Sir Bernard Ingham: from Labour industrial reporter to Thatcher’s most loyal press secretary

We should all salute the passing of a great public servant. Various officials and Ministers served Margaret Thatcher well and loyally, but Bernard Ingham held a record. Others came and went, but he remained in No.10 for eleven years. Although it must have been a gruelling workload, he never complained. Like all of those closest to her, he knew that he was helping a great Leader to be herself. He had the privilege of being there when history was being made.

Yet at the beginning, Bernard seemed an improbable disciple. He left school at 16, from a working class and Labour-supporting background in Yorkshire. Local newspapers led him to Fleet St, where he became an industrial correspondent. In that role, his job was to chronicle the power of the trade unions and in those early days, he did not seem uncomfortable with that apparently basic aspect of British economic and political life. He then became a Government press officer, working for Barbara Castle and Tony Benn, hardly seed-beds of Thatcherism. After the 1979 Election, that did not seem to trouble the new Prime Minister. She needed a press secretary; he was given the post after a two-minute interview. In view of the Lady’s normal approach to conversation, it is unlikely that he would have got many words in edgewise. No matter: however unorthodox the interviewing technique, it was a brilliant success.

He was drawn to her by animal magnetism. Not all men succumbed to this, but those who did found feminine allure and the magnetism of a warrior queen an overpowering combination. There was also the warrior queen’s goal: patriotism. In 1979, many thoughtful politicians, who could often have been described as members of the establishment, had come to believe that Britain was doomed to a diminished destiny. The orderly management of decline was the best that we could hope for, using Europe as a crutch. Thatcher regarded that sort of talk as treasonable – and nor did they think much of it in the Yorkshire heartlands. Bernard would never have regarded himself as a member of the establishment and was happy to fight shoulder to shoulder with his Boss in the campaign for national revival.

He was lucky during the Westland affair. It is hard to believe that a dispute over the future of a small helicopter company could have threatened Thatcher’s premiership – not to mention Bernard’s job – but there it was. Bernard put another civil servant under pressure to leak a law officer’s letter: a grave breach of propriety. But the PM and her closest advisors were lucky, Although the Industry Secretary, Leon Brittan, had to resign, the law officers seemed satisfied with one victim and did not follow the trail of malefaction into Downing St. In the Commons, a forensically-gifted Leader of the Opposition could have inflicted great – perhaps even terminal – embarrassment just by asking the right questions. But the then Opposition Leader was Neil Kinnock, who had no forensic skills. As usual, he sprayed the Chamber with polysyllables and rhodomontade, managing to get into a row with the Speaker, which cost him whatever momentum he might have generated. 

Moreover, by then – late 1985 – Bernard and Charles Powell, the foreign affairs private secretary who had also been involved, were regarded by Margaret Thatcher as part of the family. Michael Heseltine, the principal troublemaker, was emphatically not family. The PM protected her own. Shortly afterwards, Bernard said that it had been the lowest point of his career. He recovered.

I always enjoyed the press conferences which Bernard would preside over during European summits. He would usually be abetted by a Foreign Office spokesman and even though there would be an agreed line, there was always a refreshing stylistic difference: Bernard’s bludgeon, the FO fellow’s rapier. It worked. 

There was also amusement to be had when an Asian journalist would ask a complicated question with a long tail of subordinate clauses. Bernard would glower, beetle his brows and thrust his large and intimidating head forward before answering: “I know nothing about that.”

He had been the most publicised Press Secretary of all time – which led to criticism. Bernard was supposed to be a civil servant; he was hardly impartial. But under Margaret Thatcher, that would have been impossible, while Alastair Campbell had an even broader remit: no impartiality there.

When Margaret Thatcher resigned, Bernard Ingham received a knighthood. Given the contribution that he made in the course of such a formidable Premiership, that might seem an inadequate reward. But he did not repine. Bernard believed that his eleven years in Downing St had not been wasted and that he could take pride in the contribution which he had made. Carping Lefties might cavil at that. Decent-minded people have an obvious rejoinder. “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

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