21
GRIFF PICKED Giles up from Barrington Hall just before six. This was one meeting he couldn’t afford to be late for.
Giles was wearing a charcoal-gray single-breasted suit, a cream shirt, and a Bristol Grammar School tie. He suspected that Fisher would be wearing his usual blue pinstriped double-breasted suit, a white shirt with a starched collar, and his regimental tie.
Giles was so nervous that he hardly spoke on the journey to the Hippodrome, and Griff remained accommodatingly quiet. He knew the candidate was silently rehearsing his speech.
Thirty minutes later, they pulled up outside the stage door where Giles had once hung around after a matinee of Pride and Prejudice to get Celia Johnson’s autograph. Griff accompanied his candidate backstage where they were met by Andy Nash, who would be chairing the debate. He looked relieved to see them.
Giles paced up and down in the wings as he waited impatiently for the curtain to go up. Although there was still thirty minutes before the chairman would bang his gavel and call for order, Giles could already hear the buzz of an expectant audience, which made him feel like a finely tuned athlete waiting to be called to the starting line.
A few minutes later, Alex Fisher swept in, surrounded by his entourage, all talking at the tops of their voices. When you’re nervous, Giles decided, it reveals itself in many different ways. Fisher marched straight past him, making no attempt to engage him in conversation and ignoring his outstretched hand.
A moment later, Simon Fletcher, the Liberal candidate, strolled in. How much easier it is to be relaxed when you’ve nothing to lose. He immediately shook hands with Giles and said, “I wanted to thank you.”
“What for?” asked Giles, genuinely puzzled.
“For not continually reminding everyone that I’m not married, unlike Fisher, who mentions the fact at every opportunity.”
“Right, gentlemen,” said Nash. “Please gather around, because the time has come to determine the order in which you will speak.” He held out a fist that gripped three straws of differing lengths. Fisher drew the short one, while Fletcher pulled out the longest one.
“You have first choice, Mr. Fletcher,” said the chairman.
The Liberal candidate cocked his head to one side and whispered to Giles, “Where do you want me to go?”
“Second,” Giles replied.
“I’ll go second,” said Fletcher. Fisher looked surprised.
“And you, Sir Giles? First or last?”
“Last, thank you, chairman.”
“Right, that’s settled. You’ll be speaking first, Major Fisher. Let’s put our heads above the parapet.”
He led the three candidates out onto the stage, and it was the only time that evening that the whole audience applauded. Giles looked out into the auditorium where, unlike a theatre production, the lights wouldn’t be going down. Two thousand lions had been waiting patiently for the Christians to appear.
He wished he’d stayed at home and was having supper on a tray in front of the TV; anywhere but here. But he always felt like that, even when he addressed the smallest gathering. He glanced across at Fisher to see a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead, which he quickly mopped with a handkerchief from his top pocket. He looked back at the audience and saw Emma and Harry seated in the second row, smiling up at him.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Andy Nash, and I am editor of the Bristol Evening News. It’s my privilege to chair the meeting this evening, which is the only occasion on which all three candidates will appear on the same platform. Now, allow me to explain how the debate will be conducted. Each candidate will make an opening address of six minutes. That will be followed by thirty minutes of questions from the audience. The evening will end with all three candidates summing up for two minutes each. I will now call upon the Conservative candidate, Major Alex Fisher, to address us.”
Fisher made his way purposefully to the center of the stage and was greeted with warm applause from one section of the audience. He placed his speech on the lectern and immediately began to read it word for word, only occasionally raising his head.
Giles sat nervously in his seat listening carefully as he waited for the sarcastic comment, the barbed innuendo, but none came. Instead, Fisher concentrated on what legislation would be treated as a priority if the Tories formed the next government. He could have been reading out a shopping list that he regularly interspersed with the words “Time for a change.” At no point did he mention either of his opponents. And then Giles worked out what Fisher was up to. He was not going to indulge in any personal attacks himself; that would be left to his lieutenants, spread evenly throughout the audience. When Fisher returned to his seat, it was not difficult to spot where those supporters were seated from their enthusiastic applause.
The Liberal candidate opened his speech by thanking the packed audience for giving up Coronation Street to come and hear him, which was greeted with laughter and warm applause. He then spent the next six minutes discussing local politics, everything from potholes in the roads to rural bus fares. When he returned to his seat, another section of the audience was equally loyal and supportive.
Once Fletcher had sat down, Giles walked to the center of the stage, although he wasn’t as relaxed as he hoped he looked. He placed a postcard on the lectern on which were typed seven headings: Education, Unemployment, Unions, the NHS, Europe, Defense, and Bristol.
He barely glanced at the card as he spoke about each subject with confidence and authority, while looking directly at his audience. When he returned to his seat, his supporters rose as one, and a large number of undecided members of the audience joined them. Had the debate ended then, there would have been only one winner, but no sooner had Giles sat down than the chairman called for questions, adding, “I hope any contributions will be worthy of a debate of this importance, and that no one will resort to personal comments in the hope of getting a cheap headline in tomorrow’s paper, because I assure you, as its editor, they won’t.”
