Logo Proofed LMW Gallery Board Dedication

AN IRON LADY THE LEGACY PAINTINGS

LORNA MAY WADSWORTH

The story of how

I came to paint Margaret Thatcher

How did I persuade Margaret Thatcher to sit for me? In truth, it all came down to one man: Frank Miles.

Frank isn’t with us any longer. He was in his eighties when I first knew him. We met after he asked to reproduce my portrait of Tony Blair in the ITN 1955 Club Newsletter, which he edited for former ITN journalists. Soon we were meeting for regular lunches at his various clubs. Frank had lost his beloved daughter, Sheila to polio when she was just four. He spoke of her often, and I think in some ways I became a surrogate granddaughter to him.

One afternoon over lunch, he asked what I’d been up to. I told him that the night before I had spotted Margaret Thatcher at the opera. On impulse, I had tried to hand her most important-looking protection officer a note, scribbled on the back of a photo of one of my portraits. With the curly wire trailing into his ear, he stopped me with a raised hand:

“I’m afraid I can’t accept any correspondence. I suggest you address it to the House of Lords ”

“How dare they so slight you!”, Frank exclaimed.

“Well, Frank, he was just doing his job”, I shrugged

But Frank wasn’t having it. “Do you mind if I write to her people? You’re only a young lady asking for— how long do you need, Lorna?—an hour of Baroness Thatcher’s time!”

“Knock yourself out”, I said.

A week later Frank phoned, his deep, distinguished voice full of consternation that his letter had gone unanswered. Unperturbed, he wrote again: I assume my letter of such-and-such a date was lost in the post. I am merely writing on behalf of a young lady

And, then, he called in a favour dating back to 1978— the year before I was born, and the year before

Margaret Thatcher came to power. At that time Frank was Senior ITN Producer and Programme Editor. Thatcher’s press secretary, Gordon Reece—the man who banished her flamboyant hats and encouraged her to lower her voice into the famous contralto—asked why none of her speeches were making News at Ten. Frank explained what the newsroom needed: pauses, phrasing, a rhythm that could make a clean edit. From then on, every one of Thatcher’s speeches was broadcast. I like to think that was the birth of the soundbite.

This time, the reply came back by return of post: Baroness Thatcher would be delighted to sit for Lorna

Not as delighted as Frank. The diaries I kept after the sittings were for him. The six-foot-square canvas now hanging in Conservative Central Office was paid for by him. His only request was that I write Sheila’s name, tiny, on the back of the frame—so that through his gesture, she too would live on in history

Frank was a man of remarkable breadth. He had covered the moon landings, crouched in a broom cupboard in ITN, relaying those first steps to the world through an earpiece. He mentored generations of journalists as Head of the ITN Editorial Trainees’ Scheme—Tom Bradby, Michael Crick, and scores of others—and took immense pride in their achievements.

In 2008, his friends at the ITN 1955 Club commissioned me to paint his portrait. He sat for me in my Bethnal Green flat, having determinedly climbed the three flights of stairs. He died in 2021, aged 98, his fierce intellect and integrity burning bright until the end.

Thank you, Frank. This exhibition is dedicated to you.

I would also like to thank George Robinson for all his support in putting this exhibition together.

With thanks to George Robinson and Silverhand Estate for their generous support.