I was surprised and delighted to find Morten Morland’s wonderful imitation of a photograph of Margaret Thatcher peering through the curtains of Number Ten on The Spectator’s cover. It reminded me of one of my memorable experiences as a photographer with the ‘Iron Lady’.
I was a staff photographer at the Times for about 15 years covering some very memorable events worldwide. In November 1990, I was called into Simon Jenkins’ office, the editor at that time, who wanted to see me for a ‘very important’ assignment. The Times had been given the exclusive news that Margaret Thatcher had been ousted as Prime Minister and would be leaving No.10.
Simon told me he had been granted the exclusive to interview her in Downing Street at midday. Arrangements had been made for me to go in advance to exclusively photograph the Prime Minister. I was told that I would be given at least an hour alone with her, and it was going to be a ‘world-beater’ of a story.
I pitched up at 10 Downing Street, at 10am, and was greeted at the door by none other than Mrs. Thatcher herself. We had met on several occasions in the past, and she had remembered me. Well, that was a good start. ‘Stephen’, she said walking up the large staircase, ‘Follow me. We’ll go up to one of the drawing rooms’.
We arrived in a very spacious, if formal, room at the back of the house. ‘I’ll leave you to set up your lights’, she said ‘and I thought we would do the pictures there’, pointing to a sofa beside the open fireplace. Well, in Thatcher speak that meant ‘You will take the pictures there.’
I had been agonising for hours over how on earth I would illustrate this story. For sure, a picture of her just sitting on a sofa did not tell the story of her imminent departure. But I did as I was told and set up my lights by the sofa. When she returned to the room, she could see I was ready and so sat by the fire. I went through the motions, all the time wondering how on earth I would get a good picture that told the story. I could hardly ask her to stand on the doorstep with a suitcase.
I carried on taking a few boring portraits, all the time wracking my brains. Then a eureka moment hit me! The room was sited at the back of the house, overlooking the gardens. The windows were very large and had seats built into them. Now if only I could get her to sit in a window seat, I had a cunning plan…
‘Have you finished Stephen?’ she asked. ‘Actually, I have an idea’, I said. ‘Why don’t we do some pictures sitting in the garden?’ (I had no intention of doing such pictures…)
‘But it’s drizzling with rain and windy, and I’ve had my hair done especially’, she declared.
She was quite right of course, it was an awful day. However, I was ready for that one.
‘I know’, I said, ‘But why don’t you sit over here in the window, I will go down to the garden and find a nice sheltered spot. Give me a few minutes, and I will give you a wave when I’ve found somewhere’.
‘What a good idea’, she said sitting in the window seat. Gotcha, I thought and made my way down to the garden. I took my time intentionally as I wanted her to peer through the curtains looking for me. I waited out of sight with a long focus lens on my camera. I took a peek out, and sure enough, she was looking for me. I took a couple of very quick pictures without her knowing, and then innocently appeared to give her the sign to come down to the garden.
Of course, I had to take some more pictures – this time sitting on a bench. She had no idea of the subterfuge I had gone to get my picture.
We returned to the warm and dry of the house, I said my farewells and returned to Wapping. Simon Jenkins was about to leave for Downing Street to conduct his interview and I went to his office to tell him of my mischievous but successful session. I explained that she had no idea of what I had done.
As far as she was concerned we had taken pictures in the drawing room and in the garden. I explained to Simon that those pictures didn’t tell the real story and how I wanted a picture of ‘Maggie’s last look out of Number Ten’. He thought it was great, but I wondered what the reaction might be from my ‘victim’ the next day.
The picture was published very large on the front page and syndicated worldwide. The back of the house looked very similar to the front, so everyone assumed she was gazing out over Downing Street.
That morning Simon summoned me to his office. Oh my god, I thought, the proverbial has hit the fan. With more than a degree of trepidation, I went into his office where he was wreathed in smiles. ‘I’ve just taken a personal call from Maggie Thatcher, who wants you to know what a wonderful picture you had taken.’ Well, I was so relieved at hearing that.
He went on to say: ‘She likes it so much, she wants you to arrange for a few large copies to be printed and asked if you would take them personally to her.’
Blimey, I thought, that’s a result. I duly had the darkroom make some 15 x 12-inch prints and set off to deliver my ill-gotten gains.
I was greeted with compliments and thanks, and thought to myself, that if I had been honest and declared my intentions at the outset, there was no way on this earth she would have agreed. All’s well that ends well, and I don’t suppose there are many people who can say that ‘I got one over on Maggie Thatcher.’
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