Latest news with #Tebbit
Spectator
10 hours ago
- Spectator
Norman Tebbit, forgiveness and my father, the IRA bomber
Norman Tebbit, who died this week at the age of 94, embodied a sterner Britain. His political career was remarkable but it paled in comparison with his unyielding love for his wife Margaret, whom he wheeled through life for four decades after the IRA's Brighton bomb paralysed her body in 1984. Tebbit never forgave those who nearly killed him and left his beloved wife in pain for the rest of her days. My dad met Tebbit several times, earning his 'hero of the week' nod in his Sun column for exposing the IRA My father, Sean O'Callaghan, was an IRA bomber who turned against his comrades and, in doing so, saved countless lives. He thwarted a bomb plot in 1983 aimed at Prince Charles and Princess Diana. Yet his early sins – planting bombs, plotting murders – haunted him to his grave. Tebbit's death stirred something deep, not just in me but in the regulars of my Oxfordshire pub who trickled in after news of his death emerged on Tuesday, their voices thick with memories of Tebbit. It stirred thoughts of forgiveness – or its absence – and what that word demands of us. My dad met Tebbit several times, earning his 'hero of the week' nod in his Sun column for exposing the IRA. Tebbit respected him, not least for his refusal to soften his edges. But could a man like my father ever find redemption in the eyes of someone like Tebbit, who had paid such a terrible price for the IRA's campaign of terror? In 1974, my father helped kill Eva Martin, the first Greenfinch, female Ulster Defence Regiment (UDR) soldier, who died in the 'Troubles', and murdered RUC detective Peter Flanagan. Until his dying day, these events shadowed him. Yet he sought redemption with fierce resolve, handing himself into the police in 1988 to face his past. He confessed to murders and other felonies in Britain and Northern Ireland, pleaded guilty to all and was sentenced to 539 years in prison. He was released in 1996 after being granted the Royal Prerogative of Mercy by Queen Elizabeth II having served seven years. My father's road was brutal, but he achieved what few do. He knew his worth, understood his flaws, and faced them unflinchingly. Despite his guilt, I am proud to be his son. He pursued redemption with a single-minded ferocity that consumed him, body and soul. He risked his life, his freedom, living as a hunted man to warn authorities, thwart attacks, and dismantle the IRA's machinery of death. Each act was a plea for atonement, a brick laid on a road towards a destination he never felt he reached. His drive tore through our family like a storm – years of fear, fractured bonds, lives upended by his choice to stand against terror. Yet many forgave him. To police, victims' families, even strangers, he was a living testament to redemption through action, a man who bled for his amends. Still, he never forgave himself, his guilt a shadow he couldn't outrun. Tebbit, too, carried a debt, not of guilt but of loyalty to his wife and principle. He never forgave the IRA, nor did he pretend to. Forgiveness, he seemed to say, must be earned through deeds, not words. Contrast this with others who've faced terror's scars. Jo Berry, whose father Sir Anthony Berry was murdered in the Brighton bombing, forgave Patrick Magee, the bomber. She built a dialogue with him, seeking understanding over retribution. Gordon Wilson, whose daughter Marie was murdered in the 1987 Enniskillen bombing, forgave the IRA publicly, his voice breaking with Christian charity. Their acts of forgiveness were noble, even saintly, but they jar in my taproom, where regulars – carpenters, farmers, old soldiers – judge a man by his actions. Magee's 'regret' for murdering Berry feels like a hollow sham. You regret spilling milk, not murder. His vague contrition, peddled, it would seem, in order to pose as a commentator on peace and reconciliation, exploits Berry's overwhelming grief – a raw, fathomless wound he's gaslighted for his own gain. Unlike my father, who surrendered everything to save others, Magee offers no genuine sacrifice, no deeds to match his words. Redemption demands action – prison served, lives saved, remorse proven – not empty platitudes. Tebbit's life was a testament to love forged in adversity. He cared for Margaret without pity or fanfare, his devotion a quiet rebuke to a world that mistakes sentiment for strength. In my pub, where stories of loss and loyalty flow as freely as the ale, his example resonates. A regular, Mick, told me of his brother, killed in Belfast in 1982. 'No one's said sorry,' he growled, 'so why should I let it go?' His words echo Tebbit's resolve: forgiveness without accountability is surrender. My father, too, understood this. His meetings with Tebbit, though private, were marked by mutual respect – not for shared views, but for shared clarity. Neither believed in absolution without cost. Britain's soul, like its pubs, thrives on honesty, not platitudes. Labour's recent follies – surrendering Chagos, ceding fishing grounds – show a government too eager to appease, too quick to forgive slights against our sovereignty. Tebbit would have scorned such weakness. His Britain demanded respect, not apologies. So, as I stack crates and scrub taps, I raise a quiet toast to Tebbit. Forgiveness is no salve unless it's earned through remorse, restitution, and action. My father knew it, sacrificing all for redemption, forgiven by many but not himself. Mick knows it, nursing his pint and his pain. In this pub, where truth is poured as freely as beer, we know it too. Tebbit's legacy, like a well-pulled pint, is clear, strong, and unyielding. Let's not water it down.
