All Out War: The Full Story of How Brexit Sank Britain’s Political Class

From that point onwards, David Cameron’s renegotiation hung primarily on the success of a deal on migrant benefits, which was a pale imitation of the one he really wanted. But without the support of Merkel, May or Hammond he did not feel able to proceed. One close aide thinks this was a ‘fundamental misjudgement’: ‘We genuinely thought at the time of that immigration speech we could get some significant movement on immigration. It evolved into controls on benefits because those are more achievable.’ One of the civil servants saw the episode as all too typical of Team Cameron’s general approach to Europe: ‘That was the moment he gave up on controlling numbers, and it was almost by accident.’

Others think he should have been prepared to ignore the officials, and was too quickly frightened off by Merkel. She had rejected quotas, but she was never put on the spot in the small hours of a summit about an emergency brake on numbers. Ultimately the renegotiation was a political, not a legal, enterprise, and Cameron could have challenged Merkel to help find a solution. ‘What I genuinely don’t know is whether Merkel in her comments about emergency brakes had really given it any thought as a separate issue,’ a senior minister said, ‘or whether she treated it as the same issue: “quotas and emergency brakes together”. The whole focus of the JCB speech was to shift the debate to benefits. I wonder up to this day whether, if we’d pushed the emergency brake – in terms of numbers, not on benefits – we could have got that. My gut instinct was that the emergency brake was the outer reaches of negotiability.’

After the general election, the Syrian civil war created a fresh migration crisis which put the issue back at the top of the political agenda. In September 2015 Merkel made the rashest decision of her time in power, announcing that refugees were welcome in Germany. The British reaction to Merkel’s extraordinary offer was ‘astonishment’, according to a source who was in touch with the Germans: ‘She would defend it by saying, “What do you expect us to do? We’re not going to shoot people.”’ The result was a vast human tide that prompted several EU countries to reinstate border controls, including Germany. The International Organisation of Migration estimated that one million migrants arrived in Europe in 2015, three to four times as many as the year before, while approaching 4,000 lost their lives while attempting to cross the Mediterranean. Throughout the summer there were almost daily reports from across the Channel in Calais, where migrants gathered seeking passage to Britain. Gradually, but detectably, support for Brexit rose. Andrew Cooper told Cameron the migrant crisis had cost Remain five percentage points.

Merkel was not the only strong woman giving Cameron grief that summer. On 30 August, a week after immigration figures were released showing net migration had hit 330,000, Theresa May wrote a newspaper article announcing that migrants should be banned from entering Britain unless they had a job to go to. She called for EU leaders to tear up the rules on freedom of movement, and even questioned the existence of the Schengen Agreement, saying it had led to the deaths of migrants and placed people at the mercy of people-traffickers. Going much further than Cameron’s renegotiation, she said, ‘When it was first enshrined, free movement meant the freedom to move to a job, not the freedom to cross borders to look for work or claim benefits.’ Five weeks later May put down another marker with an uncompromising speech at the Conservative Party conference which left parts of Downing Street aghast. The speech, written by Nick Timothy, said asylum seekers who entered Britain illegally would be barred from settling permanently in the UK. It led one MP to describe May as ‘Enoch Powell in a dress’.18

May’s intervention was unwelcome, because it was becoming clear that the four-year benefits ban was not going to fly with Britain’s allies (who wanted benefits phasing in much quicker). Europe minister David Lidington approached Llewellyn at the Conservative conference and said, ‘We’re not going to get four years.’ But he added, ‘I am starting to pick up that people are talking about emergency brakes again.’ The negotiators put out feelers. ‘The problem was, at that stage, because we’d spoken so much about migrant benefits, the emergency brake proposal we’d heard from the others and the European Commission was of an emergency brake on welfare, rather than on numbers,’ said Lidington. This new idea sounded good, but it meant watering down the plans outlined in the JCB speech, which were already a poor substitute for a proper limit on the number of new arrivals.

Just before party conference Sajid Javid, the business secretary, also floated an idea in conversation with George Osborne. He suggested free movement should be linked to a country’s GDP, so migrants from richer countries in the EU could travel freely, but those from poorer nations could not. Javid believed something more on immigration was needed, but he was told the idea was ‘not a flier’, and not to put anything in writing to Downing Street in case it leaked. Number 10 banned him from addressing a Eurosceptic fringe meeting at the conference.

