FOR LABOUR, THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS SOCIETY
However much Mr Blair and Mr Mandelson ingratiate
themselves with the rich, says Peter Oborne, the rest
of the Cabinet want no part of it
WHEN the Labour party secured power after the general election of 1923 a tremor Of apprehension swept through the proper- tied classes. Landowners feared for their estates, capitalists for their dividends, fathers for their daughters.
Seventy years on, and Tony Blair is just as con- cerned as Ramsay Mac- donald to reassure the egos of the rich and Powerful. The Prime Minister does not find the process disagree- able. He is never more at ease than in opulent and comfortable sur- roundings — but, as With Macdonald, a strong political logic dic- tates his choice of dinner companions and 11. oliday home. He is in the business of turn- ing Labour into the natural party of gov- eTnment, and wants the ruling class on his Side.
Macdonald focused mainly on the landed ai3nstocracy, still a power in his day. Mr lair's preoccupation is the new 'super- Very rich men fascinate him. The !airs' table at this year's Labour party gala dinner in central London contained five inen with a combined wealth estimated at 1,11ore than £4 billion: the supermarket baron rd Sainsbury; the publisher Paul Hamlyn; ihe printing and media tycoon Bob Gay- re the computer whim-kid David Gold- and Michael Levy, the music publisher Min is Mr Blair's regular tennis partner. New Labour's obsession with winning over senior businessmen does not mean that it is immune to old-style British landed society. 'What is astonishing is the way New Labour and the upper classes have clicked,' proclaims one hostess. This, how- ever, she puts down to the heroic and almost single-handed efforts of Peter Man- delson. 'Peter', shrills the same hostess, 'is the number one scalp for any social lion- hunter.'
The way this lad from the dreary wastes of north London has sliced his way through the upper reaches of British café society is breathtaking and, in its way, wholly to be admired. This month's edition of the soci- ety magazine Tatler celebrates Mr Mandel- son as one of Britain's most eligible men. 'Now the only thing this Notting Hill politi- co is without', gushes the paper, 'is a wife.'
His bachelor status is a serious advan- tage, however, leaving weekends and evenings free for country-house parties, soirees and smart dinners. It also means that Mr Mandelson, unlike so many of his government colleagues, is not dragged down by the insuperable handicap of a female companion acquired at an earlier stage of his social. evolution. The Trade Secretary's almost unprecedented success — he is the most fashionable political din- ner party guest since the young F.E. Smith before the first world war — owes much to his silky charm, impeccable courtesy and private kindness. It owes much to his being, unlike the vast majority of his ministerial colleagues, at ease with a knife and fork. It owes much to the Trade Secretary, with his handmade suits and Coutts Bank account, being a bit of a snob.
He is now overwhelmed by mouth-water- ingly desirable invitations and is — so friends say — compelled to turn down all but a very few. There are now rumours that Mr Mandelson, a keen horseman, yearns to take up hunting. For his key triumph is to attain something very few outside the Gloucestershire hunting set have ever man- aged, complete acceptance by Camilla Parker Bowles and the Prince of Wales. He was not merely the only member of the government present at the Highgrove cele- bration for the Prince's 50th birthday, but earlier this year attended a weekend party with the couple at Sandringham.
As Peter Mandelson scales the social heights, his immediate entourage has been dragged along in his wake. Roy Jenkins, in social matters at least a notable forerun- ner of Mr Mandelson, would have been proud of the way the Trade Secretary's assistant Derek Draper has ingratiated himself with the Bonham Carters: the hap- less Draper was staying in their Italian villa when news of his many indiscretions broke in the Observer. The veteran politi- cal columnist Anthony Howard's public criticism of Draper is said to have come to an abrupt halt when this important Whiggish connection was brought to his notice.
But what of the rest of the Cabinet? Do they, to paraphrase Oswald Mosley, vote Labour but meet Tories? In social matters, as in so much else, Peter Mandelson could hardly present more of a contrast with his bitter enemy Gordon Brown. The Chancel- lor holds parties, but these are remorseless- ly aimed at shoring up his political position within the Labour party. While Mr Man- delson is dining with duchesses, Mr Brown is likely to be found giving No. 11 recep- tions for trade unionists or constituency party organisers. These impenetrable events are occasionally leavened by the presence of outsiders such as football man- agers. A measure of Mr Brown's adaman- tine indifference to the trappings rather than the essentials of power is supplied by his handling of his grace and favour coun- try house of Dorneywood. Previous Chan- cellors — just think of the Lawsons or the Lamonts — have made ample use of the fine 45-room mansion deep in the heart of the Buckinghamshire countryside.
But Mr Brown, despite having held the post of Chancellor for more than 18 months, has not even been there once, not even to have a look around out of curiosity. At weekends he prefers to return to Scot- land. It is beginning to become something of a mystery why he does not hand over his cherished property to a senior colleague, such as Mr Mandelson, who would proper- ly appreciate it.
But which of the two is truly representa- tive of the new regime? At the end of the day, despite 'Mandy's' visibility, despite Tony Blair's hobnobbing with European aristocrats (he borrowed his summer holi- day house from a noble Italian family), Gordon Brown is what New Labour is all about. The landed magnates, the plutocrats — even the royal family — should not allow themselves to be deluded by the easy manners of the Secretary of State for Trade.
With the admittedly splendiferous excep- tion of the Trade Secretary — Tony Blair's unofficial ambassador to the upper class — the Cabinet could not give a damn about whether they go to the right parties. The social composition of Labour Cabinets has changed down the years. Macdonald's lot were working men, awed and deferential. Attlee and Wilson's governments were dominated by arrogant, polished, Oxbridge-educated public school boys: the Crossman diaries describe Cabinet business being discussed at Brooks's Club. Very few Cabinet ministers, with the notable excep- tion of the Prime Minister, have been to a public school and almost as few to Oxbridge. Only the Prime Minister pulled off the double in this respect (with his three initials, A.C.L. Blair sounds very much like the swashbuckling amateur cap- tain of a pre-war county cricket team oth- erwise composed of surly professionals). No Cabinet minister these days belongs to a gentleman's club. The likes of Frank Dobson, John Prescott and Margaret Beck- ett would not be seen dead inside such a place. A few MPs and numerous hangers- on belong to the Soho House, off Frith Street. This haunt, much favoured by nasal advertising executives, pushy PR men and diarists on national newspapers, does not count as high society. What is significant is that this is the first Labour Cabinet whose members have lost all social deference. Only Mr Mandelson and perhaps Mr Blair seem happy to play the game as it used to be played. It could just be that this government is much more menacing than it looks. The upper classes may think that New Labour is on their side. It isn't.
Peter Obome is political columnist of the Express.
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