TIME: Almanac 1990/1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso/time/081489/08148900.024

Text File | 1990-09-17 | 6KB | 105 lines

WORLD, Page 37

BRITAIN

Is This Denis a Menace?

Margaret Thatcher's husband stays popular by keeping "a pacezx
behind her, old chap" -- and by keeping his views quiet

By William Mader/LONDON


                                        4 August, 1989

    Dear Bill,

    The Boss has had it in for (Geoffrey Howe, then Foreign
Minister) for quite a while, ever since he started going round
saying he had invented Thatcherism... It was only a matter of time
before the throwing knife was heading for the spot between his
shoulderblades... Our scheme was to shift the little sod Howe out
to Leader of the House, along with all the other deadbeats... I
remember very clearly writing all this down and Margaret agreeing.
My writing may have got a bit illegible towards teatime... A few
very stiff drinks later, we looked at the list and realised we'd
forgotten the Foreign Office, so M. had to ring a little shopwalker
figure called Mr. Major who not surprisingly couldn't believe his
luck and will no doubt continue to embarrass us in the councils of
the nations for many moons to come...

    Yours over the eight,
                   Denis


    For ten years, Britons have been regaled with mock letters like
this from Denis Thatcher, the husband of Britain's Prime Minister
Margaret Thatcher, to his mythical chum Bill in the satirical
London magazine Private Eye. The pungent missives are all the more
outrageous as they seem to capture Denis' views and ripe turn of
phrase with uncanny accuracy.

    But in public life, Denis, as all Britain calls him, is
discretion personified. "So long as I keep the lowest possible
profile, neither write nor say anything, I avoid getting into
trouble," he says. This rigorously observed tenet has helped
establish Denis as a model consort and has won him popularity
verging on admiration.

    Lanky and white-haired, with a toothy grin and a nasal honk of
an accent, Denis has become a cherished figure for his skillful
maneuvers through the minefields of public life alongside his wife,
or, as he would say with precision, "a pace behind her, old chap,
a pace behind her." He is mainly visible as the gracious host while
his wife conducts affairs of state. At 74, he seems eminently fit
for the job: the back is still ramrod straight, the step springy,
the mind clear as a bell. What keeps him in such excellent fettle?
"Cigarettes and gin," chuckles Denis.

    His almost flawless public performance is all the more
admirable for hiding his true nature: short-fused, outspoken,
archconservative. As a senior British official who knows him well
puts it, "He has all the prejudices of a white Englishman of his
age and social standing." Notes a friend: "Denis calls a spade a
bloody shovel, though these days he does it privately. It requires
an almost superhuman effort for him to keep the old mouth shut in
public. Loyalty to Margaret and common sense make him do it."

    Yet he's not all duty. Denis' taste for "g & t" (gin and
tonic), chums and golf is no secret. When he is not busy escorting
his wife, he can frequently be spied on the exclusive golf course
in Dulwich, the sedately elegant London suburb where the Thatchers
own a large, two-story brick house for their retirement. After a
round, he invariably speeds off to the clubhouse for a natter and
a snort. He even launched a popular campaign against slow golfers
with the argument: "After all, the quicker you finish your round,
the more time you will have for a pint."

    Denis cheerfully cultivates his slightly farcical image, but
behind it hides a shrewd, quick mind and a loyal, supportive
husband. "He is no intellectual," says a friend, "but he can size
up people well and get to the core of things with uncanny speed.
You don't fool him easily." Margaret relies heavily on Denis'
judgment and political instincts. "She gets the unvarnished truth
from him," says Lord Whitelaw, a longtime friend of the Thatchers'.
"Sometimes she does not like what he tells her, but she knows he
is totally on her side. And he is also there," adds Whitelaw, "when
she wants to let off steam in privacy" -- which is often.

    Denis' detractors argue that his influence on his wife merely
reinforces her prejudices. He is frequently criticized for having
an "empire mentality," regarding the British as superior to all
others. In private, Denis admits that he is guilty as charged.

    Yet the rather old-fashioned Denis revels in his wife's
dominant role. "He is tremendously proud of what she has achieved,"
explains a close friend. In fact, he was indirectly responsible for
much of it. Born into a prosperous middle-class family, Denis
studied industrial administration and accountancy. Married once
before, he was already an established businessman, managing a
chemicals company, with an exemplary record as an artillery officer
in World War II behind him, when he wed Margaret in 1951. He
provided the financial stability she needed to launch her political
career.

    In the second-floor private flat at Downing Street, Denis leads
an unpretentious life. He drives a nondescript blue Ford and
occasionally drops in at a pub for a "tincture." Pedestrians on
London streets often spot the familiar pinstripe-suited figure
strolling jauntily along, umbrella tightly furled, trilby at a
rakish angle. But to protect his privacy, the British pretend not
to recognize him. And foreign tourists, who have rarely noted Denis
standing in the background of all those state photos, take him for
just another elderly English toff.