The Witchfinder General: A Political Odyssey

To my dear daughter Jeannette

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

David Marsh and Joanne Chambers, Abortion Politics

Betty Boothroyd, The Autobiography

David Denver, Colin Rallings and others, British Elections and Parties Yearbooks

Richard Heffernan and Mike Marqusee, Defeat from the Jaws of Victory

Giles Radice, Diaries 1980–2001

Eric Shaw, Discipline and Discord in the Labour Party

Tony Benn, The End of an Era: Diaries 1980–1990

Barbara Castle, Fighting All the Way

Jimmy Allison, Guilty by Suspicion

John Golding, Hammer of the Left

Harold Wilson, The Labour Government, 1964–70: A Personal Record

Eric Heffer, Labour’s Future

Peter Kilfoyle, Left Behind

Michael Crick, Militant and The March of Militant

Dennis Skinner, Sailing Close to the Wind

John Grayson, Solid Labour

Lucy Middleton (ed.), Women in the Labour Movement

Labour History Museum Archives

Particular thanks for memories:

Terry Ashton

Charles Clarke

Neil Kinnock

Gus McDonald

Sally Morgan

Richard Taylor

Larry Whitty

Peter Mandelson for recommending me to the National Democrats

Merlyn Rees for being a friend and sponsor

Roger Hough for my wonderful leaving party

Betty Lockwood my friend and mentor

To my staff at head office and in the regions and colleagues who guided me through twenty-four years

The legal team who guided me: Derry Irvine, Alan Wilkie and John Sharpe

My House of Lords colleagues, who were a snapshot of my political life

To all those people in Leeds who were dear friends and colleagues

To the fantastic Yorkshire women

To Sally Cline for her advice

To Lee Butcher for his research

To Jean Corston and Sally Morgan for their reminders

To Bernadette McGee, who spent many hours typing and re-typing – a very special thanks

To my family, Kevin and Jeannette, who put up with my impatience when I was not getting it right

And to many others who I have failed to name, but they know who they are

CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Epigraph

Prelude

Introduction – Eighty Years of Change

Chapter 1– Who I Am

Chapter 2– Formative Years

Chapter 3– Becoming a Labour Activist

Chapter 4– The Snowball Rolled

Chapter 5– Leaving Leeds

Chapter 6– Over the Threshold

Chapter 7– Women on the Move

Chapter 8– The Big Divide

Chapter 9– Turbulent Times

Chapter 10– The New Regime

Chapter 11– Elections and By-Elections Won and Lost

Chapter 12– Witchfinder General

Chapter 13– Exodus

Chapter 14– Being a Baroness

Epilogue

Index

Plates

Copyright

A Socialist believes that all human beings, however different in gift and achievement, are equal in importance and dignity. That society shall be so contrasted, and incomes so distributed as to give everyone an equal chance of an active and enjoyable life.

Extract from This Is Our Faith, Labour publication (1950)

PRELUDE

Mae West said it, and I believe it: ‘You only live once – if you do it right that is enough’.

I sat on the couch in John Smith’s office one day in February 1993. I was there to tell him that I intended to retire at Easter from my post as director of organisation of the Labour Party. He asked me, ‘Will you be able to manage financially?’

‘Yes,’ I replied.

Then he said, ‘Joyce, would you like to go in the House of Lords?’

Six months of silence followed, six months of evasive answers when people asked me ‘What are you going to do with your retirement?’ I did not know and could not answer them until I learnt what my future was to be. The rules are absolute, everyone is sworn to secrecy until the official announcement is made.

On 31 July 1993 I returned home late at night from speaking at a conference in Madrid. There were four messages on the answerphone from John. ‘Ring me urgently tonight, no matter how late – going on holiday tomorrow.’ With trepidation I dialled his number. His opening words were, ‘I asked the Prime Minister, John Major, for ten new Labour peers but he has only given me three.’ Then he paused for what seemed a very long time. I steeled myself for disappointment. I thought he must be working out how to let me down gently. Then he uttered thirteen magic words: ‘And I have decided you are going to be one of the three.’ The announcement would be in The Times the next day.

