Political Decadence?
Aspects of Thatcherite Englishness
Thomas Noetzel (Marburg)
Margaret Thatcher ended her campaign for the April 1979 General Election with a
speech focussing on the United Kingdom's universal decline. She concluded her speech
with the words:
Somewhere ahead lies greatness for our country again. This I know in my heart. Look at
Britain today and you may think that an impossible dream. But there is another Britain
which may not make the daily news, but which each one of us knows. It is a Britain of
thoughtful people, tantalisingly slow to act, yet marvellously determined when they do. It
is their voice which steadies each generation. [...] Its message is quiet but insistent. It says
this: Let us make this a country safe to work in. Let us make this a country safe to walk
in. Let us make it a country safe to grow up in. Let us make it a country safe to grow old
in. And it says, above all, may this land of ours, which we love so much, find dignity and
greatness and peace again.1
This part of Thatcher's speech will be analysed in the following paper, firstly in regard
to its historical contextualization and then, by way of a sequential analysis, in view of
Thatcherite meanings of Englishness.
1.
Historical Contextualization
Any detailed analysis of this speech must be preceded by a discussion of the prevalent
discourse of Britain's former greatness, her decline and revival. The historical contextualization may then serve as a backdrop against which the specificity of Thatcher's political communication becomes clearly visible.
The actual historical context for Thatcher's speech is the General Election of 1979
in which she makes her début as leader of the Conservatives after considerable changes
within the party. Thatcher had succeeded Edward Heath in 1975 and was the first woman in history to take over the office of Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition. Her social,
cultural and political rise mirrors Britain's historical and social transformation.
Growing up in middle-class circumstances, Thatcher made an unusual career for
herself considering both sexual and socio-economic aspects. After her grammar school
qualification she studied chemistry in Oxford and became subsequently involved in
basic research. Her choice of subject demonstrates a pragmatic and technocratic attitude
towards academic education, quite typical of social climbers. At that time the Establishment still kept a firm hold on the norm of the classically
Journal for the Study of British Cultures, Vol. 2/1 (1994), 133-147
Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen.
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educated gentleman.2 Besides studying she took an active interest in the Conservative
Party, disregarding family life in favour of her professional and political career. Even
her marriage to Dennis Thatcher was modelled on the prospects of promotion. In 1959,
at the age of 34, she took her seat in the House of Commons, becoming Secretary of
State only two years later and being included in every Conservative shadow cabinet
before her inauguration as Prime Minister. However, in all her political offices she held
close contact with the backbenchers of her party - whose influence in political decisions
is significantly marginal - while she kept a certain distance to the traditional Tory élite,
the so-called 'grouse moor politicians' and 'old boys'.
Thatcher's case history reveals the situation of a new generation: Her biography is a
reflection of the history of a generation which, for the first time in English social history, was able to benefit from a general flexibility within the social hierarchy. This new
mobility is linked with a fundamental change in English domestic and foreign policy.
On the one hand, the Fifties and Sixties were a time of a prospering economy marked by
a considerable rise in the general standard of living, by the construction of a modern
welfare state and individual success stories based on a social foundation.3 On the other
hand, even in the years of political and economic success Britain's gradual decline was
camouflaged by this dynamic process. At a time of world-wide economic expansion the
growth rate of the English economy fell far behind those of her industrial competitors
(cf. Noetzel 1989b). This economic lag even increased in the sixties; the economic
weakness, with the 'British disease' becoming the most important topic in domestic politics, was coupled with a loss of ability to act in foreign policy and with the definite
farewell to the 'Pax Britannica' (cf. Robbins 1983; Douglas 1986; Ebersold 1992;
Cain/Hopkins 1993).
This decline was to be countered, above all, by technocratic political options. In the
face of this gradual decline, both Conservative and Labour Parties developed pragmatic
and technocratic plans of action. It was no coincidence that Harold Wilson won the
1964 election against the Tories, who had governed since 1951, with a vision of technological modernisation, a 'rational' national planning of the economy and a 'nonideological' policy of the right kind of management. The Conservatives adapted too late
to the alteration in political semantics; neither did they instal in the leadership of the
party people who would symbolize a 'new' Britain.4 However, the weakness of growth
and the further loss of economic strength could not even be stopped by technocratic
options. The supporters of this rescue attempt thought that English society was hostile
to any modernisation. As a consequence, their contributions to the debate on the 'British
disease' and on the future of the United Kingdom became studies of the sociopsychological and moral shortcomings of a large part of the English population; in particular of those members of the political élite who still adhered to traditional ideas of
'non-modernity', 'anti-industrialism' etc.5 Therefore, the debate on Britain's decline was,
after all, a continuation of two aspects under discussion - the perception of decadence
Political Decadence? Aspects of Thatcherite Englishness
135
and the criticism of the élite both of which had been influencing the political public,
sometimes more and sometimes less, since the turn of the century.
