Things Can Only Get Worse
(We're All Toffs Now)
The scenes at Crewe & Nantwich last week must have made the natives wonder what the political process has come to. For half a century an election simply meant they returned a Labour member to parliament. No philosophical arguments about the cost of petrol or the ethics of middle east invasions or what their MP would do about the sub prime mortgage market.
But this week, after the death of the redoubtable Gwyneth Dunwoody (herself the daughter of Labour party general secretary Morgan Phillips) they chose the admirable Tamsin as her mother's successor, and then found that the rough and tumble of twenty first century electioneering had arrived. Young Tamsin (49) had the support of the Labour suits from London to help her win (I remember the shock when they turned up in Tamworth to make sure Brian Jenkins won in 1996), the media came with them, and the battle began.
Labour strategists decided the Tory candidate was a toff - his father had made a fortune as a cobbler. Edward Timpson was educated at public school, like David Camerson and Boris Johnson. Floreat Etona. So naturally they followed him around the campaign trail wearing top hats and braying, 'I'm your Conservative candidate!' As I suppose did Edward Timpson.
Our Labour MP plus a senior county councillor and the constituency secretary went up to lend support. Whether they wore top hats and brayed I know not, but it seems improbable. And no doubt some of our Tory councillers went up there too, even though they tend towards the flat cap persuasion.
Mr. Bunn the builder may have set out for Crewe but his Jaguar was last seen heading absent mindedly towards Manchester. Mr. Rant may have meant to go but he got into a vehement argument in the British Legion and by ten o'clock he realised the polling stations in Crewe would be closing and anyway it was his round. Chippy Cheese, who has a black belt in Feng Shui, actually canvassed several streets, but since he kept offeribng to fight any Labour supports he found he was sent home by the toffs. Miss Lowe the games mistress also went up to give succour and encouragement were it was most needed, and a group from Wilnecote went to engage in some useful litter picking.
No sign of Maisie Doates and Dozie Doates and little Lambsy Tivey, but they embody more our proud mining tradition in Glascote and Amington, they are not Tory toffs. Alumni of Tamworth's comprehensive schools with only a GCSE in woodwork between them, they felt that somebody ought to stay behind and attend to council business. Diddle de ivy do, wouldn't you?
Classics scholar Boris Johnson caused some consequential panic by lobbing a few Latin quotations into his London mayor's acceptance speech. Our own mayor-making was almost cancelled, then there was talk of holding it in the nearest Cistercian abbey. Luckily common sense prevailed. 'Ne to confundant illegitimi,' he was advised. Or as we say in Tamworth, 'Don't let the bastards put you down.'
Fred Petronius
the sage of Perrycrofts
But this week, after the death of the redoubtable Gwyneth Dunwoody (herself the daughter of Labour party general secretary Morgan Phillips) they chose the admirable Tamsin as her mother's successor, and then found that the rough and tumble of twenty first century electioneering had arrived. Young Tamsin (49) had the support of the Labour suits from London to help her win (I remember the shock when they turned up in Tamworth to make sure Brian Jenkins won in 1996), the media came with them, and the battle began.
Labour strategists decided the Tory candidate was a toff - his father had made a fortune as a cobbler. Edward Timpson was educated at public school, like David Camerson and Boris Johnson. Floreat Etona. So naturally they followed him around the campaign trail wearing top hats and braying, 'I'm your Conservative candidate!' As I suppose did Edward Timpson.
Our Labour MP plus a senior county councillor and the constituency secretary went up to lend support. Whether they wore top hats and brayed I know not, but it seems improbable. And no doubt some of our Tory councillers went up there too, even though they tend towards the flat cap persuasion.
Mr. Bunn the builder may have set out for Crewe but his Jaguar was last seen heading absent mindedly towards Manchester. Mr. Rant may have meant to go but he got into a vehement argument in the British Legion and by ten o'clock he realised the polling stations in Crewe would be closing and anyway it was his round. Chippy Cheese, who has a black belt in Feng Shui, actually canvassed several streets, but since he kept offeribng to fight any Labour supports he found he was sent home by the toffs. Miss Lowe the games mistress also went up to give succour and encouragement were it was most needed, and a group from Wilnecote went to engage in some useful litter picking.
No sign of Maisie Doates and Dozie Doates and little Lambsy Tivey, but they embody more our proud mining tradition in Glascote and Amington, they are not Tory toffs. Alumni of Tamworth's comprehensive schools with only a GCSE in woodwork between them, they felt that somebody ought to stay behind and attend to council business. Diddle de ivy do, wouldn't you?
Classics scholar Boris Johnson caused some consequential panic by lobbing a few Latin quotations into his London mayor's acceptance speech. Our own mayor-making was almost cancelled, then there was talk of holding it in the nearest Cistercian abbey. Luckily common sense prevailed. 'Ne to confundant illegitimi,' he was advised. Or as we say in Tamworth, 'Don't let the bastards put you down.'
Fred Petronius
the sage of Perrycrofts
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