RIP Norman Tebbit

The Conservative Party has lost a titan, while the nation laments the passing of one of the last true characters in politics - a man who could make a socialist blush and a trade unionist quiver with a single arched eyebrow. Norman Beresford Tebbit (Baron Tebbit CH PC to give him his dues) has shuffled off this mortal coil at the ripe old age of 94. Assuming there is a Heaven, Norman will no doubt be telling St Peter to ‘get on his bike’ and fetch the keys to the Pearly Gates as we speak. As a working-class lad from Ponders End, a pilot, a pugilist in Parliament, and a devoted husband - Tebbit was the embodiment of Thatcherite grit (minus the trademark perm and handbag). His razor-sharp wit could cut through bullshit like a knife through butter, and frequently did.

Born in 1931 to working-class parents in the shadow of the Great Depression (a year before my own father, incidentally), Tebbit was a grammar school boy who left at 16 to take a job with the Financial Times. During his national service he flew Meteor and Vampire jets with the RAF, before joining the British Overseas Airways Corporation as a pilot. In the mid 1960s, he became increasingly involved in politics - snatching the ‘unwinnable’ seat of Epping from Labour’s Stan Newens in 1970 (later redrawn as Chingford), which he held until his retirement from the Commons in 1992. Following his election victory, a hungover Tebbit reportedly woke the next morning and muttered to his wife Margaret, “What the hell have I done now?”

Tebbit quickly became one of Margaret Thatcher’s staunchest and fiercest allies, leading Michael Foot to dub him “a semi house-trained polecat”; a label Tebbit wore like a badge of honour. He went on to hold the office of Employment Secretary, Trade and Industry Secretary, and finally Conservative Party Chairman, where he masterminded Thatcher’s landslide in 1987. He made his share of enemies naturally, famously clashing with Thatcher acolyte Lord Young, who once grabbed his lapels and barked, “We’re about to lose this fucking election!” Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

My great admiration for Tebbit stems from his straight-talking, no nonsense approach to politics, and life generally. In a world of relentless spin and rehearsal, he reminded me of Britain’s late and greatest unofficial stand-up comedian, Prince Philip, who always appeared to say just whatever happened to come to mind. Tebbit, I declare, was cut from much the same cloth; a cloth sadly in short supply.

Here are some of my favourite Tebbitisms:

On his Euroscepticism: “Brussels is like a dinner party where the host keeps adding rules about how to hold your fork.”

On political spin: “Some politicians polish their words so much, you can see your reflection in the lies.”

On the House of Lords: “It’s a curious place - half museum, half rest home, with a dash of rebellion.”

On his political enemies: “Some politicians are so wet, you could wring them out and water the garden.”

On the Left’s hypocrisy: “Many on the Left complain about problems that their policies have caused, like a pyromaniac weeping over the ashes.”

On his ‘Chingford Skinhead’ nickname: “I rather enjoyed being called the Chingford Skinhead. It was better than being called the Chingford Milquetoast.”

On regulatory overreach: “Give a bureaucrat a rulebook, and they’ll wallpaper your life with it.”

On the chattering classes: “The Islington set talk about ‘the people’ as if they’ve ever met one outside a focus group.

On John Major and Edwina Currie’s affair: “I just thought it was a wonderful illustration of mutual bad taste.”

On the poll tax: “The poll tax was a classic case of a good idea being entrusted to Chris Patten, and becoming a terrible failure.”

On the Muslim failure to integrate: “If they (Muslim women) wish to cover their faces and isolate themselves from the rest of the community and so thoroughly reject our culture, then I cannot imagine why they want to be here at all. Perhaps they should just push off back to their own countries.”

On Tony Blair: "I don't think he's a liar, just a fantasist. He says whatever he likes, and then he believes it.”

And my personal favourite, on the subject of the Labour Party:

“It’s good to remember the unburied dead and the uncollected rubbish. Most of it can now be seen on the Labour benches in the House of Commons.”

Tebbit’s straight-talking inevitably landed him in hot water on occasion. In 1990 he proposed what later became known as the ‘Tebbit Test’, a critique of the failure of certain ethnic minorities to fully integrate into Britain:

“A large proportion of Britain's Asian population fail to pass the cricket test. Which side do they cheer for? It's an interesting test. Are you still harking back to where you came from or where you are? I think we have got real problems in that regard.”

On political correctness, he was equally blunt: “I have no patience with political correctness. It’s dangerous and divisive.” Despite being roundly lambasted at the time, Tebbit’s views have almost certainly been vindicated by the now acknowledged failure of multiculturalism. And while the current shifting of the Overton Window in terms of immigration is even embraced by Tory wets, 30 years ago it took a brave man to have the courage to speak out.

Alas, Tebbit’s life wasn’t all quips and victories. The 1984 IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel in Brighton which narrowly missed Margaret Thatcher, nearly killed him and left his wife paralysed. Trapped in the rubble he still managed to jest, telling a paramedic he was “allergic to bombs.” His wife’s courage in the face of lifelong disability was matched by Tebbit’s devotion; he woke twice nightly to turn her, left the Cabinet in 1987 and retired permanently from the Commons in 1992 to fully care for her. I think it’s safe to say, his example is one few of us would live up to.

In his later incarnation as Baron Tebbit of Chingford he remained a Eurosceptic firebrand, leading the Bruges Group and railing against Brussels’ overreach. He backed John Redwood’s 1995 leadership bid, praising his “brains, courage and humour,” and lamented not standing himself after Thatcher’s fall, musing, “Perhaps I failed in a duty.”

Set against the backdrop of the least conservative Conservative Party I’ve ever witnessed, replaced by lightweights like Kemi Badenoch, one can’t help feeling that Tebbit is the last of a dying breed - emblematic of a lost England which knew what it was, and what it stood for. Tebbit was a patriot who flew jets and fought for Britain; a husband who cared as fiercely as he campaigned; a polecat who never needed house-training.

Norman was one of the first people I approached for interview when I began The New Conservative back in 2022. He politely refused due to poor health, but did say that I should get back to him a month later. Out of courtesy I never did, but I regret never getting the chance to speak with him.

Whether or not it’s over the yardarm when you happen to read this, please join me in raising a glass to the Chingford Skinhead! May he rest in peace.

Frank Haviland is the Editor of The New Conservative, and the author of Banalysis: The Lie Destroying the West.

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(Photograph: Roger Harris, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)