PLP sketch: The coup that never was
No eviction for Brown after all
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One word popped up again and again in Westminster on another extraordinary day in British politics: "rumours". |  |
Tuesday, 09, Jun 2009 12:00
By Alex Stevenson
On Friday Gordon Brown had tamed his Cabinet. Could he do the same on Monday evening to a much greater foe – his seething backbenchers?
The weekly meeting of the parliamentary Labour party (PLP) was the touted moment when Brown could meet his demise, brought down by a raving pack of desperate MPs.
It was the perfect storm for the prime minister. A calamitous series of high-level ministerial resignations. Appalling local election results. Extremely appalling European results.
So it was now or never for the plotters, and no surprise that the Labour MPs who walked into committee room 14 in the Palace of Westminster were utterly divided.
Not divided on policy, necessarily, but on their response to the hordes of journalists camped outside. It seemed as if every hack within miles around had flocked to perch on the benches lining the grand corridor running the Palace's entire length. Some of the more experienced responded with utter contempt – John Prescott's grimly set face was an example to others. Most of the rank and file couldn't help but grin broadly.
The prime minister himself appeared completely oblivious to the peril he faced. "Hi guys," he said jovially to the press who have roundly lambasted him in recent weeks. "Big attendance this evening." He was like a louche rock star sloping in to perform a low-key gig. There should have been a 'v' sign as he disappeared from view. You won't be surprised to learn there wasn't. More's the pity.
Instead, as the doors closed behind him, a low din filled the corridor as the journalists' chatter faded to a quiet hush. Applause, banging on desks, and a low rhythmic thumping against the door as the Leader was greeted by his faithful.
As they settled down to business the latecomers provided some intensive amusement for those stuck outside. Estelle Morris, now a peer, struggled but finally made her way in. Liam Byrne covered his plight with his classic Cheshire cat grin. By the time the erstwhile Baroness Royall, a Cabinet member and the long-suffering leader of the House of Lords, turned up the odds of squeezing in any more were as slim as the rebels' chances of forcing Brown out. There she was, desperately pushing and shoving against the unwielding, immobile door. Two or three hefty MPs were clearly wedged up against it.
One Labour MP with a broad accent responded with equanimity. "Well, that's it," he remarked to the world at large. "The only thing for it's a pint at the bar."
Though tempted, this writer stayed on as the minutes edged by. "I've never seen so many useless people," one appalled peer observed. He started performing magic tricks to keep the journalists entertained. This was a media circus and no mistake.
The first "how long does this go on for?" was heard from a weary sketch-writer 45 minutes in. Little did he realise we were just halfway through. But then came a flurry of excitement. The doors opened and elderly peers tottered out. Was that it? Had they committed regicide after all? "It's not over yet, there's a vote in the Lords," one informed us helpfully. What a relief.
Every so often the doors opened, revealing set, determined faces sitting down, and some distinctly, undeniably lukewarm applause.
With 55 minutes already gone Lord Mandelson, the new first secretary of state, appeared from the far end of the corridor. He slithered in by the far door, virtually unnoticed by the journalists milling around outside.
But as the 90-minute mark approached the frequency of the rounds of applause increased and messages started to steep out. "United we stand" from Kitty Ussher provided some amusement. Stephen Byers exited, his face under a cloud. Journalists got excited. But he was just off to the Progress event to call for Brown's resignation to a more pliable audience.
Just before the end the truth emerged. "I'm afraid your lust for blood will not be slaked," one kindly peer told an eager hack.
The doors opened again, this time finally, and the flood came out. Most looked serious enough; some who had backed the PM appeared elated by their rhetoric. "You were brilliant!" one female backbencher said to another, the pair giggling girlishly in excitement.
Others were more terse, shouted questions producing brief enough answers. "Very strongly anti-disunity," was the message from one. "Strong support for Gordon Brown" was another.
One of those who would have moved against Brown, Paul Flynn, appeared resigned to the fact the PM had done enough to live another day. "If he'd spoken with the same passion and conviction [in recent weeks] as he did then, we wouldn't have had this cock-up," he moaned.
And that was that. After weeks of build-up, the coup that never was came to an end. The corridor slowly emptied, the bars filled up. Westminster life was back to normal. And Brown was back in No 10.