This statement elicited such a spontaneous round of applause that Giles began to relax for the first time that evening.
“Yes, madam. The lady in the fourth row.”
“With the population growing ever older, can the candidates tell us about their long-term plans for the state pension?”
Giles was back on his feet before the chairman had a chance to decide which candidate should answer the question first.
“The state pension has gone up year on year while the Labour Party has been in power,” he declared, “because this government considers that a civilized society is one that takes care of its young and old alike.”
Fisher then delivered the party line as outlined in a Central Office brief, after which the Liberal candidate talked about his mother being in an old people’s home.
“I’ll take you next, sir,” said Nash, pointing to a man in the dress circle who had to wait for some time before a microphone reached him.
“Do all the candidates feel that the United Kingdom should join the Common Market?”
Fisher was well prepared for this question, and reminded the audience of Ted Heath’s long-standing commitment to Europe, adding that if the Tories were elected, they would do everything in their power to ensure that Britain became a member of the EEC.
Simon Fletcher reminded the audience it was his party that had pioneered the idea of entry into the Common Market, and how glad he was that the two other parties were now jumping on the Liberal bandwagon.
Giles rose to face the audience. How he would have liked to tell them that when he was in Berlin he had received overtures from the French foreign minister, making it clear that France would welcome a dialogue being opened between the two countries. But any mention of Berlin would have been the red rag one section of the audience was waiting for. So he simply said, “When it comes to joining the Common Market, I think I can safely say that all three parties are broadly in agreement, so I suspect it will only be a matter of which prime minister finally signs the Treaty of Rome.”
Several more questions on local, national, and foreign issues followed without any blows below the belt, and Giles was beginning to think he might be home and dry. “I’ll take two more questions,” said Nash, glancing at his watch. “Yes, madam, the lady standing near the back.” Giles recognized her immediately.
“Can all three candidates tell us their marital status, and if their wives are with them tonight?” A well-rehearsed question delivered by a seemingly innocent old lady, whom Giles well remembered from her days as a Tory councillor.
This time it was Fisher who was first on his feet, and he delivered an equally well-prepared reponse. “Sadly, I’ve been divorced for some years, but that hasn’t stopped me hoping that one day I will find the right partner. But, whatever my marital status, let me assure you that I would never consider becoming involved in a casual sexual relationship.”
A gasp went up in the hall, and one section of the crowd applauded enthusiastically.
The Liberal candidate said, “I have just as much difficulty finding a girlfriend as I do finding people who will vote for me, but, like the major, I haven’t given up yet.” This was greeted with laughter and applause.
Giles felt sad that Fletcher wasn’t able to be open about his sexuality, and looked forward to the day when he could admit that his partner was seated in the front row, and that they had been living happily together for many years.
When Giles took his place, he stood to one side of the lectern, looked directly at the audience and smiled. “I’m no saint.”
“True!” shouted a Conservative supporter, but he was greeted only by an embarrassed silence.
“I admit that I’ve strayed, and, as you all know, that is why Gwyneth is not here tonight, which I deeply regret. She has been a loyal and faithful wife, who has played an active role in the constituency.” He paused for a moment before adding, “But when the time comes for you to cast your vote, I hope you will place on the scales of human frailty twenty-five years of service to the people of this great city against one foolish lapse of judgement, because I would like the honor and privilege of continuing to serve all of you for many years to come.”
Giles suppressed a smile when the audience began to applaud, and was just about to return to his seat when someone shouted, “Don’t you think it’s time you told us more about Berlin?”
A loud undercurrent of chattering broke out in the hall and the chairman immediately leapt up, but Giles had already returned to the lectern. He gripped the sides so no one could see how nervous he was. Two thousand people looked up expectantly as he faced his inquisitor, who was still on his feet. Giles waited for complete silence.
“I’m only too delighted to do so, sir. I found Berlin to be a tragic city divided by a twelve-foot concrete wall crowned in barbed wire. It wasn’t built to keep the West Germans out, but to keep the East Germans in, creating the largest prison on earth. Hardly a compelling argument for Communism. But I pray that I will live to see it razed to the ground. I hope that is something we can both agree on, sir.”
The man sank back into his place as Giles returned to his seat with the sound of thunderous applause ringing in his ears.
The final question was about the power of the unions, and both Giles’s and Fisher’s responses were unconvincing; Giles, because he had lost his concentration, while Fisher hadn’t recovered from his demon fast bowler being knocked out of the ground.
Giles had recovered by the time it came to deliver his summing up, and it took him some time to leave the hall, as he had to shake so many outstretched hands. But it was Griff who best summed up the evening.
“We’re back in the race.”