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  Dominic Sandbrook

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  WHO DARES WINS

  Britain, 1979–1982

  Contents

  List of Illustrations

  Preface: We’re Still a Super Power

  Author’s Note

  PART ONE

  What the Hell’s Wrong with This Country? 1 Whatever Happened to Britain?

  2 The Line of Duty

  3 You’d Look Super in Slacks

  4 No Money, Margaret Thatcher!

  5 The Word Is … Lymeswold!

  6 You Are Mad and We Hate You

  7 Who Needs Enemies?

  8 Mrs Thatcher’s Final Solution

  PART TWO

  I Have Forgotten the Rest of the Trick 9 Your Boys Took a Hell of a Beating

  10 A Bit of Freedom

  11 She’s Lost Control

  12 Nice Video, Shame about the Song

  13 High Noon at Leyland

  14 A Really Angry Brigade

  15 Another Day of Feud and Fury

  16 When the Wind Blows

  PART THREE

  Onward! Onward! 17 The Gang’s on Its Way!

  18 Up Yours from the Chancellor

  19 One in Ten

  20 Potting the Reds

  21 To Think This Is England

  22 Showdown of the Century

  23 The March of Death

  24 The Commissar of County Hall

  25 Attack of the Sloanes

  26 The British Are Coming!

  PART FOUR

  The British Are Back! 27 She Came, She Saw, She Clobbered

  28 The Shadow of the Past

  29 The Land of Make Believe

  30 Tomorrow’s World

  31 Strangers in the Night

  32 We’ll Show ’Em We’re British

  33 The Day of Reckoning

  34 We Are Ourselves Again

  Acknowledgements

  Notes

  Index

  About the Author

  Dominic Sandbrook is one of Britain’s best-known historians. Born in Shropshire in 1974 and educated at Oxford, St Andrews and Cambridge, he taught at the University of Sheffield before becoming a full-time writer. He is the author of seven books, most notably his bestselling histories of Britain since the 1950s. He has presented numerous BBC radio and television documentaries, among them histories of science fiction, the Post Office and the German car industry as well as his widely acclaimed series on Britain in the 1970s and 1980s. He writes regularly for the Daily Mailand Sunday Times and is a visiting professor at King’s College London. A former Gold Run-winning contestant on the cult quiz show Blockbusters,he lives in Oxfordshire.

  To my father, Rhys Sandbrook,

  and to Catherine and Arthur, with love.

  In reality, there are many little Circumstances too often omitted by injudicious Historians, from which Events of the utmost Importance arise. The World may indeed be considered as a vast Machine, in which the great Wheels are originally set in Motion by those which are very minute, and almost imperceptible to any but the strongest Eyes.

  Henry Fielding, The History of Tom Jones,

  A Foundling (1749)

  The tales and descriptions of that time without exception speak only of the self-sacrifice, patriotic devotion, despair, grief, and the heroism of the Russians. But it was not really so …

  Most of the people at that time paid no attention to the general progress of events but were guided only by their private interests, and they were the very people whose activities at that period were most useful.

  Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (1869), trans.

  Louise and Aylmer Maude

  Nobody dances like the British. They deserved the Falklands!

  Darius Jedbergh (Joe Don Baker) in

  Edge of Darkness (1985)

  List of Illustrations

  Every effort has been made to contact all copyright holders. The publishers will be pleased to amend in future editions any errors or omissions brought to their attention.

  Cartoons

  1. Pat Oliphant, untitled cartoon, International Herald Tribune, 8 July 1981 (© ARS, NY and DACS, London 2019).

  2. Kal, untitled cartoon, The Economist, 20 June 1981 (© Kevin Kallaugher).

  3. Nicholas Garland, ‘It was a dark and stormy night …’, Daily Telegraph, 16 November 1979 (© Garland/Telegraph Media Group Ltd).

  4. Nicholas Garland, ‘The gentleman raised his eyes above his newspaper …’, Daily Telegraph, 14 November 1979 (© Garland/Telegraph Media Group Ltd).

  5. Michael Cummings, ‘I hereby invest you with this decoration for outstanding courage …’, Daily Express, 16 May 1980 (© Express Syndication Ltd).

  6. Stanley Franklin, ‘Pigs!’, Sun, 20 October 1979 (The Sun/News Licensing).

  7. Mac [Stan McMurtry], ‘Did you have to tell him, “One day, my boy, all this will be yours”?’, Daily Mail, 14 May 1979 (© Associated Newspapers Ltd/Solo Syndication).

