All at Biteback were saddened to hear of the death of the wonderful Earl Ferrers, announced yesterday. He was a pleasure to work with and had a fantastic sense of humour, leading a fascinating life, which he describes in his own words, in extracts from his memoir, Whatever Next?, below, which also appeared in the Daily Mail.
Over at the New Statesman, Caroline Crampton describes the life of the Conservative peer who served five prime ministers , and fellow Biteback author, Grant Tucker, had the following to say about him:
Earl Ferrers was a consummate gentleman with a great sense of humour, serving in every government from Macmillan’s to Major’s. He later topped the poll for the election of the 92 hereditary peers. I had the pleasure of spending the day with him up in Norfolk last year; he told me a story about the time he suggested to Lord Carrington, then Leader of the House of Lords, that they go to the Playboy Club for the evening. The Chief Whip insisted that he would also have to attend to ensure that they didn’t get into any trouble, and the Deputy Chief Whip also attended to make sure that the Chief Whip was alright. A good night was had by all! I will miss the old boy!
Bats, dung beetles and Playboy Bunnies: The uproarious life of Earl Ferrers, who served five Conservative PMs
It was late in the evening and our dinner in the Cholmondeley Room in the House of Lords was drawing to a close. Alec Douglas-Home – the then Prime Minister – had just left and my fellow Tory peer Lord Denham suggested the remaining eight of us went off somewhere.
What about the Playboy Club, which had just opened in Park Lane and of which Denham had been given free membership?
Lord Carrington, who was the Leader of the Lords, said OK. Michael St Aldwyn, who was the Chief Whip, thought it was important that he should accompany the Leader to make sure no harm came to him. Lord Goschen, who was the Deputy Chief Whip, thought that he in turn should accompany the Chief Whip to make sure that no harm should come to him, either. I wanted to go just for the fun.
We arrived at the club and sat at a round table where a Bunny Girl approached to take our order. Now, you can argue the rights and wrongs of Bunny Girls, but they are enormously attractive.
Fishnet stockings which disappear up the legs and out of sight, four-inch stiletto heels, a corset-type basque, which gives a great cleavage and an astonishingly nipped-in waist, together with white cuffs, a bow tie, rabbit ears and, finally, a white powder puff on the bottom.
It was a wonderful sight. As the Bunny Girl was walking away from our table with the order, Peter Carrington watched this astonishing apparition avidly. He exclaimed: ‘This is not true. It is just not possible!’
What I didn’t realise at the time was that more than 40 years later, I would remember that evening in the Sixties with more pleasure and accuracy than I remember the many Bills which I helped to place on the statute book. Perhaps that says a lot about the business of government.
I was 33 years old when invited to join Harold Macmillan’s Government in 1962 as a Lord-in-Waiting. The duties were not very onerous.Although you were a Government Whip in the House of Lords, every six weeks or so you would have a week where you represented the Queen, meeting people at airports, saying farewell to others, calling on retiring ambassadors and so forth. You were driven around in a huge Rolls-Royce with a crown on it and took precedence over everyone, even the Prime Minister.
We had fun in the Whips’ Office. Once, Lord Denham was due back from a fishing trip and I put a herring in his desk with a note saying: ‘The one which got away.’
Denham was horrified, screamed, removed the herring from his drawer and, rather childishly I thought, put it into my drawer. I, in turn, screamed, pulled the herring out and threw it at Denham. He screamed, the secretary screamed, everyone screamed.
After a bit of ‘tennis’ with the fish, I put it into Denham’s briefcase. That was too much. It triggered an almighty bellow and the game came to an end. It was all good, clean – if childish – stuff and all very similar to being at school.
At Question Time, if you can score a point or make them all laugh it is very satisfying. The schoolboy ethos is never very far away. When one Minister was at the Despatch Box, I found a drawing pin and placed it on the bench next to me, where the Minister was going to sit. John Belstead, who was Leader, practically had apoplexy. He screamed sotto voce, if one can do such a thing: ‘No. No. No.’ I removed it just in time.
My part in the Great Clementine War
Again, like school, amid all the playing, you do learn as well. When Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister in 1979, she asked me to go to the Ministry of Agriculture as Minister of State. It was there that I learnt a lot about civil servants.
A submission came to me to increase research funding from £42million to £48million.
I said no as we were trying to cut costs. A meeting was called and the Permanent Secretary said: ‘You want to cut the research budget, Minister?’
