My Lords, it is with pleasure that I support the amendment tabled by the noble Lord, Lord Elystan-Morgan. There are three reasons why I do so. First, the Welsh Assembly has won its right to a new and better model of government, and its right to be granted, like Scotland, all the powers not reserved to Westminster.
Secondly, with experience, it is now indefensible, within a small kingdom, to have different forms of government —for Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales. Hence my firm belief, which I have advocated for some time, in the need, particularly post the Scottish referendum, to appoint a constitutional convention, with greater authority than the Kilbrandon royal commission because it would have party leaders on it, to give it maximum authority. Royal commissions have fallen out of favour; Kilbrandon itself was inconclusive. The thrust was there for devolving government, but the options were many.
Thirdly, with the symmetry of equality of powers for the three Governments, we could then consider the part that England would play in a federal state. I explored the proposals of the MacKay commission in my National Library Archive lecture last November, and surmised then that there would be a great deal of agonising before any agreement was reached. I trust that my party will take a statesmanlike view and a broader perspective than short-term number-crunching, and will make the good governance of the whole of the United Kingdom paramount.
The arguments against my noble friend’s amendment, which I have learnt from the considerable time that I spend in Spain, my favourite European country, amount to “mañana”—or, to paraphrase St Augustine, “Oh Lord, make me good—but not yet”. However, I am confident that the ever efficient Whitehall machine has already done a great deal of the spadework. Indeed, it had done that as far back as the devolution Bill of 1976, of which I was the architect—and, I suspect, also did it as part of the work on the schedule of powers in the most recent Act, to which my noble friend referred. Those powers were not delineated lightly. So, from my experience of legislating, my noble friend’s proposal of six months seems a perfectly reasonable time within which to bring forward proposals.
At Second Reading, we heard some quite ill informed criticism of the present arrangements. As the architect of Harold Wilson’s Bill, I plead guilty, together with the other members of the Government I was proud to serve. I was warned then that this was a novel and untried proposal, and that reserved powers would be much simpler. Let me enumerate briefly the realpolitik facts—they can be proven historically—about why the decision was taken on granting powers as opposed to reserving powers.
First, we were spoilt for choice by the many proposals of the Kilbrandon commission, which deserve rereading. Secondly, the first draft of the Queen’s Speech in 1974 did not include any devolution proposals. I was warned in the first few days of the new Government to send an amendment to No. 10 to include devolution, and I did so—as it happened, from my sick bed. The reason for the omission was that the Cabinet Office drafters thought that a reforming Labour Government would have other, more general, priorities in the first year of government.
Thirdly, my great fear was that there would be a Bill for Scotland but not for Wales—mañana again. Wales might come at the tail end of a Parliament. My mission was to hang on to the coat tails of Scotland and, if necessary, compromise my ambitions to ensure that there would be contemporary Bills in the early years of the Labour Government.
Fourthly, the Labour Party was split, and many of my colleagues lacked appetite for any kind of devolution.
Fifthly, the Cabinet was split. The Prime Minister was the main protagonist and appointed his two deputies in turn, Ted Short and Michael Foot—such was the importance of the committee—to chair the Cabinet committee dealing with the day-to-day work of drafting the Bill. The difficulties, fears and doubts of all Whitehall departments were paraded in the twice-a-week meetings of that committee.
Eventually, one of the greatest and most intellectual civil servants, Sir Michael Quinlan, a distinguished future Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Defence, was appointed to head the Whitehall machine. I tend to gauge the prospects of success of a particular policy by the quality of the civil servants appointed to run it. I knew with the appointment of Sir Michael—he was Mr Quinlan then—that we would get the proposals over the hurdle of the Cabinet legislative committee.
If anyone wants intellectual analysis of our political difficulties, I invite him to read or reread the admirable diaries of the period written by my noble friend Lord Donoghue, who had a ringside seat at many of the all-day meetings in Chequers and elsewhere. They are historical proof of the difficulties resulting from the different views of the Cabinet. The opposition changed from meeting to meeting: Roy Jenkins, Denis Healey, Elwyn Jones and so on—all big beasts. At one time, my noble friend says, they were quarrelling like monkeys at Chequers. It was only the steadfastness of the Prime Minister that got us through, and I am eternally grateful to him.
The intellectual defence of our proposals, which we now find inadequate, was that we proposed what we thought we might get away with in the party, in the House of Commons and in Wales. That was the realpolitik. In the event, we were proved wrong because of, as Mr Macmillan once said, “Events, dear boy, events”. Now is the opportunity to right the wrong. I, for one, marvel, now that everyone—well, almost everyone—is a devolutionist, how far we have moved in the 55 years of my parliamentary life.