The end of the pier show
27 September 2005
Sun, sand and security passes
This week the government, the Westminster media circus, the parliamentary affairs sections of Britain’s major businesses, lobbyists and most of the diplomatic corps went to the seaside. They took with them fleets of satellite receiver vans, truckloads of display stands, forests’ worth of paper, mountains of T-shirts and long, long, lists of problems.
Thousands of delegates from every Constituency Labour Party and Trade Union Branch in the country also made their way to the coast. With them went a huge proportion of England’s police force, hundreds of security staff, innumerable scanners and miles of steel fencing. This year their destination was Brighton.
By Sunday this invading army was ensconced in the town’s hotels, B & Bs, bars, cafes and conference centre. Banners were slung across buildings, flags were unfurled outside hotels, posters sprouted on lampposts and a ring of steel was thrown up around the Conference Centre with machine gun-toting sharpshooters posted at every entrance.
Given this invasion, Brighton and its inhabitants could have been forgiven for looking gloomy. But, when I arrived the sun was shining, the sea was sparkling and the people were smiling. Shorts-clad, ice-cream licking, trippers mingled happily on the sea front with dark-suited, earnest looking delegates with security tags swinging from their necks. But it was not just the clothing that set the delegates apart from the rest. It was their demeanour.
Almost all of them had a mobile telephone in one hand and a huge sheaf of papers in the other. Their brows were furrowed and their pace hurried. The trippers watched them scurrying towards the conference centre with amused indulgence and then resumed their relaxed reading of the Sunday papers. I envied them.
Subdued sadness
But once inside the Brighton Centre things were quite different. Everything, the floor, the seats, the stage and the walls, was covered in red. This could have been overwhelming but, thanks to the subtle lighting, it was quite soothing in a womb-like way. Perhaps it was this that made the atmosphere rather subdued. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that our first task was to mark the passing of three giants of the Labour movement, Jim Callaghan, Robin Cook and Mo Mowlam.
Neil Kinnock led the mourning with a dignified speech that dwelt on the strengths and touched gently on the weaknesses of the three politicians. Behind him, pictures of Jim, Robin and Mo flickered on the huge screens hung across the back of the hall. Callaghan and Mowlam were very good looking in their youth. Jim had big, soft, eyes and a film star’s wavy hair; Mo was gorgeously lithe with very long hair and a fringe. These images contrasted sharply with the ones taken towards the end of their lives and highlighted the toll taken by time and ill health.
Robin Cook changed very little over the years. Not a conventionally handsome man, he was, however, a very attractive one. Charming, quick and immensely clever. I worked closely with him on the modernisation of the House of Commons and will always remember his incisive, focussed approach to this complex problem.
The country, the Labour Party and I will miss them all.
Conferring for Britain
After this sad look backwards delegates got down to the main business, planning for the future. But first there had to be the traditional wrangle about which emergency resolutions should be debated. This year ones on pensions, Gate Gourmet and secondary action by trade unions got through.
But these important matters had to wait until later in the week. The Party’s first task was to analyse the strengths and weaknesses of the general election campaign. Then it gave its own structures a thorough overhaul. This housekeeping out of the way delegates moved onto the country. Transport was fitted into Sunday’s agenda but industry and the economy had to wait until Monday morning. Culture media and sport was dealt with on Monday afternoon and the Home Office on Tuesday morning. Tuesday afternoon, is traditionally, devoted to the Leader’s speech and Wednesday to health and education. By Thursday midday delegates should have heard from the heads of every government department and debated their plans for the next year.
Now wonder they sing Jerusalem, the Red Flag and Auld Lang Syne with such gusto when it is all over.
Fringe activities
Though conference proper adjourns every evening at 5:30pm very few delegates get to bed before midnight. Their early evenings are packed with meetings, seminars and rallies. These are followed by the late night round of receptions, dinners and dances. Most delegates just pack as much information, food, drink and jollity as they can into each night.
That is why they look so exhausted and yellow when they get back home. But, if they are anything like me, they are inspired and energised too.
Barbara Follett MP
