Word: heaths
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...issue of "Who Governs Britain" will be shown to be stupid. All that one can say is that the Conservatives would prefer to settle with the miners at the beginning of a five-year period of office than near the end of their present term. Prime Minister Edward Heath has already lost one clash with the miners, two years ago, and in view of his "get tough with the unions" stand, he dared not give in again...
...will also be the first to be waged in the midst of a nationwide coal strike and a three-day work week. Yet the crowds have been polite and the campaigning has proceeded with a minimum of fuss. Both men motored without fanfare to their constituencies (Heath to Sidcup, a London suburb; Wilson to Huyton in Lancashire), speaking, shaking hands, and signing autographs with scarcely any security detail in evidence...
Insidious Energy. Heath has centered his campaign on the miners' refusal to work until they get pay hikes of up to 30%, charging their demands are inflationary. "Inflation," declared Heath, "is the most insidious enemy a nation can face." He depicts the miners -and the Labor Party with which they are most closely allied-as controlled by militant leftists. A typical Tory television spot shows pound notes being flung at a miner's helmet. Then Heath appears, saying he has no quarrel with the unions, only with "extremists" who seek to bring down the elected government...
Extremists or not, the miners give no indication of halting their costly strike, meaning Heath will have to find more money for them if he is returned to office. Last week he ordered his Pay Board to get cracking on a possible settlement beyond the 16% increase the government has offered, whereupon Wilson accused him of asking for a man date to pay the miners after the election what he refused to pay them before. "For the first time in history," Wilson declared, "we have a general leading his troops into battle with the deliberate aim of giving...
...good old days. He can sentimentalize at length about bar-hopping with Hemingway and Thurber, and pay tribute to Tim Costello, the late keeper of a Manhattan literary saloon, this way: "Without himself, who has been in the ground and as one with the heather on the heath these many unstylish years, Tim's was never again as it was when he was there softly singing John Anderson, My Jo or discussing the Dublin of Joyce...