  8. Leslie Gibbard, ‘Oh, what a lovely monetary policy!’, Guardian, 27 August 1980 (© Les Gibbard).

  9. Jak [Raymond Jackson], untitled cartoon, Evening Standard, 18 April 1980 (© Associated Newspapers Ltd/Solo Syndication).

  10. Stanley Franklin, ‘Cheer up, Jim – you’re still head of the party!’, Sun, 3 October 1979 (© The Sun/News Licensing).

  11. Nicholas Garland, ‘The Three stood calm and silent …’, Daily Telegraph, 14 October 1980 (© Garland/Telegraph Media Group Ltd).

  12. Nicholas Garland, ‘Perhaps M’sieur would like to see the wine list?’, Sunday Telegraph, 14 June 1981 (© Garland/Telegraph Media Group Ltd).

  13. Jak [Raymond Jackson], ‘Here’s a nice thing about you, Geoffrey!’, Evening Standard, 13 March 1981 (© Associated Newspapers/Solo Syndication).

  14. Clive Collins, untitled cartoon, Sun, 14 November 1981 (© The Sun/News Licensing).

  15. Mac [Stan McMurtry], ‘Who died that others might die’, Daily Mail, 6 May 1981 (© Associated Newspapers/Solo Syndication).

  16. Clive Collins, untitled cartoon, Sun, 14 October 1981 (© The Sun/News Licensing).

  17. Michael Cummings, ‘Gracious Lady!’, Sunday Express, 29 November 1981 (© Express Syndication Ltd).

  18. Trog [Wally Fawkes], untitled cartoon, Observer, 31 January 1982. (© Guardian News & Media Ltd).

  19. Stanley Franklin, untitled cartoon, Sun, 5 April 1982 (© The Sun/News Licensing).

  20. ‘Kill All Argies!’ (spoof front page of the Sun), Private Eye, 21 May 1982 (Reproduced by kind permission of Private Eye magazine: private-eye.co.uk).

  21. Nicholas Garland, ‘Nothing except a battle lost …’, Daily Telegraph, 6 May 1982 (© Garland/Telegraph Media Group Ltd).

  22. Michael Cummings, ‘Shocking! Someone’s written a dirty word!’, Daily Express, 30 May 1982 (© Express Syndication Ltd).

  23. Mac [Stan McMurtry], untitled cartoon, Daily Mail, 16 June 1982 (© Associated Newspapers/Solo Syndication).

  Plates

  1. Front cover of the Sunday Times Magazine, portrait of Margaret Thatcher by Michael Leonard, 27 April 1980 (© The Sunday Times Magazine, News Licensing).

  2. Children playing Asteroids, Skegness, 1982 (Barry Lewis/Getty Images).

  3. New Romantics, c. 1981 (Redferns/Getty Images).

  4. Holidaymakers, Skegness, 1982 (Barry Lewis/Getty Images).

  5. Delegates at the Labour party conference, Brighton, 1981 (Keystone/Getty Images).

  6. Margaret Thatcher and Jim Prior, 1980 (PA Images).

  7. Sir Ge
offrey Howe and Lord Carrington, 1980 (Chris Craymer/Shutterstock).

  8. Michael Edwardes, 1980 (Keystone/Getty Images).

  9. Derek Robinson, 1979 (Rex Shutterstock).

  10. Steelworkers on strike, Newport, 1980 (© NLA/reportdigital.co.uk).

  11. Unemployed youngsters, Teesside, 1980 (© John Sturrock/reportdigital.co.uk).

  12. Dole queue, Brixton, 1980 (© John Sturrock/reportdigital.co.uk).

  13. Protect and Survive booklet (S.J. Books/Alamy).

  14. Satirical poster issued by the International Socialist Party, 1983 (Rex/Shutterstock).

  15. CND march, London, October 1981 (Mike Goldwater/Alamy).

  16. English football hooligans, Turin, June 1980 (Popperfoto/Getty Images).

  17. Steve Davis on Tiswas, 1982 (ITV/Shutterstock).

  18. Gary Numan, 1979 (Rex/Shutterstock).

  19. Front cover of The Face magazine, photograph of the Human League by Jill Furmanovsky, September 1981 (private collection).

  20. Duran Duran, 1981 (Michael Putland/Getty Images).

  21. Michael Foot, 1982 (Homer Sykes/Alamy).

  22. David Owen, 1981 (David Levenson/Getty Images).

  23. Shirley Williams, 1981 (ITV/Shutterstock).

  24. Tony Benn, Cardiff, c. 1980 (Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  25. Ken Livingstone and Gerry Adams, London, 1983 (Daily Mail/Shutterstock).

