Margaret: I'll be P.M.

Fresh as a daisy and bright as a buttercup.

That's how the Leader of the Opposition looked as, wearing a brilliant yellow jacket, she stepped out of her car at the first of her long day's engagements in Birmingham yesterday.

Miraculously, that is how she still looked after hours of standing up speech-making and hand-shaking.

Daisies may wilt, but Margaret Thatcher apparently doesn't.

And whatever more intellectual qualities are rated higher in the requirements for a Prime Minister, the stamina that goes with the ability to stay looking fresh and alert indefinitely is probably just as vital.

“Doesn't she look lovely?” , the mums of Sarehole Road were saying as they stood with their children watching Mrs. Thatcher's arrival and departure from Perry Bros., Hall Green factory.

“She is so composed, she'll make a wonderful Prime Minister,” said one; Mrs. Susan Waites. “And of course, that's what she is going to be.”

Later, at lunch with the West Midlands County Conservative Association, Mrs. Thatcher herself coolly announced that she intended to be Britain's first woman Prime Minister.

That was greeted with enthusiastic applause—not surprisingly. But she met plenty of less predictable support.

Practical

“I say, let Margaret have a go,” said one of the men at the factory.

“It's time we had someone a bit different from the old politicians. Heath Wilson, they're all in the same mould. She would bring a new outlook to Westminster.”

Like a burst of sunshine in her yellow outfit, Mrs. Thatcher plodded through every section of the factory. She missed no-one, and invariably hit upon the right questions to ask.

“She's so practical and down to earth,” said a shy little Welshwoman, who preferred not to give her name. “She would have the proper approach to looking after the country—just as any woman is better at running the home than a man would be.”

She delighted children waiting to waye her off from the factory by posing with them for a battery of cameras.

“I hope this gets on television,” she said, “or they'll be so disappointed.”

Lunch was another round of hand-shaking and chatting, with her big speech of the day at the end of it.

Calm

Those delicate pink and white looks, the soft fair hair, the feminine clothes, the calm, unhurried voice—they were all somehow belied by the battling spirit and strong words of that speech.

The fighting spirt was still with her at a tea meeting at Perry Barr for local members of what she herself called “our main army of workers—the Tory ladies.”

Another speech—simpler, without notes, but perfectly geared to her practical audience. Then another handshaking tour—with nearly 400 members of “the army” to thank and encourage to further efforts.

At one point she seemed in danger of being mobbed. But in the centre of a milling crowd, something like refined and female football fans with hats on, she remained calm, smiling and, amazingly, balancing a cup of tea in one hand.

The strain

“Mrs. Thatcher loves meeting people,” said her agent, looking a little anxious all the same.

“I don't know if she'll manage it,” said the one Doubting Thomasina I talked to. “I think a woman would probably crack under the strain of being Prime Minister.”

Some women might. But I'm very sure Margaret Thatcher wouldn't.

Under that feminine, fragile appearance, there's stamina of steel. Maybe that's why she conquered so much of Birmingham in a day.