‘Yes, the Government wants to cut costs.’
‘Do you really want to see all the research departments closed, research work ceased, research workers made redundant?’
I whimpered that I did not, ‘but you are asking for a huge increase’.
‘Minister, by the time we have argued with the Treasury, who will demand cuts, we will be back at the figure we want, which is the current figure plus an allowance for inflation.’
I laughed: ‘This is just like Yes, Minister.’ No one else laughed.
Soon after, I was sent to Brussels to negotiate the price of agricultural commodities.
Me? Negotiate? I had never negotiated anything more vital than a packet of sweets.
However, I was taking a very competent negotiator from the Ministry of Agriculture, Freddie Kearns.
We were all sitting round the table with a great big, charming, beer-swilling Bavarian in the chair, and took ages discussing wheat and barley.
Then we came to clementines. My brief said: ‘Resist.’
I turned to Kearns and said: ‘I can’t resist this. There are only 80,000 tons involved anyhow.’
‘Minister, you must resist.’
I put my hand up rather gingerly and said: ‘I object.’
Jacques Chirac, then the French Minister of Agriculture, breathed fire across the table and said: ‘Does the United Kingdom not realise that there are only 80,000 tons involved?’ I slid further into my seat. They meant a lot to France, as they produced most of them.
When the meeting broke up, Chirac headed round the table towards me.
‘Help!’ I thought. But he ignored me and went straight to Kearns.
Afterwards, I said to Kearns: ‘I told you we should not object over the clementines. You made me look a complete idiot.’
‘Oh no, Minister. Clementines are not that important but I wanted to negotiate with France over sugar. Chirac was quite happy and this has saved the United Kingdom millions. The clementines stay as they are. France is happy and the United Kingdom is happy.’
I felt an idiot – and a fall guy.
You can’t escape the quango quagmire
Even Margaret Thatcher could be thwarted. One of her burning enthusiasms was to cut quangos.
When she asked all her Ministers to a drink in No 10, I took the precaution of finding out how many quangos there were for which the Ministry of Agriculture was responsible.
When the Prime Minister came round to our group, she asked: ‘How many quangos are there in the Ministry of Agriculture?’
‘Thirteen, Prime Minister,’ I said.
‘Get rid of them,’ she said. The irony was that, at the end of her period as Prime Minister, there were more quangos than when she started.
However, from time to time, there were small victories.
Once, I was due to go to Singapore with my Private Secretary, Martin Narey.
‘I will get the tickets then,’ he said. ‘British Airways?’
I said: ‘No. Singapore Airlines.’
We were going first-class and once we’d boarded, an exceedingly attractive air hostess offered us champagne.
Martin said: ‘Lord Ferrers, I am happily married but, my word, these girls are attractive.’
‘Of course they are,’ I said. ‘Why do you think I told you that I wanted to go by Singapore Airlines?’
The Far East remains a favourite destination for me. The younger Far Eastern ladies have eye-shattering figures and are very beautiful while the older Far Eastern ladies dress beautifully.
Mortified by Maggie and stung by bees
Naturally, with all the travelling and rushing around as a Minister, there were bound to be times when one was caught out. Which I was – by Mrs Thatcher.
When I went with my wife, Annabel, to No 10 for a lunch, I had not had time to look at what we were doing in the House of Lords that afternoon.
During the pre-lunch drinks, the Prime Minister said: ‘Lord Ferrers, what is the House of Lords discussing this afternoon?’
Horror of all horrors. I had not the slightest idea – and I was Deputy Leader of the Lords. I was mortified.
Back in the House of Lords, I told fellow peer Christopher Soames: ‘I am in a terrible state.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘I have bogged it with the Prime Minister. She asked me what the House of Lords was doing this afternoon and I didn’t know.’
Christopher roared with laughter. ‘She knew perfectly well. I told her myself this morning.’
Of course, no matter what our private dilemmas, Lords’ business still went on. The Conservative Government introduced the Wildlife And Countryside Bill and part of it was to protect bats. I thought the Government had gone mad.
Lord Melchett was a bumptious young Labour Peer, about 24, who became exasperated with me for some non-sympathetic remarks about bats.
He said: ‘I am sure that what the noble Lord is saying is not the advice of his officials.’
