their eyes closed. Backbenchers sat
chattering among themselves waiting for the ten o’clock vote: the ultimate
humiliation the House affords to its worst debaters. The Speaker had to call
for order several times during Charles’s speech, once rising to rebuke noisy
members, “The House does its reputation no service by behaving in this way.”
But his plea fell on deaf ears as the conversations continued. At nine-thirty
Charles sat down in a cold sweat. A few of his own backbenchers managed to raise an unconvincing, “Hear, hear.”
When a
Govemment spokesman opened his speech by describing Charles’s offering as among
the most pathetic he had heard in a long political career, he may well have
been exaggerating, but from the expressions on the Tory front benches not many
Opposition members were going to disagree with him.
Elizabeth looked
up and smiled as her husband came into the room. “I’ve delivered over a
thousand children in the past five years, but none have given me the thrill
this one did. I thought you’d like to know mother and child are doing well.”
Simon took
Elizabeth in his arms. “How long do I have to wait to learn the truth?”
“It’s a boy,”
she said.
“Congratulations,
darling,” said Simon.
“I’m so proud
of you.” He pushed her hair back tenderly. “So it’s to be Peter, not Lucy.”
“Certainly hope
so, that is if you don’t want the poor little blighter teased all his life.”
A mirse joined
them holding a small child almost swamped in a little sheet and blanket. Simon
took his son in his arms and stared into the large blue eyes.
“He looks like
a future Prime Minister to me.’
“Gocd heavens,
no,” said Elizabeth. “He looks far too intelligent to consider anything as
silly as that.” She put her arms out at full stretch and Simon reluctantly
released his son into the care of his mother.
Simon sat on
the end of the bed admiring his wife and firstbom, as Elizabeth prepared to
feed him.
“Perhaps it
will be possible for you to take a break for a while., You deserve a holiday.”
“Not a chance,”
said Elizabeth, as she watched her son close his eyes.
“I’m back on
duty roster next week. Don’t forget we still need my income while they pay
members of Parliament such a pittance.”
Simon didn’t
reply. He realized that if he was ever going to convince his wife to slow down,
he would have to take a more gentle approach.
“Peter and I
think you’re wonderful,” said Simon.
Elizabeth
looked down at her child. “I don’t think Peter’s sure yet, but at least he’s
sleeping on it.”
The decision
was finally made by the inner Cabinet of twelve on Thursday, November 16, 1967.
By Friday every bank clerk in Tokyo was privy to the inner Cabinet’s closest
secret, and by the time the Prime Minister made tile announcement official on
Saturday afternoon, the Bank of England had lost 600 million dollars of
reserves on the foreign-exchange market.
At the time of
the Prime Minister’s statement, Raymond was in Leeds conducting his
twice-monthly constituency office hours. He was in the process of explaining
the new housing bill to a young married couple when Fred Padgett, his campaign
manager, burst into the room.
“Raymond, sorry
to interrupt you, but I thought you’d want to know immediately. Number Ten has
just announced that the pound has been devalued from $2.80 to $2.40.”
The sitting
member was momentarily stunned, the local housing problem driven from his mind.
He stared blankly across the table at the two constituents who had come to seek
his advice.
“Will you
please excuse me for a moment, Mr. Higginbottom?” Raymond asked courteously. “I
must make a phone call.”
The moment
turned out to be fifteen minutes, in which time Raymond had made contact with a
senior civil servant from the Treasury and had all the details confirmed. He
called Joyce and told her not to answer the phone until he arrived back home.
It was several minutes
chattering among themselves waiting for the ten o’clock vote: the ultimate
humiliation the House affords to its worst debaters. The Speaker had to call
for order several times during Charles’s speech, once rising to rebuke noisy
members, “The House does its reputation no service by behaving in this way.”
But his plea fell on deaf ears as the conversations continued. At nine-thirty
Charles sat down in a cold sweat. A few of his own backbenchers managed to raise an unconvincing, “Hear, hear.”
When a
Govemment spokesman opened his speech by describing Charles’s offering as among
the most pathetic he had heard in a long political career, he may well have
been exaggerating, but from the expressions on the Tory front benches not many
Opposition members were going to disagree with him.
Elizabeth looked
up and smiled as her husband came into the room. “I’ve delivered over a
thousand children in the past five years, but none have given me the thrill
this one did. I thought you’d like to know mother and child are doing well.”
Simon took
Elizabeth in his arms. “How long do I have to wait to learn the truth?”
“It’s a boy,”
she said.
“Congratulations,
darling,” said Simon.
“I’m so proud
of you.” He pushed her hair back tenderly. “So it’s to be Peter, not Lucy.”
“Certainly hope
so, that is if you don’t want the poor little blighter teased all his life.”
A mirse joined
them holding a small child almost swamped in a little sheet and blanket. Simon
took his son in his arms and stared into the large blue eyes.
“He looks like
a future Prime Minister to me.’
“Gocd heavens,
no,” said Elizabeth. “He looks far too intelligent to consider anything as
silly as that.” She put her arms out at full stretch and Simon reluctantly
released his son into the care of his mother.
Simon sat on
the end of the bed admiring his wife and firstbom, as Elizabeth prepared to
feed him.
“Perhaps it
will be possible for you to take a break for a while., You deserve a holiday.”
“Not a chance,”
said Elizabeth, as she watched her son close his eyes.
“I’m back on
duty roster next week. Don’t forget we still need my income while they pay
members of Parliament such a pittance.”
Simon didn’t
reply. He realized that if he was ever going to convince his wife to slow down,
he would have to take a more gentle approach.
“Peter and I
think you’re wonderful,” said Simon.
Elizabeth
looked down at her child. “I don’t think Peter’s sure yet, but at least he’s
sleeping on it.”
The decision
was finally made by the inner Cabinet of twelve on Thursday, November 16, 1967.
By Friday every bank clerk in Tokyo was privy to the inner Cabinet’s closest
secret, and by the time the Prime Minister made tile announcement official on
Saturday afternoon, the Bank of England had lost 600 million dollars of
reserves on the foreign-exchange market.
At the time of
the Prime Minister’s statement, Raymond was in Leeds conducting his
twice-monthly constituency office hours. He was in the process of explaining
the new housing bill to a young married couple when Fred Padgett, his campaign
manager, burst into the room.
“Raymond, sorry
to interrupt you, but I thought you’d want to know immediately. Number Ten has
just announced that the pound has been devalued from $2.80 to $2.40.”
The sitting
member was momentarily stunned, the local housing problem driven from his mind.
He stared blankly across the table at the two constituents who had come to seek
his advice.
“Will you
please excuse me for a moment, Mr. Higginbottom?” Raymond asked courteously. “I
must make a phone call.”
The moment
turned out to be fifteen minutes, in which time Raymond had made contact with a
senior civil servant from the Treasury and had all the details confirmed. He
called Joyce and told her not to answer the phone until he arrived back home.
It was several minutes
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