Read Online Family Britain, 1951-1957 by David Kynaston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Kynaston
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on her feet again,” one old woman said dropping her ballot paper into the box,’ summarised Florence. ‘She was so poor looking, that Fred thought she would be voting for Labour. And a man said, “Third time lucky. But I suppose there are too many b— LCC [London County Council] flats round here.” ’ Naturally, though, most voters kept their thoughts and intentions to themselves during a generally dry if rather chilly day. One among millions was the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams. ‘I voted Labour in the last election though in my heart of hearts I wanted the Tories to get in,’ he told a friend some months later. ‘But the old spirit of opposition crept up and with all the country shouting for the Tories I determined to be on the other side.’24
The polls closed at nine and the early results started to come through not long after ten – by when, according to Gallup, half the electorate had gone to bed, presumably either calm or indifferent about the outcome. But in Trafalgar Square a crowd of some 15,000 gathered to watch the posting of the results on a large screen, while at the Savoy there were 3,000 guests for the traditional election beano given by Lord Camrose, owner of the
Daily Telegraph
. There the restaurant had been converted into a results room, with cheers every time the Tories won a seat, boos if Labour held on. Cecil Beaton took the visiting Greta Garbo with him. ‘So great were her spirits as the Conservative victories came through,’ he recorded, ‘that she did not seem to mind even the attentions of the photographers.’ Macmillan, though, skipped the crush: ‘I felt I cd not stand it. I do not like the Noel Cowards etc. It is equally bad whether we win or lose.’ Nor was the triumphalism necessarily justified. ‘By 3 am,’ he noted, ‘it was clear that there had really been no swing at all for us’ and that ‘it will be a stalemate, or a small Tory majority’. Everything would turn, all sober observers agreed, on the results declared on the Friday.
Next morning the writer Ronald Duncan was at Charing Cross:
The voracious station disgorged its crowds of office workers as the 8.15 steamed in. The same anxious poker faces looking a little tired from their debauch of statistics on three cups of coffee. As usual they hurried toward the ticket collector, straining the digestion of the gate.
I walked up the platform, watching a ferret-like porter going up the train, slamming the doors of the empty carriages. From one he retrieved a newspaper which had been left on the seat.
As the train shunted out he paused, to study the Stop Press results, and thoughtfully lit a fag-end. I glanced over his shoulder.
‘Good. It looks as if the old man will just get in after all.’
‘Which old man?’
‘Winston, of course.’
‘Did you vote for him in spite of your union?’
‘Of course not. Being a working man I voted Labour, but all the same I ’oped old Winston would get in this time.’
‘You mean to say you voted Labour although you wanted the Conservatives to get in?’
‘It’s like this mate. I ’ad to vote for me own side out of loyalty like, but what I say is this’ (and here he whispered lest his mate should overhear), ‘the proper bloke to have on a footplate is an engine driver, and that’s why I’d like to see old Winnie back at No 10, ’cause he knows his way around, having been brought up to it like.’
‘It looks as if it will be a narrow thing,’ I said.
‘So it was at Dunkirk. The old b— likes it narrow.’
At which point ‘the noisy arrival of the 8.35’ ended their conversation.25
In the event it did prove a close-run thing, though in terms of seats not as close as the previous election. ‘At 1.0 the two parties were neck and neck,’ recorded Anthony Heap in his flat off Judd Street, St Pancras, ‘and by 5.0 when the Conservative score reached 313 against Labour’s 292 and the Liberals’ 5, it was all over bar shouting.’ By about six
The polls closed at nine and the early results started to come through not long after ten – by when, according to Gallup, half the electorate had gone to bed, presumably either calm or indifferent about the outcome. But in Trafalgar Square a crowd of some 15,000 gathered to watch the posting of the results on a large screen, while at the Savoy there were 3,000 guests for the traditional election beano given by Lord Camrose, owner of the
Daily Telegraph
. There the restaurant had been converted into a results room, with cheers every time the Tories won a seat, boos if Labour held on. Cecil Beaton took the visiting Greta Garbo with him. ‘So great were her spirits as the Conservative victories came through,’ he recorded, ‘that she did not seem to mind even the attentions of the photographers.’ Macmillan, though, skipped the crush: ‘I felt I cd not stand it. I do not like the Noel Cowards etc. It is equally bad whether we win or lose.’ Nor was the triumphalism necessarily justified. ‘By 3 am,’ he noted, ‘it was clear that there had really been no swing at all for us’ and that ‘it will be a stalemate, or a small Tory majority’. Everything would turn, all sober observers agreed, on the results declared on the Friday.
Next morning the writer Ronald Duncan was at Charing Cross:
The voracious station disgorged its crowds of office workers as the 8.15 steamed in. The same anxious poker faces looking a little tired from their debauch of statistics on three cups of coffee. As usual they hurried toward the ticket collector, straining the digestion of the gate.
I walked up the platform, watching a ferret-like porter going up the train, slamming the doors of the empty carriages. From one he retrieved a newspaper which had been left on the seat.
As the train shunted out he paused, to study the Stop Press results, and thoughtfully lit a fag-end. I glanced over his shoulder.
‘Good. It looks as if the old man will just get in after all.’
‘Which old man?’
‘Winston, of course.’
‘Did you vote for him in spite of your union?’
‘Of course not. Being a working man I voted Labour, but all the same I ’oped old Winston would get in this time.’
‘You mean to say you voted Labour although you wanted the Conservatives to get in?’
‘It’s like this mate. I ’ad to vote for me own side out of loyalty like, but what I say is this’ (and here he whispered lest his mate should overhear), ‘the proper bloke to have on a footplate is an engine driver, and that’s why I’d like to see old Winnie back at No 10, ’cause he knows his way around, having been brought up to it like.’
‘It looks as if it will be a narrow thing,’ I said.
‘So it was at Dunkirk. The old b— likes it narrow.’
At which point ‘the noisy arrival of the 8.35’ ended their conversation.25
In the event it did prove a close-run thing, though in terms of seats not as close as the previous election. ‘At 1.0 the two parties were neck and neck,’ recorded Anthony Heap in his flat off Judd Street, St Pancras, ‘and by 5.0 when the Conservative score reached 313 against Labour’s 292 and the Liberals’ 5, it was all over bar shouting.’ By about six
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