Metro
3 days ago
- Politics
- Metro
Former Conservative cabinet minister dies aged 94
Norman Tebbit has died aged 94 at his home in Bury St Edmonds. The former cabinet minister in Margaret Thatcher's government passed away peacefully at 11.15m on July 7. Former Prime Minister Rishi Sunak has led tributes describing Tebbit as 'a titan of Conservative politics whose resilience, conviction and service left a lasting mark on our party and our country' (Picture: Georges) At the beginning of his political career, Norman Tebbit was elected as MP for Epping in 1970 and then Chingford in 1974 (Picture: PA) Tebbit was appointed Under-Secretary at the Ministry of Trade in 1979 by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. He held various positions within the party until his retirement from the House of Lords on 31 March 2022 (Picture: ITV/Shutterstock) Tebbit and his wife Margaret were staying at the Grand Hotel in Brighton during the Conservative Party Conference on the 12th October 1984 when it was bombed by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA). He was trapped under rubble from the blast for four hours before he was eventually pulled from the wreckage (Picture:: House of Lords/PA Wire) Five people were killed in the failed assassination attempt on Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Tebbit was left paralysed from the chest down (Picture: David Parker/ANL/Shutterstock) In 1987, the Conservative government were elected for a third term, with Thatcher standing down as Prime Minister in November 1990 after 11 years at number 10. Tebbit, meanwhile, left government after the election in order to care for his wife - turning down the chance to run in the election for Tory party leader in 1990 (Picture: AP Photo/Gerald Penny) In 2002 Lord Tebbit won the Spectator Peer of the Year award. Here he is pictured with Survivor of the Year, Gerald Kaufman (Picture: Sean Dempsey/PA Wire) Norman Tebbit attended Margaret Thatcher's funeral in 2013. He was affiliated with the Conservative party for 52 years (Picture: David Parker/PA Wire) When asked about his friend Jimmy Savile during an interview with The Guardian's Decca Aikenhead in 2013, Tebbit revealed that he believed "Jimmy did a great deal of good, as well as wrong.' Tebbit attended Savile's funeral in 2011 (Picture: Shutterstock) Leader of the Conservative party, Kemi Badenoch, has paid tribute to Tebbit on social media platform X, describing him as 'an icon in British politics' and adding that 'his death will cause sadness across the political spectrum' (Picture: Shutterstock)
New Statesman
3 days ago
- Politics
- New Statesman
If Jake Berry is the answer, what's the question?
Few who were there will quickly forget the 2022 Conservative Party conference in Birmingham. After a tropically hot leadership race summer, beginning with the collapse of Boris Johnson's government in June, punctuated by sweaty candidate launches in feverish think tank offices over the following weeks, and terminating in the surreal spectacle of Liz Truss's uninspired victory speech to a Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre audience of stone-faced Tory MPs in September, the party gathered in Birmingham to tear itself to shreds. The aforementioned Queen had died – of natural causes. The British economy died around the same time – murdered by Kwasi Kwarteng's mini budget. The Chancellor himself would not survive conference. An argument about scrapping the 45p tax rate descended into farce over the four days. Multiple ministers providing multiple interpretations of the policy. Jacob Rees-Mogg haunted the fringe, like a bad folk memory vomited up from the 19th century, cracking jokes about sending children back up the chimneys. Suella Braverman talked about her dream: A Telegraph front page exclaiming the first successful deportation flight to Rwanda. Truss had been Prime Minister for mere weeks, yet the sound of ministerial jostling to hack her out of Downing Street was audible in Birmingham. The stage scenery of the Conservative Party was being removed. Without it, the party was naked and vulnerable and, frankly, confusing. The Conservatives no longer appeared to know what Conservatism was anymore. The public still haven't forgiven them for their impudence, and punished them accordingly less than 18 months later. Of no help at all as the party descended into self-defeating blather was Jake Berry, its then chairman and minister without portfolio. In Birmingham, Berry's laboured attempts to calm things down were a painful sideshow, largely hidden by the greater pain of his more famous colleagues. But still. Berry managed to spend a Sunday of media appearances defending the end of the 45p rate only for it to be retracted by Kwarteng hours later on Monday morning. Berry also made it clear that any of his colleagues who failed to back the mini-budget in an eventual parliamentary vote should lose the whip. On Sky News Berry suggested, in a sub-Norman Tebbit moment, that families being immiserated by high energy bills, 'can either cut their consumption, get a higher salary, or go out there and get that new job'. 