Even the people who make political adverts aren’t sure they work

It is a common prejudice about modern politics that it is all focus groups and spin, all public relations and advertising. The rather heartening conclusion from Sam Delaney’s history of advertising in politics is that this is a calumny on the political trade.

Delaney has spoken to everyone involved in political advertising since the phenomenon began in earnest with Wilson in 1964 and can hardly find a soul who is certain that advertising does anything more than varnish good ideas. Maurice Saatchi, for example, credited Margaret Thatcher’s proposals, rather than his talent for a pithy slogan, for her electoral victories. Chris Powell, a leading figure in Labour’s Shadow Communications Agency, also doubts whether advertising can really change popular opinion.

The case in point, and the most gripping couple of chapters of Delaney’s account, are his accounts of the rival teams in the 1987 general election campaign. Under the inspired autocratic leadership of Peter Mandelson, Labour ran a stunningly brilliant media campaign. Mandelson’s central insight, true then and more so now, was that as party affiliation had declined, so the importance of the leader had increased. Hugh Hudson’s marvellous film, in which Neil Kinnock was lobbed soft questions by a young Alastair Campbell, showed the Labour leader at his oratorical best. His personal rating jumped 16 points after the broadcast.

Meanwhile, the Tory communications team was in disarray. Lord Young and Norman Tebbitt were fighting for control of the message. Tim Bell, who used to describe himself as the ampersand of Saatchi & Saatchi, had fallen out with the brothers, and the prime minister did not trust Michael Dobbs, who was ostensibly in charge. The team ended up in court, suing one another. The Tories won the election with an overall majority of more than 100 seats.