How Does History Judge Prime Ministers?

‘Increasingly, the question is one of basic competence’

Emily Jones is Lecturer in Modern British History at the University of Manchester

For some UK prime ministers, their fate travels no further than your local pub quiz: who was the only prime minister to have been assassinated? Spencer Perceval. 1812 for a bonus point.

A rare few are elevated to the status of national (even international) hero – or villain – because of their involvement in global conflicts. Winston Churchill, most obviously, has been mythologised as the prime minister who rescued Britain and her allies at their ‘darkest hour’. His precursors meanwhile – Neville Chamberlain, Stanley Baldwin – were long cast as ‘Guilty Men’ who sought to appease Hitler. We might add Tony Blair and Iraq. But international conflict is not the only grounds for legendary national status. Institutions matter, too: the Attlee government and the construction of ‘our’ NHS.

Yet a great many prime ministers’ reputations wax and wane due to the changing demands of party politics. They are, to use a phrase of T.E. Utley’s, ‘body-snatched’, and their historic policies and principles are reinterpreted (or dismissed) to follow suit.

Benjamin Disraeli, for example, received extensive criticism during his lifetime which positioned him as an opportunistic ‘alien Jew’ – even after he and his novels had acquired considerable celebrity. But as attention turned away from 19th-century constitutional politics towards questions of welfare and economic management at the turn of the 20th century, Disraeli was considered ripe for mythologisation as a Conservative champion of social reform and mass democracy – a position he held in the party well into the postwar period.

Heydays do not last forever, but the perceived legitimising power of historical genealogy and its ability to cement group cohesion had stuck. Alternative lodestars were sought after the Second World War, as Robert Peel was generously reimagined as the founder of a more pragmatic, free market ‘strand’ of Conservatism. Lord Salisbury received similar treatment during Margaret Thatcher’s premiership, when she was widely criticised as departing from an older Disraelian tradition. And it is of course Thatcher’s mantle most Conservatives now seek.

Increasingly, however, the question is not one of national or even party-political glory, but of basic competence: an ability to follow ministerial codes of conduct – or outlast an iceberg lettuce.

‘Popular memory is fascinated by different political styles’

Richard Gaunt is Lecturer in Associate Professor of History at the University of Nottingham

The way we remember (and judge) British prime ministers between 1750 and 1850 is heavily influenced by the central place occupied by parliamentary reform in this period. Historians characteristically divide the century into pre- and post-reform eras, centred on the Great Reform Act of 1832. Prime ministers before reform – such as Lord North, Pitt the Younger, and Lord Liverpool – are remembered as among our longest-serving leaders, but they achieved this distinction, in part, through mobilising considerable reserves of royal patronage, bestowing honours, pensions and sinecures to build and sustain support in Parliament. This, in turn, contributed to calls for a more open and accountable electoral system. In the post-reform era, prime ministers had far less patronage to bestow and were unlikely to gain implicit support by invoking royal favour. Whereas George III successfully installed William Pitt as premier in 1783-84, William IV failed in a similar attempt to install Sir Robert Peel in office during 1834-35. Peel made an innovative appeal to the electorate, the ‘Tamworth Manifesto’, which asked for a ‘fair trial’, rather than assuming automatic loyalty as the king’s preferred choice. It did not work, and Peel’s minority government resigned after 100 days. By contrast, Peel secured an election majority in 1841 and Queen Victoria was forced to part with her beloved first prime minister, Viscount Melbourne.

Popular historical memory is less interested in structural changes in the relationship between Crown and Parliament but remains fascinated by different political styles. Charismatic and ambitious politicians like George Canning found their premiership all too brief (119 days in 1827) – the briefest ever, until Liz Truss surpassed his record in 2022. Conversely, less memorable prime ministers, such as the duke of Portland, whose two short ministries were separated by 24 years, endured precisely because of their inherited status and lack of ambition. However, Earl Grey – the premier who oversaw the passing of the Great Reform Act – may need a bicentennial rehabilitation, during the 2030s, to be remembered as a great reforming prime minister – the equal of Asquith, Lloyd George, and Attlee – rather than as a variety of tea.

