In Europe, liberals always dine with conservatives

The Lib Dems' sister parties have long-standing alliances with the right.

As the Liberal Democrats debate the political position of their party and the future of the coalition, a look at other EU nations shows a notable tendency for liberal parties to ally with conservatives.

In France, the Radical Party has a long-standing electoral alliance with the centre-right and even sits within the European People’s Party in the EU Parliament. In addition, many of the Lib Dems' colleagues in the Alliance of Liberals and Democrats for Europe (ALDE) group are distinctly pro-conservative.

Most outspoken is German Foreign Minister Guido Westerwelle, who resigned as leader of the liberal Free Democrats in 2011. Ahead of the 2009 German federal election, he told Der Spiegel that a coalition with the SPD or the Greens was "out of the question". He went on to argue that the left-wing parties promoted "ever greater burdens on citizens".

In Sweden, the Social Democrats are kept out of power by a right-wing electoral pact, The Alliance, which includes two ALDE affiliates, the Liberal People's Party and the Moderates.

In the Netherlands, the position of the liberals is even more outlandish. The main liberal party and, since 2010, the biggest party in the Dutch parliament, the VVD, lurched to the right in the 1970s under the leadership of Hans Wiegel. Perhaps more properly described today as conservative-liberal, it nevertheless remains allied with the Lib Dems within the ALDE group. The Netherland’s other liberal party, Democracy 66, the progressive remnant of Dutch liberalism, has itself propped up conservative governments, most recently from 2003-06.

The Lib Dems are correct in identifying liberalism as a distinctive political strand between conservatism and social democracy. However, across the EU as in Britain, this political strand sits more happily on the right. As Lady Bracknell said of the Liberal Unionists in The Importance of Being Earnest,  "Oh, they count as Tories. They dine with us. Or come in the evening, at any rate."

German foreign minister Guido Westerwelle, a former leader of the Free Democrats, with Chancellor Angela Merkel. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times