Time for talk to stop and action to start

Published on Sunday 3 May 2009 22:11

WHEN the two party leaders, Donald Dewar and Jim Wallace, put their signatures to the formal agreement creating Scotland's first government in 300 years, neither looked comfortable.

Dewar, the Scottish Labour leader, joked with television crews to cover his nerves as the cameras flashed and the reporters shouted. Wallace, the Scottish Liberal Democrat leader, adopted a forced grin.

The final details in what had become rather tetchy negotiations between the two parties had only been completed late the night before. The coalition discussions had been so frenetic and intensive since the election the previous Thursday that neither Dewar nor Wallace had been able to enjoy much rest before meeting once again for the official signing, which took place on 14 May, 1999.

The stylish and modern new Museum of Scotland on the corner of Edinburgh's Chambers Street, with its sweeping curves of golden sandstone, had been chosen as the venue for the ceremony to echo Scotland's new, modern, style of politics.

But not everyone approved of that spirit of consensus as the Daily Mail demonstrated with a strident front page that morning which pictured a lawman's badge from the Wild West, Wallace and the headline "Sold Out for a Deputy's Badge".

Much to the surprise of everyone outside the negotiating teams, Wallace had secured the post of Deputy First Minister, despite bringing only 17 MSPs to the coalition deal, compared with Labour's 56.

The news that the Liberal Democrats would get the Deputy First Minister's job, two Cabinet ministers and two junior ministers had leaked out from a delighted Liberal Democrat MSP the night before.

By this time, senior Labour members were already grumbling about Wallace's influential new position, a concession from Dewar which irritated Labour MSPs for the next four years.

But most MSPs in the smaller party had reason to feel pleased with the deal. The Liberal Democrats had studied coalitions elsewhere and knew they should expect nothing less than the Deputy First Minister's job.

Indeed, when the two negotiating teams met for the first time in the top floor of the old council offices on Edinburgh's George IV Bridge on the Monday after the election, Dewar turned up with his ideas written on four sides of A4 paper and the Liberal Democrats arrived with a bulging ring binder full of policies, ideas, and positions – all of which had been debated and agreed by the party's new MSPs.

Wallace remembers how the two parties approached the negotiations. "I got the impression Donald thought he could get us on board just by putting two Liberal Democrats in the Labour Cabinet but it wasn't going to work that way," he said.

Where there were disputes, items were put in square brackets and taken in to the top-level talks, with Dewar and Wallace.

On one occasion, Dewar noticed a policy in square brackets and barked: "For God's sake Jim, what's this piece of Liberal nonsense you've got here?"

One of his officials leaned over and told Dewar the policy in question was a Labour one.

The Liberal Democrats dropped their demand for lifting of tolls on the Skye Bridge and immediate lifting of the beef ban. They also agreed to set aside a commitment to proportional representation for local government elections, after being persuaded it would be looked into by a commission.

Labour got most of its manifesto accepted but, as everyone knew it would, the negotiations came down to student tuition fees – the Liberal Democrats wanted them scrapped, Labour was in favour of retention.

Much of the pressure on the teams came from the media and, with each day's negotiating session lasting well into the night, the press pack had taken up a position at the front doors of the council offices.

It soon became clear that the main doors could be monitored from the bar of Deacon Brodie's Tavern, a slightly soulless, touristy bar opposite.

The pub would empty within seconds if anybody from either of the negotiating parties emerged from the offices within. John Farquhar Munro, a Gael, a crofter and a first-time parliamentarian at the age of 64, caused more false alarms than anybody, going outside in his tweed suit for a smoke.

With tuition fees the last issue in square brackets, everybody from both teams was tasked with finding a solution. The compromise, when it came, was easy – it would be farmed out to a review commission.

As the politicians were working on the agreement to create Scotland's first coalition government, joiners were completing the conversion of the stately old Church of Scotland General Assembly Hall on the Mound into a parliament chamber. Dewar had decided to build a new parliament at Holyrood, but that would take time – and a lot of money and controversy – before it was complete.

A temporary home was found in theAssembly Hall, a beautiful Victorian debating chamber, subtly tiered, with oak galleries above all four sides and a marbled black and white corridor behind the speaker's chair.

It was a perfect venue for the new institution, particularly as it was only needed for the General Assembly once a year, when it could easily be changed back into a debating chamber.

By the eve of the election, the chamber was ready. The MSPs' desks were arranged in a European-style semi-circle, facing the Presiding Officer's elevated position, with space for the newly commissioned debating mace just in front. Sir David Steel was the sole candidate to be the first Presiding Officer.

The pale wood desks were highlighted by a striking blue carpet, giving the old hall a new feel. By 14 May, 1999, the Scottish Parliament – which for so long and for so many had been nothing more than an aspiration – was now a reality. It had its venue, it had its MSPs and, now – just – it had its government.

&#149 From: Uncharted Territory: The Story of Scottish Devolution 1999-2009 by Hamish Macdonell. Published on 11 May by Politico's, 14.99.

When Salmond turned the tables on Tony

WHILE the SNP was losing the 1999 election, party leader Alex Salmond did enjoy one victory over Tony Blair.

The occasion was the grand and well-lubricated Press Fund Lunch in the banqueting hall of Glasgow's Hilton Hotel just five days before polling day, where Mr Blair was guest speaker.

The former PM launched into an extraordinary partisan tirade against the SNP,

making everyone on the top table uncomfortable because there, sitting just yards from Mr Blair, was Mr Salmond, unable to respond or to intervene.

As Mr Blair went on with his attack on the SNP's economic policies and guests started shifting uneasily in their seats, Mr Salmond began to smile and, just when the Prime Minister turned his fire on the Nationalists' plan to secure Scotland's economy on North Sea oil revenues, so Mr Salmond reached into his pocket and, still sitting but facing most of the guests in the hall, opened up a folded orange card with just one word inside – "Bluff".

Laughter started then spread, followed by a ripple of applause from some parts of the hall.

Mr Blair could not see the card. All he knew was that something had gone wrong in his speech, his audience was laughing when it shouldn't have been.

It meant little in the context of the SNP's election defeat five days later, but, just for a while, humiliated and embarrassed the Prime Minister, delighting Salmond's beleaguered activists.