Mr Duncan Smith must get a firm grip in order to make the Tories sensible again

The briefer against Lord Tebbit ought to be flogged round the fleet, and Theresa May does not deserve much credit either

The Tories had a better week than expected (though it could hardly have been worse than expected). They also had a poorer week than they should have done, which is entirely their own fault. The potential gains from a sound performance in some areas were thrown away by crass errors in presentation. Post-Bournemouth, how many voters could identify even one of the Tories' 25 new policies? Yet almost everyone knows about the row with Norman Tebbit.

There is an irony here. Though they may not realise it, some of Iain Duncan Smith's colleagues and advisers are repeating an error made by the old high-Tory Wets, circa 1978. They are underestimating Norman Tebbit. The Wets had more excuses. Back in 1978, Lord Tebbit was merely an interesting backbencher who specialised in terrorising Labour ministers; the six years in a cabinet which transformed British politics were still to come.

But the Wets then, like the twits now, were misled by Michael Foot's question-time sobriquet: "A semi-house-trained polecat''. If you try to take on Norman, you are not dealing with a polecat. The best comparison is with one of those savage American bears which can rip a man apart with a couple of paw strokes.

A lot of those who served in government with Norman Tebbit will attest to his strengths as a destructive debater. A proposal would be sailing through a cabinet sub-committee unopposed until, in the gentlest of voices, Norman would wonder what he would say about it were he on the opposition front bench. Two minutes later, the proposal would be shredded.

The shredding continues. Over the weekend, the Tory front bench had clearly decided to keep quiet about the Tebbit question. Mr Duncan Smith's office was known to be eager to contact Lord Tebbit, in order to apologise and assure him of their continuing regard. His Lordship, however – sense of priorities unimpaired – was not prepared to interrupt his shooting in order to take the phone call. So into the silence jumped Tim Yeo, a shadow minister; a very, very shadowy minister: empty vessels make the most noise.

Yapping Yeo offered the following comment: "You have to say [why?] ... 'Norman, you have had your day'.'' Leaving aside the question of how a creature from the shadows could claim to judge the light of political day, a further obvious retort was duly delivered by Norman. "Tim may wish to consider whether he or I has done more for the party''. The contrast is between Ben Nevis and Constitution Hill. But the problem did not arise with Mr Yeo. It was created on Wednesday, by a senior Central Office official who felt authorised to brief the press on Iain Duncan Smith's behalf. He announced that IDS was going to break with Norman Tebbit, thus ensuring that this non-existent break would overshadow Mr Duncan Smith's speech.

The briefer ought to be flogged round the fleet, and Theresa May does not deserve much credit either. On Thursday morning's Today on Radio 4, she was asked four times whether the party intended to expel Lord Tebbit; four times, she refused to answer, sounding less and less like a party chairman: more and more like a baby rabbit transfixed in the headlights.

It is hard to assess Mrs May, for she seems to be the classic alpha/gamma candidate. At moments, she would appear to be gaining in confidence and to be in a strong position to demand retractions from those who doubted the wisdom of her appointment. She would then ruin it all by making daft mistakes such as "nasty party'' and the failure to quash the Tebbit expulsion at the first time of asking. Mrs May is still no more than the raw material for a party chairman.

The IDS team is still not much more than the raw material for an effective opposition. Progress was made at Bournemouth. By virtually conceding that the Attlee settlement on public services is more of a clapped-out post-war council block than a model for the 21st century, Tony Blair has opened up fertile intellectual territory, which several Tory front-benchers succeeded in occupying. A lot of work has been done over the past year, and more is to follow.

A number of front-benchers are entitled to a mention in dispatches, and none more so than Oliver Letwin. As one would expect from a Cambridge philosophy don, Mr Letwin has a formidable intellect, but unlike most of the other multi-brained Tory front-benchers of recent years – Peter Lilley, Francis Maude, John Redwood, William Waldegrave, David Willetts – Mr Letwin also does ordinary people. He has a delightful personality and always gets the tone of voice exactly right.

Iain Duncan Smith has also been working on his tone of voice, with some success. It is not easy to make a party conference speech, especially for a new, young leader with no experience of government who is making no impression in the polls. Admittedly, William Hague never found it much of a problem, but unlike Mr Duncan Smith, he is a natural orator (much good it did him).

Iain Duncan Smith is more like the earlier Margaret Thatcher. In later years, she was able to play the conference hall like a musical instrument, but that mastery was not acquired easily. The late-night sandwich-making facilities of the conference hotels would be hard-driven, while platoons of speechwriters were tossed and gored. On the final night before a Thatcher speech, the small hours were always big with foreboding and exhaustion.

The IDS speech-drafting sessions are less white-knuckled, but the new leader is still trying to find a language and a persona with which he is at ease. Last week, he made progress. The speech was much better than the previous year's, which was less of a text than a spatchcocked compromise between competing versions. This week, it had been homogenised, and the man delivering it sounded more comfortable.

Next year, he might continue the improvement, but only if his party will let him; for that to happen, he will need to get a firmer grip on the party. Over the next few months, two outcomes are possible. Albeit with many reverses, the Tory party could force its agenda on public services into the national debate. If that did happen, Tory morale would steadily improve and the party could have a good platform for the next election.

But there is an alternative. The Conservative Party could decide to go on fighting itself; to cease to be an effective party in opposition, and to turn into one of those bizarre self-flagellating sects which wandered around Europe in the late 15th century, without winning many elections.

Even a week ago, many commentators were ready to doubt the continuing relevance of the Tory party. Last week, while sensible front-benchers were rebuffing those doubts, other senior figures were trying hard to encourage the doubters. If he is to be effective, Iain Duncan Smith will have to seize control of his party's political machine and ensure than in future, it broadcasts only sensible messages.