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John Hutton called me ‘Comrade Digby’ and said he had heard me singing The Red Flag at the bar. That’s a bit like saying that I’m thin and from the south of England.
The famously free-spirited Lord Jones will work with any party that helps him champion British industry around the world, but is not likely to be found tethered to a Whitehall desk any time soon
My Mum and a Dad gave me love, enthusiasm, but not money – I’ve done it on my own. I was born in Alvechurch, about two miles from the Longbridge motor company. We all called it the Austin.
My parents owned a shop, selling everything to the men and women who worked at the Austin, and when manufacturing did well the shop did well, and when they were on strike or there was a recession, it didn’t. Working in the shop, which I did from about age eight, taught me a lot.
When I was 10, my dad explained that a new and interesting phenomenon called Tesco had just hit town and he was getting out while the going was good. He sold the shop, we moved to Bromsgrove, and Dad became a student.
We lived on a grant and my mum became an auxiliary nurse. For a time we had no Christmas or birthday presents, and no holidays. It was pretty tough, but we all believed we were investing in the future. Dad later got a job as an assistant probation officer, and soon rose through the ranks.
I got a scholarship to a school in Bromsgrove, where I was head boy, and then I got a place at UCL to read law. Again there was no money, so I got a university cadetship into the Royal Navy, and in the vacations I went into the services. After the way I behaved in London, I did a bit better than I thought I’d do – I got a very high 2:1.
I got a place at a corporate law firm in Birmingham, so I repaid the Navy. It’s no different from modern student loans. When I hear people saying that “we shouldn’t saddle all these young people with debt”, I just think that I managed to pay the Navy back.
Over 20 years I rose from articled clerk to senior partner. When did I ever run a business? People always say that. Well, I led a business that employed nearly 1,000 people and operated out of three continents. But by 1998 I was bored. I wanted to take the firm into a bigger environment, and I had a lot of partners who were good enough to do that, and a lot of partners who were terrified of doing that. The second group won through. Does that mean that it was the wrong thing to try? No. Was I young enough to learn from it? Definitely. Did I find it frustrating? You bet.
I became vice-chairman of corporate finance at KPMG, also working as the regional chairman of the Confederation of British Industry (CBI).
I gave a speech at the annual CBI dinner in 1999, setting out my vision of something called socially inclusive wealth-creation. A few days later a headhunter called and asked to talk about the new director general of the CBI. I thought he was asking me for a reference on somebody else. He knew I wasn’t clever, grey-suited, or from London, but he said he wanted someone to make a difference.
You walk a fine line as a lobbyist: you need access, but you can’t be in anybody’s pocket. On the other hand, you can’t constantly offend, because otherwise people won’t talk to you. An advisor of Tony Blair’s once told me that they had to stay in touch with me because they never knew what I would say next. That’s where a lobbyist should be.
It was a very happy and successful time, but after five years it was time to go. I had a year working in the private sector with various consultancies, and then Gordon Brown asked if I would come into the government and become minister of state for trade and investment. It was staggering; I had no idea it was coming. I told him that I would do it for 18 months only and that I didn’t want anyone to think I was doing it for political advantage. I would do this for my country, I explained, and at the right time, before the election, I would leave.
I wouldn’t join the party either – if you’re going to win the confidence of the business constituency, then you must remain above the factionalism of party politics.
The prime minister was fine with that, but he told me that the party wouldn’t be. I told him that they would get over it, but they didn’t. However, Gordon Brown fully supported me and the vision of having a politically unaligned minister in an externally focused job.
John Hutton called me ‘Comrade Digby’ and said he had heard me singing The Red Flag at the bar. That’s a bit like saying that I’m thin and from the south of England.
My job was to go around the world, drive forward the British presence, and stimulate overseas trade. I did 45 overseas visits, travelling to 31 different countries. No-one has ever done that. I loved it and I gave my life to it, and I throw down this challenge to David Cameron: appoint a few specialists into various aspects of governmental life who might not be your political bedfellows but who care for your country, who care for the delivery of policy, and who are good enough to make a difference. They won’t embarrass you or vote against you, but you should accept their belief that belonging to your party is second to doing a job for your country.
I have been offered jobs with parties before, but I would never join them. I would have put my name forward to stand as mayor of London in 2007 as long as I didn’t have to belong to any party. The Conservatives told me that I couldn’t stand for them unless I joined the party, so I said no. It would be the same if anyone else asked me to do another job in government. I’m happily non-aligned.
I found the Westminster Village staggeringly frustrating. The civil service didn’t accommodate a Digby at all. “Why aren’t you going to turn up to vote?” they asked me, but that wasn’t my job. My job was to sell my country overseas. The government wasn’t going to fall if I didn’t walk through a lobby on a Wednesday night when I’ve not even listened to the debate.
That’s not a system of government to which I subscribe, but people who had been in for a long time, and would love a ministerial job, thought that I was this Johnny-come-lately.
I didn’t become a minister for 18 months so that I could swan around, make a few bob, and enjoy being a Lord, and I think giving me a peerage for 18 months would have been wrong. As long as I deliver on the payback and do my bit for my country, then I don’t see anything wrong, however, with giving it to me for life.
If you are going to promote Britain around the world, then you need a title that can give you purchase in an overseas market. It’s no good just saying: “Hello, I’m Digby,” and it helps that I am Lord Digby Jones.
You don’t need to be a government minister: there are loads of so-called ministerial jobs where you need the influence of the position but don’t necessarily need to be a government minister.
I think I probably have one more big job in me, though I’m not sure what. Would I stand to be Mayor of London? In a way I have disqualified myself – for many jobs – because I won’t do party politics, but if this changing face of constitutional Britain has its way, then maybe there will be a greater room for independence.
I’m not a wealthy man and I have no desire to be. My next job, whatever it is, must satisfy me and be good for my country.
For the next couple of years I would like to build up my portfolio of consultancies and advisory positions, and carry on doing a lot of media work.
Pat has been by my side for 27 years, and she is an absolute rock. She wants to see a bit more of me and I’m quite happy with that. I’m very good at relaxing. I cherish my friends and I enjoy a good meal with a bottle of wine. We live deep in the Warwickshire countryside, so I do lots of walking too.
The greatest sin is to go to bed at night and think that you haven’t tried to fulfil your potential. If my enthusiasm for life can get some kid to know that they can do it if only they go for it, then I probably can’t ask more than that.
This interview first appeared in the House Magazine.
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