  26. Masked republican, Belfast, 1981 (Thierry Campion/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  27. Graffiti, Belfast, 1981 (Homer Sykes/Alamy).

  28. British soldier and RUC officer, Belfast, c. May 1981 (Homer Sykes/Alamy).

  29. Masked Catholic youngsters, Belfast, 1981 (Thierry Campion/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  30. Police out of Brixton! Pamphlet issued by South London Workers Against Racism, 1981 (Junius Publications Ltd).

  31. Front page of the Sun, 6 July 1981 (© The Sun/News Licensing).

  32. Burning buildings, Toxteth, 1981 (Jacob Sutton/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  33. The morning after a night of rioting, Toxteth, July 1981 (Michel Folco/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  34. Ian Botham, Headingley, July 1981 (Adrian Murrell/Getty Images).

  35. The Prince and Princess of Wales, Balmoral, 1981 (Popperfoto/Getty Images).

  36. Advertisement for Next, 1983 (The Advertising Archives).

  37. Spandau Ballet, New York, 1981 (Lynn Goldsmith/Getty Images).

  38. Advertisement for Perrier, 1981 (The Advertising Archives).

  39. Advertisement for Lymeswold, 1982 (The Advertising Archives).

  40. Front cover of the Habitat catalogue, 1980/81 (The Advertising Archives).

  41. Packaging for the original Sony Walkman (private collection).

  42. Advertisement for BBC Micro Systems, 1980s (The Advertising Archives).

  43. Royal Marines taken prisoner by Argentine soldiers, April 1982 (Rafael Wollmann/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  44. Argentine troops move into Stanley, April 1982 (Rafael Wollmann/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images).

  45. Departure of the Task Force: soldiers on board the QE2, Southampton, May 1982 (Bryn Colton/Getty Images).

  46. Waving farewell to the QE2, Southampton, May 1982 (Nick Rogers/Shutterstock).

  47. Front cover of Tal Cual magazine, 30 April 1982 (Rex/Shutterstock).

  48. Front cover of El Porteño magazine, May 1982 (Rex/Shutterstock).

  49. Front cover of Raymond Briggs, The Tin-Pot Foreign General and the Old Iron Woman, 1984 (Penguin Books Ltd).

  50. Front cover of Battle magazine, 12 March 1983 (private collection).

  51. The Sir Galahad on fire, June 1982 (Tom Hartland/Defence Picture Library).

  52. Royal Marines yomping towards Stanley, 1982 (Peter Holdgate/Defence Picture Library).

  53. Return of HMS Invincible, Portsmouth, September 1982 (Popperfoto/Getty Images).

  Preface: We’re Still a Super Power

  I don’t think I’ve had a chance to put pen to paper since the SAS dust-up at Prince’s Gate. Best thing since the Coronation. High time a few wogs bit the dust and thank God there was a British finger on the trigger.

  ‘Denis Thatcher’, in Richard Ingrams and John Wells, The Other Half: Further Letters of Denis Thatcher (1981)

  It was just before 7.30 on the evening of Monday 5 May 1980, and across the United Kingdom millions of people were enjoying their favourite hobby: watching television. On BBC1 John Wayne was fighting off outlaws in the American West. On ITV Coronation Street’s Brian Tilsey was trying to raise £1,000 for a deposit on a new house. And on BBC2, with Cliff Thorburn and Alex Higgins neck-and-neck and only a few frames to go, the Embassy World Snooker Championship was approaching a nail-biting conclusion.

  As the camera tracked across the baize, as Higgins mopped his brow and Thorburn inched closer to glory, the tension was almost intolerable – and then, quite suddenly, the picture was gone. Instead, a BBC announcer was explaining that they were going live to South Kensington, where the elite Special Air Service had just launched an operation to storm the Iranian Embassy. A few moments later, as Coronation Street’s credits were beginning to roll, ITV followed suit. The picture cut to a long terrace of tall white stucco houses. A masked black figure peered out from behind a first-floor balcony. There was a bang; then another bang; then gunshots; then screams. More masked figures emerged. Then came the explosion, a colossal burst of smoke ripping out a window at the front of the building. More shots; a woman’s screams; sirens, alarms and barking dogs; then bang after bang after bang, hammering through the smoke. There were small fires now at the front of the building. A man clambered out of a window, scrambled across a balcony and disappeared into the building next door. Inside, unseen by the cameras, the SAS were going about their deadly work. And all the time, millions at home were staring at their screens, gripped by one of the most extraordinary spectacles in television history.