The realisation that the offering at the referendum would do nothing meaningful to limit immigrant numbers led to another bout of infighting over the scale of Cameron’s demands. His younger aides – Mats Persson, Ameet Gill, Daniel Korski and Max Chambers – all wanted a bolder gesture than Ivan Rogers and Tom Scholar were prepared to endorse. ‘I can promise you the PM kept coming back to the idea of an emergency brake. That’s what he wanted all the way through,’ one aide said.

Another member of the inner circle said Cameron and Llewellyn later regretted their caution: ‘I know certainly Ed and indeed the PM do look back and think, “We should have probably gone hard and more publicly on the migration.”’ Cameron’s opponents agreed. Daniel Hannan said, ‘I think the huge mistake that he made, tactically and strategically, was to put all his eggs in the baskets of migration and benefits.’

Andrew Cooper, who was constantly polling and focus-grouping each iteration of the migrant plan, warned Cameron, as he was drawing up his formal proposals at the start of November 2015, that the benefits brake would not be enough to neutralise immigration as a referendum issue: ‘It became clear very early on that it was obviously going to be a massive problem. We tested multiple different versions. The conclusion was: all the things that look achievable don’t remotely pass the credibility test with the electorate.’

As Cameron began to finalise his renegotiation demands towards the end of 2015, he was preparing for a referendum that his closest ally George Osborne did not want, by working on a plan to reduce migrant benefits that his chief pollster thought was inadequate because a tougher plan had been rejected as unworkable by Angela Merkel and consequently by Theresa May. And all the while the migration crisis filled television screens, demonstrating the impact of Macmillan’s ‘events’ on politics.

A member of Cameron’s team said, ‘Perhaps the biggest regret of David’s premiership will be not going for the brake back in that speech. In the end, we actually got far-reaching changes to benefits to the surprise of many, even though it contravened every facet of EU law on non-discrimination. The Commission just found a way to bend the rules. But Tom [Scholar] had advised us that any substantial reform on free movement was simply not achievable and that free movement was a holy, inviolable principle. I regret that we trusted Tom too much. Who knows – if we’d gone with our gut, the boss could still be in Number 10 today.’

David Cameron had not yet lost the referendum, but his failure to demand a cap or an emergency brake on migrant numbers left him with a mountain to climb before he had even started. It was a situation the Eurosceptics were straining at the leash to exploit.

2

For Britain

Bellamy’s restaurant in Westminster is a pretty unglamorous place for a revolution to start. Located in 1 Parliament Street, at the slightly decaying end of the parliamentary estate, it is primarily a haunt for MPs’ researchers flirting with their colleagues rather than an arena for discussing the great issues of the time. Yet it was in Bellamy’s that a meeting occurred in 1993 which would help propel Britain from the European Union twenty-three years later.

Douglas Carswell was twenty-two, and had just finished a history degree at the University of East Anglia before taking a job ‘stuffing envelopes in an MP’s office’. If Carswell was typical of other young men educated at Charterhouse in taking the first steps up the political ladder at a tender age, it is tempting to think that he attracted the attention of Daniel Hannan because there was also something exotic about him. Beyond the intensity of his gaze and the lopsided jawline, so sharp it could slice ham, Carswell spent most of his formative years in Uganda, where his father – a Scottish doctor called Wilson Carswell – had diagnosed some of the first cases of HIV. Wilson’s experiences under the dictatorship of Idi Amin were the inspiration for the character Dr Nicholas Garrigan in Giles Foden’s 1998 novel The Last King of Scotland. Carswell later admitted that his libertarianism owed much to his experiences under Amin’s ‘arbitrary rule’. It also made him susceptible to Daniel Hannan’s views about the European Union.

Born in the Peruvian capital Lima, Hannan also spent part of his childhood abroad and escaped to a top public school, in his case Marlborough, before he arrived at Oxford, where he beat Nicky Morgan, the future education secretary and Remain campaigner, to the presidency of the Oxford Union debating society. Hannan was in his first term at university when the Maastricht Treaty ‘radicalised’ him about leaving the EU: ‘I can date exactly the moment of my activism on this issue which has consumed the last twenty-six years of my life. It was during a very short window between the overthrow of Margaret Thatcher and John Major putting his initials to the first draft of the Maastricht Treaty.’ In that three-week period Hannan and the future Tory MP Mark Reckless founded the Oxford Campaign for an Independent Britain. ‘Maastricht was the moment that the EU extended its jurisdiction into foreign affairs, criminal justice, citizenship, the environment, and also the moment where it adopted all the trappings and symbols of nationhood: the flag, the national anthem,’ Hannan said. ‘You couldn’t con yourself any longer that this was a voluntary association of independent states, or a free-trade area.’

