The Point of Departure
by Robin Cook
Simon & Schuster £20, pp368
This cook was never allowed inside the kitchen Cabinet. The innermost sanctums of New Labour were closed to him from the very outset. This wasn't just because of his ideological differences with Tony Blair. It was also a clash of temperaments.
When they meet for a private chat at Number 10, Cook is taken out to the Prime Minister's 'favourite sunny spot' on the terrace at the back. 'Tony has deep Christian convictions, but they only just stay ahead of his tendency to worship the sun,' writes Cook with a rather typical archness. 'I deliberately place a wicker garden chair in the shade of the wall, prompting him to ask, "Don't you like the sun?" Can't stand the heat. I am never happier than when I feel the crunch of snow beneath my boots.'
Between the Cook who can't stand the heat and the Sun God, there was a mutual, if wary, respect for each other's different talents. Their view of what constituted an 'ethical foreign policy' coincided when Cook was Blair's Foreign Secretary during the war to liberate Kosovo from Slobodan Milosevic. It then diverged over the invasion of Iraq. When Cook quit, his was the first resignation on a point of principle from this Government.
Excluded though he might have been from the centre of New Labour, the two Cabinet posts occupied by the author nevertheless provided him with a seat close enough to the heart of power to accumulate knowledge and insight which he deploys here to often illuminating effect.
As was to be expected of Cook, even when writing to the pressure of a quick deadline designed to maximise his earnings from royalties and serialisation, the book is an elegant read. There is lots of wit of the vinegary variety. He has a forensic eye for the telling detail and the holes in other people's arguments. There is a wry appreciation of the many absurdities of the political life. He describes the court dress of the British diplomatic service as 'a bit of a cross between a head wine waiter and an officer of the Hussars'. He takes an important call from the Prime Minister while parked at a service station on the M40. 'Disconcertingly, I find myself talking to the Prime Minister of Great Britain about the prospects for world peace or war, staring through the windscreen at an overflowing litter bin.'
This is not a memoir, nor a pure diary, but a compromise between the two forms. Daily accounts of his last couple of years in government are bolted onto hindsight commentary about the events described. We jump from a discussion about 'a consumerist model of democracy' to a trip to Cheltenham for the Thomas Pink Gold Cup - of interest only to those as passionate about horses as Cook.
What might not be so expected of him is his frequent generosity to colleagues, even the two Chancellors with whom he is known to have had notoriously difficult relationships. Gordon Brown and Derry Irvine are both painted as highly insecure men, paper-thin-skinned, easily wounded by criticism and as easily flattered by praise, and both victims of the manipulations of Tony Blair.
The politician who comes out of this account looking best is - have you guessed? - Robin Cook. Our hero is a loyal colleague: 'Start the morning with Today where I gave a robust defence of Stephen Byers.' Our hero's brilliance in argument rattles the head of the PM's Policy Unit: 'Andrew looked even more nervous.' Our hero is a master of composition of the Whitehall minute: 'By the time I have finished my eight-point memorandum it is a model of miniaturisation of which any Japanese engineer would be proud.'
When our hero argues before Cabinet against military action to remove Saddam Hussein, 'Somewhat to my surprise this line provokes a round of "hear hearing" from colleagues, which is the nearest I've heard to a mutiny in the Cabinet.'
Some of his erstwhile colleagues say they do not recognise themselves in Cook's account of the march to war. And those cheering on our hero certainly do not include the Prime Minister. Blair is the omnipresent figure, from a prologue which expresses astonishment 'that he remains a normal human being after six years at Number 10' to an epilogue lamenting the Prime Minister's continuing refusal to agree with Cook that the war was a mistake.
Though Blair dominates the account, I wasn't convinced that his former Foreign Secretary ever fully grasped either the character or the motivation of the man he refers to as 'the Master'.
Some observations are familiar, such as Blair being over-dazzled by power and wealth. 'The problem is that Tony has such an exaggerated respect for those who are successful that he is very susceptible to mistaking their arguments of self-interest for the national interest.'
Much of the analysis of how and why Blair decided to join George Bush's invasion of Iraq is acute. You do not have to agree with Cook's view of the war to be impressed with much of his analysis of why Britain joined it. I can well believe that Blair told the Cabinet - this has the ring of authenticity - that 'we must steer close to America. If we don't we will lose our influence to shape what they do.' The frustration of Cook's time in government was his lack of influence over the shape of New Labour.
He tries to protect himself against the charge that this is the account of a bitter ex-Minister by describing Blair as 'the most successful Labour leader in my lifetime', but he cannot entirely mask a disaffection with Blair which long predated the war.
He writes that his resignation speech to the Commons 'had been brewing inside me for two months'. It may have been brought to the boil by the invasion of Iraq. It had been brewing inside him for more than six years.
