On April 8, 2013 Margaret Thatcher died.
There are so many diverse opinions about the Thatcher years, just look at the newspaper headlines, that it would be a grand disservice to render yet another opinion . . . albeit, mine.
Since I’m not an historian, or a person who lived under the Thatcher years, I prefer to bow out and leave glowing reports along with distasteful remarks, rallies and parties to those who “know.”
Factually, not emotionally, in 1979 Margaret Thatcher was elected as the first female Prime Minister of the United Kingdom under the Conservative Party. Elected with over 40% of the vote, Thatcher governed over anything but a United peoples. Her mandate was to reverse England’s economic decline, and she took on unions and relished combating views and stances on once-taboo subjects.
Emotionally, I sort of have a sympathetic view. A declining economy, IRA terrorism as a way of life, the early days of AIDS, apartheid, and controversial social issues coupled with global issues were the ingredients Thatcher had to bake Battenberg cake.
Under those circumstances, how could anyone bake the perfect cake? After all, she wasn’t one of the great chefs of Europe, she was merely the “grocer’s daughter.” How sad that her foes preferred to embrace that swarmy description as a way of putting Margaret in her place, as though her foes knew where that place was . . . how pompous, how misguided – how shortsighted . . . that place was 10 Downing Street.
I prefer to describe Margaret Thatcher as a mom, a wife, educated, and a lightning rod . . . you know – a woman. Now those were the ingredients that truly made her foes, and movers and shakers quake.
Everything else was just icing on the perfect cake.