Hannan was also inspired by an interview he had seen with the Latvian foreign minister Ģirts Valdis Kristovskis, whose country was newly free from the Soviet yoke. Asked, on a trip to Britain, if Latvia was a properly sovereign country, he said, ‘Yes, Latvia is now more independent than the United Kingdom.’ ‘That really hit home, that remark,’ Hannan recalled. ‘I suddenly thought, “My God, he’s right.” That was when I swore – the old storybooks would call it a terrible oath – that we were going to get out of the European Union, at whatever cost.’

Hannan was one of the most eloquent products of a Eurosceptic movement in the Conservative Party which grew slowly after the 1975 referendum on membership of the Common Market, and found full voice when Margaret Thatcher slammed her handbag on the table and demanded her money back when securing the British rebate in 1984. She would later become the first of three Conservative prime ministers in succession to lose the highest office as a result of the European issue.

The party was bitterly divided by the time John Major took over from Thatcher in November 1990. By the 1997 general election, when Sir James Goldsmith’s single-issue Referendum Party grabbed more than 800,000 votes, the Conservative Party was verging on civil war. If Thatcher’s fall, after the incision of the knife by her former chancellor and foreign secretary Sir Geoffrey Howe, was the last gasp of the Conservative Europhiles, so John Major’s six and a half years in Downing Street were disfigured by the emergence of a group of committed and uncompromising Eurosceptics whom he dismissed as ‘bastards’ – a term that implies fringe relevance as well as unpalatable behaviour – but whose views (and briefly under Iain Duncan Smith, the sceptics themselves) came to dominate the party.

These Palaeosceptics earned their spurs during the battles over the Maastricht Treaty in 1992, and fought on, limpet-like but in vain, against the subsequent Treaties of Amsterdam (1997) and Lisbon (2007). It is interesting to speculate now about what might have happened if they had been more successful then. Bernard Jenkin said, ‘If John Major had not forced through the Maastricht Treaty, and had not opposed a referendum on the Maastricht Treaty, the Maastricht Treaty would never have become ratified. There would have been no euro, no eurozone, no eurozone crisis, no bailout, no European citizenship, no migration crisis, and we would probably still be happily a member of the European Communities.’

When he bumped into Douglas Carswell in Bellamy’s in 1993, Daniel Hannan was director of the European Research Group, a support service for Eurosceptic MPs who had agreed to pay him a salary. ERG held regular breakfast meetings in the Attlee Room in the House of Lords under the chairmanship of Malcolm Pearson, a Tory peer who would later defect to Ukip. Regular attendees included the Palaeosceptics, members of the Bruges Group, the Freedom Association and a certain Times writer called Michael Gove. At this stage most wanted to return to the pre-Maastricht deal, rather than questioning the result of the 1975 referendum. But when Hannan sat down to lunch with Carswell he immediately told him, ‘We need to leave the European Union, and we need a referendum in order to do so.’

Carswell remembered, ‘I said, “No, we need to reform the EU from within, we’ve got to use our influence, we’ve got to make it come our way.” I said absolutely everything that the Cameroonians were saying later. Literally by the time we’re having coffee, I think: “Yeah, we need to leave the EU, and this is the way to do it, this guy is talking sense.” After forty-five minutes, I’m convinced. Dan spends the next twenty-five years trying to persuade the rest of the party. I wish everyone else in the Tory Party had been around that table. It would have meant a lot less grief.’

While the Palaeosceptics waged constitutional war in the Commons, for two decades Hannan became an intellectual driver of the push for a referendum, with Carswell at his side. When Cameron reneged on his ‘cast-iron’ pledge of a referendum over the Lisbon Treaty, Hannan resigned his ‘admittedly very paltry’ frontbench post in the European Parliament. When he called Tory high command in November 2009 to tell them of his decision, Hannan spoke to ‘a very senior aide’ to Cameron, who bears all the characteristics of Ed Llewellyn, and said, ‘Just so you know, this was your last chance to have a referendum on something other than leaving. I’m now devoting myself, full-time, to getting a referendum on “In” or “Out”.’ The response was laughter and a jaunty ‘Good luck with that.’

