Britain Is This Denis a Menace?

By WILLIAM MADER LONDON

4 August, 1989

Dear Bill,

The Boss has had it in for ((Geoffrey Howe, then Foreign Minister)) for quite a while, ever since he started going round saying he had invented Thatcherism . . . It was only a matter of time before the throwing knife was heading for the spot between his shoulderblades . . . Our scheme was to shift the little sod Howe out to Leader of the House, along with all the other deadbeats . . . I remember very clearly writing all this down and Margaret agreeing. My writing may have got a bit illegible towards teatime . . . A few very stiff drinks later, we looked at the list and realised we'd forgotten the Foreign Office, so M. had to ring a little shopwalker figure called Mr. Major who not surprisingly couldn't believe his luck and will no doubt continue to embarrass us in the councils of the nations for many moons to come . .

Yours over the eight,

Denis

For ten years, Britons have been regaled with mock letters like this from Denis Thatcher, the husband of Britain's Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, to his mythical chum Bill in the satirical London magazine Private Eye. The pungent missives are all the more outrageous as they seem to capture Denis' views and ripe turn of phrase with uncanny accuracy.

But in public life, Denis, as all Britain calls him, is discretion personified. "So long as I keep the lowest possible profile, neither write nor say anything, I avoid getting into trouble," he says. This rigorously observed tenet has helped establish Denis as a model consort and has won him popularity verging on admiration.

Lanky and white-haired, with a toothy grin and a nasal honk of an accent, Denis has become a cherished figure for his skillful maneuvers through the minefields of public life alongside his wife, or, as he would say with precision, "a pace behind her, old chap, a pace behind her." He is mainly visible as the gracious host while his wife conducts affairs of state. At 74, < he seems eminently fit for the job: the back is still ramrod straight, the step springy, the mind clear as a bell. What keeps him in such excellent fettle? "Cigarettes and gin," chuckles Denis.

His almost flawless public performance is all the more admirable for hiding his true nature: short-fused, outspoken, archconservative. As a senior British official who knows him well puts it, "He has all the prejudices of a white Englishman of his age and social standing." Notes a friend: "Denis calls a spade a bloody shovel, though these days he does it privately. It requires an almost superhuman effort for him to keep the old mouth shut in public. Loyalty to Margaret and common sense make him do it."

Yet he's not all duty. Denis' taste for "g & t" (gin and tonic), chums and golf is no secret. When he is not busy escorting his wife, he can frequently be spied on the exclusive golf course in Dulwich, the sedately elegant London suburb where the Thatchers own a large, two-story brick house for their retirement. After a round, he invariably speeds off to the clubhouse for a natter and a snort. He even launched a popular campaign against slow golfers with the argument: "After all, the quicker you finish your round, the more time you will have for a pint."

Denis cheerfully cultivates his slightly farcical image, but behind it hides a shrewd, quick mind and a loyal, supportive husband. "He is no intellectual," says a friend, "but he can size up people well and get to the core of things with uncanny speed. You don't fool him easily." Margaret relies heavily on Denis' judgment and political instincts. "She gets the unvarnished truth from him," says Lord Whitelaw, a longtime friend of the Thatchers'. "Sometimes she does not like what he tells her, but she knows he is totally on her side. And he is also there," adds Whitelaw, "when she wants to let off steam in privacy" -- which is often.

Denis' detractors argue that his influence on his wife merely reinforces her prejudices. He is frequently criticized for having an "empire mentality," regarding the British as superior to all others. In private, Denis admits that he is guilty as charged.

Yet the rather old-fashioned Denis revels in his wife's dominant role. "He is tremendously proud of what she has achieved," explains a close friend. In fact, he was indirectly responsible for much of it. Born into a prosperous middle-class family, Denis studied industrial administration and accountancy. Married once before, he was already an established businessman, managing a chemicals company, with an exemplary record as an artillery officer in World War II behind him, when he wed Margaret in 1951. He provided the financial stability she needed to launch her political career.

In the second-floor private flat at Downing Street, Denis leads an unpretentious life. He drives a nondescript blue Ford and occasionally drops in at a pub for a "tincture." Pedestrians on London streets often spot the familiar pinstripe-suited figure strolling jauntily along, umbrella tightly furled, trilby at a rakish angle. But to protect his privacy, the British pretend not to recognize him. And foreign tourists, who have rarely noted Denis standing in the background of all those state photos, take him for just another elderly English toff.