Gordon Brown: Prime Minister. Tom Bower

was well built – ‘fit, with good legs’ as one admirer recalled – but he denied to himself any need to share his life with a woman, or to trust anyone beyond his immediate confidants: his two brothers, Wilf Stevenson and Murray Elder. At the end of a day he was content to go home, endlessly watch games of football on television and listen to recordings by Jessye Norman or Frank Sinatra. He was neither interested in a woman’s life nor prepared to divulge his own secrets. Confessing to any doubts or exposing his weaknesses was anathema. Nothing would be allowed to undermine his determination to portray himself as supremely self-confident. His relationship with Sheena McDonald, like his job, was temporary while he found a safe seat. The obstacles to that, however, appeared to be multiplying.

      The Labour Party in England was convulsed by defeat. In the leadership elections after Jim Callaghan resigned, the left-wing Michael Foot defeated Denis Healey by 139 votes to 129. The parliamentary Labour Party had patently misread the electoral result. Rather than distancing themselves from the wild antics of the militant trade unions, a majority of Labour MPs sought to encourage them. The growing split in the English party between sympathisers of the neo-Marxist Militant Tendency and the traditional socialists only partially infected the Scottish party, but Brown’s comrades nevertheless were embroiled in bitter disagreements about personalities and ideology. ‘Anyone who can survive that viciousness,’ sighed Jimmy Allison, ‘can survive anything.’ In that battle Brown represented the traditional Tribunites on the party’s executive, the ethical socialist rather than the Marxist. He faced hard-liners including George Galloway, the son of Irish immigrants, and Bill Speirs, a future general secretary of the Scottish TUC. For hours every week they battled about the transfer of power to left-wing activists, and whether Tony Benn and the left’s caucus should be supported despite Benn’s refusal to accept collective responsibility. Resisting any dalliance with those outside the mainstream, Brown argued against factionalism and declined invitations by Galloway and Speirs to join their group in the pub after meetings. He would insist that he was engaged in intellectual rather than malicious, personalised debates, and preferred to talk with the trade unionists. Both Galloway and Speirs, he believed, were blocking his promotion and influence. They would deny any subterfuge, although neither was particularly fond of Brown. In Galloway’s opinion he was an egghead, a brainy backroom boy and a workaholic policy wonk, but not an intellectual. Galloway believed him to be ambitiously manoeuvring to build relationships for his own personal advancement, rather than trying to build a better society. ‘He’s chosen not to be a comrade,’ agreed Speirs.

      Their disagreements mirrored the sectarian division within the Scottish Labour Party. Galloway, a Catholic from the west coast, did not warm to Brown’s east coast Presbyterianism. He was scathing about Brown’s silences at the late-night meetings held by Alex Murray, a famed Scottish trade unionist in Ayrshire, at which Brown refrained from engaging in the debates. He was also irritated that Brown, despite being steeped in the history of the Labour movement, appeared to be motivated by instinctive beliefs rather than philosophy. Not an original thinker, concluded Galloway, nor a man who had suffered grinding poverty. As Galloway fondly repeated, the divisions within the Scottish Labour Party ran deep, and as with all divisions within a family, the disagreements were aggravated by personality differences. Brown’s idiosyncrasies could be particularly aggravating. While chairing the party’s Scottish Council, he would pull bits of paper out of his bulging plastic bag, say, ‘See, this is how we deliver,’ and list twenty points.