  The high drama of the Iranian Embassy siege had begun five days earlier. Just before midday on Wednesday 30 April, six armed Iranian Arabs, demanding autonomy for the province of Khuzestan, had burst into the embassy in Prince’s Gate. Within minutes, they had taken twenty-six people hostage, most of them Iranian staff, but also a handful of visitors, a police constable, two BBC crewmen and the building manager. More police arrived within moments, but it was too late. By the afternoon the pattern was set. Inside, the terrified hostages huddled together, surrounded by six men with grenades and sub-machine guns. Outside, in Prince’s Gate, the police closed off the area opposite the embassy, while just 200 yards away reporters, cameramen and curious onlookers jostled for position. In Downing Street, ministers and officials pored over their options. And by the small hours of the following morning, two SAS teams had moved into the buildings either side of the embassy. They had been practising for this moment for years. As one told the BBC’s Peter Taylor, ‘we didn’t want them to surrender. We wanted them to stay there so we could go in and hit them. That was what we lived for and trained for … We wanted to go in there and do the job.’1

  For the last decade, the United Kingdom had lived in the shadow of terrorism. In Northern Ireland, almost every day had seen some new outrage: a young man shot in a pub, a shopping street devastated by a car bomb, a warning that came too late, a family torn apart by tragedy. But in Britain, too, these had been terrible years, with bombs going off at Aldershot Barracks, the Old Bailey, pubs in Birmingham and Guildford, a coach on the M62 and the Houses of Parliament. In the last year alone, the war hero and Conservative MP Airey Neave had been killed by a car bomb at the Palace of Westminster; the last Viceroy of India, Louis Mountbatten, had been killed by a bomb while fishing in Ireland; and eighteen British soldiers had been killed in an ambush at Warrenpoint, County Down. Like her predecessors, the new Prime Minister insisted that the terrorists would never prevail. ‘The people of the United Kingdom’, Margaret Thatcher had said after Warrenpoint, ‘will wage the war against terrorism with relentless determination until it is won.’ Y
et still the killing went on. So what happened at Prince’s Gate was hardly a shock; it was just more of the same.2

  For the next four days, as the world’s media looked on, the tension steadily rose. On Friday afternoon, Mrs Thatcher and her Home Secretary, Willie Whitelaw, discussed the consequences of a ‘planned shoot-out’. If the SAS struck now, they reckoned ‘they had a 60% chance of getting the hostages out alive’. But ‘even with the best planning and the best intelligence’, Whitelaw told his boss, ‘there was bound to be a risk that an assault would end with casualties’.3

  Another day passed. Inside the embassy, the hostages waited, ever more exhausted, ever more frightened, their captors increasingly angry at the lack of progress. Just before midnight, Whitelaw rang Mrs Thatcher. Everything was ‘organised and ready’, he said, and ‘we are now in a much better position for obvious reasons than we were before’. ‘Willie, I think that’s absolutely first-class,’ Mrs Thatcher said. ‘I’m sorry you’re all having to be there over the weekend.’4

  Sunday went by, another long, anxious day. It was a Bank Holiday weekend, but the weather was unseasonably cool and the roads were quiet; most people seemed to be watching television. Although the gunmen had now released five hostages, they showed no sign of surrendering. Monday came, and the kidnappers’ patience ran out. At one that afternoon, their leader told the police that unless they let him speak to a sympathetic diplomat within the next forty-five minutes, he would start killing the hostages. Exactly forty-five minutes later, the gunmen shot the Iranian press attaché, later throwing his body out of the front door.

  At that moment, Whitelaw was sitting down to lunch at his official country residence, Dorneywood, in Buckinghamshire. When he heard there had been shots at the embassy, he left immediately for London. At about 6.30 the gunmen’s leader announced that he would shoot one hostage every half-hour. More shots rang out; in fact, they were just for show, but there was no way the police could know that. Shortly after seven Whitelaw told the SAS to go in. At exactly 7.23 the first team broke through the roof and the back of the building, while moments later the second team blasted through a window at the front. With the embassy wreathed in smoke and millions transfixed to their televisions, Operation Nimrod took just seventeen minutes. By the time it was over, all but one of the remaining hostages were out, five of the six gunmen were lying dead and the SAS had seized the imagination of the world.5