Just over four years later it was party policy.

In 2011 Hannan wrote a blog suggesting the prime minister hold a renegotiation with Brussels and then a referendum afterwards. Now he was only two years ahead of his time. By then he had helped set up ‘the People’s Pledge’. In 2012 the organisation got the Electoral Reform Society to conduct a complete ballot of every registered voter in the marginal constituencies of Thurrock in Essex, and Cheadle and Hazel Grove in south Manchester, asking whether voters wanted a referendum. On turnouts higher than those seen in local elections, all three voted overwhelmingly in favour. ‘It started becoming obvious to people that a referendum was coming,’ Hannan said. Another of those involved was a young Eurosceptic called Chris Bruni-Lowe, who was to play a pivotal role in future events.

‘Dan put in place many of the key ingredients that would go on to create the Vote Leave team,’ Carswell said. ‘He was one of the guys who put the machine together, and realised what the machine had to look like. He played an absolutely key role.’

Throughout 2011 and 2012 Hannan, Carswell, Reckless and other Eurosceptics met secretly to plot a guerrilla campaign to secure a referendum. They had gone up in the world from Bellamy’s. The clandestine meetings, which included members of the government, met at Tate Britain, half a mile upriver from the Commons. ‘Dan suggested it on the grounds that no MP or journalist would have the aesthetic inclination to ever pop into an art gallery in the afternoon,’ Carswell said. ‘Not once were we ever disturbed.’

The campaign began to bear fruit with the rebellion of the eighty-one. ‘That’s when actually we won the argument within the party,’ Carswell said. ‘From then on they stopped arguing against it from first principles, and it became about practicalities.’

Carswell also held talks in his Commons office with Lynton Crosby, the Australian strategist who masterminded Boris Johnson’s two London mayoral election victories; but no agreement was reached to work together.

When Cameron conceded a referendum in the Bloomberg speech, Hannan told the group, ‘We’ve got it, now let’s win it.’ He had already begun to prepare. Knowing they would be facing the might of the Downing Street machine, he wanted a nascent ‘Out’ campaign in place in good time. In the summer of 2012 he approached Matthew Elliott and said, ‘You are going to need to be the guy to run this thing.’ The conversation took place in a summerhouse in the Norfolk garden of Rodney Leach, a Eurosceptic businessman who funded Open Europe.

Elliott, then thirty-four, had begun his career a dozen years earlier as a press officer for the European Foundation, a Eurosceptic campaign group, but made his name in Westminster as the co-founder in 2004 of the Taxpayers’ Alliance, which hounded successive governments about wasting public money. In 2009 he also set up Big Brother Watch, a libertarian outfit that campaigned against state intrusion into citizens’ lives. Both organisations were run out of 55 Tufton Street in Westminster, home to a network of conservative campaigns which acted as incubators for thrusting young Tories and wannabe spin doctors to learn their craft.

Elliott might have gone to work in Downing Street in 2011, but his appointment was blocked by Nick Clegg. The reason he was persona non grata with the Liberal Democrats – and the reason Hannan wanted to hire him – was that Elliott had run the NOtoAV campaign in May that year which crushed Clegg’s hopes of electoral reform. Elliott’s campaign helped to secure nearly 68 per cent of the vote in the first nationwide referendum for a generation.

Hannan had been impressed by Elliott, even though he thought his campaign – making a case that a ‘Yes’ vote would be costly because new voting machines would have to be bought – was ‘a pile of crap’: ‘I knew it had to be Matt, not just in the obvious sense that he won it resoundingly, but he had shown huge sense of character in withstanding friendly fire. The anti-AV press were blaming him personally for what they thought was going to be a defeat. He had the strength of character to stick with what his polls were telling him, to disregard all of that. I thought this was the stupidest campaign ever, but he knew that it was working. He stuck to his guns.’ Elliott’s composure under fire would be seriously tested in the EU referendum campaign as well.

When Hannan approached him, Elliott already ‘saw the EU as the next big thing’, and had an idea about how he would run a campaign. He was a keen follower of American politics, and during Barack Obama’s two election campaigns he had been impressed by the gaggle of groups backing the Democrat candidate which all had the title ‘… for Obama’. Elliott devised a referendum campaign that would feature different groups branded ‘… for Britain’, and began registering dozens of websites, of which businessforbritain.org would be the centrepiece.

