A Very British Coup Quotes

Is the consideration of a little dirty pelf, to individuals, to be placed in competition with the essential rights & liberties of the present generation, & of millions yet unborn? shall a few designing men for their own aggrandizement, and to gratify their own avarice, overset the goodly fabric we have been rearing at the expence of so much time, blood, & treasure? and shall we at last become the victems of our own abominable lust of gain? Forbid it heaven! forbid it all, & every state in the union! by enacting & enforcing, efficatious laws for checking the growth of these monstrous evils, & restoring matters in some degree to the pristine state they were in at the commencement of the War. Our cause is noble. It is the cause of Mankind! and the danger to it springs from ourselves—Shall we slumber & sleep then while we should be punishing those miscreants who have brought these troubles upon us, & who are aiming to continue us in them? While we should be striving to fill our Battalions—and devising ways and means to appreciate the currency—On the credit of which every thing depends? I hope not—let vigorous measures be adopted—not to limit the price of articles—for this I conceive is inconsistent with the very nature of things, & impracticable in itself—but to punish speculators—forestallers—& extortioners—and above all—to sink the money by heavy Taxes—To promote public & private Œconomy—encourage Manufactures &ca—Measures of this sort gone heartily into by the several states will strike at once at the root of all our misfortunes, & give the coup-de-grace to British hope of subjugating this great Continent, either by their Arms or their Arts—The first as I have before observed they acknowledge is unequal to the task—the latter I am sure will be so if we are not lost to every thing that is good & virtuous.

For weeks all opinion polls and all responsible commentators had been predicting that there was no hope of the Labour Party being elected on a programme like this. Ever since Harry Perkins had been chosen to lead Labour at a tumultuous party conference two years earlier, the popular press had been saying that this proved what they had always argued – namely that the Labour Party was in the grip of a Marxist conspiracy. Privately the rulers of the great corporations had been gleeful, for they had convinced themselves that the British people were basically moderate and that, however rough the going got, they would never elect a Labour government headed by the likes of Harry Perkins.

He was a lonely man, but he had long since reconciled himself to loneliness. Marriage required concessions which he was not prepared to make. He would have had to sacrifice time to small talk and to take an interest in things that bored him stiff. Marriage

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On top of this the IMF also wanted guarantees that the government would not introduce import controls or any other restrictions on free trade. “I’ll never get that through the Cabinet,” Wainwright told them. “Your problem, not ours,” said the American member of the IMF team, and it was he who did most of the talking. He went on, “We’re bankers, not politicians. We don’t make any distinction whether we are dealing with British social democrats or Turkish Generals.” “All very well,” replied Wainwright, “but Turkish Generals have ways of dealing with public opinion that aren’t open to British social democrats.

The mandarins were less than overjoyed to see the government get off the hook so easily. At their weekly meetings in the Cabinet Office the permanent secretaries indulged in a fit of collective pique. “You should have heard them crowing,” said Sir Richard Hildrew, the Cabinet Secretary. “Actually stood up and applauded him there and then. Have you ever known government ministers who behave as though they are at a football match?” He shook his head wearily. What was the country coming to?

Why wasn’t the Treasury told? That’s what I want to know.” He stabbed the air with the forefinger of his right hand. “Not even Wainwright knew. No one even told the Chancellor.” Sir Cedric Snow, Foreign Office, was even more indignant. “I was told that Newsome was ill in bed at home when all the time he was gallivanting around the Middle East. Lied to by my own minister.” He stressed the word lied as though it was the first time in the history of diplomacy that a lie had ever been told. “Anyone would think,” Sir Cedric went on, “that this government doesn’t trust its own civil service.

For the next few minutes Sir Peregrine’s optimism seemed justified. The National Unity candidate held Oxford with a majority only slightly reduced. Braintree stayed Tory. So did Colchester and Finchley. Then at about quarter to midnight came the first results from the North. Salford, Grimsby, York and Leeds East were all held by Labour with doubled, even trebled, majorities. It was at this point that Arthur Furnival disappeared to ring his stockbroker.

Like so much else associated with the twentieth century, television sets were banished from the Athenaeum. But in view of the impending national disaster a delegation from the crowd of elderly gentlemen now gathered around the tape machine had been despatched in search of the club secretary, Captain Giles Fairfax. The captain said he would see what he could do and within ten minutes reappeared carrying a small portable set borrowed from the caretaker’s flat.

Like so much else associated with the twentieth century, television sets were banished from the Athenaeum. But in view of the impending national disaster a delegation from the crowd of elderly gentlemen now gathered around the tape machine had been despatched in search of the club secretary, Captain Giles Fairfax. The captain said he would see what he could do and within ten minutes reappeared carrying a small portable set borrowed from the caretaker’s flat. It was now installed beside the tape machine on a table taken from the morning room. “All very irregular,” said the captain with an apologetic glance at the portrait of Charles Darwin which overlooked the scene. Nevertheless, he stayed to watch.

For weeks all opinion polls and all responsible commentators had been predicting that there was no hope of the Labour Party being elected on a programme like this. Ever since Harry Perkins had been chosen to lead Labour at a tumultuous party conference two years earlier, the popular press had been saying that this proved what they had always argued – namely that the Labour Party was in the grip of a Marxist conspiracy. Privately the rulers of the great corporations had been gleeful, for they had convinced themselves that the British people were basically moderate and that, however rough the going got, they would never elect a Labour government headed by the likes of Harry Perkins. Picture, therefore, the dismay that swept the lobby of the Athenaeum as the television showed Perkins coming to the rostrum in Sheffield town hall to acknowledge not only his own re-election with a record majority, but to claim victory on behalf of his party. “Comrades,” intoned brother Perkins. “Comrades, my foot.” Sir Arthur Furnival was apoplectic. “Told you the man’s a Communist.

Our ruling class have never been up for re-election before, but I hereby serve notice on behalf of the people of Great Britain that their time has come.” Such language had never been heard from a British Prime Minister before. Although received with rapture in Sheffield town hall, Harry Perkins’ words burst upon the Athenaeum as though the end of the world was at hand. Which, in a manner of speaking, it was. “South of France for me, old boy,” said Furnival.

They’ll never let a Labour government headed by Harry Perkins take power,” he told her. “Who’re ‘they’?” she had asked innocently. “Your friends in the City, the newspaper owners, the civil servants, all them sort of people.” Elizabeth had laughed at him. “You socialists are all the same – paranoid. Always thinking somebody’s tapping your phone or blaming all your troubles on the capitalist press.

The trade union leaders filed into the Great Parlour at Chequers and took their seats around the polished mahogany table. Before he sat down Bill Knight of the Engineers’ Union caressed the oak wall panelling. “This is what I call class,” he said and as he spoke his hand drifted to the blue and white porcelain on the mantelpiece. Despite impeccable proletarian origins most union leaders quickly adapted to the comforts of high office.

The weekly meeting of permanent secretaries takes place in the boardroom of the Cabinet Office overlooking Horse-guards’ Parade. As the senior civil servants in charge of each of the main Whitehall departments, they meet, in theory, to co-ordinate government policy. In practice they also sometimes co-ordinate resistance to government policy.