect? Said one young delegate: "We can't very well unscramble that omelet."

At conference's end, as the emotional afflatus of Churchill's oratory subsided, it was clear that Britain's Tories were still fumbling for a policy which would rally anti-Socialist forces, offer a new direction comparable to that achieved by some of the new progressive anti-Marxist parties on the Continent. Staring British Tories in the face was the finding of the latest British Institute of Public Opinion poll: in spite of difficult months in both domestic and foreign politics, Labor's strength had slightly increased.

* Churchill always speaks either extemporaneously or from very full notes. His last experience at speaking from half notes occurred many years ago in a House of Commons debate on a Trade Disputes Act. He recounts it as a warning to young public speakers: "I reached my resounding peroration with the words, 'So, it only remains for those who--.' I peered at my notes, only to discover that I had failed to write down who they were and what it remained for them to do. In the hope that necessity would mother invention, I repeated with great emphasis, 'So, it only remains for those who--.' But it was no use, and I sat down. The House gave me a sympathetic cheer."

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