Cakes and ale feast for Maggie's flying circus

Margaret Thatcher's Flying Circus jetted in and out of the North West with more than just a hint of Monty Python.

The bedlam of the Prime Minister's three frantic hours on the region's campaign trail, which spilled over the Manchester Airport concourse, a Bolton bakery and a Stockport brewery, needed only the manic face of a John Cleese to make the analogy perfect.

The sketch—for this trip was always about footage for the TV cameras—in Warburton's bakery saw the PM, husband Denis, daughter Carol and a posse of armed Special Branch bodyguards decked out in white coats and funny hats.

The Iron Lady chose a natty regional headscarf for her turn at packing the soft milk rolls and the family sported white trilbies. The detectives had to make do with mere paper titfers.

All the while, the scores of photographers, film crews and their sound men scrambled over the ovens and bread slicers—and each other—for their pictures.

“If it wasn't for the Press it'd be a lot of fun,” remarked Mr Thatcher, forgetting for a moment that if it wasn't for the Press Warburtons' would have remained at peace.

Mrs Thatcher arrived in Manchester with her entourage early yesterday afternoon in what turned out to be only semisecrecy, and immediately launched herself upon astonished travellers at the airport.

To her first target—a small boy riding in a 10p-a-go miniature plane—she announced: “My name's Margaret Thatcher and I live in a big house called 10 Downing Street. I'm going to live there for a long time.”

The bemused tot hid in the tiny cockpit.

As if on castors, such was her energy, Mrs Thatcher scooted around the airport's market place, buffet and duty-free shops and international lounge.

At the bakery, local Labour organisers in marginal Bolton South East, having had a whiff of the whistle-stop, mounted a hurried demo of about 30 ritual chanters.

But the protest was a mere one-egg affair before the Prime Minister donned her whites.

If it's four o'clock, this must be Stockport.

By late afternoon, the word was out and a crowd of some 200 thronged Hillgate at the gates of Robinson's brewery.

Squads of Labour and SDP supporters in this most marginal of three-way contests, glowered at each other and swapped mutual insults until Mrs Thatcher arrived.

The tour complete, the Prime Minister and her husband clinked glasses of real ale for yet more pictures.

Political debate was scarce.

What about the Alliance revival indicated in the latest polls?

“The only poll worth believing,” Mrs Thatcher sternly replied, “is the poll on voting day.

“All the polls were wrong in 1970. We have to work every day until the polls close. But people must remember that like in 1974, a high Liberal vote could let Labour in.”

She firmly scotched the suggestion that the Government cared, little for the problems of the North West.

“The North West is very important to us. We are taking every possible step to get more genuine jobs and we are very anxious that young people have some prospects for the future,” she said.

“But you only get new, lasting jobs by winning customers with products people want to buy at the right price. The struggle is to get new jobs coming up faster than the rate of redundancies in old industries.”

And did Mrs Thatcher enjoy the exhausting round of campaigning?

“Tremendously. Don't you think it's exciting? By the time you have been with me on three or four more elections you will have that stamina.”