Dear Ann
I have no idea where to start. What I do know is I will miss the email you send me every Sunday evening protesting about something I have written in this newsletter. You hate it when I swear. You accuse me of being woke. You complain about the typos. I aways read it with a smile. But as of this week, I have one less subscriber.
I cannot imagine the horror you went through at the man who so cruelly deprived us of you, and you of your life. You cannot imagine that your dream of retiring to Dartmoor would end in this way. I know how much you loved your home there. People thought you were lonely, but you weren’t. Like me, you were very content in your own company.
Of course, you didn’t retire at all. You got a new lease of political life when you joined up with Nigel Farage and I know how much he appreciated your unique way of campaigning and barnstorming around the country. You loved your regular media slots. All of your friends in the media are bereft at what has happened. All the young producers you dealt with have been singing your praises, even the lefty ones. My own producer Corey – and I hope he won’t mind me repeating this – still can’t believe he will never speak to you again. “But Iain, she has me in her phone. I burst into tears.” The very same tears that are streaming down my face as I type this. Jeremy Vine came on my show yesterday to pay tribute to you and his affection for you was apparent to everyone. He just about held it together, but only just.
Typing this, is the first time the tears have flowed for me, apart from a brief sob when I heard that you had died. I’ve been all over the media trying to defend your reputation from those who should know better. I did all the media appearances, which will still continue tomorrow, because I thought you’d want me to. I hope I was right. I’ve tried to convey how your whole existence and your views on social issues had to be viewed through the prism of your devout religious beliefs. I hope I succeeded and possibly made some people thing twice about some of the things they were saying. One can but hope. You never complained about the abuse you got, but I suspect it sometimes hurt more than you let on. You knew that you got this abuse because, as Tony Benn would have said, you were a signpost, not a weathervane. You had convictions and had the talent to make your case in a very trenchant way. I wish I had half that talent.
Ann, you made a difference, not just to politics in general, but to the nation as a whole. You had a fanbase which stretched over many generations. People adored you. You never sought adulation, but it nevertheless came your way. The general public understood you in a way that some of your fellow MPs never did. But you were never wiling to make the political compromises you have needed to do to make it to the very top. You understood that only too well.
We had a unique friendship. It wasn’t a conventional one. We didn’t speak every day, week, or sometimes even month. We weren’t round each others’ houses all the time, not least because of distance. I said to someone yesterday that I had made very few real friends, as opposed to “friends” in politics. David Davis, Keith Simpson and Brandon Lewis are three of maybe six or seven friends who I know I could ring up if I was in dire trouble and I know they would drop what they were doing to come to my aid. You were in that category too.
We disagreed on a lot of things, but in 29 years of knowing you we have never fallen out.
Politics is going to miss you. The country is going to miss you, and so will I. Hugely. You were a one-off. They don’t make them like you any longer.
I hope your belief in the afterlife has become a reality. You know I don’t believe in such things, but this is one occasion when I genuinely hope you were right and I am wrong.
I’d love to meet up again on the other side.
Much love and respect
Iain
NOTE: I have been trying to write a long tribute to Ann since Friday, but so far haven’t had time to complete it, but write it I will. Watch this space.