tilt the balance further in his favour, Blair added: ‘I think that most people who have dealt with me think I’m a pretty straight sort of guy – and I am.’
Despite his damnation in the Commons by William Hague for a ‘shabby tale of evasion’, the lies saved Blair but left Ecclestone’s reputation damaged. ‘I’ve been hung out to dry,’ he complained.
Blair was shaken by the crisis. In an unusual post-mortem, he privately admitted his dishonesty. To avoid chaos in the future, Cherie advised, he needed to organise ‘proper decision-making structures’ to resolve ‘the lack of clarity in his office’. The truth, she implied, was that Powell, Levy and Campbell had failed to protect her husband.
Derry Irvine was harsher. Blair’s mistake, said the lawyer, was tobelieve his own propaganda and trust that Campbell could spin an escape from anything. In his grandiose manner, Irvine had lectured his employer, whom he would call ‘the boy’, that solving the malpractice required legal, not journalistic, minds. That reprimand evoked from Campbell a rare confession: ‘I have been evasive too often … The problem had been a lack of precision and a lack of candour.’
In concluding the inquest, Brian Bender mentioned that Blair must hope that his team ‘would return to [the] rigour of [the] Wilson and Callaghan years’. Blair agreed, without realising that Wilson’s premiership had been damned for serial dishonesty, while Callaghan had developed a corrupt relationship with a banker who loaned the prime minister sufficient money to buy a farm in Sussex in exchange for a knighthood.
The self-flagellation included Mandelson giving a lecture entitled ‘Effective Communication in the Public Sector’ to civil servants in Whitehall. Referring to the Ecclestone scandal, Mandelson told his audience, without blushing, ‘Honesty is the first principle of good communications … and the purpose of communications is not to stall or to hide but to put in context and to explain.’ The cynics in the audience chortled. Mandelson had never previously spoken about Labour’s moral mission or ‘the right thing to do’. His writ had always been ‘This is how we win’, and he intended to continue in the same vein.
The tumult disrupted relations among Blair’s closest advisers, especially between Mandelson and Brown. Ever since he withdrew his bid to be party leader in 1994, Brown’s venom had been directed at Mandelson in particular. ‘Mendelsohn’, he said, emphasising the Germanic lineage, was ‘a menace’. Previously, the two had been close allies, but Mandelson’s support for Blair’s leadership bid had devastated Brown. The depressive Scot was incapable of maintaining civilised relations with anyone other than subservient ultra-loyalists. By October 1997, he was brazenly ignoring the most senior officials in Blair’s office. Even Powell was ignored for thirteen years.
Unflattering stories about Brown spread, especially after the EMUrow, and the chancellor was convinced that Mandelson was the source. ‘Call the dogs off,’ he snapped at Blair. In response, Mandelson was reported to have cried during an emotional interview with a psychiatrist. Campbell, he complained, had become too grand, and in addition was undermining him, keeping him off television. Mandelson suspected that he himself was even disliked by Fiona Millar. He next remonstrated in Blair’s Downing Street den that he was fed up with being ‘treated like dirt’.
‘The attention-seeking was becoming absurd,’ sighed an insider who lamented Mandelson’s exaggeration of his status. Increasingly, Blair was buffeted by arguments among his team. There was even a dispute about who could claim the credit for the election victory.
Amid all the bitter emotions, Blair relied on each of those loyalists. Mandelson was his political genius, Brown his financial expert, Campbell his protector and Hunter his confidante. At the end of May, before
Despite his damnation in the Commons by William Hague for a ‘shabby tale of evasion’, the lies saved Blair but left Ecclestone’s reputation damaged. ‘I’ve been hung out to dry,’ he complained.
Blair was shaken by the crisis. In an unusual post-mortem, he privately admitted his dishonesty. To avoid chaos in the future, Cherie advised, he needed to organise ‘proper decision-making structures’ to resolve ‘the lack of clarity in his office’. The truth, she implied, was that Powell, Levy and Campbell had failed to protect her husband.
Derry Irvine was harsher. Blair’s mistake, said the lawyer, was tobelieve his own propaganda and trust that Campbell could spin an escape from anything. In his grandiose manner, Irvine had lectured his employer, whom he would call ‘the boy’, that solving the malpractice required legal, not journalistic, minds. That reprimand evoked from Campbell a rare confession: ‘I have been evasive too often … The problem had been a lack of precision and a lack of candour.’
In concluding the inquest, Brian Bender mentioned that Blair must hope that his team ‘would return to [the] rigour of [the] Wilson and Callaghan years’. Blair agreed, without realising that Wilson’s premiership had been damned for serial dishonesty, while Callaghan had developed a corrupt relationship with a banker who loaned the prime minister sufficient money to buy a farm in Sussex in exchange for a knighthood.
The self-flagellation included Mandelson giving a lecture entitled ‘Effective Communication in the Public Sector’ to civil servants in Whitehall. Referring to the Ecclestone scandal, Mandelson told his audience, without blushing, ‘Honesty is the first principle of good communications … and the purpose of communications is not to stall or to hide but to put in context and to explain.’ The cynics in the audience chortled. Mandelson had never previously spoken about Labour’s moral mission or ‘the right thing to do’. His writ had always been ‘This is how we win’, and he intended to continue in the same vein.
The tumult disrupted relations among Blair’s closest advisers, especially between Mandelson and Brown. Ever since he withdrew his bid to be party leader in 1994, Brown’s venom had been directed at Mandelson in particular. ‘Mendelsohn’, he said, emphasising the Germanic lineage, was ‘a menace’. Previously, the two had been close allies, but Mandelson’s support for Blair’s leadership bid had devastated Brown. The depressive Scot was incapable of maintaining civilised relations with anyone other than subservient ultra-loyalists. By October 1997, he was brazenly ignoring the most senior officials in Blair’s office. Even Powell was ignored for thirteen years.
Unflattering stories about Brown spread, especially after the EMUrow, and the chancellor was convinced that Mandelson was the source. ‘Call the dogs off,’ he snapped at Blair. In response, Mandelson was reported to have cried during an emotional interview with a psychiatrist. Campbell, he complained, had become too grand, and in addition was undermining him, keeping him off television. Mandelson suspected that he himself was even disliked by Fiona Millar. He next remonstrated in Blair’s Downing Street den that he was fed up with being ‘treated like dirt’.
‘The attention-seeking was becoming absurd,’ sighed an insider who lamented Mandelson’s exaggeration of his status. Increasingly, Blair was buffeted by arguments among his team. There was even a dispute about who could claim the credit for the election victory.
Amid all the bitter emotions, Blair relied on each of those loyalists. Mandelson was his political genius, Brown his financial expert, Campbell his protector and Hunter his confidante. At the end of May, before
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