'He's probably our worst performing cabinet minister so far – one disaster per utterance,' a former minister told the Guardian. 'Even Kwasi has a better record.' Berry fled the chairmanship when Rishi Sunak became Prime Minister, two weeks after he recieved his knighthood. Yesterday evening Sir Jake Berry reappeared in a new guise: as a member of Reform. He joined eleven other ex-Tory MPs who have fled to the party including Lee Anderson, Dame Andrea Jenkyns, Anne Marie Morris, Macro Longhi, David Jones, Alan Amos, Michael Brown, Aiden Burley, Chris Butler and the indestructible Ann Widdecombe. Berry, an MP during every year of the Cameron, May, Johnson, Truss and Sunak governments who held several ministerial posts as well as chairing the Northern Research Group, said that the Tories had 'lost their way'. He was also, before the referendum, a Remainer. It's a bit like serving five tours in Vietnam and deciding that maybe Ho Chi Minh had a point all along. Intellectually justifiable, but perhaps a bit late in the day: you might have been more advised to discover your views mid-way through your second tour of duty. Why are Reform leading the polls? Why do those polls show the North, Midlands and the Coasts turning teal in 2029. Because Reform are not the Conservative Party or the Labour Party. They do not have a record of failure that stretches back to 1997. Farage, once toxic, is still less toxic than what Reform voters are encouraged to call 'the Uniparty'. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe It might be fun – and in the short-term advantageous – for Reform to welcome Tory defectors. Kemi Badenoch's low speed, low energy, low ambition leadership is going nowhere. Defections only underline that further by deepening the awkward embarassment so many Conservatives, whether they are MPs or members, feel about their leader. But if too many former Conservative MPs with, lets face it, hardly sparkling records or reputations, join Reform they risk losing their essential advantage over Labour and the Tories. If you are one of Reform's new members, or even one of its old ones, why should Jake Berry get parachuted into what will likely by a very safe seat for your party in 2029? Why should somebody at the coalface of fourteen years of failure be welcomed up into the air of your new party? Berry's announcement was welcomed by Nigel Farage. As with so many of the short-term moves made by Reform's leader in recent months, it raises one of the most important questions in British politics today: does Nigel Farage have understand what he is doing? If Reform is joining the Uniparty, what's the point of Reform? Related
Spectator
4 days ago
- Politics
- Spectator
Norman Tebbit was the symbol of an age
Norman Tebbit, who died this week aged 94, was a self-made man who shouldered his way to the top of a party of old Etonians. He was, to many, the leather-clad bovver boy of Spitting Image, ordering the unemployed to get 'on yer bike'. He was a devoted husband who stepped back from politics to care for his wife, Margaret, after they were pulled from the wreckage of Brighton's Grand Hotel. And he was an unrepentant right-winger, who was unflinching about where his party had gone wrong, and unforgiving to the monsters who had put his wife in a wheelchair. This Middlesex grammar school boy turned airline pilot, turned cabinet minister, changed the country he loved for the better. As a secretary of state he played a crucial role in curbing the powers of the trade unions; as Conservative party chairman he delivered Margaret Thatcher's third, crushing election victory; as a backbencher and peer, he was a campaigner for Brexit far earlier, and far more enthusiastically, than most. More than anything, Tebbit was the symbol of an age – a man who embodied the turbulent, consensus-busting 1980s, perhaps even better than the Prime Minister whom he assiduously served. There were times when Tebbit seemed to be too blunt for liberal Tory tastes. As Dominic Lawson, our former editor, records in his article, this magazine was critical of Tebbit when he proposed his 'cricket test'. He had suggested that whether people from ethnic minorities supported England or the country of their ancestors was an effective test of integration. We said then that Tebbit, who was on the board of this magazine at the time, was 'in danger of confusing Yobbo chauvinism with citizenship'. It is a measure of Tebbit's own integrity that he applauded Lawson for demonstrating admirable editorial independence. But what has happened since has, if anything, vindicated Tebbit. He was willing to risk criticism in the interests of a more unified country. When the 7/7 bombers struck, 20 years ago this week, he claimed vindication, telling the BBC: 'We have generated home-grown bombers; a combination of the permissive society together with a minority population deeply rooted in its own moral code.' Tebbit felt