Kinnock new opener

The speaker discusses their background, growing up in a poor but supportive community in South Wales. They talk about their parents' struggles with poverty and their own determination to have a secure job and provide for their family. They also discuss the issue of poverty in society and the need for change. They express optimism about the future and the possibility of their political party making a difference. They reflect on their own contributions and failures in politics, as well as the importance of their wife's support throughout their career. You sound like you came from a wonderful home. You weren't poor, but you came from an impoverished background originally. Yes, that's right. My grandparents on both sides, and indeed before them, were extremely poor. And it veered occasionally into destitution, really. For instance, my mother was very bright. She got a scholarship to the local grammar school in Aberdare, in South Wales, and she was thriving. But she had to leave when she was 16, in the middle of the general strike in 1926, because the family was destitute. It was important for her then to try to get work, but also somewhere to live, because she just wanted to remove any form of burden. And so she became a trainee nurse. Her ambition had been to be a doctor, and she certainly had the capability, but she became a lifelong professional nurse, and was brilliant. And indeed the doctors used to say she was a great diagnostician. But that's the reason that she had to leave school at 16. And my father, of course, like all of his brothers except one, left school when he was 13, and within a couple of weeks was an Oslo boy, looking after the pit ponies at the bottom of the mine shaft, in a deep mine in Tredegar, which is called Tetris. Translated, that means House of Sadness. And that was the background. It's one of the reasons, of course, that I'm an only child. My mother lost a couple of other children during pregnancy, but most of them came from families which remained large even after childhood death. And like many in their generation, they worked out that fewer children would mean better chances. And that background of understanding of poverty had a real influence. It never made them miserable. And indeed, the sheer scale of deprivation became a source of humor, some great jokes about not having anything. And that was the background. I never suffered because of it. There were two incomes in my household. My father worked literally until he dropped. And my mother was an absolutely dedicated professional. And they saw that I lacked for nothing. They never could afford a car. I bought the family's first television, secondhand, with earnings from newspaper rounds and odd jobs. But I never, for one second, ever felt poor or deprived. In many ways, the community in which I grew up in industrial South Wales was very rich entirely because of collective action and collective contribution. It meant that we had facilities and opportunities that nobody in my town could have afforded individually. But collectively, we had top-class tennis courts, swimming baths, the Tredegar Workmen's Hall with a magnificent library and a wonderful theatre, and everything from the rugby club and recreation grounds to the Operatic Society. And everything that goes with a rounded and cultural life was made available by collective action and contribution. That, of course, included the Tredegar Workmen's Medical Aid Society, which became the model for the National Health Service. Our Member of Parliament, who was a source of great inspiration to me, was Nervin Bevan, the architect of the National Health Service. And he'd been a committee member of the Medical Aid Society when he was a young man, before he went to Parliament. And so, consequently, I could see those huge benefits, and it meant that I always felt well cared for and lived in a well-appointed community. But, in that community, it was evident that there were seriously poor people, often associated with age and illness. And my mother was a district nurse, and consequently, during school holidays, I would sometimes go on the district with her, when we had something that we had to go to afterwards, a visit to my grandparents, or buying books from the Tredegar Cooperative Society. And so, I'd spend three or four hours going into different houses, and asking my mother afterwards, from, I guess, quite a young age, really, as kids would, well, why haven't they got this? Why haven't they got that? And she would say, because they can't afford it. And since these were basic features of our home, whether it was table lamps, I remember on one occasion, or books, or radio sets, raising questions like that made me aware of, not acutely, but in general terms, almost cosmetically, of the fact that there were, in my community, people who weren't as poor, but were deprived. Did making money yourself ever inform your career choices? No, no. I was immensely fortunate. I mean, I grew up with the awareness that you must never get into debt. My mother, for instance, like a lot of other working class women, would save enough to pay for some goods, say, a refrigerator, or a washing machine, before she'd enter into a higher purchase contract. And my father, he didn't boast about it, or beat his chest over it, but he saw the appalling consequences of people getting into debt, and he was therefore very proud of the fact that they had never been in debt of