I said: ‘No. It is from my own experience. If there is one thing which my family cannot stand, it is bats. The girls dive for cover. They are terrified of the bats getting into their hair. The place is mayhem until the bats are removed. And, when it is suggested that the bats have the same right to your house as you have, I just don’t agree.’
It was not the Government line, it was mine – and I lost.
Once I was given the task of taking the Bees Bill through the House of Lords. It dealt among other things with a disease affecting bees called varroa. An amendment was put down by, of all people, Lord Hives, which was unacceptable to the Government but we lost the vote.
The next day, Agriculture Minister Peter Walker said to me: ‘The only time the Government has lost a division in this parliament was yesterday. It was in the House of Lords. You were in charge, and the Government was defeated by an amendment to the Bees Bill – put down by Lord Hives. Really.’ He laughed.
So with my failure on bats and bees, did I actually make any laws during my time in Government?
Once, when I was a Minister at the Home Office, we were all sitting in Home Secretary Douglas Hurd’s room at the time when AIDS was at its scariest.
Douglas Hogg said: ‘AIDS can quickly spread in prisons as there is no outlet for the sexual urges of prisoners other than other prisoners. We should issue condoms to prisoners free.’
I said: ‘You cannot do this. Just think what the Press and the voters will say – the Government is giving out condoms free to prisoners so they can b***** each other.’
Hogg replied: ‘Oh I know, and they will have to be heavy-duty ones.’
I said: ‘This is intolerable. You simply cannot do that kind of thing.’ As far as I know, it was never done.
However, there was one occasion when I managed to change the law of the land – entirely by accident.
The Licensing Bill allowing pubs to be open at all times except on Sundays was to start in the House of Lords and I was in charge.
All went well until an amendment was put down saying that pubs should be allowed to be open all day on Sundays. I rejected it.
The Lord Chairman of Committees said: ‘Those that are in favour say content.’
There was a great roar of ‘content’.
‘To the contrary not content.’
The Whip and I were the only two to say ‘not content’. I sat back and waited for the Division – the official vote – knowing that everyone who had not been in the chamber would soon arrive and vote with me, and the amendment would be lost.
But as there were so many people saying ‘content’ and only two saying ‘not content’, the Lord Chairman put the question again. I should have said ‘not content’ again, but I did not – I had switched off and was waiting for the Division.
It was a disaster. ‘The contents have it,’ said the Lord Chairman, seeing no need to bother with a Division. The amendment had been accepted. Pubs were now going to be able to open all day on Sundays.
In the Commons, Douglas Hogg said of my amendment disaster: ‘There was either a conspiracy or a cock-up. We are content to believe that it was a cock-up.’
Proof that we’ve all gone bonkers
While John Major was Prime Minister, he asked me to go to the Department of the Environment. It had always seemed to me that the department reflected the long-hair and sandals brigade, and tried to protect all the bugs and beetles which I find a menace.
‘The environment’ is the ‘in’ thing. If you are doing something for the environment, that means you are a good person and taking your responsibilities for the planet and the bugs seriously.
That is rubbish. The world has been going for hundreds and thousands of years, and one wonders why, in 2011, there is impending disaster. I don’t believe it.
When I got to the department it appeared we had a big issue: the dung beetle. It was one of the animals that it was proposed we should protect.
Who on earth wants to protect a dung beetle? Most people don’t know what it is, or what it looks like. If you saw a beetle walking across the kitchen floor, how would you know it was a dung beetle? If you conclude it is a dung beetle, then you must not kill it – or you will have committed an offence. But who is going to know that you have killed the dung beetle? Are they going to shop you to the police? We’ve all gone bonkers.
Local authorities say you must not burn wood between two dates in order to let some bug, which sits on the bark, breed. This is just more interference, coupled with the threat of legal action and fines.
All this has, of course, nothing to do with the will of the people, which is the great maypole around which we dance. It is the diktat of the civil servants and an example of the operation and the growth of the machine of bureaucracy.
But despite all the frustrations, the over-regulation and the petty rules, I look back in the evening of my life at all that has gone before, both the political and the personal, and think how hugely and undeservedly lucky I am. What an experience life has been, and still is.
My wonderful wife Annabel and I never used to drink champagne much – too expensive. I now realise that it is the best of drinks. It occurred to me that there might not be any champagne in the next world, so I have taken the view that it is best to drink as much champagne as you can while you are in this world – just in case.