Tony Blair and Gordon Brown will no doubt give their own accounts and memories about their time together in Downing Street – and I bet their versions will not match up.

They entered parliament in 1983, the year I got elected into the shadow cabinet. As new MPs, they shared an office and seemed good friends. It was obvious Tony looked up to Gordon. Oh, yes, Gordon was definitely the leader of the two. Tony hung on his every word.

To us old hands, from trade union backgrounds, they were a new sort of Labour politician. I called them, Peter Mandelson and the other new party advisers the “Beautiful People”. We’d had little groups like this in the past, and one lot had joined the Social Democratic party, the SDP. I saw the SDP as traitors. Blair especially seemed like an SDP type – a bright young middle-class lawyer, living in Islington. But he seemed committed to the future of the Labour party.

We already had several smart lawyers rising in the party. The cleverest was John Smith, who became party leader. He was the sort of lawyer I did like. He was able to connect with all parts of the party. Definitely more than Blair and Brown. I cried when he died of a heart attack in 1994.

The heir apparent until John died was Gordon. Everyone agreed on that, as did I. He’d been shadow chancellor and seemed the most talented of the new younger generation, although I’d had a few run-ins with him. I remember once going into a shadow cabinet meeting and bellowing: “Hello, Gordon.” He just sat there at the table, head down, reading figures, ignoring me. At one stage, I actually thought Robin Cook would have made a better shadow chancellor – and so, of course, did Robin. Cooky always believed he could do everyone’s job better than they could.

I think that when John Smith died, Tony accepted that Gordon would be the leader. Tony was still obviously in awe of him. But strange things began to happen. Theories and suggestions began to circulate, just gossip and rumour at first. Then influential people began to take them seriously. Perhaps Tony might have a better chance of winning a general election than Gordon.

Mandelson had been for Gordon, but now he changed sides, spinning away. Alastair Campbell, still a tabloid journalist, was writing that Tony would be the best leader. Philip Gould, who had come in as the party witch-doctor, reading the tea leaves and other nonsense, produced research to show Blair would be the most acceptable leader. Accepted wisdom swung round. Everyone at the top of the party seemed to see Tony now as the better bet. He’d appeal to the middle classes, women, southerners, the Tories, far more than Gordon would.

I don’t know what happened at that famous Granita restaurant meeting in Islington, when they met to discuss the leadership election. But it seems to me, from how things were at the time and what happened afterwards, that Tony finally got Gordon’s agreement not to stand. In return, if Labour got in, he would make Gordon chancellor with control over all spending, perhaps over most domestic matters but I’m not sure about that. Then, in due course, he would hand over the reins to Gordon. Perhaps Tony really meant it as such when it came out of his mouth, that it was a proper deal, but then Tony has a habit of saying things people want to hear. They believe him, because they are charmed by his smiles and nods. That’s why I used to call him Bambi when he first appeared on the political scene.

I don’t actually think Tony was Machiavellian or manoeuvring in all this – whatever Gordon might later have suspected. Tony isn’t wicked. I don’t believe he had always schemed to do Gordon down, keeping in with him all those years, waiting to knife him in the back at the vital moment. I’m sure he wasn’t pretending when he appeared content to be in Gordon’s shadow, looking up to him.

He hadn’t been secretly jealous or two-faced. He was genuine. But now that this election was upon us, Tony, like everyone else, had begun to accept that perhaps he was the better bet. I’m sure he felt guilty about what was happening. God knows what Gordon thought. Really pissed off, I should think. I’m sure he believed Tony had stolen it from him. But he had to accept what the polls were telling us.

Tony, of course, won the leadership election easily, and I became deputy leader. A few months later, I discovered that he had had a secret meeting in a house on the south coast with Gordon, Peter, Alastair and other key figures. I should have been there, as deputy leader and old Labour.

I was bloody furious. Part of me saw it as a personal slight: the college-boys coterie, the Beautiful People excluding the old bruiser, stirring up my chip-on-the-shoul-der sense of inferiority. They had all been nice to me so far, to my face, and I’d had a lot of sleeve-patting and sob stuff, saying how important I was to the cause, but I’d begun to suspect I was being used.

I had already arranged to meet Tony on a train to London. When he plonked himself down, all smiles and charm, I started on him: “Listen, you little shit, I’ve got a question to ask you and you’d better be clear and truthful about the answer. Did you take all that lot down to this secret country meeting and discuss policy?”