compelled to talk openly because he knew he spoke for millions who would not otherwise be heard – those ignored or scorned by the Establishment. In the 1980s, he spoke for workers who wanted to be free from trade union intimidation and for voters exasperated that their income was going to a bloated welfare state and unproductive nationalised industries. He was the tribune of the aspirational and patriotic British working and lower-middle class; those who understood that Thatcherism offered them an alternative to managed decline. The labour market reforms that Tebbit introduced transformed the country's economic prospects. Yet this was as much about morals as it was money. He argued convincingly that individuals should take responsibility for their actions. That the state has no cash of its own, only that which it takes from taxpayers. That accumulating wealth is a reward for virtue, not some form of theft. So when progressive voices, including in his own party, claimed that rioting was a natural response to unemployment, he had a reply. Tebbit is perhaps best known for telling the story of his father, who had not resorted to violence when he faced unemployment but had 'got on his bike and looked for work' and 'kept looking till he found it'. It is instructive to note the contrast between the moral clarity of Tebbit's Protestant work ethic and this government's intellectually incoherent and fiscally incontinent plans for welfare reforms. To remember Tebbit only for his combative instincts is to overlook his compassion. His deep hatred of Irish republicanism must be balanced with his dedication to his wife; his unshakeable opposition to Cameroon modernisation with the quiet support he offered to many young politicians; his ferocious arguments with a children's book he wrote about a disabled boy and his dog and his cookbook that proved that the 'Chingford Skinhead' knew game just as well as any grouse moor grandee. Tebbit often joins the likes of Tony Benn, Enoch Powell and Roy Jenkins on the list of great prime ministers that we never had. There is always a romance to these counter-factuals. The idea of Tebbit leading the country was all the more alluring when faced with John Major's premiership: the appeasement of Irish republicanism, the surrender to European integration, the drift away from principle. If there was one politician who most deserved to be Thatcher's successor, it was Tebbit. Yet his fidelity to another Margaret – the wife he adored and whose health he put first – meant a Tebbit ministry was a dream that went unfulfilled. Today's Conservatives should remember his grit, resolve and fidelity to a clear set of beliefs. Not everyone can be a Norman. But we can learn the lesson of his life: that there is a time for gentleness, and a time for pugnacity. Faced with another weak government that is damaging our country, now is the time for the latter.
Indian Express
5 days ago
- Politics
- Indian Express
Remembering Norman Tebbit, working-class Tory, originator of the ‘cricket test'
In 1981, Norman Tebbit told a Conservative Party conference that his unemployed father didn't riot during the Great Depression. 'He got on his bike and looked for work, and he kept looking till he found it.' This soon passed into the popular imagination as the younger Tebbit's — Britain's newly minted employment secretary — panacea for unemployment, despite his clarifications. He would be greeted with shouts of 'onyerbike' for years to come. That's not the only Tebbitism to be mythologised; his 'cricket test' is perhaps the most famous internationally — a suggestion that the loyalties of Britain's Asian population could be judged by which side they cheered for in cricket matches. To top it all is his puppet from the satirical TV show Spitting Image: Margaret Thatcher's leather-clad, knuckle-duster-wielding enforcer (the real Tebbit later expressed his fondness for the puppet). To the younger generations, he was always more caricature than man, a ghost of the Thatcher years. As a young man, Tebbit, who died on Monday aged 94, developed the individualistic, pro-enterprise philosophy that would make him a natural fit for Thatcher's new conservatism — a marked departure from the post-War, Keynesian consensus until then: Nationalised industries, strong trade unions and welfare state. Thatcher's 1979 victory would see much of this demolished, leaving a legacy that remains deeply divisive. Tebbit played his part, weakening the powers of unions, driving privatisation and, as party chairman, leading a successful re-election campaign in 1987. He retired from frontline politics afterwards to care for his wife, who had been left disabled by an IRA bombing. A working-class Tory who died a baron, Tebbit's life was not without its paradoxes: He developed his animosity for certain union practices early on, but later served as a union official during his career as a pilot and even went on strike. Always a plain speaker and a caustic wit, he was once asked if God existed. 'He ought to,' he said.
