First horse to fall at the Iraq hurdle

IN THE end, Robin Cook's departure proved to be a better bet than one of his horses. A former racing tipster on a Scottish newspaper, he has been regarded as the custodian of the Labour Party's conscience since the New Labour project was in its infancy.

He has been tipped to be the first out of the Cabinet over Iraq for months - and has, in truth, probably been looking for an exit strategy ever since Tony Blair abruptly demoted him from Foreign Secretary two years ago.

It was when Mr Blair won his 1997 landslide that Mr Cook became Foreign Secretary, and he was forced by his conscience to declare that, henceforth, there would be an "ethical dimension" to British foreign policy.

You can imagine him saying it in his pop-eyed, clever little way in a voice with a strange yodel in it. The only son of a Lanarkshire headteacher who'd read most of Dickens' novels by the age of ten and had given his first speech aged 11, Mr Cook is usually described as a clever-clever schoolboy swot.

But his cleverness did not prevent him from becoming the first member of the New Labour Cabinet to be found out. Ostensibly, his difficulties arose because it is impossible to match ethics with the selling of arms. In reality, though, his problems began when he ended his 28-year marriage to his wife, Margaret, at an airport in "a shotgun divorce".

The couple were leaving for a riding holiday when Downing Street Press officer Alastair Campbell telephoned to tell Mr Cook that the News of the World was about to disclose his long-standing affair with his secretary, Gaynor Regan, now his wife.

Mr Cook was urged to make up his mind and he did so by telling his wife that he was leaving her.

When asked what he would do if she committed suicide, he replied: "I should, of course, be sorry."

From such an unseemly episode, all sorts of unsavoury details began to seep. Haematology consultant Margaret's retaliation included a book accusing him of having been a drunk and a depressive in the 1980s. Then we learned that he had had elocution lessons to remove the yodel.

Finally, it emerged that he was such a popular character that at the first Christmas after his separation from Margaret, his own mother prefered to spend the day with his ex-wife rather than him.

Mr Cook - whose real name is Robert, but he uses his school nickname of Robin - also found himself swept up in the glamorous whirl of the Foreign Office, jetting around the world in sumptuous comfort to solve the biggest trouble spots.

He cited his proudest achievements in the job as "breaking the deadlock in the Lockerbie case; defending Kosovo; saving lives and relieving suffering in Sierra Leone; contributing to the fall of Milosevic; transforming Britain's relations with Europe and rebuilding respect for Britain in the world".

So Mr Blair sacked him after the 2001 landslide. Mr Cook became Leader of the Commons, a job he has done with panache and skill. He is the most impressive Parliamentary performer of the Blair years, combining an awesomely clever mind with a forensic intelligence and a disarmingly sharp wit.

His greatest moment was in 1996, when he was given two hours to read the 2,000 pages of the Scott report into the Arms to Iraq scandal.

He dissected it so clinically that he was able to destroy what was left of the Major Government's credibility in the best Despatch Box performance of the decade.

He has used all those Parliamentary skills to reform the Commons and enhance the way it scrutinises a government which doesn't much care for it.

He also took time to reconnect himself with his conscience, which has left him teetering on the brink of resignation over Iraq for months.

Now he has gone, Mark Seddon, editor of the Left-wing Tribune paper, describes him as the "new and undeniably dangerous spokesman for the last legions of old Labour".

But it looks unlikely that Mr Cook will become a leader-in-waiting on the backbenches. He has the forensic skill to provide some very awkward moments for ministers, but he has no powerbase.

In fact, he has more enemies than he has friends (indeed his best friend is said to be John McCririck, the TV racing pundit). His bitter feud with Gordon Brown, for example, dates back to 1979 when the pair were on either side of the Scottish devolution debate.

He also, as he admits, isn't built to be leader. After the death of John Smith in 1994, there was a section of party that thought of him as a possible successor, but he decided not to go head-to-head with Mr Blair.

In an extraordinary moment of realisation for a man who is always said to be pompous and vain, he explained: "I am not good-looking enough."

Instead, Aberdeen-born Mr Cook, who has been an MP since 1974, will have more time to spend with his beloved horses.

He once said: "The two most exciting sights and noises I know are these: first, a large field coming into a steeplechase fence; the other is the clang of the tin ballot boxes as they hit the floor on election night."

18/03/2003