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A promising dark horse was Oliver Lyttelton, former Minister of Production and President of the Board of Trade, who is regarded as the Cripps of any future Tory government. He ably and dully defended Britain's steel industry which Labor wants to nationalize. He also showed one of the conference's rare flashes of humor. When a girl autograph hunter asked him to record three wishes, he wrote: "A new suit, a new government, and you."
Before the war, Tory conferences had been graced by exotically perfumed ladies, gowned as for a royal drawing room. This year, along the wide concrete promenade outside the conference hall, cheaply dressed men & women ambled with the awkward gait of country people unaccustomed to their Sunday suits. But the Conservatives still lacked the common touch. Even ordinary delegates spoke of "they" rather than "we" when they referred to the workers or the "poorer classes."
The Uncommon Touch. The uncommon touch was most grandly exemplified by Winston Churchill, who on the conference's last day made the kind of stirring speech that only he can make. Winnie arrived at Llandudno's Grand Hotel accompanied by Mrs. Churchill and his chocolate-brown poodle, Rufus. The entire hotel staff was lined up to welcome him. "God bless you, sir," a waitress cried as he passed.
The entire hotel was bent on pleasing Winston Churchill. Tall, white-haired Lord Hacking, former chairman of the Conservative Party, no common man himself, found that out when he rang for the elevator. An immaculate figure in his perfectly cut dinner jacket, he stood by the elevator gate and watched the car go up eight times, carrying only a waitress with heavy trays. Finally, the elevator boy shouted through the gate: "Sorry, sir, but it's Mr. Churchill's dinner."
Lord Hacking walked upstairs.