2.
Images of Decadence
For many of her contemporaries Queen Victoria's death in 1901 seemed to have marked
the end of an era. At the beginning of the twentieth century J.W. Mackail, a classical
philologist, secured himself great recognition in successfully expressing this sense of
fundamental change. To him the nineteenth century was "on the whole a failure. Fifty
years ago men's minds were full of ideals. Some of them have come to nothing. Others
have received a strangely disenchanting fulfilment. Cinder heaps smoulder where there
once were beacon fires. Everywhere is re-action triumphant." (Quoted from Hynes
1972: 2-3)
This new assessment of the past in which the Boer War, regardless of all jingoism,
figured as a kind of catalyst and which is singularly expressed in Lytton Strachey's Eminent Victorians (1918) and Queen Victoria (1921 ) corresponded with increasing pessimistic expectations of the future. This mixture of the exposing of history and future
fears found its adequate and personal symbolism in the transition from Victoria to Edward VII. The Victorian era was criticized, nay even hated, in particular because of the
often claimed correlation of prudishness, double standards and suppression of women.
Edward VII, however, was regarded as sickly and weak and, because of his lavish life
style, seen as the embodiment of decadence and depravity. Thus he prompted contempt
and pity rather than anger. The person of the king was the point of reference in the debates on decadence in his time, but the reproaches he had to endure was actually criticism aimed at the general state of the English society.
In Edward Grey's opinion, English Foreign Minister from 1905 to 1916, Britain
passed from a phase of construction into a phase of consumption at the close of the century, in the process of which the progress of the Victorian era had been a terrible, undesirable development and had already indicated the decadence which was to follow: "[...]
the great industrial countries will perish in catastrophe, because they have made the
country hideous and life impossible [...]. I feel deep in me that the civilization of the
Victorian epoch ought to disappear. I think I always knew this subconsciously, but I
took things as I found them and for 30 years spoke of progress as an enlargement of the
Victorian industrial age - as if anything could be good that led to telephones and cinematographs and large cities and the Daily Mail." (Quoted from Wiener 1981: 106) Here
we encounter well-known theories of decadence (cf. Noetzel 1989a: 45-61): The predicted catastrophe included a 'grabbing' industrialism, the destruction of nature, deindividualization, consumption and the loss of authenticity and asceticism. The expectation of decline was connected with an awareness of time drastically running short.
The path to the abyss seemed to be getting shorter and shorter, and the apocalypse
of a distant future came constantly closer to the present. In his book The
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136
Condition of England Charles F.G. Masterman conjured up the image of a leaky ship,
whose crew could be washed overboard at any time:
"We cannot tell how many, if any at all, will survive when the long night gives place to
morning. The wise man will still go softly all his days; working always for greater economic equality on the one hand, for understanding between estranged peoples on the other; apprehending how slight an effort of stupidity and violence could strike a death-blow
to twentieth century civilisation, and elevate the forces of destruction triumphant over the
ruins of a world." (Masterman 1909: 303)
At the beginning of the twentieth century the social divisions of society moved more
and more into the centre of the assumed causes of the crisis. Masterman prophesied that
the very growth of the masses of workers would lead to "an organised discontent which
may yet prove the end of western civilization" (ibid.). In the battles of World War One,
in the Bolshevist October Revolution and in the sustained crisis of the inter-war years
these visions of doom seemed to be confirmed.
It can, with good justification, be claimed that the fundamental perception of an allembracing crisis, which was to be constantly under discussion in inter-war Britain, can
be traced back even to the pre-war years. The Edwardian period did not end with Edward VII's death in 1910, but it determined Britain's political, ideological and cultural
face until 1940. For Robert Graves it was only World War Two which put an end to this
"neurotic sense of imminent catastrophe" (Graves/Hodge 1985: 7).