He said he hadn’t realised till he got there that I hadn’t been invited. He was very sorry. “I don’t believe you,” I said. “It’s all a load of crap.”

He asked me to come to his house to discuss it privately. I was getting heated and other passengers could hear. But I said no. For the rest of the journey I kept him squirming.

It seemed to me I’d been betrayed. They obviously didn’t want anyone from old Labour in the inner circle. So they’d excluded me. Only a few months earlier they’d been so grateful to me for supporting their new Labour project. But it was clear they saw me more as a performing seal, trotted out then pushed back into my cave and told to shut up.

Soon afterwards Harriet Harman infuriated me and the party when she revealed that she was sending one of her sons to a grammar school. Having a child at the Oratory, where Tony sent his son Euan, was bad enough, but the Blairs could vaguely defend that on religious grounds and by saying it was still a comprehensive. But a selective grammar school? That, to me, was a direct rejection of a central plank of our policies.

I’d had words in private with Tony about Euan. He explained it was a personal decision. I said: “Once you’re in politics, not all personal decisions can be divided from the political.” Both my sons, Johnathan and David, went to comprehensives in Hull. David got attacked by a boy with a knife, but he fought back and it didn’t happen again. Johnathan couldn’t get into his first-choice comprehensive or his second. He ended up in the least popular school eight miles away. Pauline, my wife, asked why I didn’t protest, as other parents had done, but I said I couldn’t. The Tory tabloids would turn it against me: “Pres-cott intervenes to help his son.”

I’ve always believed in the comprehensive principle. I have never forgotten how I suffered from being classed as an 11-plus failure, along with millions of others. Though I’m not saying the comps got it right, I felt what Harriet did was unacceptable. She should have resigned from the shadow cabinet.

The subject came up in prime minister’s questions and John Major, the PM, cruelly taunted Tony. I was sitting near Harriet on our front bench and was still furious with her. They had cutaways of my expression on TV and it was clear what I thought. Mandelson said I’d done it deliberately. I said: “No, I didn’t. I can’t help my face, can I?”

Tony was furious that I hadn’t supported him. I told him: “I’m not going to support that woman on her selfish decision to send her child to a grammar school. But when it does come to the crunch on something that does matter to us, the Labour party and the government, I’ll go to the stake for you. I know that one day, I don’t know when or what for, I’ll take a knife in the back to support and protect you and the party, but this is not the day, not for her.”

AFTER our 1997 election victory, the tensions between Tony and Gordon quickly became apparent. Understandably, each remembered those bits of Granita that suited him best. For Tony, the basis was Gordon’s loyalty to him as leader. To Gordon, it was control of economic and much domestic policy and, crucially, that Tony would go at some point to allow him to take over.

Tony’s close friends say that a date was never talked about. That is probably true but Gordon clearly believed Tony had made a commitment to go in the middle of the second term. That was the cause of much of the friction. I was often cast in the role of conciliator. On a personal level, I liked, respected and admired them both.

Their overwhelming joint desire was to win a second election with a viable majority. But they argued about the basis of the 2001 campaign. Gordon wanted to fight on Labour’s economic record; Tony wanted a much stronger emphasis on public-service reform.

It was this commitment to public-service reform that saw most of the bitter arguments in the second term. Tony wanted to move fast on foundation hospitals and academies, bringing in private investment with less control from the Treasury, but Gordon was more cautious.

A lot else changed after our 2001 victory. It would be a mistake to underestimate the effect of 9/11 on the psychology of the government or Tony Blair. Tony felt strongly that he had a responsibility to lead Britain in the war on terror. He loved the role he was required to play on the world stage, which must have made him reluctant to give up.

There was also the human factor. He felt that, at a relatively young age, he still had much to contribute. In particular, he began to believe he could win a historic third term.

As time went on, Gordon realised that Tony wasn’t going to go any time soon and became less willing to go along with him on issues where he disagreed. More and more of my time was taken up acting as conciliator. When I consult my notes from that period, I see there must have been hundreds of phone calls, meetings, presummits, summits and dinners on various Blair-Brown issues.

We met in Downing Street, at Chequers, my Admiralty House apartment, Dorneywood (my official country home), Edinburgh, Sedge-field, Scotch Corner, even a restaurant beside a Scottish loch and once in Hull. They would row; they would seek my support. I would try to get them to see the other’s point of view and eventually arrange a dinner. Peace would be restored; then something else would flare up.

