I'm Mandy, fire me

He had pulled off one of the most remarkable comebacks in British political history and was doing well in his new job. So why did Peter Mandelson risk everything by giving a deceptive answer to a reporter's question? Simple, says his former aide Benjamin Wegg-Prosser: he's a born gambler

Special report: Mandelson resigns
Special report: New Labour in power

guardian.co.uk, Thursday January 25 2001 02.44 GMT
The Guardian, Thursday January 25 2001

Telephone calls before 7am are usually bad news. I received one from Peter Mandelson at 6:30am on the day of his home loan resignation. He was more downcast then than he was yesterday morning when he called again, this time at 6:45am and remarkably upbeat.

I was asleep when the phone rang. What's going on, I asked. "I'll tell you exactly what's going on: I'm being attacked by the right and the left." He then gave an encyclopaedic breakdown of what had happened since the weekend. Despite the obvious pressure he seemed calm. Unlike our similar conversation two years ago, the idea of resignation never arose.

On the face of it the passport story was not that serious. Peter acknowledged that the answer his office had given the Observer on Saturday afternoon had been unclear, though perhaps no more so than similar responses given by him or many of his colleagues to journalists over the years. The conversation ended with Peter's typical sign-off: "Speak to you later."

Yet in little more than five hours he had thrown in the towel and ended his career as a frontline politician. This was so different to my time with him in December 1998 when he clung on to ministerial office for as long as possible until the prime minister effectively asked him to resign. That time I had the surreal responsibility of typing up the resignation letter; which had been drafted by Alastair Campbell. This time there were no letters; he made a swift decision and fell on his sword. There were no tears in front of the cameras or last-ditch attempts to haul himself out of the hole.

His resignation is a personal tragedy, but also a release. The assistance, though misguided, he offered to Srichand Hinduja came at a time when the London chatterati and powerful industrial figures pursued him relentlessly. He was undoubtedly enjoying the fruits of office. He may have sailed close to the wind, as he did on this occasion, but there is no evidence of any wrongdoing. On my watch I often questioned, as he did, whether he should be seeing this person or that. There was usually a good reason for the meetings, though appearances with the likes of Elle Macpherson might have been a photo-opportunity too far. His fondness for rightwing socialites also exposed him to accusations that he was turning his back on old friends, but Peter always had an explanation for his seemingly incongruous new chums: it was part of what was called the "Hoover strategy", an attempt to draw traditional Tories into the New Labour tent. It is a fact of life - often forgotten by old-fashioned liberals - that successful politicians come into contact with influential figures who occupy other arenas.

In fact he largely turned his back on such company after his first resignation. He reluctantly sold his house, which was not half as glamorous as the Daily Mail would have you believe. He was quite happy to give up the parties that had kept him so busy in the 18 months after the 1997 election. Indeed over the past two years, when I have asked him how he's been and what he's been up to, he has often sounded rather proud of the fact that he has spent most evenings at home. The first time I called him at his flat in Hillsborough, he told me gleefully that he was "just cooking some lamb chops and watching a video."

His first few months out of office were a shock to the system. He particularly missed his chauffeur driven car. After selling his house, buying a secondhand Fiat Punto was the first big challenge of his new life. He also found clearing out his ministerial study in the Commons after Christmas a humiliating experience. But despite these indignities he came to relish his new freedom. At the 1999 Labour party conference he told a friend: "It's great. I've just been sitting in my room watching the Cartoon Network." It was almost convincing.

During his 10 months on the back benches he had kept in regular touch with Tony Blair, speaking to him about three times a week. It meant a lot to him during those wilderness months that Blair took care to keep him in the loop. Peter kept up a stream of regular memos to Downing Street, helping to draft speeches, particularly on Europe. He played a key role in securing the support of senior Tories like Clarke and Heseltine for the government's position on Europe.

He had also helped Millbank campaigners in their early planning of the election campaign. His rare forays into the political arena had been met with praise by a number of surprising allies, from Sir Ken Jackson of the AEEU to old Labour colleagues. He occasionally spoke out in favour of Europe but actually spent more time attending Labour party meetings out of London.

He never seriously entertained the idea of returning to the cabinet so early. However, he was delighted with his new role in Northern Ireland.

Crucially his new job allowed him to maintain his new regime of avoiding the parties and dinners that many of his critics associated, as he would say, with "Old Mandelson". He had never been happier than when he was working in Hillsborough Castle grappling with fascinating and serious issues away from the Westminster village.

