Britain's Conservative Party is in disarray. Slumping in the polls and beset by scandal and weak leadership, the only thing they stand strong on is the removal of Saddam Hussein. James Corbett reports from Bournemouth The high point of last week's autumn conference of Britain's Conservative Party was arguably the moment delegates left the seaside town of Bournemouth to go home. These annual soirees are usually characterised by their bickering, controversy, and, over recent years, post-conference prognosis that this once proud political party has hit yet another low. This year was to be no different. Overshadowed from the outset by the news that its former leader and Prime Minister John Major, had partaken in a four-year long affair with a ministerial colleague, the Conservative Party Conference repeatedly failed to make a dint in the watching public's consciousness. Chairperson, Theresa May, called for a break with the party's past and told members that the party should stop "hypocritical finger-wagging" and "demonising minorities". Delegates gave her a rousing reception, but rather than focus on the contents of her speech the following day's newspapers concentrated more on her somewhat questionable taste in shoes -- a pair of leopard skin stilettos which had adorned her feet while speaking. She was further undermined when the same delegates who had applauded her demands for change, were, conversely, even more receptive to calls from her colleagues for a swift return to the neo-liberal polices of the Thatcher years. Yet the Tories' nadir was still to come. On the final day of the four-day conference, its leader, Iain Duncan-Smith -- dubbed mockingly "Duncan-Cough" for his bland, faltering speeches -- warned that nobody should "underestimate the determination of a quiet man". It was hardly the rabble-rousing clarion call that told the British public that the Conservative Party was back. The immense problems the Conservative Party is facing can be encapsulated in the reactions to the performances of Mr Duncan-Smith and Ms May. Traditionally viewed as the party of Government -- they ruled Britain for all but 17 of the 75 years prior to their spectacular election defeat in 1997 -- the Conservative Party has become politically marginalised by the rightward shift of Tony Blair's Labour Party. They currently lack clear ideological direction and veer wildly between calls from members for a more compassionate brand of conservatism and those who favour a less-interventionist form of governance. Caught in between two diametrically opposed wings, they are going nowhere. Indeed, it is difficult to see how the Conservatives will return to power, even within a generation. Their policies are increasingly half- baked and their traditional constituency amongst the British electorate is rapidly diminishing. Its average member is English (they hold no parliamentary seats in Scotland or Wales), white, male, affluent and aged 63. Outside that narrow demographic range their ideas are cutting little ice amongst the public at large, other than serial malcontents -- farmers, fox hunters, lorry drivers; and pensioners -- whose niche causes they have jumped on to claim as their own. British conservatism has become more and more parochial, representing little more than middle class fear. It is difficult to see how this decline is likely to be redressed. Its leader, Iain Duncan-Smith, is famous only for his anonymity and his colleagues are notable merely for a similar lack of talent and charisma. Even those regarded as senior MPs lack recognition among the general public or even sections of their own party. The constant whiff of scandal that dogged the last Conservative government is never far away either. The recent revelations about John Major's extra-marital affair have been matched by more controversy aroused by novelist Jeffrey Archer, another Tory grandee. Mr Archer is currently serving a four-year prison sentence for perjury after lying to a court about his relationship with a prostitute, but even behind bars he still has an uncanny knack of making front page headlines. Archer's latest cause for notoriety was the news that he had broken the terms of his one-day release from prison to attend a champagne reception hosted by, inevitably, a former Conservative minister. Arguably the only way that the present Conservative Party has any hope of gaining power is by partaking in a war cabinet. On Iraq, Mr Duncan-Smith has been even more hawkish than Tony Blair and his defence spokesman, Bernard Jenkin. Duncan-Smith told last week's conference that preemptive strikes "must be at the heart of British defence doctrine" adding that "taking the fight to the enemy before the threats come to us is the fundamental position of modern defence." Indeed, his colleagues in the party at large are far more united on the issue than Mr Blair, whose parliamentary support for an invasion is by no means guaranteed. Yet the chances of Tony Blair calling on the support of the Conservative Party in an alliance to be used against his own political party -- while it would not be unprecedented -- are incredibly unlikely. For Blair it would be political suicide and would surely only be used as a last possible resort. Mr Duncan-Smith, who has just seen his party plunge to level pegging in opinion polls with the Liberal Democrats for the first time in living memory, left Bournemouth a forlorn figure. Failing to strike a chord with the British public, maybe he will now be banking on Saddam to act as a surprise and unlikely saviour. However, the prospects still remain remote.
