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White Heat, by Dominic Sandbrook

A brilliant birthday present, this, from my friends Pete and Geraldine, whose infinitely edible ginger ice-cream has just floated back into memory as I write. But enough of my memories of that weekend; you want to read about Dominic Sandbrook's account of the 1960s.

White Heat is a substantial read, at 800 pages, but a good one. Sandbrook isn't very quotable, but sticks sensibly to a consistently decent and unshowy prose that reads quickly and conveys his history well, letting the voices of contemporary witnesses do the verbal showing off. The book is a pretty comprehensive survey of the history of the 1960s in Britain, covering fashion, art, music, film, football, retail innovation, religion and everything, really, that you'd expect in a wide-ranging treatment of this subject. I think though that the title of the book gives the game away: Sandbrook's main interest and principal focus is the politics of the decade, and a short decade at that, because this history begins in late 1963 with a speech at Scarborough by a man expecting soon to be Prime Minister, and his bizarrely immortal words

The New Britain that is going to be forged in the white heat of this revolution will be no place for restrictive practices of for outdated methods on either side of industry.

Well, actually, no - I'm wrong. Checking that quote I realised that that's not what begins the book at all. The very beginning of this history is the funeral of Sir Winston Churchill, presented as the moment, above all others, which symbolises a social change in Britain, a leaving go of war and empire. I'm inclined myself to see that as a turning point, particularly since Sir Winston's death followed closely on my birth, so that post-Churchill history is my history. Yet the fact that I misremembered that beginning is as revealing as the title, because this is really the story of Wilson's Britain, from that Scarborough speech to his surprising, yet surprisingly surprising defeat by Ted Heath in 1970.

Wilson looms large of course, but dominates, as in life, as a constant, slightly shadowy background presence. Sandbrook's presentation of Harold Wilson is familiar but he shows convincingly how his government became bogged down early on by hopeless policy initiatives like creating the DEA and its ludicrous National Plan, and by the early decision to devalue without taking sufficiently severe deflationary measures to ward off pressure on the pound. Sandbrook judges this decision kindly, acquitting Wilson and Callaghan of narrowly political self-interest, accepting I think rightly that it was reasonable for them too see either option as a block on fulfilment of their manifesto pledges on pensions, benefits, health and education; and that the economic benefits of devaluation might have been short-lived given the underlying problem of Britain's lack of productivity and competitiveness. He does judge their policy an error, though, and the defining political error of Wilson's government.

 most economic historians agree that Wilson and Callaghan blundered badly in not adopting a policy of severe tax rises and spending cuts as soon as they took office. Their motives were understandable... Had they immediately deflated the economy, however, they would have won some breathing space to defend the pound and prepare the ground for expansion later in the decade. Instead, they found themselves trapped in a cycle of apparently endless sterling crises... the story of the Wilson administration would be that of a gruelling rearguard action against interminable pressure on the pound.

And when devaluation ultimately came it changed Wilson for ever from the common-touch, competent man of 1963's future to the dishonest 'Yorkshire Walter Mitty' he became. It was with a speech that Wilson had caught the confidence of Britain in 1963, and now, with his broadcast speech announcing devaluation to the public, he dropped it.

Unfortunately, he had badly misjudged his audience, Having for years argued that devaluation would be a severe blow to the average British consumer, Wilson now seemed to be arguing that it was a great national victory. His denial that 'the pound here in Britain, in your pocket or purse or in your bank, has been devalued' sounded like the twisting evasion of a glib, dishonest politician...

Early on in the book I found it hard to concentrate on the non-political chapters that more or less alternate with the political ones. Perhaps that's because I'm such a political geek; or perhaps not. I did wonder at times whether the author as well as the reader were going through the motions as far as science, op art, the early Beatles and the Stones were concerned, though I was paying enough attention to be sorry Sandbrook didn't address the crucial and nasty idea I've heard put forward on telly that The Avengers (which I should say I love as much as anyone) had a 'no blacks' policy on aesthetic grounds; and I disagreed sharply with his view that the argument of C.P Snow's "two cultures" speech was "fatuous". As the book went on, though, I became more interested in Sandbrook's discussions of things like Alf Ramsay, and the two unforgettable World Cups that seemed to define an area, admiring his willingness to breach most Englishmen's taboo,

Of course, the goal never should have been given. After years of replays, constructions and debate, it is clear that the whole of the ball did not cross the goal-line

as well as his discussion of cultural phenomena like Biba, Habitat, the Honest to God debate and so-called free love. As far as social analysis is concerned, Sandbrook's most important theme is the shallow, media driven nature of what was called "swinging London". Yes, Britain became more liberal in the 1960s, but not radically so. He sees the changes as part of a gradual transformation of attitudes, not as a sharp break with the past, and he reminds us that most people, like the poetic persona of Philip Larkin's work, never visited Carnaby Street and felt that the whole thing passed them by. Another vital point, often missed in our recollection of the sixties, is the extent to which the fashions of the late sixties - long, flowing maxi-skirts, velvet, frills and kaftans, an obsession with the Edwardian - were a definite reaction against the hard-edged space-age miniskirted minimalism of the early-to-mid decade.

The politicians remain the stars, though: not just Wilson but Benn, Castle and Jenkins, and especially the hilariously tragic drunken minister, George Brown, who steals the show. Apart from the useful corrective to the "swinging sixties" myth, I don't think White Heat tells us anything new about the 1960s, and if you're not all that interested in politics you may find its emphasis off-putting. As a very readable, academically more than respectable one-volume guide to the whole sixties shooting-match, though, it's not easy to beat. I've not read Sandbrook's earlier book on the fifties, Never Had it So Good, but I'm sure I will. He's writing one on the seventies, too, which will be unmissable. I understand he's considering calling it Seasons of Discontent, but that sounds too wet too me. I recommend he take his title from a third Prime Minister, and call it Who Governs? - a question answered at the end of that turbulent decade, when the unions lost their power to the housewife militant.

I think Adam Mars-Jones in the Guardian was a bit harsh on White Heat's prose, and Byron Rogers in the Spectator a bit harsh all round, and surprised by things I thought everyone knew. Jane Stevenson in the Telegraph was rightly much more positive.