The Cameron-Brooks texts begin to leak

The PM told Brooks to "keep her head up" the week she resigned.

Last week we learned that David Cameron may have texted Rebekah Brooks "a dozen" times a day. Today, courtesy of News International's the Times (£), we learn of some of the contents. An updated version of Times journalist Francis Elliott and Independent journalist James Hanning's biography of the PM, Cameron: Practically a Conservative, reveals that Cameron texted Brooks in the week she resigned as chief executive of News International to tell her "to keep her head up" (not a direct quote).

In a revelation that will certainly brighten Labour's morning, we also learn that such contact then came to an "abrupt halt", with Cameron dispatching an emissary to explain that "Ed Miliband had him on the run." And there's more: Brooks and Cameron texted each other to make sure they were not seen together at the Heythrop point-to-point; Cameron asked the Met to open a review into the Madeleine McCann case in May 2011 as "a favour" for Brooks; and Royal courtiers warned that Buckingham Palace would "think poorly" of a decision to take Andy Coulson into Downing Street.

The case for the defence is put by Oliver Letwin. "If you are on the same side as her (Brooks), you have to see her every week," he explains. "This was how it worked." In other words, the PM courted Brooks no more or less than Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. But even if we accept Letwin's assurances, the problem for Cameron is that he was the one standing up when the music stopped.

It's tempting to dismiss the Leveson inquiry (before which Coulson will testify on Thursday, followed by Brooks on Friday) as of interest only to journalists but Rebekah Brooks's name is one that has penetrated the public consciousness. As I've written before, the claim that Cameron texted her a dozen times a day (more contact than most people have with their partner) could permanently reduce him in the eyes of the public. Conversely, as Sunder Katwala notes, there are "as of now, no actual texts/emails to/from Cameron to Rebekah Brooks yet in public domain." So long as this remains the case, No. 10 will hope that it can limit the damage.

David Cameron with former Sun editor and News International chief executive Rebekah Brooks.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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“It was like a religious ceremony”: What happened at Big Ben’s final bong?

Both inside and outside Parliament, people gathered to hear the clock’s final midday chime before undergoing repairs.

“It’s just hacks everywhere,” a photographer sighs, jamming his lens through a gap in Parliament’s railings to try and get a closer look.

New Palace Yard, Parliament’s courtyard directly below Big Ben, is filling with amused-looking journalists, waiting for the MPs who have promised to hold a “silent vigil”, heads bowed, to mark Big Ben’s final chime before four years of silence while the tower’s repaired.

About four of them turn up. Two by accident.

It’s five minutes to twelve. Tourists are gathering outside Westminster Tube, as tourists do best. A bigger crowd fills Parliament Square. More people than expected congregate outside, even if it’s the opposite within the Palace. The world and his phone are gazing up at the sad, resigned clock face.


“It’s quite controversial, isn’t it?” one elderly woman in an anorak asks her friend. They shrug and walk off. “Do you know what is this?” an Italian tourist politely asks the tiny press pack, gesturing to the courtyard. No one replies. It’s a good question.

“This is the last time,” says another tourist, elated, Instagram-poised.

“DING DONG DING DONG,” the old bell begins.

Heads down, phones up.


It finishes the on-the-hour tune for the last time, and then gives its much-anticipated resignation statement:

“BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG.”

Applause, cheers, and even some tears.


But while the silly-seasoned journalists snigger, the crowd is enthusiastic.

“It’s quite emotional,” says David Lear, a 52-year-old carer from Essex, who came up to London today with his work and waited 45 minutes beneath Big Ben to hear it chime.

He feels “very, very sad” that the bell is falling silent, and finds the MPs’ vigil respectful. “I think lots of people feel quite strongly about it. I don’t know why they’re doing it. During the war it carries on, and then they turn it off for a health and safety reason.”

“I don’t know why they can’t have some speakers half way down it and just play the chime,” he adds. “So many tourists come especially to listen to the chime, they gather round here, getting ready for it to go – and they’re going to switch it off. It’s crazy.”

Indeed, most of the surrounding crowd appears to be made up of tourists. “I think that it was gorgeous, because I’ve never heard him,” smiles Cora, an 18-year-old German tourist. “It was a great experience.”

An Australian couple in their sixties called Jane and Gary are visiting London for a week. “It was like a religious ceremony, everybody went quiet,” laughs Gary. “I hope they don’t forget where they put the keys to start it again in four years’ time.”

“When we first got here, the first thing we did was come to see it,” adds Jane, who is also positive about the MPs who turned up to watch. “I think it’s good they showed a bit of respect. Because they don’t usually show much respect, do they?”

And, as MPs mouthing off about Big Ben are challenged on their contrasting reactions to Grenfell, that is precisely the problem with an otherwise innocent show of sentimentality.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.