Absolutely staggering

Boyd Tonkin recalls how the staff of the New Statesman were furious with both their editor and the Prime Minister when the libel writ arrived

Almost a decade ago, the Prime Minister of the time spent a lot of effort trying to ruin my employer and so destroy my livelihood. But John Major did it in a way that made no sense at the time: frenzied and oppressive for a period, then timid and passive. Now, thanks to Edwina Currie, we know the secret history of his erratic behaviour.

In early 1993, I was working at the New Statesman when the editor, Steve Platt, dropped a small bombshell on the magazine's staff, on its readers and on 10 Downing Street. An ill-advised cover story, which the editor and one collaborator had concealed from their colleagues, repeated some tired Westminster rumours. This unfounded gossip claimed that the PM had been having an affair with the regular Downing Street caterer, Clare Latimer. Contrary to what you may have read, the NS article reported the rapid spread of this tittle-tattle, rather than attempting to confirm it. But, as every first-term journalism student knows, that's no defence at all under English libel laws.

Within 24 hours, John Major had, along with Ms Latimer, issued writs against the magazine. Not only did he sue: this allegedly "nice" and easy-going politician pursued the case with a ferocity that startled those of us on the receiving end. Then, equally strangely, he walked away, landing the magazine with an against-the-odds tactical victory. Now, we can understand exactly why. The article's appearance at all was a tacky, tasteless blunder. Most of the NS staff privately, but vehemently, deplored it. Platt had no right to drag into this mire of speculation a woman who had never occupied, or sought, a public role. That was quite indefensible.

So, with this stale milk spilt, what should have happened? In my and others' view, the exit strategy seemed clear: a full and fast apology, above all to Ms Latimer, supported by a payment to a charity. Surely there must be a retired caterers' benevolent fund? Behind the scenes, something like that was urged on both sides by a few level-headed Tories, such as the well-meaning Peter Bottomley.

But it proved to be the PM himself who so raised the stakes as to render any compromise impossible. Advised by the top-flight law firm of Biddles, he sued not just the NS but its printers and distributors. For several months, the Prime Minister of the UK not only laboured to punish a single misconceived article; using every blunt instrument in the toolbox of the English law of defamation, he tried to push a dissident magazine into extinction. To me, and my colleagues, Nice John Major acted as a spiteful and repressive bully. At last, we can see that behind his hysteria lay guilt and even panic.

Crucial to his war of attrition were the separate settlements that the NS had to make with all the third parties cited in the PM's action. Those bills pushed the magazine to the brink of insolvency.

Then, unexpectedly, the balance of forces began to shift. In the obdurate Steve Platt, the stubborn, cunning Major met not merely his match but a sort of bearded mirror image. The NS, advised by the experienced law firm Bindmans, failed to roll over as No 10 predicted.

What terrified the Major camp (and rightly so, in retrospect) was the vision of the PM being cross-examined about his marriage by a robust defence brief such as, say, Geoffrey Robertson QC. At the time, his diffidence proved mystifying to his opponents. At one meeting between the solicitors, it was reported that the PM's solicitor said, "Well, you don't have a smoking gun, do you?" This was hardly the attitude of an Establishment lawyer certain of a swift and crushing victory.

Over the past 48 hours, some reports have implied that John Major won his case against the NS in open court. That never happened. Before the trial, the magazine made a token payment into the court of £1,001 for each plaintiff. No confident litigant would ever have accepted that gesture, Yet he, meekly, did. Thus, an unprecedented libel action by a serving PM ended not with a High Court bang but with the weakest legalistic whimpers. Today, the reasons for that climb-down are all too clear.

Clare Latimer, of course, suffered most of all. Wrongly pulled into this farrago by a rash, attention-seeking editor, she became the unwitting victim of the PM's self-protective duplicity.