As The Spectator Australia is a journal of record, it should be noted here that Andrew Jones, the former Liberal member for Adelaide in the House of Representatives has just died, aged 71. He was no ordinary MP. By some miracle and with DLP preferences, he was dramatically elected in 1966 at the age of 22 for the safe Labor seat of Adelaide, but defeated in a similar cataclysm only three years later. But in those 3 years he made a mark that few first-term MPs have ever equalled. In short, he was a national figure and destined for success and greatness. He had a charmingly simple approach to the problems of the nation, aided by patriotic fervour, boyish good looks and, when necessary, a censorious tone about the decline of public morals and the evils of alcohol, which he called ‘the devil’s urine’. It was that last proclivity that was his undoing, when he made the profound observation that the parliament was full of ‘idlers and boozers’ and that MPs were ‘half drunk, half the time’. The sense of collective outrage that this announcement unleashed, particularly in the press gallery, was like the scene in Casablanca when the police chief closes Humphrey Bogart’s casino on the grounds that gambling is taking place on the premises, just as the croupier hands over his winnings. Young Andrew was forced to make an abject apology to the House for this calumny and his campaign against the demon drink was not helped when it emerged that he was not entirely unacquainted with the role of alcohol in politics himself.

Despite that, he found his true role as the voice of youth and the hope for the future, a public commentator and great sage who, and at the height of his fame, had his own popular TV program onto which he lured unsuspecting government ministers whom he plied with simplistically naive and unanswerable questions. His finest hour was when he asked Paul Hasluck, the grandest of our grandees, whether it was not true that Australia’s social welfare system was better than, say, that of India, a proposition with which Hasluck hesitantly agreed, no doubt suspicious that the question was some sort of trap. But by then Jones was a national figure who could do no wrong, a sort of cross between an ever-optimistic Andy Hardy and Donald Trump in short pants. His opinions were widely sought and for a while it seemed that the whole nation hung on his every word and action. When he announced his engagement to be married, it was as if Australia was to be blessed with another royal wedding. In the corridors of power, he was even mentioned in hushed tones as a future prime minister. But he was no jingoistic bimbo. In fact, he was years ahead of our present prime minister in the innovation stakes. As you know, because we have been told many times, it was only when the Liberal party got rid of the corrosive effect of Tony Abbott that we have had ideas or innovation. They were apparently invented only when Tony Abbott was removed from office and we started to discover technology and the importance of being nimble and agile. You can see the evidence for this amazing achievement in the government propaganda that shamelessly says: ‘Welcome to the ideas boom’. I have always thought this theory was complete nonsense. Indeed, as early as 1967 Andrew Jones was heralding the march of technology, promoting science blocks in schools, advocating scientific advances and he marvelled at bouncing television signals off the moon! There had never been, for idealists like himself, a better time to be alive in vibrant Australia, the future was bright, everything was before us ‘for the asking’ and Australia was truly ‘a country of hope and happiness’. So, Andrew Jones is important to me for two reasons. First, in my pre-selection convention in 1968, one of the local Liberal party bosses had the impertinence to ask whether there was any hope that I might get married. I cast around quickly for the most smart-Aleck thing I could say and replied that if Andrew Jones could get married, anyone could.

The delegates seemed to think they were in the presence of the three Marx Brothers and promptly endorsed me as the Liberal candidate for Diamond Valley. But, secondly, and far more importantly, Jones illustrates the ephemeral nature of politics, which politicians forget at their peril. His story is a warning to politicians who conjure up clichés about progress, technology and being nimble and agile, who have novelty value as the latest performing seal let loose in the aquarium and who have the media on side for supporting fashionable causes. But it’s not enough. You must have something more and something of substance. Tony Abbott had it because the public knew that he stood for reducing public spending, opposing tax increases, holding onto traditional principles and institutions and opposing weird social experiments. Does Mr Turnbull also have the same substance? On the available evidence, I doubt it; ministers disappear so regularly that it looks like carelessness, alleged statements of economic policy become exercises in labyrinthine gobbledegook and there is increasing bemusement as to what the government stands for, other than punishing investors and stealing their superannuation. Moreover, the voters have developed the disturbing tendency of having second thoughts about the Turnbull coup. His great attraction was supposed to be that under his leadership his party would attract the votes that Abbott had lost, but the latest opinion polls suggest the contrary. If that advantage keeps disappearing, what is left? As Andrew Jones’ career shows, a politician who has popularity but cannot deliver on substance is in danger of a short career.