FURTHERMORE

Could it be that David Mellor is not as unpopular as is reported?

PETRONELLA WYATT

David Mellor is in trouble in Putney or so we are told. One Sunday newspaper mentioned a poll recently suggesting that 50 per cent of the electorate were going to vote for Sir James Goldsmith and his Ref- erendum Party. Fifty per cent! It seemed unbelievable.

I decided, accordingly, to do what most newspaper readers have neither the time nor the inclination to do. I went to Putney to see for myself. The constituency used to be a marginal. But during the last three elections the supposedly despised Mellor has increased his majority to nearly 8,000. The Liberal Democrats are nowhere. Put- ney is 70 per cent middle-class. But it also has the largest council estate in Europe. It is Labour that benefits from the anti-Tory vote.

I acquired a helper for the day, Mr Dun- can Hawkins, chairman of the local Neigh- bourhood Watch scheme. I have to declare an interest here — on behalf not of me but of Mr Hawkins. Hawkins was a die-hard Tory, a former-army type. Mind you, he knew his way around.

We began with the local ironmonger's. The ironmonger was plump and prosper- ous-looking — obviously this made him a disaffected Tory. 'Good morning,' I said. `Do you mind if I ask you for your thoughts on Sir James Goldsmith?' He said that he did not mind, only he had never heard of him. I replied that he was the founder of the Referendum Party and was standing in Putney. 'Oh. I might vote for him, then. This lot are feeble. Would he be in the con- stituency much?' I said that he divided his time mainly between France, despite hav- ing a house in Richmond, a flat in St James's and a large estate in Mexico. 'Mex- ico? Sounds more like Goldfinger. No thanks.'

Hawkins and I moved on to a cafe where two women with impeccable maquillage were standing behind a counter. Women were said to find Goldsmith attractive. I asked their opinion. 'Is he a jeweller?'

So far I had failed to find anyone who could identify Goldsmith, let alone would vote for him. A middle-aged spiv was going into a betting shop. He looked a likely xenophobe. Bloody Brussels and all that. 'Excuse me,' I began. 'What do you think about James Goldsmith?' The man recoiled as if I had produced a snake. 'I don't know him. Look, I've just come out of hospital. I don't want to get involved. Please. I don't know him.' He shot into the shop. I imag- ined that he had assumed Goldsmith was some sort of local gangster.

How odd. After all, the poll mentioned in the Sunday newspaper had said half of Putney, would be voting for Sir lames. I wondered who had taken the poll. Probably a local paper. Hawkins said there were three, the Wandsworth Borough News, the Putney News and the Putney and Wimbledon Times. None of them, we discovered, had taken it. Hawkins was beginning to doubt its veracity. So was I.

Still, I had only just begun. Goldsmith's supporters must be hiding somewhere. What of the newsagents? An elderly woman was sitting behind the till. She too looked like a disillusioned Tory. These are the people Goldsmith needs to unseat Mel- lor. Taking Labour votes would, in this con- stituency, do him little good.

The woman said she had 'seen somethig of Sir James on television'. She continued, 'I've always voted Labour, but I'm on the brink of changing.' To the Referendum Party, I presumed. 'No, I'm thinking of vot- ing Tory.' Hawkins leapt up and down with joy. 'You see, David Mellor has been very good for me. He is a charming person. He always comes here and helps.'

• Even Labour supporters thought quite highly of Mellor as a constituency MP. At least they seemed to like him at the local Cambir Centre, a social club for the 'psy- chologically distressed'. He was liked not only by the 'psychologically distressed'. Clare Horsfield, who helped at the centre, told me, 'Mellor's a people's man. But I'm going to vote Labour.'

Kate, a young woman with lucent eyes, was sipping coffee with a male companion. The man, Mike, asserted confidently, 'Goldsmith's that Arab chap.' No,' said Kate, 'that's Kimran Khan [sic].' I seized upon Kate — she knew something of Gold- smith! 'Yeah, he's very ricb• I'm tempted to vote for him, but I'd have to know more about. his policies.' I asked Kate what she thought his policies were 'I dunno. That's why I'd have to know more about them.' Kate was ruthlessly logical. I told them that Goldsmith wanted a referendum on Europe. 'Is that all?' said Mike.

Hawkins was sure we would find Gold- smith supporters on the housing estate because 'the working class hate Euro- peans'. Hawkins had old-fashioned views. The first council tenant I met was Dave, unemployed. He told me, 'L know better ways of dealing with foreigners than refer- endums.' Hawkins was right. Next, we bumped into a middle-aged woman called Elena Andrewes. She stared at me and asked, 'Are you the daughter?' What?' 'Are you that Jennifer'?' I said I was not Jemima. 'Oh.' Elena Wandered off. 'But will you vote for Goldsmith?' I called after her. 'No.'

There were some girls eating ice-creams. They had heard neither of Sir James nor his party. We had been at it for hours, trusty Hawkins and I, and had not found two definite votes for Goldsmith. Reader, it was time to cross over into Acacia Avenue, that fable of middle-class suburbia where everyone was 'sick of Major' and longed for 'real leadership'. Hawkins suggested Rod- way Road. It was, he said, full of West End professionals. I rang the doorbell of one of those huge mansions that are often ineptly named Rose Cottage. It was answered by a woman in Armani. Her husband was a bar- rister. Yes, they had heard of Goldsmith (this was more like it). She said they would be voting Labour.

We moved on to a stucco house. The owner was a chartered surveyor called Derek Hannam. He wasn't in but his wife was. She was blonde and smart. She said that she and her husband had spent the previous night `yacking about Goldsmith'. 'Of course I will vote Tory. My husband says he might vote for Goldsmith, but I think he is only joking. The local hospital is more important to us than a referendum.' Did most of the people she knew think that way? 'Yes. There aren't many middle-class Europhobes here.'

It was getting late. Hawkins had to keep an appointment 'at the Rotary Club. We gave it one last shot. There was a big house with latticed windows, and builders in the drive. A woman emerged. She looked at me suspiciously. 'What are you doing in my garden?"Conducting a poll,' I answered. 'Oh, you mean the Mellor/ Goldsmith business?' She said that she would vote Tory,'but her husband Julian, a photographer, had once worked for Gold- smith's Now magazine. I had better talk to him. Julian ambled out. 'Yes, I knew Goldsmith, a bit. I'm going to vote for him, definitely.' His wife was aghast. 'Julian! You can't mean that.' We left them arguing. Anyway, it had been a nice day out.