The tensions were real but they stemmed from a deep and personal connection they had, with shared analysis and political insights. I remember being at a meeting with them and Peter Mandelson. What struck me was how those three behaved like robots in a science-fic-tion movie in which they needed to download from each other. Tony found Gordon frustrating, annoying, bewildering and prickly, but also brilliant, innovative and highly effective as chancellor. Gordon brooded about Tony’s breezy style, his refusal to consult him on reshuffles and his sometimes cavalier approach to policy. But he respected his abilities as prime minister.

Deep down, Gordon is a Labour man, much more so than Tony, whose ideology was based on faith. Tony’s beliefs had convinced him that he knew what he wanted to do and that what he wanted was right. Nothing to do with Labour policy or even focus groups. He knew what was right, with faith as his guide. He didn’t go on about God in meetings, but his religion was vital to him.

I had so many discussions with Gordon in which the same subject came up: when exactly is Tony going? Which, of course, he was saying to Tony too. Probably just as bluntly. And getting nowhere. As we got nearer the possible time for an official announcement, things always seemed to come up to make Tony delay: it was vital to win the next election, then he would announce it. Gordon would complain, refuse to cooperate. Tony would give Gordon charge of our election strategy, on the understanding that he would keep supporting him till after the election. Then, after it, he’d promise to go. Only he didn’t.

As well as giving Gordon power and position to ensure his support, Tony’s other technique was to persuade him to back him on certain matters about which Gordon might have his own opinions – Europe, academies, foundation hospitals and future manifestos – and in return Tony would come out with the same old promise. He was definitely going in, er, six months, perhaps a year, certainly before the next election. When it never happened, Gordon was furious – and the whole cycle began again.

Each of them tried to get me on his side, complaining about the other. Tony would say that Gordon wasn’t cooperating with him at all. Gordon would say he’d been cheated again. On one occasion Gordon wouldn’t let Tony see his preparatory budget proposals. He even banned the Treasury from telling him. That was totally against tradition: the PM is always told in advance. I felt sympathy for Tony on that occasion. But I also felt for Gordon every time Tony went back on his promise, or half-promise.

Once, when he was even more furious than usual with Tony, I said: “If this is how you feel, that you’ve been misled once again, resign.” I think he thought about it, but it never came to that. He was aware of the possible consequences – and the damage to his own chances.

With Tony, when he was moaning on about Gordon’s behaviour, I’d say: “Sack him. Find a new chancellor, if that’s how you really feel.” But neither could take the final step. They were caught in their own trap: they were in this together. They had created new Labour. They had made Labour electable and successful. It had been a joint venture.

I also think Tony was scared of Gordon. He didn’t want to take him on. Gordon is a very tough negotiator, doesn’t let things drop, keeps at something till he forces you into his point of view. That’s not Tony’s style.

Gordon is a difficult character, but I have no doubt that Tony was most to blame. He broke his agreement with Gordon, not once but several times. However, in Tony’s defence, most of his promises were ambiguous and on condition anyway.

Tony used to threaten that if the rows were made public, everyone would see that it was Gordon holding back reform. This annoyed Gordon: he thought he was all for reform – but on his own terms.

I kept secret what I knew. But I warned them: “If it all ends in tears, and the party is affected, I will not keep quiet.” I would make it clear who I felt was most at fault: that Tony had betrayed Gordon. I often told Tony privately that I believed he had broken his word. His defence was that Gordon had broken his promises on cooperation.

When things got really bad, and they weren’t talking to each other, I would try to arrange a private meeting, just for the three of us. It always took some arranging, as it was usually after a big row and they were still furious. I’d have to persuade them that the sensible thing to do was meet on neutral territory, unseen. Once there, I tried to calm them down. It was like trying to get a marriage back on track. I feared if I didn’t, it might end in divorce.

The first time I managed to get them together was at Dorneywood, in February 2002. They’d been arguing about academies and foundation hospitals and not speaking. Each asked independently if I could fix it, as neither wanted to be seen to make the first move. Gordon was there first, simmering. As soon as Tony walked in, Gordon shouted at him. Tony shouted back and so it went on. The usual accusations – what the other had said or not said – like husbands and wives rowing. Tony turned to me and said: “John, now you see what the problem is. I get assaulted by him all the time.”

