Revealed: How Theresa May's two aides seized control of the Tory election campaign to calamitous effect

Top aides: Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill
Rick Findler/PA
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Shortly before the general election was called, Sir Lynton Crosby sat down to write a highly confidential memo for Theresa May’s inner circle. It boiled down to a simple piece of advice: “Don’t do it.”

“Lynton pleaded, ‘Do not do this, do not call the election!’” said a senior figure involved in the Tory campaign. “He thought international politics were too unsettled, the risks were too great.”

Crosby, the plain-speaking architect of the 2015 Tory victory, is a hard man to ignore. But the Conservative Party, just two years after he crafted its first overall majority for 23 years, did exactly that.

Theresa May’s decision to go to the country on June 8 was the boldest stroke of her nine-month-old premiership. But it led one of the greatest self-inflicted political disasters of all time.

Now, seven days after the last votes were counted, Tory MPs, ministers and campaign officials have given fresh insights into a dysfunctional operation, in which seasoned experts were overruled by May’s inexperienced close aides. A campaign that set out to be a coronation but ended in ruination.

The drumbeat towards an election had been building all year with May’s opinion poll ratings: 13 points in March, according to Ipsos MORI, and rising.

When she set off on a walking holiday with husband Philip in Snowdonia on April 10 there were no outward signs that she was contemplating an election. In reality, meetings had already taken place. David Davis, the Brexit Secretary, was keen. So was Philip Hammond, the Chancellor, who feared Brexit would cause economic damage that could scupper Tory chances in 2020. On Easter Monday, back in London, May informed the Queen that she was going to the country. A day later she announced her great gamble.

Shock result: Theresa May at her count in Maidenhead as the Tories lost their majority
REUTERS

To far-flung locations around the world, calls went out to the seasoned gunfighters who ran David Cameron’s campaign in 2015 to come back for one more battle. Like the Magnificent Seven, they all had their unique specialities. Jim Messina, the US data expert who helped put Barack Obama in the White House, took the call in Iceland where he was hiking around a volcano. Crosby, the Wizard of Oz who crafts the messages, was on holiday with his wife in Australia. His business partner Mark Textor, the pollster, flew from their HQ in Sydney. Lord Gilbert, a Tory grandee who rose from footsoldier under John Major to director of campaigning for Cameron, returned from a PR job in the City to take the helm. Within days they took up their old chairs around a table in the War Room at Conservative Campaign Headquarters.

But the old guns were no longer in charge. Sharing the table were May’s co-chiefs of staff, Fiona Hill and Nick Timothy, known in Whitehall as “the Chiefs”. Hill and Timothy ruled the roost at No 10 — and now they were in command of the election campaign, despite having negligible experience. A senior campaign official was bemused: “You had two talented policy people who knew nothing about campaigning taking all the decisions.” When decisions had to be made, the pair would sometimes disappear together and, apparently, talk to May before announcing their ruling. “They always said it was what the Prime Minister wanted, but you never really knew,” said an insider. Another said: “They always would use terms like, ‘This is what the Prime Minister wants’ to get their way without challenge. It’s hard to argue when it is put that way.”

The Campaign and polling Gurus: Jim Messina, left, a US data expert, and Sir Lynton Crosby, who masterminded the Tories’ 2015 victory, were said to have had their advice ignored

It was very different to 2015, when Cameron put Crosby in sole charge. As the 2017 campaign ran into problems, the Chiefs proved slow to adapt on at least two critical occasions.

Another campaign official is blunt: “From day one, HQ was a mess. Nobody was in charge. People who had worked in the 2015 and 2010 campaigns were shocked by the difference.”

In the early days, that didn’t seem to matter. May’s leadership score soared higher than either Margaret Thatcher or Tony Blair enjoyed in their best years and the Conservative lead stretched to an extraordinary 23 percentage points. All the talk was of a landslide.

May’s battlebus went cruising through the opposition’s heartlands, visiting seats with Labour majorities of 10,000, such as Stockport. It was a presidential campaign in which voters were asked to endorse Theresa May and her Team, with the word Conservative relegated to the small print.

Out in the regions, some party officials discovered that the euphoria did not entirely match realities on the ground. As in 2015, they were armed with “targeted” lists of voters to canvass in their homes. However, this time something was wrong. “We were knocking on doors that were supposed to contain ‘swing voters’ and finding people who were solid 10/10 Labour or Liberal Democrat supporters,” said one official. “It did not make sense.”

One former MP said he made an emergency appeal to campaign HQ for more resources after studying canvass returns but was told to stop worrying. He lost his seat, along with 24 other backbenchers and eight ministers.

