Cabinet pack up their troubles for a tour of Scotland

Published on Thursday 16 April 2009 22:20

WHEN Lloyd George led his cabinet to Inverness in September 1921, so warm was the Highland welcome that the prime minister said it might be necessary to return and again "trespass" on Scotland's kindness.

Some 88 years would pass before a UK Cabinet meeting would again by convened north of the Border and yesterday it was to a more mixed reception.

So ecstatic were the crowds who gathered last century outside the Town Hall in Inverness that one individual fainted and had to be revived with water from the public fountain.

Yesterday Gordon Brown arrived at Glasgow's "big red shed", the SECC, where his Cabinet was to meet, to discover that despite the tightest security, militant left-wingers had infiltrated the venue armed with posters and the Socialist Worker with plans to greet him with a medley of classic militant hits, including "you've got blood on your hands" and "education not repossession". When offered the opportunity to leave quietly or be forcibly removed, the protestors choose retreat over valour in battle.

It was a position the Prime Minister had adopted that morning, choosing a tour of Govan shipyard to retreat and finally say "sorry" over his aides' offensive e-mails.

Meanwhile, his Cabinet ministers enjoyed the full spectrum of Scottish welcomes, for, like earnest pupils dispatched by the headmaster to assist and enlighten the locals, they popped up everywhere.

At Knockhill Race Course Business Secretary Lord Mandelson demonstrated that there are those born to drive and those born to be driven.

Paired with Geoff Hoon, in an electric car of the future, "Mandy" clearly falls into the latter category, for while contentedly dispensing regal waves from the passenger seat as the Transport Secretary let it zip – he reached almost 20mph – when it came to swapping places, there passed a few minutes of puzzled silence as the lord reacquainted himself with a gear stick.

After urging the public about the importance of a "low carbon future" and the need to conserve energy, Lord Mandelson stepped back into his four-car motorcade to return to the media centre – 400 yards away.

While at Knockhill, both ministers refused to discuss the McBride/Draper affair, down at Glasgow Airport, meanwhile, Home Secretary Jacqui Smith was refusing, initially, to discuss Damian Green. Flanked by two discreetly armed protection officers, Mrs Smith was there to inspect the steel bollards that can now deflect a head on collision from an articulated lorry.

She demonstrated a similar resistance, answering a direct question – "what actions are you going to take against officials who exaggerated the claims against Damian Green?" – with a weak smile and a one minute and 11 second answer congratulating the police and airport staff for their response to the terrorist attack on 30 June, 2007.

She was more forthcoming to The Scotsman on her expenses.

The Scotsman: "You claimed for a barbecue set and patio set – could you give one example of how that has benefits you as an MP and Home Secretary?"

Home Secretary: "The first thing to say is that there has been a lot of focus on my expenses not all of it is accurate – I didn't claim for a barbecue set."

The Scotsman: "What about the bath plug?"

Home Secretary: "Well when you put in detailed receipts, as I think it is right that you do as an MP and then one of the elements of that receipt is taken out of that you claimed for separately, then I think that is one of the challenges of the transparency that I actually think is right that it is in the system." She left before anyone mentioned pay-per-view.

The warmest receptions were extended to the Brothers Miliband. At Hunterston B, the staff restrained the urge to raise Ed Miliband on to their shoulders and dance him past the flashing lights, gizmos and gadgets of the training room.

Instead, they grinned broadly as he launched a first strike in the "nuclear" war against the SNP and insisted they would, effectively, learn to stop worrying and love the, well, not bomb, but nuclear energy. At least one room full of people facing eventual redundancy were brought comfort by a government minister.

At a Glasgow mosque his elder brother, Foreign Secretary David Miliband, had arrived perhaps expecting to be pummelled, but was disarmed with charm. Introduced to MP Mohammed Sarwar's son, Anas, he said: "A grown man with a great future, I hear." Anas shot back: "Like yourself". Mr Miliband's smile was 100W.

Ministers who did not venture out to meet the public had them brought in, or, at least, a well-scrubbed and politically screened "cross-section". Back at the SECC, English Cabinet ministers learned the Prime Minister's reputation for parsimony as they faced the prospect of spending 12 noon to the 2:30pm Cabinet meeting nourished by nothing more than a glass of water.

There were 30 tables, with ten chairs round each, all of them set with linen table cloths and glasses of water. Mr Brown had decided that the message would go out: "You'll have had your lunch".

Each table got a Cabinet minister, for a few minutes, to listen to grievances and complaints, which were noted down by an official before the minister moved off to get an ear-bashing at the next table.

All the men and most of the women were in dark suits, many were vaguely familiar, not just to the press and politicians, but also to their fellow guests. The ordinary people of Glasgow were held back behind the yards of steel, concrete and police uniforms outside the hall.

Politics is eternal. Winston Churchill, who as an opposition politician was leaked documents on Germany's re-armament with which he embarrassed the government, would have sympathised with Mr Green.

In 1921, the "Scottish" cabinet meeting, which Churchill attended dressed in a fine astrakhan coat and "black, soft felt hat", lasted from 11:25am until after 4pm, with only a short break for lunch and an agenda dominated by Ireland. Yesterday a serious, rigorous discussion on the economy involving the opinions of 22 ministers took less than two hours.

Lloyd George's Scottish cabinet meeting ended with a presentation, by a little girl, of a "large sprig of white heather". Despite requiring all the luck he can muster, no-one thought to repeat the gift to Mr Brown.