Tony Benn

SOMETHING was wrong, humphed Tony Benn, when the right-wing Daily Telegraph called him a national treasure. Ludicrous, in fact. He was no harmless old man in a cardigan, but a member of the awkward squad. “The most dangerous man in Britain”, the Tory press had called him in the 1970s. That was still true. His house was full of butane gas to light his sempiternal pipe, threatening an explosion. Shelves groaned with the speeches (two volumes) and the diaries (eight volumes) in which he made his relentless, unapologetic case for change. His rooms were loud, too, with clocks, advising him whether he was making good use of his time or not: meaning whether he was moving Britain another inch or so in what was manifestly the best direction.