any description. And I guess that becomes part of your consciousness. So, consequently, I always wanted to get a decent job with good pay. Even when I was in university, if I was running out of money, and that was in the days when, of course, we paid no tuition fees, unlike now, and when we had grants. Mine wasn't the highest grant, because both my parents were working, but my wife, Lennis, I met her when she was in her first week in university. Poor girl. Anyway, her father was a railway signalman, who worked God knows how many hours, but still had very low wages. And he and his wife, Patty, they raised two children, both of whom went to university, and they never were in debt. I used to say my mother-in-law had elastic money, because they just had a comfortable home, and never went without, and their income was tiny, even by 1950s and 60s and 70s standards. So, that idea of getting a decent job with a good salary was part of my purpose. You could call it an ambition, really, but it was never as strident as that. I was always confident that I was going to get a decent job. So, you know, I was always conscious of needing security, but never ambitious to earn vast amounts of money. A steady salary, which enabled us to afford the house comfortably, to pay the bills comfortably, to buy nice furniture, and a few paintings, and any book that we wanted, and that was great. That was wonderful. You've never lost your sense, and I imagine you're very aware of it now, of how much suffering comes with poverty. Yes, and what is really searing is the increase in poverty itself, with millions in our country now enduring poverty. I mean, there are over 3 million children in homes that are officially classified as poor. That is to say, having less than 60% of the median income. When you are talking in millions, that, first of all, impoverishes the whole society, because poverty doesn't come by itself. Poverty of income, poverty of earning, poverty of sufficiency, makes for poverty of expectation, of aspiration. And it means, therefore, that our society, by having so much poverty, is disabling itself overall. And then, secondly, of course, it isn't just the existence, again, in the 21st century, which is astounding and disgusting, of widespread poverty, but it's the way in which, since the 1980s, the gap between the rich and the medium income and the poor, which has been closing since the end of the Second World War, has been opening. So there's now a bigger gap between the top income, 5%, and the middle income, 70 odd percent, and then the bottom quarter or third of our society, which is on very low incomes, and having to meet, of course, expenses which, at the moment, are being inflated by a variety of things. So I think no matter what your income or how, quote, unquote, comfortable you are, and Dennis and I are fortunately comfortable, and I'm very glad about that, and our children are secure, and I'm even more glad about that, you cannot fail to be aware that walking down the street, going into a shop, going into a pub, getting on the tube or the bus, you witness poverty because you know there are people around you who can't afford much above the very, very basics of life. And that makes them poor in pocket, but poor in spirit as well. And that certainly bothers me, maybe even obsesses me. Do you see in this near future in which that is rectified? Yes, you would expect me to say, really, that with the election of a Labour government, they will make a big difference because of specific policies they've got, and because of a sense of rational purpose that they've got, not simply because they sympathise with the very large numbers of poor people that we've got, absolutely and relatively poor people we've got, but also because they realise that is a real disadvantage for our whole society. Fewer people live at the breadline. I mean, it's very straightforward. How hopeful are you that the next party in power will be yours? Oh, I'm pretty optimistic at the moment. Certainly that we can be the largest party in Parliament. I mean, a variety of efforts will be made by the Conservatives and their supporters to narrow the current polling gap, and obviously that will take place. As we get nearer to the election, the gap will narrow. But I think now, because of the breadth of appeal and the basic utility, the realism of the appeal being made by Keir Starmer and his team, I really do think there's a very good chance of people saying things can't go on like this and realising they don't have to. You obviously still have a burning desire to make the world a better place. Where did that come from originally, do you think, that spirit in you? I think it's why we're here, basically. I don't want to become too deeply philosophical, but I think it's in human nature to want to try to ensure that with each succeeding generation, the condition of life, the security of life, the durability of life even, stronger. And, you know, I suppose it's summed up in the very basic statement, we want to leave the world a better place than the one that we found. If you don't have that purpose in life, then you're either desiring or accepting that the world just treads water or gets worse. And, you know, experience teaches you anyway, but, you know, by the time you're 15, let alone by the time you're 81, that if you're not trying to make things better, they will get worse. Some days, my intellect, my head tells me things are pretty