This House – a new play by James Graham, reviewed by Tony Belton & Penny Corfield
This House, written by James Graham and playing at the National, is a must for any lefty of a certain age. A saga of the Wilson/Callaghan governments of the 1970s it is set in the Commons, but almost exclusively in those unknown jungles, known as the whips’ offices. A mention of the dark arts of politics recalls the jocular asides of rugby front row forwards; like the prop forwards, the whips appear to have more in common with their opponents than their so-called allies; like the front rows, they maintain their own club and its rules against all-comers, particularly their subjects, the lobby fodder of the backbenches.
The play is beautifully and wittily staged with some lucky members of the audience seated on the green Commons benches as serried ranks of silent MPs during scenes in the Commons. But when the scene moves to the whips office, the benches swing round to create theatre in the round. The script is funny and clever with Hal Miller, MP for Bromsgrove and Redditch, complaining that in the home of the needle industry he could not find a haystack.
The script and the action is, as Americans might say, designed for the Beltway audience. Not quite simply for those immersed in the Westminster Bubble, since there would be many, living well outside London, who would enjoy the play. However, the author undeniably demands considerable knowledge of the political intricacies of the period.
Graham has immersed himself in the history of this incident-packed five years, starting in the late days of the Heath Government and finishing after Thatcher’s ’79 election victory. He has clearly done a lot of research with particular assistance from Joe Ashton, one of Labour’s whips. It is not surprising that some of Graham’s sources claimed that this particular Parliament was the most dramatic in their various long and eventful parliamentary careers.
One fascinating theme that emerges is the mutual respect that grows between the two rival Deputy Whips. On Labour’s side was Walter Harrison, MP for Wakefield, admirably played by Reece Dinsdale, and on the Tories side Bernard (Jack) Weatherill, MP for Croydon NE, impeccably suited and played by Charles Edwards. A minor running joke refers to Weatherill’s career in his family’s bespoke tailoring business. MPs from all sides comment on his smart appearance or make some reference to tailoring. One cheeky Labour Whip even requests his help to repair his own scruffy suit. To which Weatherill delivers a superb put-down: ‘I don’t deal in man-made fibres’.
But, joking aside, the class and political differences between the two parties are shown not to cloud the growing personal respect between the two Deputy Whips. The most dramaticmoment of the play indeed occurs between the two of them, alone in the Tory Whips office – near the end of the play. Harrison needs a controversial pairing of MPs, to save the Labour majority. Weatherill after due consideration accepts, offering to be the pair himself – knowing that it will make him hated by his own party. After a very long pause, Harrison declines the offer. Politics move on.
The Callaghan government fell to a vote of no-confidence in 1979. There were many reasons for its fall and this unrecorded and imagined scene may or may not have been critical. The play, however, highlights this moment of drama between the two Whips. Thus, ultimately, the playwright endorses the essential value of personal integrity, even amidst the storm of political battle.
The Thatcher victory arguably marked the beginning of the end of the post-war consensus about the welfare state. Now as this play is premiered in the third year of a Cameron Government we are seeing the end of not just that consensus but also the demolition of the tools of the state that made it possible – a professional civil service, a powerful and independent local government, professional and independent public servants in the health, education and judicial services.
Some of our contemporaries told us that they were in tears of laughter for most of the play and tears of regret for the last 20 minutes. The laughter was, of course, testament to the writing but the regret was about the loss of a romantic, idealised memory of our lost youth spent in a welfare state that gave us good health, a better education than any of our forefathers, jobs for life and good occupational pensions. But the tears were also for the tragedy, as it appeared, of Labour’s failure and of lost opportunity.
But for us, the emotion was more of sadness than anguish. The period, as Graham sees it, was rather too mundane to be tragic. The scale of Labour’s ambition and vision seemed limited to the maintenance of power not to the achievement of any great ends. Even the first steps towards national devolution were inspired by the necessity of maintaining a majority and not out of any real political commitment. This, of course, made it all the more appropriate that the whips’ office was right at the centre of the action and of this play.
Should others go to see this play? Yes, it’s part of everyone’s civic education. But be prepared to be indignant as well as amused – and who knows, you might be moved to join the battle for more meaningful politics and a revived, even if different, Welfare State.
Tony Belton
Tony Belton 