Next morning early I made several urgent phone calls to my family, before they read it in the press. Seeing the announcement in print I still could not believe it was true. Was it real? Was I really going to be a baroness? Why me? Why did I deserve this honour? I knew that my work for the party had not been easy – that it had meant long hours, late nights and sometimes scary moments – but I had a job to do, so I got on and did it. Sometimes I don’t always understand the impact I made.

I found the answer four years later on the night of the Labour Party’s landslide victory in May 1997. At the celebratory party a young man, a stranger, crossed the room to speak to me. He said, ‘We would not have achieved this victory if you had not made the party electable.’ Then he disappeared into the crowd. I never discovered who he was – but, my goodness, did it make me feel it had been worthwhile!

I have always worried what the future might bring, what to expect, what opportunities might come my way, what challenges I might face.

When I served behind a pharmacy counter in Leeds and when I worked with wonderful Labour women in Yorkshire I never imagined that one day I would be in the House of Lords, that I would be Baroness Gould of Potternewton or that I might be addressed as ‘my Lady’, for what I had done seemed simple. I had felt passionate about several significant causes and worked to bring about change.

So I found myself moving into a completely fresh environment. I hurtled into the front room of politics. As the Yorkshire Post wrote, I went from Boots Girl to Baroness.

INTRODUCTION

EIGHTY YEARS OF CHANGE

Over the years in the centre of the political arena I heard many racy stories and saw many personal incidents. I was offered a great deal of money to tell all, dish the dirt, and say where the bodies were buried. I could not do that. For me it would have been out of character, an alien act, so I said no. Perhaps I was naive for it would have made me a rich woman.

I did not feel relaxed about a decision to write a book until I suddenly realised that I was an octogenarian. Although I did not feel old, my age made me re-consider my decision not to put pen to paper. I decided to write a personal story. Not only, as you might expect, about the disruptive and fraught days of the party in the 1970s and 1980s but about me. About the stages of my life, my origins, coming from intellectual Jewish stock, surviving a traumatic birth and a lonely childhood, growing up in a Jewish family with no money, run-of-the-mill school years, employment opportunities, being a mother and the events that followed joining the Labour Party. And ultimately my becoming a Labour peer.

Volumes have been written by politicians that cover my sixty-three years as a Labour Party member, through ten party leaders. But whilst many academics have put their own interpretation on that period, it dawned on me that there was no chronicle written by an insider: someone who had played a prominent role at local level in the Labour Party; someone who became a senior member of staff at head office; someone whose beliefs and passions were always intertwined with the women’s agenda. This last has been a winding thread throughout my life. Very few politicians, men or women, have written about the Labour Party’s attitude to women and their struggle for change.

Writing my story made me think not only about my history but also about how I define myself. How do others perceive me? What has made me who I am? Is it my heritage, my childhood? What have I done with my life? Have I used the years sufficiently wisely? I have of course been influenced by people I have met, but even more than that, what has driven me to take on so many challenges and how did I handle them?

As I mused about these questions the memories came flooding back, the changes, the disappointments and successes, the opportunities and the experiences. I thought about the great diversity of people I have met. I had the opportunity, whilst vice-president of Socialist International Women, a post I held for nine years, to meet and work alongside international socialist presidents and prime ministers. I learnt from women across the world about the challenges they faced, how they were campaigning for their democratic rights, for their freedom and justice. Those wonderful sisters were still battling for equality in spite of having experienced degradation and suffering, just because they were women. At the same time I recall the many wonderful moments when I joined with women in celebrations of success, to achieve the right to be a part of the decision making in their countries and the right to own a small piece of land. Importantly women achieved reproductive rights to determine the size of their family.

One day I was having a conversation with a friend, and I remember her reaction when I told her about my meeting with the first woman in space – ‘How many people can say that?’ she said. Valentina Tereshkova, who was president of the Soviet women’s committee, had been our hostess when I had headed two delegations of Labour women to the Soviet Union.

