Britain's Pragmatic Patrician

The man who is pulling the Rhodesian thorn from Britain's side once described himself as "a product of privilege." Indeed, Peter Alexander Rupert Carington, 60, sixth Baron Carrington,* bears all the hallmarks of his patrician heritage: urbanity, erudition and an icy self-assurance sometimes bordering on arrogance. He has, says a friend, "that aristocratic, flippant manner that makes him free of inhibitions or a sense of inadequacy." Though he has never held elective office, the trim, impeccably tailored Carrington is regarded as a consummate politician. He has more governmental experience than anyone else in the Thatcher Cabinet--"more than all of us put together," says a colleague. It has often been said that Carrington could have occupied 10 Downing Street had he chosen to. In 1964 friends urged him to renounce his title in order to become eligible for election to the House of Commons and prime ministership. "Why should I want to be Prime Minister?" he replied. "I can imagine no more awful job."

What Carrington lacks in personal ambition is more than compensated for by the deep sense of noblesse oblige that has inspired his lifelong commitment to public service. Educated at Eton and Sandhurst, he won the Military Cross as an officer in the elite Grenadier Guards during World War II. An active member of the House of Lords since 1938, Carrington held government posts under Winston Churchill and Anthony Eden before being sent as High Commissioner to Australia in 1956. Three years later, he was named to the prestigious post of First Lord of the Admiralty. He served as Secretary of Defense and later was Secretary of Energy in the 1970-74 Tory government headed by Edward Heath. Carrington, who was also chairman of the Conservative Party at that time, earned the nickname of "Superhawk" by urging Heath to take a strong stand against the striking unions. It proved to be a disastrous strategy and helped pave the way for the Tories' 1974 electoral defeat. But the experience taught him some valuable political lessons in moderation and pragmatism.

Carrington is impatient with pomposity or snobbery. His sharp wit is tempered by a self-deprecating humor that allows him to make light of his 183-year-old title. "My name is Smith," he jokes; his family tree traces back to a banker named Tom Smith. The family seat is the Manor House, set in 800 acres near Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire; there Carrington indulges his passion for farming and landscape gardening.

Carrington has had little time for such pursuits since Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher named him Foreign Secretary last May. The two appear to work exceedingly well together, and the Foreign Secretary has emerged as one of her most influential Cabinet members. Shortly after settling into his Whitehall office, Carrington saved Thatcher from a colossal political blunder on the Rhodesian question by persuading her not to recognize the Muzorewa regime prematurely. After the Prime Minister rather coldly argued that Britain would not accept any Vietnamese "boat people" refugees, Carrington flew to Hong Kong to observe their plight for himself. When he returned to London, he demanded that the Prime Minister reverse her stand, which she did.

Not surprisingly, Carrington is beloved by the mandarins of the Foreign Office, who cordially disliked his abrasive Laborite predecessor, David Owen. One way that Carrington has earned their respect is by selling the Foreign Office views where they really count: in the Cabinet. Says one Tory colleague: "Nobody can challenge him on foreign policy; and that includes Margaret Thatcher." After his deft handling of the Zimbabwe Rhodesia talks, Carrington's reputation stands higher than ever. As Owen graciously put it last week: "He is the man who did it, and I congratulate him."

* The family name is spelled with only one r owing to an 18th century heraldic error.

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