Around Christmas 2012, Elliott found himself on a plane to the US with Chris Bruni-Lowe, then at the People’s Pledge. Bruni-Lowe recalled, ‘He said he was thinking of a business campaign. He said he was fascinated by things like “Hispanics for Obama”, “Latinos for Obama”. He said business will be the big one, but we’ll have “Bikers for Britain”, “Women for Britain” and “Muslims for Britain”.’ Bruni-Lowe believed Elliott saw these campaigns as paper tigers, with only the business group as a serious campaigning organisation: ‘He viewed everything as a front campaign.’

Elliott’s other insight was that the best way to mobilise business voices in favour of leaving was to work initially with the grain of Cameron’s renegotiation, rather than declaring immediately for Brexit. In April 2013, three months after the Bloomberg speech, Elliott set up Business for Britain, with the slogan ‘Change or go’: ‘I realised business was the way into it. We did not do it as a hard Brexit campaign but went along the lines of the renegotiation, albeit pushing further what the PM would be thinking.’

The early backers included Eurosceptic stalwarts like Peter Cruddas, the former Conservative Party treasurer, and Daniel Hodson, founder of the People’s Pledge, but also more moderate sceptics like Stuart Rose, the former boss of Marks & Spencer. Some of those invited were also pro-Europeans, like Iain Anderson, the chairman of Cicero Group and a former spokesman for Ken Clarke. He said, ‘I was invited along to talk to Business for Britain just in advance of it launching. It was put to me in that meeting with the BfB team that this was about strengthening the prime minister’s hand in his renegotiation.’ One businessman invited said the pitch was that BfB would ‘put lead in Cameron’s pencil’.

Having a broad base of support gave Business for Britain credibility with the media, and it quickly eclipsed Open Europe as the primary voice on EU matters in Westminster, in part thanks to its campaign director Rob Oxley, who Elliott had plucked from the Taxpayers’ Alliance. Oxley, the product of a Lincolnshire grammar school and family in Zimbabwe, was young, smart, hard-working, and understood the media. He was the perfect front man for Elliott.

Business for Britain’s non-committal stance on Brexit did alienate some, including Bruni-Lowe, who wanted to see a full-bore campaign to leave the EU. Nigel Farage doubted that Elliott himself was committed to Brexit. ‘When I was there, the majority of people were broadly Eurosceptic but not all Leavers,’ said Bruni-Lowe.

The divisions between the Conservative and Ukip wings of Euroscepticism which blew up so spectacularly in the referendum campaign were sown in that period between 2012 and the general election. On the Tory side they were driven by an insight Douglas Carswell had about the role Nigel Farage should play in a referendum campaign, which emerged from polling data in 2012 and 2013. It was neatly captured by Sunder Katwala in a piece for the New Statesman in April 2014, ‘the Farage Paradox’. Stated simply, the more media exposure Farage had, the higher Ukip’s national vote share went – but at the same time the lower national support for leaving the EU fell. ‘The most fervent advocates for leaving the EU were some of Remain’s best chances for winning the referendum,’ Carswell said. When Brussels was bailing out debt-ridden Greece, disapproval of EU membership rose to around 60 per cent. ‘We thought, “We are going to win this.” Then Ukip started to take off in the polls …’

In 2013 YouGov’s tracking poll on support for Brexit showed a sixteen-point lead for ‘Out’. But by April 2014, with Ukip on the march, the two sides were tied, and YouGov’s first poll after Farage trounced Nick Clegg in televised debates on Europe ahead of the EU elections that spring gave ‘In’ a six-point lead.1 ‘You see Ukip taking off, disapproval of the EU going down,’ said Carswell. ‘It’s a direct correlation. This is what really obsesses us. We start to think we’re going to lose [the referendum].’ Carswell could see that to win, Ukip and its army of ground campaigners would be important, but he was worried that the party’s image with the wider public was hurting the chances of Brexit. He could also see that Downing Street would do all they could to promote Farage and Ukip as the face of the ‘Out’ campaign: ‘We understood that there was going to become a symbiotic alliance between the Remainers in Downing Street, and the purple Faragists.’

