A Quiver Full of Arrows (27 page)

Andrew Fraser attended his first political
meeting in a pram. True, he was left in the corridor while his parents sat on
the stage inside another draughty hall, but he quickly learned that applause
signalled his mother would soon be returning. What Andrew did not know was that
his father, who had made his name as Scotland’s finest serum-half since the
Great War, had delivered yet another speech to the citizens of Edinburgh
Carlton in his efforts to capture a marginal seat on the City Council. At that
time few believed Duncan Fraser was more than a rugby hero, and consequently he
failed to win the seat for the Conservatives, if only by a few hundred votes.
Three years later Andrew, a sturdy four-year-old, was allowed to sit at the
back of several sparsely filled halls as once again he and his mother trailed
round the city to support their candidate. This time Duncan Fraser’s speeches
were almost as impressive as his long pass, and he won his place on the City
Council by 207 votes.

Hard work and consistent results on behalf
of his constituents ensured that the marginal seat remained in the hands of
Councillor Fraser for the next nine years. By the age of thirteen, Andrew, a
stocky wee lad with straight black hair and a grin that no one seemed to be
able to remove from his face, had learned enough about local politics to help
his father organise a fifth campaign, by which time neither party considered
Edinburgh Carlton a marginal seat.

At the Edinburgh Academy it came as no
surprise to his fellow pupils that Andrew was chosen to captain the school
debating society; however, they were impressed when under his leadership the
team went on to win the Scottish Schools debating trophy.

Although Andrew was destined to be no taller
than five-foot-nine it was also widely accepted that he was the most complete
serum-half the Academy had produced since his father had captained the school
side in 1979.

On matriculating from the Academy Andrew
took up a place at Edinburgh University to read Politics, and by his third year
he had been elected President of the Union and captain of rugby.

When Duncan Fraser became Lord Provost of
Edinburgh he made one of his rare visits to London, to receive a knighthood
from the Queen. Andrew had just completed his final exams and, along with his
mother, attended the investiture at Buckingham Palace.

After the ceremony Sir Duncan travelled on
to the House of Commons to fulfil an engagement with his local member, Ainslie
Munro. Over lunch Munro informed Sir Duncan that he had contested the Edinburgh
Carlton seat for the last time, so they had better start looking for a new
candidate. Sir Duncan’s eyes lit up as he savoured the thought of his son
succeeding Munro as his Member of Parliament.

After Andrew had been awarded an honours
degree at Edinburgh, he remained at the university to complete a thesis
entitled ‘The history of the Conservative party in Scotland’. He planned to
wait for his father to complete the statutory three years as Lord Provost before
he informed him of the most significant outcome the research for his doctorate
had produced. But when Ainslie Munro announced officially that he would not be
contesting the next election Andrew knew he could no longer hide his true feelings
if he wanted to be considered for the seat.

‘Like father, like son,’ read the headline
in the centre-page of the Edinburgh Evening News, who considered that Andrew
Fraser was the obvious candidate if the Conservatives hoped to hold on to the
marginal seat. Sir Duncan, fearing the local burghers would consider Andrew too
young, reminded them at the first selection meeting that eight Scots had been
Prime Ministers and every one had been in the House before the age of thirty.

He was pleased to find members nodding their
agreement. When Sir Duncan returned home that night he phoned his son and
suggested that they should have lunch at the New Club the following day to
discuss a plan of campaign.

“Think of it,” said Sir Duncan, after he had
ordered a second whisky.

“Father and son representing the same
constituency. It will be a great day for the Edinburgh Conservative party.”

“Not to mention the Labour party,” said
Andrew, looking his father in the eye.

“I am not sure I take your meaning,” said
the Lord Provost.

“Precisely that, Father. I do not intend to
contest the seat as a Conservative. I hope to be selected as the Labour
candidate – if they’ll adopt me.”

Sir Duncan looked disbelieving. “But you’ve
been a Conservative all your life,” he declared, his voice rising with every
word.

“No, Father,” replied Andrew quietly.

“It’s you who have been a Conservative all
my life.”

Mr Speaker rose and surveyed the Commons. He
tugged at his long black silk gown, then nervously tweaked the fullbottomed wig
that covered his balding head. The House had almost got out of control during a
particularly rowdy session of Prime Minister’s questions, and he was delighted
to see the clock reach three-thirty. Time to pass on to the next business of
the day.

He stood shifting from foot to foot waiting
for the soo-odd members present to settle down before he intoned solemnly,
“Members desiring to take the oath.” The packed assembly switched its gaze from
the Speaker to the far end of the Chamber, like a crowd watching a tennis
match. There, standing at the bar of the Commons, was the victor of the first by-election
since the Labour party had taken office some two months before.

The new member, flanked by his proposer and
seconder, took four paces forward. Like well-drilled guardsmen, they stopped
and bowed. l he stranger stood at six-foot-four. He looked like a man born with
the Tory party in mind, his patrician head set on an aristocratic frame, a mane
of fair hair combed meticulously into place.

Dressed in a dark grey, double-breasted suit
and wearing a Guards’ tie of maroon and blue, he advanced once again towards
the long table that stood in front of the Speaker’s chair between the two front
benches which faced each other a mere sword’s length apart.

Leaving his sponsors in his wake, he passed
down the Government side, stepping over the legs of the Prime Minister and
Foreign Secretary before being handed the oath by the Clerk of the House.

He held the little card in his right hand
and pronounced the words as firmly as if they had been his marriage vows.

“I, Charles Seymour, do swear that I will be
faithful, and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, her heirs
and successors according to law, so help me God.”