There was a further key question I had to try and answer, which everybody asked me: ‘Why do you feel so strongly, so passionately about the causes you have been involved in?’ It might have been my childhood environment which strongly influenced me. I recall the occasion as a seven-year-old evacuee when I lived in the maid’s quarters of a vicarage in Lincolnshire. We were never allowed in the rest of the house. Eventually we were asked to leave as the vicar decided it would be inappropriate for two young girls to be living in the house when the son of the family came home from Eton for his Christmas vacation.

At Roundhay High School for Girls, a girls-only grammar school, the divide in society became even more real to me. There were the posh girls who were the majority and there were the others who lived where I lived, downtown.

Those childhood experiences had a negative effect on me. Having two intelligent and very clever older brothers made it worse, not to mention a bevy of aunts who constantly asked me ‘Are you going to be as clever as your brothers?’ The consequence was that I felt inferior and insecure. I had a terrible lack of confidence which stayed with me for many years. It even manifested itself in my behaviour patterns. If I was late for a meeting I would not go in, I would turn round and go home. Even today I am obsessive about never arriving late.

I did not appreciate how important a moment it was when I paid my first sixpence to become a member of the Labour Party. Slowly I developed new skills, how to organise, arrange events and evolve my own views, thoughts and independence. When I told my friend Lewis Minkin that I was considering my memoirs, he said he had thought I would be just another wimpish wife always supporting my partner, irrespective of the issue. ‘How wrong I was,’ he said.

The Labour Party gave me a purpose. I could not know, of course, that it would take me up a ladder to the top of the party. I developed a real understanding of how deeply entrenched were the discriminations and injustices in society, against women, against those of colour. I recognised the enormity of the barriers that had to be climbed to establish the legal and cultural principles of equality. I was sure that through the Labour Party those cultural and prejudicial barriers could be overcome, exposed and challenged, and I fully committed myself to try to make that happen.

I was supported and encouraged by a wonderful group of Labour women, all fighting for the same causes, irrespective of where their politics placed them in the political spectrum of the party. What I did not appreciate was that it would take so long. I never believed that when I reached the age of eighty, equal pay for women would still be a dream, violence against women would still exist, and the concept of women’s rights as human rights would still not be understood.

What I was absolutely clear about was that to achieve these aims Labour had to be in power, locally and nationally. How true that turned out to be. Labour governments have been responsible for bringing about some fundamental political, societal and cultural change. To work for that Labour government as a volunteer I spent many hours and days and months, footslogging, leafleting and door knocking. I held every office at local level, both in the women’s movement and in the party, eventually going on to organise the party in the city of Leeds. These experiences gave me the ability to work with party members. They enabled me to lead a team. They showed me how to direct the work, whether it was on the doorstep or in a committee room or organising a public meeting, and how to make difficult decisions. Most of all I learnt how to stand my ground with the politicians on whom the future of the Labour Party rested.

I need to go back, back to my contemplation of the passage of time. Through the relentless pace of change both globally and here at home, the technological revolution that has transformed almost every aspect of our lives. There are 35 million cars on the road yet I never learnt to drive. Foreign travel is the norm, and credit cards have taken over from saving up or hire purchase. Men and women have been to the moon and walked in space. The speed of communication today means we rarely write letters, rather we use the computer, mobile phone or iPad. We send emails, texts and tweets, we Skype and use Facebook, in order to see and speak to each other across the world. We exchange our views by writing blogs, and gain our information from Google.

The structure of families has changed. Divorce has trebled since my childhood, marriage rates have declined, more than one-third of parents with children are cohabiting couples, lone parents or same-sex couples. This development of new partnerships, the growth in the number of step-families and more intricate family arrangements now shape the income and working patterns and living standards of families. Life for both women and men is now more complex.

