John Pearson goes out canvassing.
To win votes, the cynics say, be prepared to say anything and talk to anybody. The first I do not subscribe to, the second can prove only too true. It takes all sorts! I was once canvassing streets close to where I live when who should come to the door but a stocky man wearing heavy boots and a flowery summer dress (reminiscent of characters in Monty Python?). Neither of us commented on this. Instead, I calmly delivered my standard ‘patter’ and we chatted briefly about local issues before parting on the best of terms. Vote won?
All human life is out there, all potential supporters. You have to win votes. This does not involve telling people only what they want to hear, but you might select the parts of the Manifesto which may appeal most. In certain streets near home the indigenous inhabitants ask, very directly, ‘If we vote for you will you send home all the ***** ?’ (Bodes well for the Referendum, eh?). I sidestep the question, but still invite them to vote for me – ever the politician! My elder daughter Jenny, when 20 or so, stood as my fellow candidate (getting ten more votes than I). Faced with such trenchant views expressed by these tattooed Geordie housewives she could not answer, or cope, and so actually ran down the street in horror, to get away from it all.
Telling the truth can be nerve-wracking on occasion. Six years ago I stood for Parliament, which inevitably led to ‘hustings’. At one such event, five of us were arrayed in front of Grey’s Monument in central Newcastle. A question came from the crowd: ‘What would your party do about Drugs?’ Four of those present railed against the evils of the Drug Culture: ‘Anyone found guilty of possession should be deported,’ and so on. I dutifully proclaimed the policy in my National Manifesto: ‘We would legalise all drugs…’ WHAT? There was an outcry, above which I was barely heard as I apologetically explained the remainder ‘… thus immediately eliminating the present criminality. Addicts will be treated as patients and given help…’ Thankfully, the questioning moved on.
Happily, such dramatic encounters are few and far between because, most of the time, nobody listens to you at all! This past week has seen standard door-to-door calling, fighting to keep paperwork dry in rain, sleet and even snow (at the end of April). On the streets the perils are more subtle: a dog lurking behind a front door may rush at the letterbox the second you try to push a leaflet through.
My best memory of the campaign trail is of an instance which probably won no votes but, hopefully, gave support to a lonely resident in my ward, Mrs D we shall say. For security purposes, Official Policy dictates that we always canvass in pairs, and NEVER go inside a voter’s house. I have broken both. I often canvass alone, as paired canvassers visit half as many homes in a night, of course, and I am a fairly confident soul. Occasionally a bedridden voter invites me in to talk to them. They look me over through the camera on their answerphone and if reassured by this they unlock the front door. One night Mrs D invited me in to talk to her husband and herself, and we chatted for ten minutes or so. It turned out that her husband had dementia and was all but insensible. Although his wife and I said little of consequence I realised that I might be the only moderately sane company she had had all week. I left feeling I had done a good deed for Mrs D, if not necessarily for the Party. So much for Policy.
My second best? Probably some 30 years ago when, on visiting the local Nurses’ Home, I was enthusiastically invited into a flat in which all three girls had just bathed in preparation for their night on the town. Clothed in little more than their large woolly towels they had me stand nervously before them. ‘Well then, persuade us to vote for you,’ they said. I wonder if I did?
Dr John Pearson is a semi-retired lecturer at the University of Northumbria and the current chair of SOF Network.