bloody bleak. And faced with that, I have to resort to determination to try to make a contribution, which is extremely minor and modest now, to take refuge, if you like, in optimism. Are you proud of the contribution that you have made? I guess so, yes. I suppose I could nominate the way in which, with a great deal of persistence, determination, bloody mindedness, and some really good comrades and friends, we managed to make the Labour Party electable. Even though I failed, and I will always live with that, to get it elected. So I suppose that's a source of pride. I'm very proud of having the kids that we've got. And I'm proud of the advances that we made, because I stimulated them. There are bits of my life that I think have been positive. I can take some satisfaction from that. I could also offer you a long list of criticisms, and shortcomings, of course, very long list. You talk about having failed. You were leader of your party for nine years. And then in 1992, you lost the election by some 1500 votes. 1240. But that's the way in which the first-past-the-post system works. And it's no good me crying bitter tears over that. I wanted to win, because I think we could have made Britain a better country to live in, and made a significant international contribution. But we didn't win. So we've got to live with that. I have two questions, really. How did you cope with that defeat? And also, how did you cope with the endless battering from the media, which must have felt relentless at the time? Well, on the second point, any human being who says they're not affected by that daily assault of criticism is simply not telling the truth. Of course, the barbs did strike. And of course, they hurt. But you couldn't afford for one minute to allow them to divert you from the course that you knew had to be followed. So I just put that down to the inevitable territory of being the leader of a radical party, Democratic Socialist Party, in the United Kingdom, with a press that is largely owned by tax exiles who are very hostile to the kind of changes we wanted to make. How did I cope with the disappointment of losing the 1992 election? First of all, that was, to some extent, blunted by the fact that I'd known for maybe two and a half, three weeks before the defeat, that we were very unlikely to win. I could taste it and smell it, that we were going to come close, but not close enough. So my disappointment was, to some extent, offset by that. And then something I didn't really anticipate, I couldn't anticipate it beforehand. From the day that we lost, I became preoccupied with what was going to happen to the people in my staff, who had literally given me their life. They worked stupid hours, as much as 20 hours a day. I became absolutely obsessed in those awful weeks between losing the election and getting John Smith elected. What were they going to do? As it happens, it worked out for all of them, because they were people of great talent. But largely due to their own efforts, they all lived very satisfactory and productive lives afterwards. But I was desperately worried about what was going to happen to them. And that really diverted my attention from the oppressive realisation that we'd lost again. In addition, I guess people will understand this because of their own experience in their own lives, in the wake of massive disappointment, or even a bereavement. And so, in the middle of all this, I lost the election at the beginning of April. And we moved house on the 30th of June. And so, you know, when I was, even when I was in the office, and talking to estate agents and fixing a mortgage and doing all those things, it was a gigantic distraction. So I suppose that, on reflection, I suppose that helped too. Do you think she did it on purpose to take your mind off it? Or knowing Glennis, I've always suspected that was part of the purpose. But actually, what she wanted to do was, we had a nice house, it wasn't a big house, but it was a nice house. And she just wanted to leave those years behind. Those nights, staying up all night to write speeches on the kitchen table. Really, that's what she just wanted to leave that behind. And I suppose that also is an instinct that will be familiar to people if they think about their own lives. That when there's been a, I was going to say catastrophic, but of course, nobody died, we lost an election. But in the circumstances of those days, people were willing to describe it as a catastrophe. And when you've experienced that, you just want to make a leap, get out of it, move away. In some cases, people actually move abroad. We moved about a mile. And you had a wonderful wife and children. Yeah. You had a lot else in your life other than politics. That was the saving grace. When my parents died in 1971, within eight days of each other, Glennis was a rock. He was extraordinary. And exactly a week after my mother died, our daughter Rachel was born. She was about a fortnight late. And those distractions, that distraction, and the massive comfort that I got from Glennis, and indeed the rest of the family, and my close friends and comrades, that enabled me to deal with the fact that my parents had gone in an idling. And in much the same way, in the wake of the 1992 election defeat, that kind of support from Glennis, from my brother and sister-in-law, from our close friends, and from Steve and Rachel, our children, was invaluable. And then, extraordinarily, on the Saturday