Normally kept well clear of the media and public, the Downing Street machine – the Private Office, Press Office and Garden Room Girls’ Secretariat – are always at work in the background. The machinery of government continues to tick over without the daily intervention of the prime minister, under the surveillance of the Cabinet Office and the Whitehall administrative establishment. There is much to be done before election day: the small print of manifestos is scrutinised in detail and a draft parliamentary programme is prepared, taking into account the governmental intentions of whichever party wins. During the hustings, many of the services normally provided for the prime minister are stood down and the rules for this are based on precedent and protocol, ancient and modern, which form the basis of much of our democratic system of government.
Political party headquarters takes on responsibility for the outgoing prime minister’s agenda, travel and accommodation. In this way, the establishment will not be seen to be aiding and abetting the incumbent prime minister’s campaign to the disadvantage of rival parties. Limousine transport and Scotland Yard’s close protection team remain actively in position for security purposes and they share with the prime minister the exhausting programme which his party considers necessary for him to retain power.
No matter how carefully is it planned, there is always the risk of unexpected problems. For example, of Sir Alec Douglas Home’s departure in Whitehall after collecting his P45 from the queen in the mid-60s, when he was to discover that his official transport had been withdrawn with the loss of office and he set out on foot for Westminster, accompanied by his personal protection officer. Later, rules were agreed between Harold Wilson and Edward Heath that, henceforth, a government car would be provided for the loser.
A logjam also reportedly took place when Edward Heath lost the 1974 election and the civil service was faced with the additional task of removing his valued grand piano. It is said that the careful deployment of a cherry picker was finally called upon to circumvent the narrow doorways in No. 10, which, I suppose, must have created equal logistical difficulty when he gained power.
At my final election in 1979, James Callaghan’s attempt to maintain a struggling Labour government – will be popularly recalled – failed when he was handsomely beaten by Mrs Margaret Thatcher who thus became Britain’s first woman prime minister. However, Mrs Thatcher had to wait a short while before Mr Callaghan’s exit could be carried out systematically and with dignity.
I was to witness and then take part in the devoted and skilful handover arrangements in this year. The focus was, of course, Her Majesty the queen but it is understood that she tended to give the nod to the programme arranged by the two essential activists, her principal private secretary and Kenneth Stowe, head of the Downing Street machine.
Once at the palace, where James Callaghan was taken in the official car, he reappeared after his farewell from the queen to find that his driver had moved to a less dignified government car, in which he was rapidly driven away. He once said to me, ‘John, just because I’m smiling, don’t think I’m happy,’ and there were few smiles from him that day, although he performed bravely for the cameras as he left for the last time.
Mrs Thatcher, meanwhile, arrived soon after his departure in a privately owned car and disappeared to the anteroom for the ‘kissing of hands’ ceremony. By the time she emerged, her preferred government driver had transferred into the official car, in which I, too, was waiting, and we left for her first entry into Downing Street.
It will be recalled that she elected to walk the last 100 yards through the excited crowds and the men and women of the media, looking fresh with exuberance at the sheer excitement and magnitude of the occasion. For me, I remember that, although she must have been exhausted, I was the one who looked elderly and incipiently haggard.
By now her spouse had arrived and, after her recitation of the excerpt from St Francis of Assisi, they disappeared through the famous No.10 front door where, after initial celebrations, she was thoroughly indoctrinated with the real world into which she had entered – a world of reality and massive responsibility.
In An Outsider Inside No 10: Protecting the Prime Ministers, 1974-79, Former Special Branch officer John Warwicker gives the inside story of the six years he spent in charge of security at 10 Downing Street, tracking one of the most turbulent periods in modern British politics. From 1974–79, when the threat of the Cold War and the IRA was ever present, the ‘targets’ who Warwicker protected daily, both at home and overseas, were Prime Ministers Wilson, Callaghan and Thatcher. More than thirty years on since Warwicker left his post, his insightful memoir, based not only on personal memories and experience, but often also from contemporaneous notes, includes a fascinating and frank insight into the day-to-day operations at Downing Street and Chequers and the eccentric cast of characters within.