The trouble with Mo

THERE was a time when Mo Mowlam could do no wrong. In a world of on-message politicians, Mo was the one unafraid to speak her mind. She was genuine, honest and direct, endearing her to the public in a way none of her colleagues ever could. She survived a brain tumour, and her tendency to whip her wig off at awkward moments showed how little she cared for her image. When she was dubbed St Mo, it was entirely without irony.

So I can only assume today is an off day, for there's little evidence of her celebrated warmth. When I ring at one minute past the allotted time to find her phone engaged, it's because she's trying to find out where I am, and when I finally get through, my apologies are barely acknowledged. For the rest of the half hour interview, she switches between sounding bored, distracted, irascible and, occasionally, charming.

The reason for the interview is her appearance at the Arc in Stockton on Saturday, the first stop on a speaking tour which will see her talking about her life, both personal and political, before taking questions from the audience. It marks something of a return to the spotlight for Ms Mowlam, now 54, who has featured sporadically in the national consciousness after leaving office in 2000, but lately seems to have gone quiet.

She says much of her time is taken up with working for an international group dealing with conflict, as well as for charity. She divides her charity work between promoting integrated education in Northern Ireland; Macmillan nurses, "to thank them for the help they gave me when I had my brain tumour"; helping former drug addicts who are now clean but need somewhere to stay, and giving the parents of disabled children a holiday.

It sounds as though she is quite busy, but does she never want to take it easy? "I can't", she says. "I like to do something. I like to help people, I like to be active."

On top of all this, she has recently moved away from Redcar, the constituency she represented for 14 years, from 1987 to 2001. It was a wrench, but she's now living in Kent, where she's taken up fishing.

"I didn't want to move, because I love Redcar and I love the people, but we had the house for three years after I left and we were going to use it for weekends, but we just couldn't find the time. It was just uneconomically viable, so we flogged it last month, and the house in London.

"I was so depressed. I had a lot of good friends there, I had a house on the sea..." she tails off, and it's easy to imagine her picturing the waves rolling in to Redcar beach.

So does she miss being in office? "I'm still doing politics, so I don't miss that, but I miss the people and I miss the Parliament, because it is a beautiful building. But I don't miss the job," and she says it so firmly it's clear which job she's talking about.

Her last job in Government was the backwater of Cabinet Office Minister, which gave her little responsibility and even less authority. Before that, she spent two years as Northern Ireland Secretary, and had notable success in bringing the Republicans to the negotiating table, before falling foul of the Unionists.

"I miss Northern Ireland. I didn't want to leave," she says. "But I reached a conclusion that I could do as much in politics outside Government. I didn't like centralisations and I found it difficult so I left," she adds, sounding a little bored.

Her departure from Government seemed at the time a disappointing waste of her talents. She had managed to sell the Good Friday Agreement to a sceptical Northern Ireland, with 71 per cent voting in favour, and her refreshingly touchy-feely style struck a chord with voters everywhere. When she appeared on a Labour Party broadcast, there were a record number of membership applications; when she was described as looking like a Geordie trucker, she became a lorry drivers' pin-up; when Tony Blair mentioned her name during a Labour conference speech, there was a two-minute standing ovation.

But then it all went sour. Whispers in the corridors of power suggested she wasn't up to the job. She was irresponsible, indiscreet, over-emotional. The vilest of the rumours suggested her tumour had left her unstable. Number 10 denied all knowledge, but, as Ms Mowlam said at the time, she didn't brief the Press that she was going mad.

"It gets you down, but that is politics these days, which is depressing," she says of the campaign to undermine her. "It happens in any institution. If you are in a staff room at school, that is bitchy, but it is worse in politics because the Press are at it as well, and that makes it public.

"I don't feel bitter about it. I just feel upset that it happened, but that is life. "

Ms Mowlam herself is said to believe the seeds of her downfall were sowed in that conference ovation: there were some around the Prime Minister who couldn't tolerate anyone more popular than their own man. Ironic in a way, as Ms Mowlam was one of Tony Blair's original cheerleaders, the official campaign manager for his leadership election bid. What does she think of him now?

'My view of Tony is that I think the war was wrong, I think he made some very bad decisions, I think the Government is too centralised and too arrogant.

"But if there was an election in six months time, I would vote for him, because I think he is a better leader and has got more charisma than anybody else in the leadership. I would say he has screwed up royally, but if you put him against who else is in power...", she tails off, before adding, "I think Gordon (Brown) has a charisma bypass and I don't think any of the others are up to the job. But you never know, things change."

Does she think the Prime Minister should step down? "I've just said what I think about that," she snaps.

Looking for safer ground, I ask about her childhood in Coventry, where her alcoholic father made life difficult, to university in Durham and America, to teaching in Newcastle and Barnsley. She runs through her early years on auto pilot.

"I have enjoyed the diversity of what I've done. I think I've been a very lucky person, to teach, to travel. There are places I would like to visit, and if I have got the strength I will go."

This seems an appropriate cue to ask about her health, so, as she mentioned her tumour earlier, how is she?

"I didn't mention it. You brought it up."

But she mentioned it earlier in the interview, I protest.

"I didn't mention it. You brought it up." There's an awkward pause, before she adds, "I'm fine. I get a little bit frustrated when people bring it up eight years on."

It seems a good idea to change the subject, so what does she want to do next?

"I would like to do less, but sometimes money demands that I keep working, so I will keep working," she says. "I would not mind a column," I presume she's meaning a newspaper column, "which is very easy work, and I'm going for a non-executive directorship, so I can get a regular source of income.

"I enjoy doing it. I enjoy the international conferences and I enjoy giving speeches. I'm going to start doing the audience work that Tony Benn does. I start doing that on May 8 at Stockton," she tells me, distractedly.

As a rousing polemicist, Tony Benn has a sizeable following on his speaking tours, but Ms Mowlam's strengths always lay more in her approachability than her speech-making, and it's perhaps this which explains why tickets have been slow to shift for the Arc.

But it's time to bring what has been a testy interview to an end. That's great, I tell her, by way of wrapping up. "Have you got everything you want, dear?", she says, the Mowlam warmth coming through at last. She may be a little dif ficult, but it's hard not to feel it's a shame for Mr Blair that he no longer has Mo to give his Government a human face.

* Mo Mowlam is at the Arc, Stockton, on Saturday. Box office: (01642) 525199.

Published: 06/05/2004