after we lost the election, Rachel was accepted in university, which was terrific. That lifted us. And then, a few weeks later, Stephen got a very good degree in Cambridge, and that lifted us again. So, you know, these things occur. I'm not a believer in fate, but there are coincidences that can help you through all kinds of problems. Glennis, is it fair to say, was your first real girlfriend? Yes, really. I'd fallen in love a couple of times, obviously. Unrequited. But then I saw this girl, it was her first week in university. In fact, only her second day. And I'd been in university in Cardiff for a year. And by that time, I was chairman of the Socialist Society, so I'm going up and down the lunchtime queue in what was rather grandly called the Refectory, which was actually a campaign. I can see her now. She had beautiful brown hair, and she was wearing a brown sweater and brown slacks. And, I mean, she took my eye in my first walk up and down the line, and as I came closer, coming back down the line, she said, Are you the man from the Socialist Society? And I was a bit bowled over by being described as the man from the Socialist Society. We got into conversation. And at the end of it, I said, Are you going to the Hop on Saturday? She said, Yeah, we thought she was in digs with three other girls. We thought we'd give it a try. I said, Yep, great. Okay. Well, I might see you there. And of course, I did see her there. And my intention was to ask if I could take her home, which I did. The problem is, I'd been playing rugby that afternoon, had a kick in the head. So after having a couple of pints, I didn't actually drink much. And the kick in the head, on the way walking her home, I passed out. So she took me home. And that was the beginning of our relationship. Obviously, I had a couple of ups and downs in the first year or so. And I had to fight off rivalries by one or two other youngster gentlemen in university, one of whom was the captain of the basketball team. And the other one was the Welsh international centre three quarter. But I managed to beat them off. And we got married in 1967. And she's been at your side the whole way through your career. I mean, it goes without saying that her support was crucial to your success. But how crucial was it? Sure. Well, it was in two ways. First of all, her total reliability, and the fact that she substantially brought the kids up. She was there permanently anchored there with the advice, the support, the sympathy, the laughs, whatever. She provided the sheet anchor. Quite remarkable. I mean, I always did my damnedest to get to netball games, or theatrical production, or football, cricket, rugby games, speed skating, and great shows activities. And they always knew I was always striving to get there, even though I failed, I don't know, three times out of 10. But that doesn't really equate to the kind of care and attention. That kids need, and friends provided it all. She was magnificent. So that was the one way. But the other way was, she was a member of the Labour Party when I met her. She's always been a political soul mate. And we could disagree agreeably. We could challenge each other, make arguments, and always come out of it without any form of animosity. And the extraordinary thing was, of course, that when I was leader of the Labour Party, hostile people, especially in the press, tried to represent some kind of Lady Macbeth. And I thought she was the opposite of that. And I just found it impossible, or maybe not politically convenient, to accept genuine equality in a loving marriage. Anyway, it didn't bother us. It used to enrage me when there was criticism of her. You know, anybody in a real partnership will always feel more offended by attacks on their partner than they will on themselves. But she'd always say, let it pass. Let it just go away. It's not the real world. And that would be the realistic attitude she took. And it prevailed. So I wouldn't have done what I did if she hadn't been my dear friend, my beloved friend, and my dedicated comrade. A loving marriage of nearly 60 years is an amazing achievement. 56 years last week. Congratulations. And I know that Glenys, and it must be difficult for you to talk about, so do say if you don't want to, but I know that she's suffering from Alzheimer's and that you're caring for her. Yeah. Where do you find your strength and comfort in doing that? First of all, when Glenys was 40 years old, just after she was diagnosed back in 2017, we had a family con club with Stephen and Rachel. And we made a decision then with full engagement that we wouldn't make a song and dance about the fact that she'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, but we'd never keep it secret. And any opportunity that arrived for assisting with research or advocacy, we would do it. So that's how we've done things ever since. And even though she's not capable of understanding now, that's how she very definitely said she wanted to be. How do I cope? I cope fine. I mean, I'm enormously fortunate, and this is partly by accident, that Rachel and her husband Stuart and their kids live in the next street. And then Steve is there, he never misses a week if he's physically able to be in London. And Heather, his wife, who has got commitments all around the globe, we never go three weeks without seeing her. And they're 20 minutes away when they're in London. So we are immensely fortunate there. And in the fact