“Hear, hear,” rose from his colleagues on
the benches opposite as the new MP leaned over to subscribe the Test Roll, a
parchment folded into book-shape. Charles was introduced to the Speaker by the
Clerk. The new member then proceeded towards the chair where he stopped and
bowed.

“Welcome to the House, Mr Seymour,” said the
Speaker, shaking his hand. “I hope you will serve this place for many years to
come.”

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” said Charles, and
bowed for a final time before continuing on behind the Speaker’s chair. He had
carried out the little ceremony exactly as the Tory Chief Whip had rehearsed it
with him in the long corridor outside his office.

Waiting for him behind the Speaker’s chair
and out of sight of the other members was the leader of the Opposition, Sir
Alec Douglas-Home, who also shook him warmly by the hand.

“Congratulations on your splendid victory,
Charles. I know you have a great deal to offer to our party and indeed your
country.”

“Thank you,” replied the new MP, who after
waiting for Sir Alec to return to take his place on the Opposition front bench
made his way up the steps of the side gangway to find a place in the back row
of the long green benches.

For the next two hours Charles Seymour
followed the proceedings of the House with a mixture of awe and excitement. For
the first time in his life he had found something that wasn’t his by right or
by effortless conquest. Glancing up at the Strangers’ Gallery he saw his wife
Fiona, his father the fourteenth Earl of Bridgwater and his brother, the Viscount
Seymour, peering down at him with pride. Charles settled back on the first rung
of the ladder.

He smiled to himself: only six weeks ago he
had feared it would be many more years before he could hope to take a seat in
the House of Commons.

At the general election a mere two months before
Charles had contested a South Wales mining seat with an impregnable Labour
majority. “Good for the experience, not to mention the soul,” the vice-chairman
in charge of candidates at Conservative Central Office had assured him. He had
proved to be right on both counts, for Charles had relished the contest and
brought the Labour majority down from ,300 to 100. His wife had aptly described
it as a ‘dent’, but it had turned out to be enough of a dent for the party to
put Charles’s name forward for the Sussex Downs seat when Sir Eric KQOPS had
died of a heart attack only a few days after Parliament had assembled. Six
weeks later Charles Seymour sat in the Commons with a majority of his own.

Charles listened to one more speech before
leaving the Chamber. He stood alone in the Members’ Lobby not quite certain
where to begin. Another young member strode purposefully towards him. “Allow me
to introduce myself,” the stranger said, sounding to Charles every bit like a
fellow Conservative.

“My name is Andrew Fraser. I’m the Labour
member for Edinburgh Carlton and I was hoping you hadn’t yet found yourself a
pair.” Charles admitted that so far he hadn’t found much more than the Chamber.
The Tory Chief Whip had already explained to him that most members paired with
someone from the opposite party for voting purposes, and that it would be wise
for him to select someone of his own age. When there was a debate on less
crucial issues a two-line whip came into operation, pairing made it possible
for members to miss the vote and return home to their wife and family before
midnight. However, no member was allowed to miss the vote when there was a
three-line whip.

“I’d be delighted to pair with you,” continued
Charles. “Am I expected to do anything official?”

“No,” said Andrew, looking up at him.

“I’ll just drop you a line confirming the
arrangement. If you’d be kind enough to reply letting me have all the phone
numbers where you can be contacted we’ll just take it from there. Any time you
need to miss a vote just let me know.”

“Sounds a sensible arrangement to me,” said
Charles as a rotund figure wearing a light grey three-piece suit, blue shirt
and a pink-spotted bow tie trundled over towards them.

“Welcome to the club, Charles,” said Alec
Pimkin. “Care to join me for a drink in the smoking room and I’ll brief you on
how this bloody place works.”

“Thank you,” said Charles, relieved to see
someone he knew. Andrew smiled when he heard Pimkin add, “It’s just like being
back at school, old chum,” as the two Tories retreated in the direction of the
smoking room. Andrew suspected that it wouldn’t be long before Charles Seymour
was showing his ‘old school chum’just how the bloody place really worked.

Andrew also left the Members’ Lobby but not
in search of a drink. He had to attend a meeting of the Parliamentary Labour
party at which the following week’s business was due to be discussed. He
hurried away.

Andrew had been duly selected as the Labour
candidate for Edinburgh Carlton and had gone on to capture the seat from the
Conservatives by a majority of 3,419 votes. Sir Duncan, having completed his
term as Lord Provost, continued to represent the same seat on the City Council.
In six weeks Andrew – the baby of the House – had quickly made a name for
himself and many of the older members found it hard to believe that it was his
first Parliament.

When Andrew arrived at the party meeting on
the second floor of the Commons he found an empty seat near the back of the
large committee room and settled down to listen to the Government Chief Whip go
over the business for the following week. Once again it seemed to consist of
nothing but three-line whips. He glanced down at the piece of paper in front of
him.

The debates scheduled for Tuesday, Wednesday
and Thursday all had three thick lines drawn under them: only Monday and Friday
had two-liners which at last after his agreement with Charles Seymour he could
arrange to miss. The Labour party might have returned to power after thirteen
years but, with a majority of only four and a full legislative programme, it
was proving almost impossible for members to get to bed much before midnight
during the week.

As the ChiefWhip sat down the first person
to jump to his feet was Tom Carson, the new member for Liverpool Dockside. He
launched into a tirade of abuse against the Government, complaining that they
were looking more like Tories every day. The under-the-breath remarks and
coughing that continued during his speech showed how little support there was
for his views. Tom Carson had also made a name for himself in a very short
time, for he had openly attacked his own party from the first day he had
arrived.

“Enfant terrible,” muttered the man sitting
on the right of Andrew.