The First Gentleman

Dear Bill,

Only another week, thank God. My hand is already calloused and misshapen from pressing the proletarian flesh. Then last night I woke up shouting, "Hear, hear, "in response to Margaret's snores, which will give you some idea of how far things have gone. . .

Denis

He prefers golf with his chums to affairs of state. He calls his wife "the boss," grouses about the "reptiles" of Fleet Street, and is addicted to a "tincture or two" before dinner. His name is Denis Thatcher, and he is the target of a long-running spoof in the British satirical magazine Private Eye in the form of letters to a fictional golfing pal named Bill. The missives tell of one man's travails living at 10 Downing Street with the British Prime Minister, who happens to be his wife.

The authors of the letters are Humorists John Wells and Richard Ingrams. They began writing the "Dear Bill" series soon after Mrs. Thatcher took office in 1979. The feature proved so popular that two years ago it was adapted into a stage farce, Anyone for Denis? The letters have also served to make the real-life Denis, 68, a semiretired businessman who does indeed play golf, a sympathetic figure in his difficult role as Britain's first First Gentleman.

Though friends say that the Private Eye satires make Denis seem more of a Milquetoast than he is, they have sometimes been so closely drawn that Thatcher aides suspected a spy on the premises. Denis' own opinions, quirks and quips are remarkably similar to those thought up by Wells and Ingrams. When asked at the start of Mrs. Thatcher's tour of the Far East last year if he would be wearing any particular hat, Denis shot back, "No hat, just my usual place half a step behind." Another time, commenting on his role in helping his wife campaign, he quipped in his best mock Cockney, "It's just a job. I do me best." And once when someone asked if he and Maggie had separate bank accounts, he replied, "God, yes, and separate beds."

Throughout the campaign, Denis has been a dutiful fixture at Maggie's appearances, nodding and applauding at the right moments, croaking, "Hear, hear," like a proud bullfrog each time she makes a point. A diligent Norwegian reporter counted 40 "Hear, hears" during a single Thatcher speech a few weeks ago in Yorkshire. Denis has a penchant for the blunt phrase. He routinely refers to trade unionists as "Luddites" and to antinuclear protesters as "Commies." As he once put it, "I don't pretend that I'm anything but an honest-to-God right-winger." After a few such remarks slipped into the press, Denis stopped giving interviews. Says a family friend: "The irony is that 20 years ago he would have thought a female Prime Minister a biological impossibility."

Denis might also have been surprised to see his wife's career blossom just as his was ending. Born in London in 1915, he was sent to Mill Hill, a second-drawer boarding school, then went on to join the Royal Artillery. By the end of World War II, he had risen to the rank of major. There was also a brief marriage and a divorce. Denis' grandfather in Kent had discovered an effective sheep-dip and founded a company, Atlas Preservatives, to market it. After the war, Denis went to work for the firm, which became a successful paint manufacturer.

One evening in 1949, he offered a young Tory candidate named Margaret Roberts, then 23, a lift home from a political meeting. They were married two years later. By then, Denis had inherited the family business and considerable wealth. Maggie quit work, studied law, gave birth to twins, Carol and Mark, and began her ascent up the political ladder. Denis traveled extensively for Atlas and eventually sold the firm to Castrol, a lubricating-oil company, which was later taken over by Burmah Oil. He was a director of planning at a Burmah subsidiary when he retired in 1975, and still sits on several corporate boards.

Does he discuss politics with the boss? "Yes," says she. "We talk about political problems and my problems, just as we talked about his when he was running his family business." He is reputed to be a skillful host at No. 10, and usually manages to get in a golf game twice a week (his handicap: 21). The twins, now 29, lead busy, independent lives. Carol got her law degree, then took up journalism and broadcasting.

Mark's exploits as a race-car driver have given his parents a few gray hairs. Mark is now involved in promotional schemes for his company, Monteagle Marketing.

But Denis is the member of the family who has won the hearts of Private Eye readers. "We parody him," says Wells, "because he is a stock figure in English society. But the real point of the letters is not so much to expose the mad antics of Denis as, through an innocent lens, to look at the mad antics of Maggie." In one of his last letters before election day, the fictional Denis fretted about the gathering landslide.

Dear Bill,

What worries me is that my worst fears about another four years of misery cooped up in purdah in a back room at Downing Street seem all too justified. With a 200-seat majority, can you imagine what shell be like?

Denis

To which the real Mr. Thatcher might croak, "Hear, hear." This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.