As the House of Commons clock ticked toward starting time for the great debate, there were only two empty seats in the jammed, expectant chamber. The first was filled, with four minutes to spare, by Harold Macmillan, who sat down stiffly on the government's front bench, looking as chill and wan as his effigy at Madame Tussaud's.
Two minutes later, a short, plump man in a shabby grey suit bustled expressionlessly down the gangway, sank into the Opposition front bench facing Macmillan, and fingered a cardboard file. As the clock struck, Labor...
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