The world is unrecognisable as the one I grew up in. That bastion of the past, the British Empire, has disintegrated. The geography of the world is different. Countries have exerted their independence, names of countries and towns have changed to bring back their original identities. We have seen the first woman prime ministers and the first black President of the United States. I am proud that as an active member of Anti-Apartheid I played a small part in supporting the years of struggle and the bravery of men such as Nelson Mandela who challenged and finally outlawed the evil of apartheid in South Africa. Europe has been re-defined; the symbol of the divide between East and West, the Berlin Wall, has been torn down, ultimately bringing with it the demise of communism and the introduction of democracy. The old Soviet Union has become Russia and has given independence to countries it had previously controlled. In the late 1980s and the early 1990s, I spent three years visiting many newly democratic countries, including South Africa and Russia, helping with the writing of their constitutions, and explaining the concept of democracy and the conduct of the free and fair elections.

These memories set me on the trail of the many ways in which key moments in my life had been inextricably linked with a range of social changes here at home and abroad. Recollections take me back to a time when my parents had to pay a few shillings each week to be on the doctor’s panel. If they hadn’t done, I doubt if I would be here today. Those payments were to be no more. The 1945 Labour government introduced a free health service for all, and on 5 July 1948 the National Health Service was born, becoming responsible for 480,000 hospital beds and the work of 1,125,000 nurses and some 5,000 consultants.

One year after I started grammar school as a fee-paying student, the 1944 Education Act made secondary education free for all. My parents were relieved of having to scrape together £25 a term to keep me at such an awful school.

My mother, and many other women who had no control over their own fertility, found their lives transformed by the advent of the contraceptive pill in 1961. It was still restricted, however, not free, and at that time only available to married women. Thirteen years later Barbara Castle introduced free family planning for all. For most women today taking the pill is a daily routine like brushing your teeth. The Family Planning Clinics, previously run by the Family Planning Association, of which I am now president, were taken over by the NHS. My first intervention into family planning services was to campaign across Yorkshire to ensure the retention of clinics in danger of being closed down. My second intervention was the long and arduous campaign to ensure the retention of the 1967 Abortion Act.

Women got the right to vote, and steadily advancements were made but the 1970s were the decade that fundamentally changed women’s aspirations and hopes. The Equal Pay Act provided equal pay for work of equal value. The Sex Discrimination Act was designed to remove sex discrimination on the grounds of employment, goods, services and education. My dear friend Betty Lockwood, then chief women’s officer of the party, was instrumental in making these fundamental improvements to women’s lives. The replacement of the Family Allowance with Child Benefit, moving payment from wallet to purse, was one of the most important social welfare advances at the time.

Unfortunately, a change of government in 1979 meant it was to be another eighteen years, following victory in 1997, before we were able to continue the progress started in the 1970s. Victory brought peace in Northern Ireland, the minimum wage and civil partnerships and devolution in Scotland and Wales.

These few examples identify for me how my dreams of so many years were beginning to come to fruition. But history shows how easily those fragile achievements could be weakened and overturned. However, my determination has not waned. In a different role I still want to help and encourage others to carry on. I am very delighted at my age when I am asked, as I frequently am, for advice and support by young women on how best to continue raising awareness of the challenges women still face.

I go back to the central question: what has prompted me to be involved in these causes. My mind goes to my paternal grandfather, whom I never met, although history records show his many achievements in improving the lives of others. Did he pass his genes to my father, and did I inherit them?

CHAPTER 1

WHO I AM

Ihave always had the urge to know who I am. Where did I originate from? Was there someone amongst my forefathers with whom I can feel an empathy?

My four grandparents were émigrés, part of the Jewish exodus from Eastern Europe. They all left Lithuania in the late 1800s, but at different times; they left to escape persecution and the extremes of poverty. They came with the hope of a better and more secure life.

When they arrived they embarked on different paths, paths that were ultimately destined to come together. My paternal grandfather, Joshua Aric, later known as Simon, son of Solomon Manson, was the first to arrive. He came in 1874 at the age of nineteen. The census in 1881 records him as a tailor, but his ambition was to be a rabbi, a Jewish minister. Interestingly, the 1908 Kelly’s Directory lists him as a rabbi and a grocer.