      The disagreements intensified in 1980. In England, the Militant Tendency and the Bennites were emasculating the Labour Party. In Scotland, by contrast, the party was divided over unilateral disarmament and withdrawal from NATO, but remained united as a coherent group, despite outbursts of ill-discipline. The rows irritated Brown. At a meeting on 14 November 1981 he was disturbed that Galloway, representing the hard left, berated Michael Foot for not supporting Tony Benn against Denis Healey in the election for deputy leader. Brown had attached himself to the soft-left, Neil Kinnock tendency, advocating a ‘moral crusade’ to rebuild Labour’s appeal to voters. His personal response to the warfare was ‘One Person, One Vote’, a lacklustre pamphlet attacking the trade unions’ undemocratic use of the block vote to wield influence. All his other ideas had been rejected by the electorate. His support for John Silkin, a forlorn London lawyer, as deputy leader confirmed his own isolation from the realities in London. With a general election expected within two years, he still faced huge hurdles if he was to find a safe parliamentary seat. New hopes rested on his election in 1982 as the Scottish party’s vice-chairman and on a journalistic scoop – publishing an internal document of Britoil, an oil company operating in the North Sea which was on the verge of privatisation. The ‘strictly confidential’ document showed that the company’s profits would not grow for five years. The scoop, he hoped, would discourage private investors from buying Britoil shares from the government, but he was to be disappointed by the response. Despite his high profile and his loyal efforts for the party, he still sensed that he suffered handicaps. He sought advice from Jimmy Allison. ‘Get your nose in with the unions,’ Allison advised, adding that he would need to neutralise the opposition of the communists, who possessed sufficient influence in the Scottish Labour Party to veto any aspirant.

      The most approachable trade unionist was Jimmy McIntyre, a popular leader of the Transport and General Workers’ Union (TGWU). McIntyre was concerned that in television interviews, compared to their employers, his members made fools of themselves. Brown agreed to organise a media course for Scottish shop stewards, using role playing – ‘You’re on strike, what do you tell media?’ In return, he expected McIntyre to help him gain selection for a safe seat. He also sought advice from Robin Cook. At a meal in a Chinese restaurant in Soho arranged by Murray Elder, Brown asked Cook for help. ‘I am sure you will do very well, Gordon,’ Cook replied. Brown repeated his request and, he told his authorised biographer Paul Routledge, received the same non-committal reply. They did however agree to co-author a book. Scotland: The Real Divide, a collection of essays about poverty, would be published the following year.

      The pace of Brown’s life remained frenetic. His relationship with Sheena McDonald had ended and he was seeing Marion Caldwell, a dark, good-looking lawyer born in Glasgow. They had met in 1981. Since neither wanted to sacrifice their professional career, there was an understanding that they would meet whenever he was minded. Their relationship was not exclusive. At the same time, Brown was also meeting Carol Craig, a publicist who would live with the journalist Alf Young. Off-hand relationships precisely matched Brown’s requirements. He was thirty years old. He had waited six years for a parliamentary seat. His impatience was explosive. Margaret Thatcher’s unpopularity, he calculated, would secure a Labour victory at the next election.

      Over the previous months he had forged relationships in his native Fife. Helped by Tom Donald, a local journalist, and Jimmy McIntyre, he had taught politics at weekend schools for trade unionists and participated in their discussions, even mouthing support for Bennite co-operatives and nationalisation. ‘I don’t want any more pudding heads as MPs,’ McIntyre had reassuringly told Brown. ‘We don’t need any more ill-disciplined big drinkers in the Commons. We need clever, media-savvy types.’ Brown was his man. ‘Spend every evening at meetings,’ McIntyre advised him. That advice was endorsed by Alec Falconer, the TGWU’s shop steward at the Rosyth shipyards. When the opportunity arose, Brown was promised, the clan would beat off his rival contestants.

      Having secured the support of the trade union officials, Brownneeded to win over two kingmakers. First, Hugh Wyper, a leader of the local Communist Party, was approached. George Galloway says that he was consulted by Wyper and, despite his reservations, urged that the communists support Brown because the trade unions needed his brainpower. Wyper gave his approval. Second was Alec Kitson, the deputy general secretary of the TGWU at its headquarters in London and a communist sympathiser, albeit a member of the Labour Party. He agreed that Brown was a suitable candidate. Having secured that support, Brown waited for an opportunity.

      In 1983 Dunfermline East, a safe Labour seat near Edinburgh, was looking for a candidate. Known locally as ‘Little Moscow’, the old coalmining area had been represented from 1935 to 1950 by Willie Gallacher, a communist MP. Both the communists and the TGWU agreed that Brown, the Scottish Labour Party chairman