3. The Loss of the Élite
The Great War in particular sparked off apocalyptic fears which were nourished by
750,000 casualties, 1.5 million seriously injured, 65,000 mentally ill6 and 2.5 million
retired war veterans (i.e. 40 per cent of all English soldiers involved in World War
One). 7 per cent of the male population aged between 15 and 49 had been killed in action; and of those between 20 and 24 even 30 per cent had died - which was the highest
death rate in this age-group since the War of the Roses.
However, it was the qualitative effects of World War One which were considered
by the public as the really tragic ones. After 1919 there developed not only the belief
that this armed encounter had been futile, but the country also experienced a trauma at
the loss of the social élite. It always seemed to have been the best who had died on the
battlefields: "Nobody, nothing will shift me from the belief, which I shall take to the
grave, that the generation to which I belong, destroyed between 1914 and 1918, was a
great generation, marvellous in its promise. This is not self-praise, because those of us
who are left know that we are the runts", wrote J.B. Priestley (quoted from Sinclair
1986: 10), thus formulating the influential idea of the survival of the 'old men' and the
mediocre cowards. This perception partly resulted from the relatively high losses which
World War One
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137
had caused among the educated élite. About 20 per cent of the Etonians taking part in
the war and 25 per cent of the Cambridge graduates were killed. 37,452 out of 750,000
casualties were officers, and it was these 5 per cent only which caused the myth of loss
professed again and again in the twenties and thirties and used by some critics even as
an explanation for Britain's decline from great to major power.
It is no accident that the number of those trying to get even with the war increased
with the heightening of the economic crisis. This permanent economic crisis and the
debacle of 1929 seemed to demonstrate Britain's long-lasting malaise as well as her loss
of competence to act and of leadership qualities. The number of critical, antimilitaristic
and pacifistic books on the Great War rose from about six in 1926 to twenty-one in
1928, reaching its temporary peak in 1929 with twenty-nine publications. Apart from
the English translation of Erich Maria Remarque's Im Westen nichts Neues (1929), Robert Graves' Good-bye to All That (1929), Richard Aldington's Death of a Hero (1929)
and Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth (1933) were amongst those books which not
only attained a large circulation, but also described war as the butchering of youth. It
was authors like Graves and Aldington who helped to nourish the myth of loss. The
"dominating impression of the era - of economic dislocation and instability" (Stevenson
1986: 103) attached great importance to the assumed lack of leaders and élite.
A detailed analysis of Britain's economic development in the inter-war period
proves that, on the one hand, Britain suffered from high unemployment (never under 10
per cent between 1919 and 1939 and more than 20 per cent in 1932/33) and from stagnation in the classical industries (mining, steel, shipbuilding); on the other hand, there
were also prospering branches with growth rates. The per capita income rose by 33 per
cent between 1920 and 1938 and the amount of the unemployment benefit was as high
as a worker's average wage in 1913. Nevertheless, the public paid attention rather to the
manifestations of a crisis than to the positive signs of a slowly recovering economy.
Britain's structural change in industry, which in the thirties was not unsuccessful, was
generally interpreted as a portent of the economic collapse. The drop of the British share
in world trade, her negative balance of payments and the indebtedness to the United
States were regarded as menacing signs. In addition, the structural change and recession
in the old industries turned some regions, e.g. Wales, Scotland and England's North,
into 'distressed areas' with unemployment rates of up to 70 per cent and caused an increase in poverty which resulted in considerable effects on health, living conditions and
nourishment of the population. This juxtaposition of both prosperity and poverty
seemed to confirm the old idea of an almost inevitable disintegration of society.
Due to the unequal distribution of property, Harold Macmillan discerned "a revolutionary situation in Britain" (quoted from Stevenson/Cook 1978: 265) in 1931 and the
editors of Scrutiny again revived Masterman's fears declaring categorically "that the end
of western civilization is in sight" (quoted from Graves/Hodge 1985: 300). This opinion
was widely held. The Duke of Marlborough claimed that "the
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old order is doomed" and was thus in agreement with Harry Pollitt, the SecretaryGeneral of the Communist Party, who in the late twenties predicted "a new round of
wars and proletarian revolution" (quoted from Stevenson/Cook 1978: 265). His fellow
party member Allen Hutt even produced a bestseller with his work This Final Crisis
(1935).
This general feeling of doom can be related to the alleged inactivity of the political
establishment in Westminster and Whitehall. The governments had to put up with the
accusation of not having taken action against the economic and political crisis. In Winston Churchill's eyes the ruling élite only consisted of members of the "second eleven"
and for Charles Low Mowar, a contemporary observer, the Conservative governments
of Bonar Law, Stanley Baldwin and Neville Chamberlain were nothing but "pygmies".
