“Almost everyone in Scotland will now know somebody who’s in the party.” Photo: Getty
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One in 50 adults in Scotland is now a member of the SNP – what does this mean for its future?

The party is acutely aware that it needs to keep hold of its 90,000 new members.

For decades, a fixture of SNP campaigning were membership recruitment drives. Some, such as that led by the late Billy Wolfe in the mid-Sixties, attracted thousands of new members (including my father), others – particularly during the party’s long years on the fringes of politics – were only modestly effective.

All that’s changed since the emergence of the SNP as a party of government over the past decade. Shortly before last year’s independence referendum it had around 25,000 members, but in the weeks following the No vote, it more than doubled to over 50,000, making it the third largest party in the UK.

But it didn’t end there: by March 2015 the total had passed 100,000, meaning it entered the recent general election two-thirds the size of the Conservatives and half the size of Labour. That figure now stands at 115,000, meaning that around 1 in 50 of the adult population in Scotland is a member of the SNP – equivalent to the UK Labour Party having a million members.

This quadrupling in less than a year occurred without a concerted effort or strategy, although the creation of a centralised membership system when John Swinney was leader back in 2000-04, was an important reform. This removed the need for local branches to keep re-signing up members, thus liberating the party machine to concentrate on campaigning.

“Logistically in the mid-Nineties the party wouldn’t have been able to cope,” says an SNP insider of the recent dramatic growth in membership. “But after the referendum our technology helped greatly: most of the new members signed up online, so it then became a big processing job.”

But the party is also acutely aware it needs to keep hold of its 90,000 new members.

In that context a rolling cycle of elections helps. In less than a year’s time there will be elections to the Scottish Parliament, and after than an EU referendum and local government ballots. Social media also enables new members to feel involved, while they receive a weekly email from the party’s hugely popular leader (and Scottish First Minister) Nicola Sturgeon.

“By joining the SNP you can have a say in making Scotland all that it can be,” declares the party’s slick website, examples including voting for “the selection of parliamentary candidates and the party leadership”, and attendance at its annual conference and thus the opportunity to “take part in SNP policy making”.

The modern SNP, however, isn’t really much more internally democratic than its UK counterparts, and these days its two annual conferences are carefully stage-managed to avoid public dissent (an exception was the party’s 2012 debate over Nato). A motion at the most recent conference for the number of delegates to be scaled back was defeated, so they’ll continue to be large affairs.

“The activist base is very important to the SNP,” says a party insider. “The referendum showed how important local campaigning could be, as did the general election.”

And although Nicola Sturgeon is currently trying to play down talk of another referendum, the party knows how important its membership would be in a rerun of last year’s historic battle. “You need a lot of members to have a large campaign,” says the insider, “and although it would be bigger than just the SNP, we will always bring the bulk and numbers to another referendum.”

At the same time there are potential drawbacks to such a big influx of new members (although as Sturgeon once joked, it’s a “problem” she’s happy to have). Although the data is thin, it’s widely assumed many are significantly to the left of the SNP’s generally moderate leadership, perhaps more republican, and most likely more impatient for another independence plebiscite.

But, as the SNP insider points out, “almost everyone in Scotland will now know somebody who’s in the party; a member of their family, a colleague, or someone they know from bingo or bowling”. Not only will that “humanise” a party often caricatured by its opponents, it’ll help an already formidable campaigning machine cope with the electoral challenges ahead.

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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