The end of Dave

If Cameron loses the election, his modernisation of the Conservatives will be deemed a failure and h

David Cameron's crime was that he expected to win. Some would go further and say that from every pore he exuded a belief that he was entitled to win. Either way, beyond him winning, what has been the point of the Tory campaign? What real changes are on offer in return for swapping Labour centrists for Tory centrists?

Cameron spent most of the last parliament obliging Tories to support the Labour spending plans he claimed, by the end of it, had wrecked Britain. If this is change, it requires a different electorate to see it. It also requires an electorate that hadn't come to the conclusion that the Labour/Tory duopoly deserved a monopoly of blame for the expenses scandal. Believing his own spin that he had "handled" expenses, Cameron has spent the general election campaign flailing from one panicked measure to another, reaching the nadir with his casual proposal to rip up the constitution and have, in effect, directly elected prime ministers. Others will tell you how it came to this. Let's just consider what will likely come of it.

Mods and shockers

One thing Cameron's failure will do is kill off the myth that being right-wing has lost the Tory party four elections in a row. Establishing this "fact" was a triumph for the Tory modernisers. Having it believed by anyone required an acceptance that John Major ran a furiously right-wing government; that William Hague, hemmed in by the shadow chancellor Michael Portillo and the shadow foreign secretary Francis Maude, was even more so; and that Michael Howard, far from being the man who patronised Cameron to the extent of having him write his manifesto, was a traditionalist whom other trads just couldn't bring themselves to admit as such. Doubtless there are people who will always think that this was just so; but even they won't be able to deny that Cameron ran as Cameron, and if he loses, an argument will therefore have been settled.

What happens next will also illustrate the difference between the Tory right and the Labour left, and also between the Tory right in internal opposition and the way Tory mods behaved out of power. Unlike too many socialist purists in Labour civil wars past, traditional Tories have wanted their party to win, even under a leader such as Cameron, who openly despised them. Indeed, it will be precisely his taking us to needless defeat that will be fatal. In victory, he would have been forgiven everything. In defeat he won't be forgiven anything.

But just consider how the right has behaved since Cameron became leader: it has stayed quiet and it hasn't caused trouble. William Hague has only to look across the shadow cabinet table to see some of the moderates who caused him the most torment when he was Tory leader.

One myth that has already fallen by the wayside was the comforting fable that leadership loyalists reached for during Cameron's most un-Blair-like dips in the polls in years gone by: "If only David was on the telly more, then we'd get back to where we should be." Cameron has never had more television exposure than the debates he idiotically pushed for, and after each one his support has fallen.

Another myth was that of Cool Hand Dave, the imperturbable leader, whose response to the crisis mounting inside Central Office since the New Year has been to abandon responsibility for taking key decisions to underlings such as Andy Coulson or Steve Hilton. And now, doing everything the mods preached against others doing - not least flip-flops and last-minute "new" policies unveiled during general election campaigns - Cameron confronts Labour and refuses to get close to 40 per cent.

Unless the parliamentary arithmetic abso­lutely obliges it, only Tory fantasists can seriously claim that the Liberals will choose us over Labour. Every policy Nick Clegg would wish to accomplish in office is more readily delivered by Labour, and every second spent in coalition with the Tories would be another vote subtracted from the 2010 Liberal pile and added to Labour's for 2014.

What lessons can and should be learned? For a start, obsessions have no place in the programme of a party serious about power. One clear-cut example was elected police chiefs. Where was the polling that said the public wanted policemen replaced with politicians? Another area where polling was thrown to the wind was foreign policy. Whatever the case for an independent deterrent, talking about a war Britain doesn't need to have with China is not the way to justify it.

Balls up

Then there were the horrendous, unforgivable failures over education policy: the one area where Labour's malevolent, anti-achievement incompetence should have gifted open goal after open goal. Instead it amounted to nothing for the party. Labour's Schools Secretary, Ed Balls, is just about the most off-putting performer in the cabinet, but he has proved far from the serial liability he should have been. Our maddeningly incomplete policy on schools squandered the single best opportunity, after the economy, that we had. Whether it was an unsellable policy, or merely mis-sold, the lack of traction has been one of the most dismal defects of the entire Tory campaign.

At this point, I should be honest and say I never realised Clegg had it in him to change political history. I always thought he was a bit of a wet fish, whose Cameron-lite tendencies would leave the Lib Dems stranded.

But has Clegg truly been the decisive factor? Cameron has led the opposition that has opposed least in history. He was a fool to think the public would not pick up on this. Should Cameron contrive to lose the unlosable election on 6 May, no one can stop William Hague from becoming leader again. And this time, he won't have to face a fifth column.

Christopher Montgomery ran A Better Choice, the campaign that stopped Michael Howard from disenfranchising grass-roots Tories in leadership elections.

This article first appeared in the 03 May 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Danger

Show Hide image

An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State