In the summer of 2014 he decided to do something about it. In great secrecy, and with Hannan’s knowledge, Carswell began secret talks with Farage about defecting from the Conservative Party to Ukip. What Carswell now admits is that he jumped ship with the express goal of changing the image of Ukip and ensuring that it was an asset rather than a liability in the referendum campaign. A desire to ‘do something about’ the Farage paradox, he said, ‘explains my behaviour subsequently’: ‘We wanted to put men in their trench, and to do that, we had to go over the top. And on 28 August 2014, some of us started going over the top, and we talked about a very different type of Ukip. We tried to decontaminate the brand.’

That was the day Carswell walked into 1 Great George Street, a stone’s throw from the House of Commons, and stunned the waiting media, who had been expecting Ukip to unveil a new celebrity donor, by announcing that he was defecting from the Conservatives and calling an immediate by-election. Chris Bruni-Lowe crossed to Ukip with him, and would help run his campaign. In his defection speech, Carswell immediately struck a different tone from his new leader, hailing Britain as ‘open and tolerant’, praising political correctness as ‘straightforward good manners’ and declaring, ‘I am not against immigration.’ He condemned ‘angry nativism’ and said, ‘We must welcome those who come here to contribute.’ The detox was under way.

In the by-election on 9 October, David Cameron’s forty-eighth birthday, Carswell slightly increased his majority to 12,404, with a 44 per cent swing from the Tories. In his acceptance speech he told Ukip, ‘We must be a party for all Britain and all Britons, first and second generation as much as every other.’

He admits now that this was all part of the secret plan to win the referendum: ‘Nigel did a superb job in making sure we got the referendum. One of the two reasons I joined Ukip was because I thought I could give an additional heave. But the other was all about trying to detoxify this brand that was ruining our chances of winning the referendum. I could see where this was going. If it became a choice between being rude about Romanian immigrants versus the economy, we would lose 60–40.’ In April 2014 Farage had said he would be ‘concerned’ if Romanian men moved in next door.

If David Cameron was bewildered by Carswell’s defection, he was incandescent four weeks later when Mark Reckless overshadowed the start of the Tory conference by jumping ship as well. The prime minister openly denounced Reckless for betraying the Tory activists who had helped ‘get his fat arse’ on the Commons benches. Reckless held his Rochester and Strood seat in the subsequent by-election on 20 November, but was to lose it to the Tories at the general election six months later.

The hunt was on for more defectors. Daniel Hannan had considered changing parties during the Tate Gallery talks, but ruled it out after the Bloomberg speech. Carswell said, ‘Two [other MPs] were prepared to do it, but the circumstances slightly changed.’ Shortly after the Rochester and Strood by-election, with panic rife in Downing Street, Cameron announced that he would legislate to hold a referendum within the first hundred days of a Tory government being elected. ‘That closed off the possibility of anyone else coming over,’ Carswell said.

That winter the Tate conspirators’ plan appeared to be working. The huge excitement of the defections and the two by-election wins appeared to have solved the Farage paradox. Ukip were on just under 20 per cent in the polls, but there was no discernible downward shift in Euroscepticism. ‘We looked like winners,’ said Carswell. ‘We thought at that point the Tate strategy had worked. Given what transpired, the battle had barely begun.’

During the 2015 general election campaign, Nigel Farage reasserted himself in the battle for the soul of Ukip. He sought to maximise the party’s core support with his trademark provocative comments. In a radio interview he said breastfeeding mothers should ‘sit in the corner’. During the main televised leaders’ debate he complained about foreigners with HIV coming to Britain for treatment, at a cost to the NHS of £25,000 per year each. Carswell despaired. Despite predictions that Ukip might win between six and ten seats, only Carswell was successful, holding on to Clacton. Farage himself fell nearly 3,000 votes short in South Thanet, the seventh time he had tried and failed to be elected to Parliament.

Carswell breathed a sigh of relief when Farage stood down as leader after the election, fulfilling a promise he had made during the campaign, and handing the reins to Suzanne Evans, the media-savvy author of the party’s manifesto. But there was despair among Ukippers who wanted a new direction when Farage un-resigned just three days later, sparking a coup to force him out again. Patrick O’Flynn, Ukip’s economic spokesman, broke cover to brand Farage a ‘snarling, thin-skinned, aggressive’ figure who made the party look like a ‘personality cult’. But the attempted putsch failed, and O’Flynn resigned. The result was a simmering civil war which played out for months as Farage loyalists went to war with his internal critics, with Carswell at the top of the list.