Baldwin and Chamberlain in particular seemed to personify the political leadership's
inability to act. Baldwin substantially determined Britain's political course between
1923 and 1937, but as early as the twenties he was regarded as a tired man, devoted to
tranquillity; and Chamberlain appeared as a hapless administrator of the declining Empire, whose policy of appeasement was criticized as a sign of cowardice and weakness.
World War Two interrupted this discourse of decline without putting an end to it. It
has flared up vehemently since the sixties, not least because the Conservative Party was
governed by a continuity of political leadership which dated back to the thirties, as can
be seen by Anthony Eden, Harold Macmillan, R.A. Butler and Alec Douglas-Home.
However, the Left failed again after 1945 - as they had already done in the thirties - to
establish itself as a potential force for extensive future progress and new greatness.
When at the turn of 1978/79 James Callaghan, to date the last Labour Prime Minister,
failed in his economic and social policy, due to the resistance from certain parts of the
trade unions, and when the English model of a social democratic strategy of modernisation and growth came to an end in the winter of discontent, both the Left and the 'old'
Tory leadership were discredited. Subsequently, Thatcher was to lead an ideological
warfare on two fronts until her overthrow in 1990, resuming the discourse of decline
which had been so prevalent in the inter-war years. Among her bitter opponents were
not only the Leftists, who, as in the thirties, indulged to a great extent in the illusion of
transcending the system, but also the 'old boys' of the Conservative Establishment.7
Their political function is represented in the gentleman ideal and, consequently, criticism of this style of leadership became one of the targets of the Neo-Conservatives
gathering around Margaret Thatcher.
4.
Englishness and the Gentleman Ideal: the Gentleman as a Model of
Civilization
The gentleman has been rightly described as a nineteenth-century phenomenon. Although the roots of this élitist ideal go back as far as the feudal society, the ideal
Political Decadence? Aspects of Thatcherite Englishness
139
of 'gentility' has been redefined since the early 19th century. This discourse was a reaction on Britain's transformation from an agrarian society into an industrial and bourgeois one and on the concomitant expansion of political participation. The ensuing
changes aroused fears of decline due to an alleged threat of de-individualization, and
that not only among advocates of the old aristocratic order. Scepticism increased when
sections of the working classes were integrated into the political system. The process of
economic modernization and political democratization seemed inevitable.
This perception of a menacing yet unavoidable democratization is reflected in the
writings of Matthew Arnold, one of the most influential Victorian men of letters. In his
view the post-aristocratic society, by necessity, fell into three classes. The decadent aristocracy had to contend with an aspiring middle class, 'Philistines' in his opinion, and
with the populace, the true supporters of democratization: "[...] this change has been
brought about by natural and inevitable causes [...]. This movement of democracy, like
other operations of nature, merits properly neither blame nor praise." (Arnold 1978: 7)
This natural equalization was, in Arnold's opinion, in agreement with the diagnosis that
the traditional élite's competence of leadership had diminished: "At the very moment
when democracy becomes less and less disposed to follow and to admire, aristocracy
becomes less and less qualified to command and to captivate." (Ibid.: 15) Order and
culture were replaced by anarchy: "Rowdyism [...] tumult and disorder, multitudinous
processions in the streets of our crowded towns, multitudinous meetings in their places
and parks, - demonstrations perfectly unnecessary in the present course of our affairs,
[...]." (Arnold 1962: 119, 136)
Arnold had mixed feelings about this process: He regretted the loss of order and social stability, but the strength emanating from the representatives of anarchy gained his
admiration. The revolution could not be forestalled; however, a return to the ancien régime was also impossible because the aristocracy no longer possessed their former
competence of leadership. Arnold claimed that those being politically and pedagogically
responsible had the task of keeping the rebelling masses in order: "[...] a revolution cannot accomplish itself without great changes; yet order there must be, for without order a
revolution cannot accomplish itself [...]. [...] everywhere we see the beginnings of confusion, and we want a clue to some sound order and authority." (Ibid.: 136, 175)
Arnold held the opinion that the middle class could not fill the vacuum. They pretended to be capable of attaining a new order, but in fact they could not improve on the
machine-like performance of their business. It was the very lack of 'spirit' in the middle
classes which put into question the progress of a society expressly approved of by Arnold: "What we want is a fuller harmonious development of our humanity, a free play of
thought upon our routine notions, spontaneity of consciousness [...]." (Ibid.: 191). Calculated thinking required by an unchecked economy could not implement the laws of
civilization, but if the natural desire for individual and social perfection was blocked
humanity might be threatened by
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pathological consequences. To secure progress, Arnold maintained, an educated élite
was required who personified individual self-determination and social harmony. They
should become the "vanguard" of a cultured society structured in harmony: "It [culture]
seeks to do away with classes; to make the best that has been thought and known in the
world current everywhere; to make all men live in an atmosphere of sweetness and
light, where they may use ideas as it uses them itself, freely, - nourished, and not bound
by them." (Ibid.: 113) "Centre[s] of authority" should provide this education towards a
progressive society which would be lacking inconsistencies. Public schools were reformed or newly founded according to the ideas of achievement and social behaviour,
with centres of authority on whose educational programmes other types of school were
modelled. Their élitist product was the independent and socially oriented man of culture, domesticating himself and others - the gentleman.