Before he could become a rabbi he had to prove his credentials. This meant he had to receive a testimonial from the Jewish community in the home town he had left behind. Five years later it arrived, written in Yiddish, from the Jewish Ecclesiastical Church Court in Darishinishok. A copy now sits on my wall; its translation shows that Joshua Aric Manson was descended from a long line of rabbis, Jewish judges and theological students.

Simon’s great-grandfather Menachim Manele of Kalvera was famed throughout Russia and Poland for his teachings. His great-great-uncle was the chief rabbi of the Jewish Ecclesiastical Church Court of Dineberg and author of a definitive work called Judah of Calvara: The Ethics, published in Lithuania in 1800, copies of which now reside in the Bodleian and the British Library. Simon was following a family tradition.

Simon had settled in Leeds. He became a respected rabbi of the new Belgrave synagogue in Briggate, the main shopping street in the centre of the city. How exciting it must have been that the first wedding to be held in his synagogue was his own! He married the slightly younger Kate Frieze. Kate came from affluent Lithuanian peasant stock and had been with him on the boat from Lithuania.

Simon’s salary of £3 a week was probably enhanced by the generosity of his congregation, enabling his family of thirteen children, seven boys and six girls, to live in a substantial four-storey house, 8 Elmwood Street. It was in the heart of the Jewish settlement in Leeds, in the parish of Leylands St Thomas, locally known as a ghetto without bars.

My grandfather was a remarkable man of his time whose interests and good work centred on the Jewish people but embraced the whole community. This is particularly remarkable because in those days Jews had little contact with non-Jews and the close-knit community did not generally participate in civic life.

The majority of Jewish people tended to vote Liberal. Grandpa Manson was an active member of the Leeds Liberal Party, canvassing door to door in local and general elections. That kind of political activity was unique for a rabbi. I have followed him in his belief that only left-wing politics was the means of improving people’s lives.

The level of Simon’s charitable work was formidable. He was one of the founders of the Jewish Work People’s Hospital Fund and became its first president. He was a key participant in the Jewish Board of Guardians and was the first Jewish minister of religion to pay hospital and prison visits. He had a real commitment to improving health services. He was a member of the board of Leeds General Infirmary, where he launched a kosher kitchen so that for the first time Jewish people could have kosher food in hospital. He was also on the board of the Women’s and Children’s Hospital and became president of the Friendly Societies Medical Association and of the Jewish Sick Aid Society. The renowned surgeon Sir Berkeley Moynihan, later Lord Moynihan, was his close friend.

When Simon died at the age of sixty-nine, his obituary in the Yorkshire Post highlighted his many achievements, extolling his commitment to the development of the Jewish and non-Jewish communities in Leeds with the words ‘his loss will be felt by all sections of the community in the city’. On the day of his funeral the streets from his house to the synagogue were crowded with people from all faiths, watching the cortege pass. Many members of his congregation walked with the family behind the hearse.

My cousin Rose recalled him as a tall, fair-haired man with blue eyes that my father inherited. I regret that I never met him; this influential, inspirational man, for curiously I feel a connection with him. He was a man with a social conscience – did I inherit that from him? Nor did I meet Kate, my grandmother, as she, like Simon, died before I was born. I know little about Kate, maybe because the role of women is seen as of little significance in family history.

It is strange that when Simon came to England he was called Manson, a north Scots name, the surname also of his father Solomon. Jews in Lithuania in the first part of the nineteenth century did not have surnames so where did Manson come from? Perhaps some Scottish engineer had wormed his way into the family, or more likely the name had been the German Manssohn, or son of man. Wishing to find out, my brother consulted a genealogist, Professor Ludwik Finkelstein, pro-vice-chancellor of City University, London. He suggested that the old family name Manele, which appears on Simon’s grave, was a diminutive of Emmanuel or ‘Son of God’. I was not entirely convinced, but it did bring a little light to a corner