He also had two new close friends to look after - his dogs. Bobby, a very excitable Labrador and Jack, a playful Parson Russell Terrier. Phonecalls that had previously been interrupted by bleeper messages from Number 10 were now stalled by shrieks as one or other of the puppies peed on the carpet.

While in Belfast he would occasionally be dragged into stories from his past, for example last October when Geoffrey Robinson published his memoirs. In the main he was determined to keep out of trouble, which to a great extent he did.

Seasoned New Labour kremlinologists suspected that Peter's power was weakened by his distance from Whitehall and the pressures of peace process. It's probably true that he didn't enjoy the influence he did at the height of his career but, he insisted, he was "well out of it" and pleased that his distant posting kept him out of trouble.

This weekend "Old Mandelson" came back to haunt him. He was visiting Paris when the Observer called his office asking for a comment on the written parliamentary answer which Barbara Roche, the immigration minister, had given the Lib Dem MP Norman Baker, a long-time Peter tormentor. He was aware that the answer had been published after discussions with the Home Office last week.

I was not surprised that a story about his relationship with the Hindujas had appeared in print. In my time I had often received telephone calls from them and was aware of their reputation. It was inevitable that Mandelson would have been drawn into the picture as the Indian criminal investigation into their businesses reached its closing stages.

While working for him I had encountered many similar stories. The simplest response is always to establish the facts and give the least damaging, though truthful answer. Peter was annoyed by the Observer story, though not unduly concerned. The answer that he provided seemed strong enough. However, on this occasion something went wrong. So wrong that Alastair Campbell, one of his oldest friend's, misled the press and Chris Smith, the culture secretary, misled the Commons. How could Peter have got himself in such a mess?

I do not believe he deliberately lied to the press; he provided an answer that was at best economical and at worst evasive. However, if he had been more open he would never have had to resign. It was also an error to highlight the role his private secretary had played, though it is easy to see why he wanted to put more daylight between him and the Hindujas. Nothing unusual about that; politicians are brought up to answer difficult questions in a way which reflect most positively on them. You see it every day on the television and nine times out of 10 the fudge does the trick - unfortunately for Peter, this time he came unstuck.

I was asked countless times yesterday why a man in his position, with precious little political capital, took a chance like that. The answer is simply that Peter is a born gambler. That's why he was able to change the Labour party, and also why he was never going to survive at the top for long. He wore his appetite for risk-taking as a badge of honour. "That's how I got where I am," he would say when asked why he seemed so willing to play with fire.

While even he acknowledges that he was well and trully cornered yesterday morning - "they [the media] got me," he said - it was still surprising to anyone who knows him that he went so quickly. During his stoic Commons performance yesterday he made little reference to his resignation - other than to talk in the past tense.

His statement outside Downing Street was typically abrupt. There will be many who suspect he is simply spinning again, but I'm convinced that the reason for his swift resignation is that he is at last happy in his own personal life. Most importantly, his time in Belfast showed that high political office is not the only thing in life. "I just realised that this can't go on for ever," he said last night.

He has now withdrawn from the many battles he has fought since he first started to work with Neil Kinnock in 1985. He has lived with his critics inside the Labour party and often relished the argument. However the more recent attacks from rightwing commentators, particularly on Europe, have been little more than homophobic rants Richard Littlejohn and others in the Sun have been disgusting.

I for one am pleased that he has retreated from the Whitehall fray. Indeed I made the case to him two years ago that he should turn his back on Westminster and find a more fulfilling (and possibly better remunerated) life outside politics. He told me then, as he did yesterday: "I am a public servant." Though I've always chuckled when he delivers it, the statement has a ring of truth. More importantly, he was a better-organised and more efficient minister than many of his colleagues, though more abrasive than most. While he will move out of ministerial office, he currently has no plans to step down at the next election.

Nowhere will his departure be mourned more than in the Northern Ireland Office and Millbank Tower. Civil servants and campaign staff respect his clear thought and swift decision-making, though they won't miss the occasional tantrums and unreasonable demands. While the peace process will continue and the election campaign will roll on his influence will be missing and his successors will not live up to his reputation.

After a little time I suspect his enemies will miss him too. He took them on singlehandly, faced them down and gave them a bloody good run for their money.

• Benjamin Wegg-Prosser was an aide to Peter Mandelson from 1995-1998. He is now publisher of the Guardian's politics and environment websites.

Full text
The resignation speech

Special reports
New Labour in power
Northern Ireland

Photo gallery
Mandelson: a career in pictures

Audio
Peter Mandelson announces his resignation (3mins 30)
Michael White at Westminster (2mins 14)
Martin Wainwright in Hartlepool (3mins 55)