History of England 1-6

Members of the BMA had already become known as the ‘shock troops’ of the middle class. For the BMA, the proposed reforms were tantamount to an invasion of medicine by the state. The objection was not as disingenuous or self-interested as it appears: teachers would later display similar concerns about national curricula. And how would lawyers react if they were told to become servants of the state? Medical science had become a true science by the early Forties, and doctors were rightly proud of what had been achieved.

Dr Charles Hill, the leader of the opposition to Bevan, had been the ‘Radio Doctor’ during the war, dispensing homely advice to 14 million people in a voice as warm as a freshly baked loaf. Now, speaking on television against the reforms, his voice was grim and dour as he raised the old Tory shibboleth of freedom. ‘We all want better healthcare, better treatment … But in organising them, let’s make sure that your doctor doesn’t become the state’s doctor, your servant, the government’s servant.’ For all that Hill came from Islington, he acquired a slight West Country accent for this occasion, reassuringly bluff and English.

On 13 January 1948, the BMA called a plebiscite of its 35,000 members. ‘Our independence,’ it insisted, ‘will have been sacrificed to a soulless machine.’ An openly vituperative press campaign was launched, with Bevan satirized as ‘fuhrer’ in letters to the nation’s newspapers. The whole project was denounced as a ‘socialist plot’. On 9 February, Bevan presented his bill for an unprecedented fourth time; while in Newcastle, London and Liverpool, the BMA’s efforts bore fruit and the NHS was rejected outright by doctors. In Brighton, the ratio of rejection was 350 to 1.

Amidst all this, a subgroup emerged: the Socialist Medical Association, composed overwhelmingly of students, led what support there was for the NHS, in the face of hostility and ridicule. It was not uncommon for members of this group to be pointed out as ‘communists’ in the middle of a lecture. It was of a piece with the BMA’s language. They were convinced that with assimilation would come regimentation. Doctors would be forced to ‘march up and down’. The word ‘totalitarian’ was ubiquitous.

On 18 February 1948, the results of the BMA’s plebiscite came in. Thirty thousand had voted against, 86 per cent of the membership. Outwardly Bevan contrived to appear at once unbendable and good-humoured, but in private he confessed to a growing desperation. He consoled himself by trying to recall what first provoked his mission. ‘When I hear the cacophony of harsh voices trying to intimidate me, I close my eyes and listen to the silent voices of the poor.’ The man who it was said could make others believe that ‘their dreams were realisable’ was beginning to doubt. The bill had been passed but could not proceed. With victory in sight, the BMA felt it could begin to patronize its foe. Bevan was compared to ‘a very difficult patient’, self-willed but powerless.

Now at last the nation spoke. On 1 March 1948, a Gallup poll showed 87 per cent of the people in favour of the NHS, yet even this endorsement could not end the impasse. The National Health Service had a head but as yet no body, and if doctors chose not to work within his system Bevan had no means of compelling them. And so, unable to persuade the middle men of medicine, Bevan determined to woo its aristocracy. On 10 March he paid a visit to Lord Moran, president of the Royal College of Physicians and former doctor to Churchill. Moran headed the nation’s consultants and they in turn controlled the great charity hospitals: Barts, St Thomas’s, the London Hospital. These mighty institutions had reached financial extremis; in their vulnerability lay Bevan’s advantage.

The two men took an instant liking to one another. Moran, known as ‘Corkscrew Charlie’ for his supposed deviousness, saw in Bevan not the orator in his parliamentary pulpit, but a charming and persuasive man with whom one could reach an accommodation. Everything now rested on Moran, but he faced a challenge from Lord Horder, physician to kings and queens and a man whose views tallied with those of the BMA. On 26 March 1948, the Royal College of Physicians held its election. One by one its members dropped their silver coins into the bucket. Moran won, by only five votes.