The invisible man

Nicklaus Thomas-Symonds’s study of Clement Attlee is a specimen of that now relatively rare but still far from endangered species, the ‘political’ biography.

Nicklaus Thomas-Symonds’s study of Clement Attlee is a specimen of that now relatively rare but still far from endangered species, the ‘political’ biography. It pays scant attention to anything except Attlee’s political career, and rigorously eschews any prying into whatever dark corners there may have been in his private life. Some may think that no politician’s career can fully be understood unless it is viewed in the context of what was going on in his domestic setting. Usually this is a point of view I would defend. In the case of Attlee, however, it must be admitted that there almost certainly were no dark corners to explore. So little that was even faintly surprising seems to have been going on in the Attlee home that the reader loses nothing by its neglect. ‘An empty taxi arrived at 10 Downing Street and Mr Attlee got out’ — the celebrated insult often ascribed to, but disowned by, Churchill contains a kernel of truth. Attlee as a personality was resolutely, almost triumphantly, negative: no amount of research into his psyche or hunting for seamy episodes will throw much extra light on what is all too well lit already.

This book, says Thomas-Symonds, is ‘principally a study of Attlee’s leadership style’. Attlee’s approach to leadership, the author argues, was

an authentic reflection of his personality, experiences and background. He was a moderate, sensible, well-grounded man with few insecurities; he did not adopt a persona to project an image. He was the antithesis of a charismatic leader.

He was also the least interventionist of prime ministers, his preoccupation being to pick ministers in whom he had confidence and then to leave them to get on with the job.