Strikingly, some MPs in marginals were told to campaign in neighbouring Labour-held seats, so confident was the Tory party of the surge. International development minister James Wharton obligingly helped out at a Labour-held seat — and ended up losing his marginal of Stockton South by 888 votes.

Another complaint was the lack of Cabinet ministers going on regional visits. Well-known faces such as Justine Greening, Liz Truss and Andrea Leadsom were hidden away. Hammond was allowed one outing. Boris Johnson was deployed to key marginals but rarely on the national stage.

Hill, it is alleged, was purging the campaign of May’s rivals. “Fi would see the names of Cabinet ministers on the Grid [the planning board of regional outings] and she would take them off,” said a campaign official. “Sometimes we would put Philip Hammond on the Grid just to see what we could get away with, but she always removed him.”

General Election Night 2017 - In pictures

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So hostile were May’s circle towards the Chancellor, insiders say he was more than once referred to as a c***. May did not use such language herself, but she did not want him deployed.

The battle to control the Grid was an area of tension. The old guns at HQ wanted to push the economy — a staple issue of past Tory victories — as a narrative. “But it was impossible when the Chancellor was not trusted to go on TV,” said a senior official.

Crosby deployed Johnson to the South-West, which had voted for Brexit and where he would be most effective. But Hill diverted the Foreign Secretary to Enfield, which was packed with Remainers. “What the f*** is he doing there?” asked Crosby when he found out. The Australian also pushed for the deployment of stars such as Davis and Amber Rudd, the Home Secretary.

There was poor co-ordination. In one instance, two special advisers noticed May and Hammond had been scheduled to visit the same factory a day apart.

This week, Timothy said he and Hill were not to blame for the Cabinet’s invisibility, writing in the Spectator: “Theresa, never comfortable hogging the limelight, expected to make more use of her ministerial team. On the advice of the campaign consultants, and following opinion research that showed Theresa to be far more popular than the party or her colleagues, we eschewed our instincts. We were wrong to do so.”

Others said there were determined attempts to fill the Grid that were vetoed by Hill.

Outside London, this caused deep frustration. “Cabinet visits are important,” explained the regional official. “They show that our local candidate can command the Government’s attention, they rally troops and they get us in the local papers and on the TV news.” However, it appeared to him that “90 per cent of resources” were going into May’s presidential motorcade around unwinnable Labour fiefdoms.

“It seemed to us that people at HQ thought we had won and were just trying to arrange who got the credit,” said the official.

It was hubris on an epic scale — and the gods soon delighted in bringing mayhem down on May’s head.

The 2017 Conservative Manifesto took final shape on the fourth floor of CCHQ. Its bright and airy ambience is reminiscent of a think tank, in contrast with the crowded War Room.

John Godfrey, No 10’s director of policy, had been working on ideas with ministers but, with the campaign under way, Timothy and the Cabinet Office minister, Ben Gummer, took charge.

Strict secrecy was applied. Cabinet ministers were not allowed to see the document in advance. Instead they were invited, by appointment, to be escorted upstairs to see sections that covered their departments.

Shortly before the manifesto launch, Messina’s data modelling projected that the Tories would get a haul of “well over 400 seats” — a landslide.

Nobody took seriously Jeremy Corbyn’s campaign, which borrowed from US presidential runner Bernie Sanders’ technique of staging huge rallies that showcased the Labour leader’s passion for policy and that he was at home in crowds. Preaching to the converted, was how it seemed at CCHQ.

It was time for nemesis. The fatal flaw in the manifesto was a reform of social care that was soon dubbed the dementia tax. At Timothy’s insistence, a proposed cap on the amount that elderly people could be charged for care was removed. The two Cabinet ministers responsible for the policy area were only made aware of the decision a day before the launch, giving no real opportunity to change it. Cabinet members had their first glimpse of the full manifesto on Thursday May 18, the launch day, 20 minutes before the media.

Campaign success: Jeremy Corbyn
AFP/Getty Images

In the Spectator this week, Timothy argued that charging elderly people with assets was fairer than asking “younger, poorer people to pay for their care”. But that is the opposite of how it was first trailed to the media, when it was painted as a “social care revolution that will mean no one has to sell their home before they die”. Once the details were digested, it looked like a direct attack on elderly people and homeowners — the core tribes of Tory voters.

That weekend, the phones burned with Conservative candidates calling in panic about a revolt. Crosby reported that focus groups were entirely hostile towards the policy. On the Sunday, a decision was taken to promise a cap.

It was decided that the Prime Minister would announce it as a “clarification” in a speech in Wrexham the next day. But May, taken aback by the hostility of the media and the charge of “U-turn”, ruined it by throwing her hands up and telling reporters crossly: “Nothing has changed, nothing has changed!”

A staffer at CCHQ recalls the moment: “Everyone just looked at each other. We knew we had made a bad situation worse.”