This emphasis, put on individualism, social integration and the claims to leadership
of a minority, reveals the specifically English mixture of an aristocratic and at the same
time bourgeois and industrial society. Arnold's demand for "perfection" is oriented towards the dynamic and competitive aspects of trade. Progress, however, must be channelled so that the individual's economic and political liberation would not turn into anarchy. Paradoxically, this scepticism seems to be an expression of, as well as a necessary condition for, Britain's not fully realized bourgeois society. Thus the gentleman
becomes a figure distrusting the constant demands for modernization; his traditionalism
is programmatic and makes him appear anachronistic in the twentieth century.
The concept of the gentleman is, quite consistently, tied to old and feudalist social
distinctions. The aristocratic gentleman or nobleman, for whose definition manners had
been more important than morals before Arnold and others emphasized the moral aspect, logically developed into a model of the English society. But even Arnold did not
credit the market, the principle of economic competition, with the possibility of achieving an ethical order. A new ideal of leadership, though taking up traditional forms,
seemed necessary to establish social harmony. In public schools and in Oxbridge a new
élite, efficient and in its pursuit of perfection quite meritocratic, was born: "In school
[...] we were training for a big fight - were already engaged in it - a fight which would
last all our lives, and try all our powers, physical, intellectual, and moral, to the utmost."
(Hughes 1894: 194) The repeated emphasis on fighting elucidates the political situation
in which the gentleman ideal developed. Arnold and his successors aimed at repelling
the alleged danger of social disintegration. In addition, the centres of authority had to
manage the further task, in foreign affairs, of organizing the Empire: The gentleman
ideal developed under constant pressure.
This expectation, which was raised by an early overcommitment in domestic and
foreign affairs, furnishes another reason for the emphasis put on the ideas of order and
coherence in 19th-century pedagogical and political considerations on the education of
an élite. With regard to public schools and the notion of the
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141
gentleman, one could speak of an attempt to instal a functional élite. The political leaders of the country were drawn from public schools, and the civil service in particular
became a sphere of activity for public school graduates. The function of the élite was
not so much to execute specific skills, but to possess social leadership qualities. The
senior pupil's task of serving, controlling and educating his junior fellow pupils - tasks
introduced by Thomas Arnold - were regarded as an essential part of public school education in general.
If this concept of order is taken into consideration, the priority of character-building
in public schools can easily be grasped. Instrumental abilities alone were not sufficient
for leadership qualities and social competence, as Frederick Temple, headmaster of
Rugby, pointed out: "The real defect of mathematics and physical science as instruments of education is that they have not any tendency to humanise. Such studies do not
make a man more human, but simply more intelligent." (Quoted from Gilmour 1981:
97) The teaching of order occupied ample space in public school curricula. In 1884 Eton
employed twenty-eight teachers for classical languages (which demonstrated the orientation towards classical notions of élitism), seven for philosophy and four for history,
but none at all for modern languages or sciences. These shortcomings were only gradually removed.
Every gentleman had to be bold, brave, faithful, pure, energetic, fearless, gentle, heroic, courageous and, above all, he had to fight against his egotism: His abilities had to
be embraced in a just cause. Obligation and disinterestedness were among the prime
pedagogical demands. The pupil was given the awareness of belonging to an élitist
group, but at the same time he was reminded of his responsibilities resulting from his
privileged position. Harold Nicholson, among other things headmaster of Taunton Public School during the inter-war years, demanded from his pupils to build a 'New Jerusalem'; Eton also ran, in London's poor districts, institutions for national education in
which their pupils were employed.