that we've got a circle of friends, including Dennis's brother and our sister-in-law, who live in Kingston, that give me huge familial, loving and moral support. Secondly, and vitally, we're in the immensely fortunate position where we can afford to have carers in five, six hours a day. And the two women who do it on different days are absolutely magnificent. Now, I don't know people who manage who can't afford that kind of support. Well, I do know how they manage, and they manage with immense difficulty. But I'm fortunate, if you like, on the spiritual side. And I use that word advisedly by having our children and friends supporting me and being dedicated to Gladys. And on the material side, being able to afford support from absolutely wonderful women. That keeps me alive, really. So I'm lucky. I'm immensely fortunate. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, the words trip off your tongue. And you're in sickness and in health, and you haven't got a clue what it actually involves. And then, you know, 50, 60 years later, it comes along and it says, did you really mean that? And of course you did. Must be nice to be able to give something back to her, too. She gave you a lot. Yep. Well, I said somewhere last year, in a TV interview, I think. She's been my rock for about 60 years, really. Because she was an immense support when I was organizing and fixing and running and getting elected and things in university. And now's the time to give something back. But I'd have to live until I was 200 to start to emulate what she's done. So moving on to religion. Did you have a faith as a young boy? Until I was about 16 or 17, I had a kind of belief, which I realized when I was around about that age, had more to do with a belief in goodness than in any divine being or system of religion. And so I consciously stopped going to chapel. Though I maintained the relationship with our minister, who was a young man with a lovely wife. And they were members of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and very forward looking, outward going youngsters themselves in their early 30s. So I maintained the relationship with them, which is more political than religious, I guess. But I just stopped going to chapel because I simply knew I could not make the leap of faith. And so if you can't have faith, then you won't be religious. And you've never felt it tugging at your sleeve? No, never. In some ways. And the last thing I want to do is to offend anybody of any faith. That's their entitlement. And if it gives them comfort and inspiration, that's fine with me. And I've never been aggressively atheist, but I am an atheist. So where do you get your comfort and inspiration from? Oh, humanity. All the good and courageous and generous and loving things that people do. And do it, most of the time, selflessly. Because they're thinking of how they can help other people or make life better. Or show meaningful affection, rather than soppiness. And work to organize compassion. So it's not just a good feeling and a nice purpose. But useful for the people who need compassion at various times and stages in their life. And, you know, that's my faith. And you are now, I think you were 81 two days ago? Yeah. Yeah, I didn't expect to make it this far. But, you know. Why not? Because of your parents? Yes. And I suppose things like a very pressurized life and lifestyle. But I mean, the kind of pressure I've had isn't the same as getting up five o'clock every morning and undertaking sometimes dangerous, always demanding physical manual labor. Mind you, that keeps some people alive. So you shouldn't think of it as some kind of sentence. But, you know, I've never drunk alcohol to excess. I've smoked, which is not good. But, you know, I look at my grandparents' generation and all they endured. A depression, constant insecurity, two world wars, accident in the colliery, lost fingers and pain at various times. And three of my grandparents lived to their late 70s and early 80s. But my parents died in their early 60s. And I suppose just statistically, I could always imagine that I was just about going to make it three, four years in 10. But it's been a bit better now. You seem very well. You don't seem aged at all. I like you even more. I've got asthma. A bad chest infection in 2020 left me with this damned asthma. It's the first time I've ever had to stay in hospital overnight. You know, when I've had injuries and things. Previously, I've always been out on the same day, but I was a fortnight in hospital. And they looked after me superbly, obviously. Lovely. But it left me with this damn nuisance, asthma. Which isn't disabling in any way, but it's a bit of a downer. But that's about it, actually. Oh, and I've got a pacemaker. No 80-year-old should be without one. Not having anything to be nasty about helps with longevity. Last question, Neil. What matters in this life? Well, in a sense, I'd refer to what I said earlier. Love matters. Laughter matters. My two favourite activities and tendencies and experiences are loving and laughter. But if you need to discover a purpose in life, and I think every human being does, it's trying to make things better. If that sounds a bit pious, I'm sorry about that, but that's how it is. If you think that you can edge progress, enlightenment, understanding, broad minds, decent conditions, if you think you can edge it forward a little bit, that gives you the sense of purpose you need.