In the Balkans she saw the problem as Serb communist aggression and was not afraid to speak out, sometimes to the government’s discomfort. She established a foundation, on condition that it was wound up before her death, to help people in the former Communist countries, and many in Eastern Europe have cause to be grateful to her today.
John Major never worked out a way to contain her and relations did get strained, particularly over Europe and as she realised his commitment to Thatcherism was not what she had thought.
He asked me to have a word with her as she was seeing large numbers of Tory backbenchers – at their request, I should add – to discuss the Maastricht treaty.
Many of them left these meetings unsettled or determined to vote against, and the prime minister was becoming increasingly irritated. I obliged, and it proved to be a deservedly unpleasant experience for me.
I rang and asked if I could come and talk to her about the Maastricht treaty. I arrived to find her clutching a heavily annotated copy of the impenetrable document, which Kenneth Clarke had once boasted he had never even read.
“Now Michael,” she said, “which section of the treaty would you like to discuss?” “Well Margaret,” I confessed, “I don’t want to talk about the content of the treaty but I am concerned that you are getting yourself into a position where the government machine will start attacking you, and this will harm you.”
It was a stupid mistake and I should have known better. There followed an almost thermonuclear explosion during which I was asked in forceful terms if I thought she had ever cared about herself rather than her country and, if she had done so, did I really think she would have achieved anything at all. I crawled under the door, thoroughly ashamed of myself.
Twenty years later I found myself thinking of that moment as I listened to Gordon Brown unveiling a portrait of Margaret to hang in No
John Major never worked out a way to contain her and relations did get strained, particularly over Europe and as she realised his commitment to Thatcherism was not what she had thought.
He asked me to have a word with her as she was seeing large numbers of Tory backbenchers – at their request, I should add – to discuss the Maastricht treaty.
Many of them left these meetings unsettled or determined to vote against, and the prime minister was becoming increasingly irritated. I obliged, and it proved to be a deservedly unpleasant experience for me.
I rang and asked if I could come and talk to her about the Maastricht treaty. I arrived to find her clutching a heavily annotated copy of the impenetrable document, which Kenneth Clarke had once boasted he had never even read.
“Now Michael,” she said, “which section of the treaty would you like to discuss?” “Well Margaret,” I confessed, “I don’t want to talk about the content of the treaty but I am concerned that you are getting yourself into a position where the government machine will start attacking you, and this will harm you.”
It was a stupid mistake and I should have known better. There followed an almost thermonuclear explosion during which I was asked in forceful terms if I thought she had ever cared about herself rather than her country and, if she had done so, did I really think she would have achieved anything at all. I crawled under the door, thoroughly ashamed of myself.
Twenty years later I found myself thinking of that moment as I listened to Gordon Brown unveiling a portrait of Margaret to hang in No