This obligation for social paternalism could have collided with the requirements of
the political system. First of all, public school graduates had to be loyal to their code of
values, to gentility and common weal, which they initially experienced in the welfare of
their schools: "We come to learn how to play our part as members of a corporate body,
of something higher and greater than ourselves; to learn the sense of responsibility for
the welfare of the house and school, to learn to work, not for self, but for the good of the
whole, each for all and all for each." (Nicholson 1938: 90) If they clashed with institutions which did not pursue the goals of harmony and obligation they had "to face unpopularity; it is easy to go with the tide, so easy to follow the crowd; but the pioneers
have always had to face unpopularity [...]. A man cannot be good for anything who is
very popular [...]. Such things must be fought to death." (Ibid.: 86, 91-92) The protest
had to be elaborate in form and content, with the 'mutineer' himself coming from the
'captain's bridge'. Even the nonconformist behaviour was an élitist activity, since it must
have a moral basis if it should differ from the simple revolt of the lower classes. The
exemplary historical "rebels were odd only because they believed more in our
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English tradition of freedom and humanity than the average man around them" (Weymouth 1940: 54).
Here the contradictions of this concept which was meant to reconcile the individual
and society became manifest in the élitist pupil himself8; Arnold's educational programme, therefore, included goals such as order and subordination, conformity, integration into the whole and the acceptance of individual assertions, going as far as escapist
rebellion. The practical work in school, however, rather emphasized exercises in esprit
de corps and hierarchic awareness. Special importance was hereby paid to distinctions
within the school such as fagging and to team sports which were especially cultivated,
though criticized by Matthew Arnold. It is no accident that at the beginning of the twentieth century public schools could be easily militarized: In 1907 the 'Officer's Training
Corps', a compulsory and military education, was introduced.
Both aspects of this educational ideal left untouched the idea that pupils were intended to lead. The Eton Chronicle, for example, commented on the Officer's Training
Corps: "[...] we maintain that the nation should be plainly shown of what vital importance Compulsory Service is and that it might prove extremely helpful to such an
education if the lower classes were to see the sons of the so-called 'idle rich' compelled
to undergo a course of military training at the Public Schools." (Quoted from Parker
1987: 34) Officers who went with their men through thick and thin and whose men, in
turn, followed them blindly became a trivial myth of this ideal, but even advocates of
the primacy of individualism stressed their pupils' roles of being forerunners. For Harold Nicholson Galilei, Luther and Garibaldi were the true heroes and original minds of
movements striving for perfection. In these two concepts of either integration and subordination or of individual expression (which I have outlined in their ideal forms), the
idea of a benevolent leadership is coupled with a feeling of social and moral superiority
towards those who are to be led.
But, as pointed out by critics, even this élite was unable to stop Britain's decline. It
had failed particularly with regard to those who were to be led patriarchally. In his very
influential history of Britain's decline Correlli Barnett takes up the idea of a 'New Jerusalem' which was to be built by the public school élite and proves how this élite failed
(cf. Barnett 1987). And in 1985 a typical leader for the Sunday Times was published on
the expiration of the gentleman and of a 'wrong' definition of Englishness: "Britain's
decline owes too much to feeble efforts of our faded gentry for us to yearn for their return. If Mrs. Thatcher has one virtue, it is to show the grit, energy and determination of
the upwardly mobile on whom this country's fortunes depend [...]. Mr. Pym [leader of
the opposition against Thatcher within her own party] and his friends [...] are of a bygone era, when the grouse moor and the old school tie set the tone. That day is gone."
(Sunday Times, 12 May 1985) The 'Philistines' of the middle classes treated with enormous contempt by Matthew Arnold established themselves as an organizing force. In
this process accompanied by a redefinition of 'Englishness', the gentleman ideal emphasizes, though in
Political Decadence? Aspects of Thatcherite Englishness
143
contrast to certain aspects of the industrialized modern age, mobility and dynamic force
as being typically English qualities.
5.
