In 1957, when Macmillan became prime minister, many of the post-war illusions were still intact: that we could keep much of our empire and remain apart from Europe, that the United States needed and wanted us, that we could afford, on our own, to be a great power. Attempting first to accommodate and then to change these, he renewed the damaged American relationship and accelerated a comparatively peaceful end to most of the old empire. In the face of domestic opposition, an intransigent de Gaulle, imperial nostalgia and our need for America, he tried to take us into Europe. The prosperity brought by Macmillan’s government may have been inflationary and the result of a too conciliatory industrial policy. But this new comfort and ease was appreciated (and surely deserved) by those who had lived through the grey post-war decade. These were considerable achievements or near achievements.
What proved fatal for Macmillan was the huge cultural change that happened in Britain, unlike in continental Europe, without an obvious revolution or defeat. By 1962 — the year of the Profumo scandal, satire and crumbling deference — the deceptive façade of the Edwardian gentleman, useful in the post-war Tory party, resembled a figure from a costume drama. Only after he had left office did Macmillan seem useful again, stylishly expansive and, in a last irony, more self-confident as Britain declined. Now, in a series of mellifluous television appearances, his final service was to give a diminished country a glimpse of the mythical elegance of a vanished world.
Comments
There are currently no comments for this article.