Word: macmillan
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...welcome Heuss, official Britain rolled out its full panoply of protocol, pomp and pageantry. Queen Elizabeth, Prince Philip and Princess Margaret, Harold Macmillan and his Cabinet and Britain's military service chiefs were waiting, with smiles and handshakes, on a red carpet in London's grimy Victoria Station. Artillery in Hyde Park thundered in salute. The scarlet-coated band of the Scots Guards even broke into Deutschland über Alles. Headlined London's tabloid Daily Sketch: O.K., FRITZ, YOU'RE OUT OF THE DOGHOUSE...
Less than a year ago, the attitude of most Tory politicians to their leader, Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, was respectful but restrained: a fine man in the House of Commons, they said, but hardly a man to appeal to the people. He looked too sedately Edwardian; people did not know what to make of him. Then, partly as a result of his U.S. visit and the widespread rebroadcast of a humanizing TV appearance with Ed Murrow, the British public-and Tory leaders too-began to see their chief in a new light...
Last week, after completing a getting-to-know-you tour of Britain's grimy industrial Midlands-the first by a Prime Minister since Churchill's V-fingered tours in World War II-Macmillan confirmed the fact that he is something fresh and original in British politics. As one disgruntled Laborite reporter observed while suffering through a factory workers' ovation for the P.M.: "Why, they're doing everything but touching their forelocks...
...responded to crowds with a wave that seldom took his arm above his shoulder, and they liked him for not trying to be what he was not. Accompanied by his Lady (who is a daughter of the late ninth Duke of Devonshire, and showed herself pleasantly old-shoeish), Macmillan neatly dodged political questions, mumbled his way through a string of "Splendids," "Jolly goods," and "God bless you alls." Instead of putting people off, his very proper U-ness was apparently just the thing to put giggling factory girls and suntanned Shropshire lads at their ease. He showed endless interest...
...with "life in that Vatican City called Downing Street," Macmillan had announced that he was "out to have some fun." In Wolverhampton, while Lady Macmillan unpacked the bags at the hotel, he popped up at a local Butchers' Association ball, announced that he could not "resist a good band." Next day, his pants rolled up, he tramped through the Kidderminster cattle market, chuckled loudly when a runaway pig scampered between his legs (being photographed with pigs was a specialty of a previous Tory Prime Minister. Stanley Baldwin). Later Macmillan dropped in at the Half Moon for a spot...