He who committed the first spin

IF there's one thing Sir Bernard Ingham is sure of, it is that he was no spin doctor. Any resemblance between him and spin doctors living and undead, and Alastair Campbell, is entirely coincidental. Actually, that's not quite true: there are lots of things Sir Bernard is sure of, but he is more sure of this one than most others.

This comes as some surprise to many observers, to whom Sir Bernard, with his bluff Yorkshire ways and his bushy Yorkshire eyebrows, is the original spin doctor, the Adam who committed the first spin. For 11 years, or, as he rather scarily remembers "11 years, one month and five days", he was Margaret Thatcher's press secretary. His reputation was one of a ruthless master of propaganda, who would not hesitate to undermine Cabinet ministers in the service of his mistress.

Sir Bernard sees it rather differently. In his version, he was the impartial civil servant called on to serve the Government, in the same way his 14 predecessors - another scary fact - as information secretary to the prime minister did. Everything changed on May 2, 1997, when Tony Blair came to office and the Government became obsessed with presentation. The charge that this can be laid at his door is one he has heard many times, and has no hesitation in rejecting.

"Labour has a vested interest in portraying me as the excuse for Campbell but you have got to ask why Campbell has gone and why I lasted 11 years, until she resigned," he says, with more than a note of triumph in his voice, before reeling off a long list of reasons why he was not a precursor to Campbell.

As a civil servant, he had to be impartial; he had to ensure that taxpayers' money was only spent on informing people; he had to give advice he thought was right and not what ministers wanted to hear; he never lied or misled people, although he qualifies this by saying he never knowingly misled; he had to treat all journalists the same, and he had to respect Parliament. Alastair Campbell could probably tick all of those boxes, at least in his own mind, but Sir Bernard insists what Campbell did was quite different.

'It is straightforward cynical manipulation. He can't justify it, except in terms of political advantage. I think he is trying to justify a great deal, but he had made a complete balls of it." Again the triumphal harrumph.

Sir Bernard, in the North-East for a public lecture organised by Newcastle University, is renowned for his blunt language. "Bunkum and balderdash" was a favourite catchphrase, but he sees this as quite different to the public dressings-down handed out to journalists by Campbell. In fact, many of the charges levelled at Campbell were levelled at Sir Bernard in his day. If Sir Bernard did not take the dark arts quite to Campbell's level, there's enough testimony for a good case against him as the first sultan of spin, but Sir Bernard is having none of it. "My track record stands in stark contrast to all of that, because I had regard to the long-term reputation of the Government," he says.

Before going to work at Number Ten, Sir Bernard had been press secretary for Tony Benn and Barbara Castle, Mrs Thatcher's polar opposites. As an impartial civil servant, the politics of his master did not concern him, but his private opinions became closer to Mrs T's the more they worked together.

"As I saw that Mrs Thatcher's policies were working, I warmed to her views," he says. He says he didn't have to agree with someone to work for them, although, "I think it helps if you like them as a person". So did he like Mrs T? Some have speculated that he was a little in love with her. A long pause.

"Like is a very inadequate word for Mrs Thatcher. You either loved her or hated her. I admired her, but I admired Barbara Castle, from a different perspective." Another long pause. "I admired Mrs Thatcher because of her achievements and her guts and her perseverance."

Despite their close partnership, he always called her "Prime Minister", none of this "Tony" nonsense, and he still sees her. The relationship hasn't changed and when they meet they talk politics.

"She is only interested in politics; she has no interests outside politics. She either has something on her mind or she expects me to have, and it is perfectly clear who takes the lead in conversation. It is as though nothing has changed since '79: she works me like stink."

This conjures up a wonderful image of these two old titans putting the world to rights, regardless of whether anyone is listening or not. But while the relationship may be the same, some things have changed.

"The tragedy now is that she has no short-term memory left and she doesn't take in what you say. She is still capable of having a splendid argument, even though she keeps saying the same thing. It is tragic," he says, and there's a note of real sadness in the normally gruff voice.

He says she never interfered with his job, unless she disagreed with him, which is another way of saying she interfered unless she approved of what he was doing. And if he disagreed with her, he would argue with her. Most of all: "I was able to make her laugh."

So, did they agree on everything? "No, I don't think so," he says, although his example is the Dangerous Dogs Act, which was hardly a point of principle. Even the poll tax, which brought about her downfall, was unpopular, not because it was wrong, but because "it was very difficult to explain". He's probably on his own when he says: "I don't regard the poll tax as a disastrous mistake, but it was very difficult to explain."

He's still bitter about Mrs Thatcher's demise, the result of a combination of the poll tax and the economy going wrong, which was entirely Nigel Lawson's fault. But at the root of it is Europe. In fact, Europe is at the root of pretty much everything. From Michael Heseltine resigning, to Lawson losing control of the economy, to Anthony Meyer's stalking horse challenge in 1989, to Geoffrey Howe's "Brutus assassin speech", it's all down to Europe. On Europe, as on so many issues, Sir Bernard is in complete accord with his mistress.

"I attended 31 European summits and I defy anybody to come out of that experience without a certain view of the European Union," he says, once again displaying a knowledge of his record which would put Geoffrey Boycott, that other Yorkshireman obsessed with his batting average, to shame.

The only thing which comes close to Europe in the book of ignominy is the Tory Party. He says it was Tory MPs panicking in 1990 which saw Mrs T brutally despatched as leader. He knew the game was up after the first ballot, even though he was by her side when she marched up to waiting camera crews to pledge: "I fight on, I fight to win".

What the party did to her is a disgrace, just as it's a disgrace what it did to John Major and William Hague, and it's a disgrace what it's doing to Iain Duncan Smith. Anyway, he was not sorry to leave Number Ten: he had had enough of being in the front line, although "there was no time when I thought I had had enough of working for her."

Theirs was a relationship based on mutual respect, and devotion on his part, and it's testament to that devotion that their relationship has endured for 13 powerless years. Could he have worked with Tony Blair? As an impartial civil servant he would have had to, of course. He doesn't know how he would have got on with Tone - although you don't have to be a genius to guess it wouldn't have been pretty - but he can't stop himself saying that if he were still in Downing Street "I flatter myself in saying they would not have got into this bloody mess". He may well be right. Sir Bernard's always right.