‘History is unlikely to come to the rescue’

Victoria Honeyman is Professor of British Politics at the University of Leeds

Prime ministers want to be popular – their jobs often depend on it. However, popularity is a precarious thing. As Tony Blair’s time in office (and after) shows, huge popularity can slip away from you, and your legacy can be poisoned even if you are no longer in power. The loss of popularity need not be so immediate – think, for example, of the recent attention paid to Winston Churchill’s views on women and his attitude towards Britain’s colonies. ‘Unpopular’ prime ministers may find themselves somewhat redeemed by history, but many more sit somewhere in between, reputations in flux.

This is evident if we consider some of the postwar prime ministers. Harold Wilson, despite winning three general elections (1964, 1966 and October 1974 – also securing the most seats in the February 1974 election although not a majority), was subject to much criticism in the late 1970s and 1980s, primarily due to the state of the economy, issues relating to Rhodesia, and the general malaise which had gripped the UK. However, a longer-term view has rehabilitated Wilson, highlighting the challenging economic circumstances he inherited and – especially – his refusal to send UK forces to Vietnam (this last makes for an interesting comparison with Blair and Iraq). In contrast, Harold Macmillan’s time in office has aged poorly – he is now judged more harshly than he was in the 1950s and 1960s, largely due to the economic crisis which followed the long period of Conservative rule between 1951 and 1964.

History, of course, has the benefit of knowing what actually happened – often because of the release of official papers and the willingness of individuals to speak more freely after leaving politics. Many prime ministers opted to write their own histories in their autobiographies, offering insights (and justifications) regarding their decision making, as with Thatcher, Major, Blair, and Brown. For others, it is the recollections of others which inform their legacy. Richard Crossman’s Diaries of a Cabinet Minister did much to influence perceptions of Wilson.

Rehabilitation can happen, but it is rare to see a full turnaround. In broad terms, it is probably true that history tends to be kinder than crueller to prime ministers. But if a prime minister leaves office with their reputation in tatters – Neville Chamberlain, for example – history is unlikely to come to the rescue.

‘Views change as scholars gain distance from events’

Richard Toye is Professor of History at the University of Exeter

The question of how history judges prime ministers can be answered in one word: haphazardly. This is because, of course, ‘history’ itself does not judge – historians, institutions, the media, and the public do. Verdicts are sometimes based on systematic analysis of evidence, but myth, folklore, and personal prejudice also play significant roles.

This dynamic means that some prime ministers, such as Gladstone, Chamberlain, Churchill, Thatcher, and Blair, remain iconic figures, while others, like Lord John Russell, Robert Peel, and Lord Liverpool, have faded from public memory. For figures like Chamberlain, the memory is largely negative due to his association with the failures of appeasement. Others, such as Churchill, are remembered more positively, in part because of their deliberate efforts to shape their own legacies.

Churchill’s famous remark captures this well: ‘For my part, I consider that it will be found much better by all parties to leave the past to history, especially as I propose to write that history myself.’ He did so in six volumes of war memoirs, and also left behind many other highly quotable books. By contrast, the memoirs of Attlee, the man who defeated him at the 1945 election, are much shorter and rather flat – but even he kept himself in public view via interviews and press articles, ensuring that, by the time of his death in 1967, he was positively regarded in a way that has largely endured.

It is also worth noting that some leaders’ reputations last because their successors seek to align themselves with their legacies for political advantage. For example, in the 2024 Conservative leadership contest, candidates sought to present themselves as heirs to Thatcher, with Kemi Badenoch notably describing her as a political heroine. Meanwhile, views of prime ministers change as scholars gain distance from events. For example, Ben Pimlott’s 1992 biography of Harold Wilson helped trigger a change in perceptions, rescuing him from the harsh judgements that had developed in the wake of his resignation.

A successful premiership is not in itself a guarantee that a prime minister’s name will echo down the years. They will help themselves greatly, though, if they write scintillating memoirs, leave a substantial archive, and serve up inspirational quotations that can be used – or abused – by the politicians who come after them.