Thatcher's Election Speech
"Somewhere ahead lies greatness for our country again." Margaret Thatcher describes
central problems of English society in the form of a history of Britain's decline without
explaining precisely where the turning-point lies. However, though she is aware of this
decline she insists that the former greatness can and must be restored. The words
"somewhere ahead" imply the promise that the right political navigators, including herself of course, know the route for the future. The vagueness of her statement is concealed by the absolute certainty that greatness for her country will be regained. The glorious seafarers' search determines the tone, and courage joins together with the certainty
of the one who knows: "This I know in my heart." Knowledge is truly legitimized by
faith, and rational discussion in which the logic of better arguments prevails is replaced
by subjective beliefs with 'conviction' becoming a keyword. Thatcher's missionary tone
is based on the self-confidence of her knowing the destination.
Quite deliberately Thatcher repeats the allusion to the undaunted, nay even obsessed,
mind of the explorers, seafarers and pioneers. "Look at Britain today and you may think
that an impossible dream": The present is inconsistent with the ideal of English greatness. Again and again Thatcher refers to the idea of decline, diagnosing it and sharpening the audience's perception of it. Though the turning back and restoring of the old
position seems to be hardly possible Thatcher holds on to her dream, connecting this
'British dream' to the language of belief, conviction and knowledge, regardless of all
traditional as well as 'rational' contents of policy.
The pathos of policy often resorts to the power of the dream as can also be seen in
speeches on the American dream, for example in Lincoln's "Gettysburg Address" or
Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream". The dream claims for itself a high degree of
authenticity hiding the unrealistic moment of the vision by the use of the subjunctive.
Just what appears impossible will come true: "But there is another Britain which may
not make the daily news, but which each one of us knows."
Margaret Thatcher ties her dream of Britain's revival to reality, attacking in passing
the widespread criticism from the media; they prefer to present the shady sides since
good news is rarely suited to their sensationalism. In addition, with the existence of 'another Britain', the individual who should revover his political well-being comes to the
fore. A part of the nation, the tacit majority, is indeed healthy, and these individuals
representing true Englishness can remain as they are.
The political change does not require a revision of England's complete traditions and
history for "each one of us" knows what the healthy parts are. This appeal to the common sense implies a rejection of the political model devised by the experts. To recognise the other Britain requires no special knowledge or even a specialist,
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but it is based on the everyday lives of those people who do not produce "news". At the
same time this self-evident common sense leads to a polarisation: Using the pronoun
'we' suggests the existence of a 'they', a group of people who deny this knowledge of
"another Britain". Therefore, Englishness is a quality of a certain segment of society
only. "It is a Britain of thoughtful people, tantalisingly slow to act, yet marvellously
determined when they do."
The representatives of this Englishness are even described more precisely: They are
wise people weighing up the possibilities, "tantalisingly slow" in their decisions, but
absolutely determined once they have made up their minds. This statement is seen as a
particular justification by those who have tolerated Britain to be run down for such a
long time. "Tantalisingly slow" they have watched the tragedy of Britain's decline and
the failure of the élite, but now the time has come to act.
The speech's appellative function is quite obvious: If at long last action is taken the
British dream of a new greatness may come true. The slight uneasiness caused by Britain's inactivity so far is employed to mobilize the tacit majority and once again Thatcher
emphasizes faith, conviction and determination. The national myth of the (English)
bulldog, which is often used, even for political purposes, as a symbol of Englishness per
se and as a personification of slowness and determination (cf. Secord 1992), is meant to
characterize a specific group of people who should restore Britain's greatness. The use
of the third person plural helps to objectivize this polarization as well as the appeal.
Thatcher virtually takes an outside view of the representatives of revival. "It is their
voice which steadies each generation." The better England is attached to tradition and
its commonplace knowledge is passed on from generation to generation. The ancestors
create the guidelines for their descendants and without this awareness of tradition there
will be no stability and security. Britain's decline is, therefore, also a result of traditions
falling into oblivion and ancestors being denied, the consequence of which is a loss in
orientation. "Its message is quiet but insistent." The recovery of the past is expressed in
powerful imagery: A voice speaks to the contemporaries and its articulation is calm
though urgent. Even in its particular form it is a demonstration of the English myth of
slowness, calmness and hesitation, though completely convinced and determined if action needs to be taken. "It says this: Let us make this country safe to work in. Let us
make this country safe to walk in." The ancestors request the descendants to act; then
Thatcher again switches over to the first person plural since the appeal from a 'neutral'
perspective is not persuasive enough: 'we' are those who are acting.