In late 2003 they both arrived at Admiralty House for another secret peace and reconciliation meeting. As I was getting them seated, Gordon said his chair was too low and uncomfortable. I asked Tony: “Do you want another chair as well?”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m used to Gordon looking down on me.”

At that meeting Tony promised to go by the next election. That’s how I took it and Gordon took it. But Tony maintained later that he hadn’t said it. As far as I’m concerned, he did. Tony reneged on his promise.

Throughout all this, the original relationship between them of teacher and pupil was still there. Even though Tony had been PM for so many years, Gordon considered himself basically the senior person, the cleverer one. And Tony went along with that. He bowed to Gordon’s superior strategic powers, but he knew he himself was better on presentation and more fitted to being PM than Gordon. Gordon’s behaviour had shown him that. Tony had the feel of the electorate. Gordon was the organiser.

Tony always accepted that Gordon would be our next leader. But at the same time he wanted someone to stand up to him, keep him in his place, make it easier for Tony to be PM. Tony became surrounded by people who tried to talk up possible heirs apparent other than Gordon, just to annoy Gordon. Tony would give these “heirs apparent” more powers – especially Alan Milburn. I don’t think he ever really saw Milburn, or anyone else, in that role. But it got Gordon worried.

Gordon was relentless. He kept up the pressure, battering Tony all the time. It did get very exhausting. He would go on till I could hardly take any more. Tony would at least listen to your arguments and opinions. IN April 2004, Tony told me he’d had enough: he’d be gone by that June. He was exhausted by politics and by the wear and tear on his family, who had taken a bit of a battering. That incident when Euan was found a little worse for wear in the street affected him more than people realised. He managed to smile it off in the end, but when he first heard the news he was devastated. I thought he appeared near to tears.

To cheer him up I bought him a silly fish thing called Harry Haddock: when you pressed a button, it lit up and said: “Don’t worry, be happy.” He hung it behind his desk. Leo, his youngest child, loved it. He would toddle in when Tony was working, just to press it and see it light up.

A number of Tony’s supporters, advisers and cabinet members convinced him to fight the next election after all. Tony told us he was going to announce that he would serve a third but not a fourth term.

Gordon happened not to be there that day, having left for a Washing-ton meeting, so he didn’t know. We all assumed Tony would tell him himself – but he didn’t. He just shrugged and said Gordon would find out, which was very petty. I rang Gordon after he’d landed, and he was furious. Said it was typical, doing things behind his back.

From then on, it became less of a personality clash between them and more a matter of legacy versus inheritance. Tony’s legacy obsessed him: he wanted to get done the things he really believed in. He wanted them in place, so they couldn’t be altered. This obviously took time, so he couldn’t be hurried into naming the final date. Meanwhile Gordon became obsessed by his inheritance. Would he get lumbered with things he didn’t approve of? Naturally he became obstructive. He didn’t want to spend too much now, as less money would be available to him when he was prime minister.

After we won the 2005 general election, I continued to coax Gordon into cooperating and to reassure him that Tony would name a date for his departure: “Don’t worry, he’ll do it.” But then Tony would find a reason not to. So the next time I would say to Gordon: “Do it this time and if Tony breaks it again I will announce it publicly that he broke the agreement.” Gordon would then come on board again. And so it would go on.

Tony told me he was prepared to announce his leaving date to the party national executive on the eve of the 2006 conference. But about a month before it we had the “corporals’ revolt”, a whispering campaign by some Labour backbenchers, ministers and PPSs, calling for Tony to go. Some Blairites in the press speculated that Gordon was behind this. I’ve seen no evidence for that, but I’m sure his supporters were.

Tony managed to ignore it for a bit, but he realised he had to name the date before he’d planned to. Was he forced? In one sense, no. However, it is true to say that he was forced to bring forward a statement that he was already intending to make.

He and I finally left office last June. He could have carried on, acting in the same old way, making promises and breaking them. In an ideal world, I suspect he would have preferred to remain in place for another year, till he had established his legacy. And I think Cherie would not have objected.

She did enjoy being the first lady. But, more importantly, I think she disliked Gordon, so she probably felt the longer he suffered, the better – and Tony’s staying on might lessen his chances of a smooth takeover.

© John Prescott 2008

Extracted from Prezza, My Story: Pulling No Punches by John Prescott, published by Headline on May 29 at £18.99. Copies can be ordered for £17.09, including postage, from The Sunday Times BooksFirst on 0870 165 8585 Buy the book

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