That was just one of the landmines in a manifesto that were exploding under May. Free school meals for all infants were to be scrapped, winter fuel payments removed from millions of pensioners, the triple lock on pensions axed. The media team was aghast — they had no positive stories to tell.

Messina’s data was brutal over the following days. “Her brand was trashed overnight on social media,” said a campaign official. To some it seemed Timothy assumed victory was in the bag and he was more concerned with “crazy ideology” and taking potshots at Cameron’s policies than winning votes.

“Where was the retail offer to voters to match the fuel freeze of 2015?” asked an MP whose majority was slashed. “Corbyn was promising the Earth to students, benefit claimants and everyone. We offered misery.”

Frozen out: Chancellor Philip Hammond
REUTERS

The charge sheet against May started stacking up rapidly. She was evasive when asked about the cap or how many pensioners would lose fuel allowance to pay for it. Her stump speeches had been drawing sniggers for their repetition of “strong and stable” and she sounded robotic in interviews. Labour attack ads against her ill-timed promise to support foxhunting went viral on Facebook.

May’s handling of the Manchester bombing, on May 22, was a reminder that she could perform flawlessly as a minister. But when campaigning resumed, the Tory leader was a wounded figure. A poll of Londoners found Labour’s support in the capital raised to 1997 levels. National polls disclosed Corbyn was piling on young voters. A survey for the Standard showed women and middle-aged voters, those most affected by the “dementia tax” and school meals proposals, were haemorrhaging from the Tories.

With two weeks of campaigning left, Crosby took charge, battering the message back to the question he felt would most influence voters when their pens were hovering over the ballot paper: who did they most trust to negotiate Brexit, May or Corbyn? He also managed to get ministers such as Rudd, Davis and Johnson more air time. Speech backdrops were changed to read, “Theresa May and the Conservatives”. But the Tories were paying the price for attempting a one-woman show. “The problem with staking everything on one person is that you suffer greater damage if things go wrong,” said a former minister.

In the penultimate week of the campaign, Messina projected just 304 seats. Instead of a landslide win with over 400, the Tories were going to lose their majority.

Corbyn, who looked increasingly confident, attracted more favourable social media traffic during the leaders’ interviews with Jeremy Paxman on Channel 4. He scored again by turning up for the ITV debate that May declined to take part in, undermining her “strong leadership” message. The terrorist attacks in London on June 3 gave Labour a chance to spotlight cuts in police numbers. The effect was devastating to the former Home Secretary’s reputation. From a northern seat an MP texted a senior official: “Police cuts are the only thing coming up on the doorstep.”

The issue also tapped into anger about austerity and public sector pay curbs. “You cannot protect the public on the cheap,” Corbyn jibed. The overall effect was “very damaging”, said a campaign official. “We finished the last week on defence instead of our own message.”

It also exposed the weakness of the hierarchy set up by May. “It took two days to get a decision about what to say about police numbers,” said the official. Corbyn ended his campaign on a high, cheered to rafters at a rally in Islington.

In his Spectator article, Timothy blamed the consultants by claiming their numbers were wrong. He said there was “a late projection, based on data from the ground and Jim Messina’s modelling, [that] suggested we would win 371 seats, giving us a majority of 92.” This has baffled officials familiar with Messina’s work, who say his last projection was the one a week earlier that pointed to 304 seats — 22 short of a majority.

Timothy also revealed that Crosby sent a text on the night predicting they would “do well”. Allies of Crosby, however, say he actually said “should do well”, subject to a lengthy caveat.

At 10pm the staff of CCHQ crowded into the War Room to hear the exit poll, buoyed by wine and sausage rolls, while the senior advisers and the Chiefs gathered in nearby room. There was disbelief at the prediction of a hung Parliament. “Everyone went quiet,” said an official. Fifteen minutes later Crosby came out to try to cheer the team, telling them, “It’s early days — the exit poll last time underestimated us by 20 seats.”

It was useless. By the time the last stragglers went home, the Tory majority had been wiped out and May was scrabbling to do a deal with the DUP. The voting was a close-run 42-40.

May’s allies were quick to point the finger at others. “Now she’s blaming me,” Crosby is said to have told a friend. The long-serving Lord Gilbert was also left to carry the can. “They’ve hung Stephen out to dry,” said a colleague. It had been, said a campaign insider, “a clusterf***”.

Hill and Timothy, who are said to have fallen out, resigned a day after the results. Not to take responsibility for the campaign, but because livid Tory MPs refused to tolerate their return.

Within two days, the decorators had been called in to take down the posters and whitewash the War Room walls, removing all traces of a campaign that nobody wants to be reminded of and which, if Crosby’s memo had been acted on, would never have taken place.

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