The manifestations of social decline are especially grave and obvious in the insecurity on the streets. Still, this concretisation seems out of place; the theme of Britain's
historic(al) greatness is brought down to the level of everyday politics. "Let us make it a
country safe to grow up in. Let us make it a country safe to grow old in." Here the decline is even stronger connected with crime and old people's insecurity which, by expressing the threat of this group, emphasizes that this sick Britain has turned away from
her ancestors, their experience and safe advice. This
Political Decadence? Aspects of Thatcherite Englishness
145
very voice should be obeyed: "And it says, above all, may this land of ours, which we
love so much, find dignity and greatness and peace again." Thatcher's emphasis on security, order and protection of the old people is aimed at a special clientèle of the Conservative Party, which, more than their rivals from the Labour Party, had picked out the
country's inner safety as a central theme.
At the end of her speech Thatcher again returns to the paramount importance
("above all") of Britain's restoration. She cautiously qualifies the criminal concretisation, tying it to the central theme of decadence. "This land of ours" carries some
of Edward Elgar's pathos, and the rhythm of the sentence reveals that here the prophetess of a new Britain is speaking. Britain must be great in order to be able to regain her
dignity; only then will peace be possible. Besides, the use of the polysyndeton intensifies the impression that we might be dealing with the end of a prayer or blessing.
Margaret Thatcher sees herself as an innovator who has to return to the values of a
true England in order to be able to be innovative. That the traditional élite failed to do so
made the mission of the "thoughtful people" necessary. Thatcher cultivates a semantics
in which tradition and progress ought to be reconciled, but her image of a better and
healthy Britain is still oriented towards rise and greatness. Only by restoring the once
important position - consolidated within and outwardly powerful - could the United
Kingdom regain her identity and dignity. Thus national self-confidence is tied to the
vision of 'greatness'. This attitude does not in any way break with traditional concepts of
Englishness, and once again national myths are conjured up: The orientation towards
the past determines the political symbolism of Thatcherism. The 'old' élite is blamed for
not being 'English enough'9 and having perceived the true voice of the past only partly,
if at all. 'Englishness' and 'greatness' go together and should be kept alive in the dynamic, progressive society of the future. Here the full circle completed by the political semantics of Thatcherism becomes clearly evident: Oscillating between 'Englishness' and
new 'greatness', Thatcher did not get beyond the discourse which had been going on
since the beginning of the twentieth century and she was unable to develop new views
or ways of expression; only the class bearing the burden of the national rescue seemed
to be changing.
Thatcher's successor did not inherit her political pathos and her ability of authentically stage-managing her belief in Britain, her undauntedness and her conviction that a
turnaround is feasible. No wonder that she showed contempt for such an inferior imitator. But the ancestor's voice again goes unheeded, although it is scarcely possible not to
hear its vociferousness.10
Notes
1
2
This shortened version of Thatcher's speech is reprinted in Butler/Kavanagh (1980: 195).
Critics often refer to Britain's lag in technical studies. Cf. Rubinstein (1992), a work which is
discussed by Robert Skidelsky in The Times Literary Supplement (7 May 1993: 14) and de-
146
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Thomas Noetzel
fended by Rubinstein himself in his letter to the editor (21 May 1993: 29). For a critical view
of classical ideals of education see also CP. Snow's The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution (1959) and his novel Corridors of Power (1964).
Cf. Harold Macmillan's well-known phrase "Let's be frank about it; most of our people have
never had it so good" (Speech at Bedford, 20 July 1957).
This happened only later with Edward Heath and Margaret Thatcher.
This line of argumentation can be seen, as distinctly as through a magnifying glass, in Wiener (1981). Cf. also Barnett (1987).
The war trauma described as 'shellshock' was judged by contemporaries as an indication that
people were no longer able to psychologically cope with the effects of their civilization. The
predicted growth of mental illness was regarded as a symptom of decadence.
Of particular importance here are the accusations put forward in the Thatcher era that prominent members of the upper class had been, as students in the Thirties, recruited by the Soviet
secret service and had betrayed Britain.
What here appears as a logical contradiction is in fact part of the multi-functionalism of this
concept. The Empire needed the organizing politician as well as the rebel and adventurer.
Cf. the Tory right wingers' vehement criticism of England's further integration into the EC
and the sell-out of British interests. It is no accident that Margaret Thatcher could distinguish
herself as an anti-EC politician. See also Diller's article in this volume.
Cf. Thatcher's memoirs (Thatcher 1993) which caused a furore in getting even with all the
politicians of decline around John Major.
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