Norman Tebbit, the acid-tongued hard man of Margaret Thatcher’s government, gained lasting notoriety on the strength of an expression that he never used: “On yer bike.”
To political opponents, the comment – a paraphrase of his exhortation to the unemployed to go out and look for work – encapsulated what they saw as the callous indifference of the Conservatives to the rising joblessness of the 1980s.
Once memorably described by Labour’s Michael Foot as a “semi-house-trained polecat”, Mr Tebbit revelled in his reputation as a political bruiser as the government drove through its controversial programme of free market reforms.
As employment secretary, he piloted key legislation which diluted the power of the trade union “closed shop” and weakened the unions’ immunity from civil damages.
He suffered grave injuries in the 1984 Brighton bombing, which left his wife, Margaret, paralysed from the neck down and tore a hole in his side which needed regular treatment for years afterwards.
Few who saw them would forget the grim TV pictures of the badly wounded Mr Tebbit being eased gingerly out of the rubble of the Grand Hotel after it was ripped apart in a massive IRA blast.
However his ordeal did nothing to diminish his appetite for political combat and the man dubbed the “Chingford skinhead” – a reference to his Essex constituency – returned to Westminster as abrasive and vitriolic as ever.
But for all his reputation for thuggishness, he was privately a kindly man who could mix amiably with those whom he bitterly scorned in public.
After masterminding Mrs Thatcher’s third general election victory in 1987, Mr Tebbit stepped down from the government so that he could spend more time caring for his wife.
He nevertheless remained politically active, proving to be a thorn in the side of her successor, John Major, as wrangling over Europe tore the Tories apart in the 1990s.
He sparked controversy with his advocacy of the so-called “cricket test” – suggesting which side British Asians supported in internationals should be seen as an indicator of their true loyalties – leading to accusations of racism.
Born on March 29 1931 in Ponders End, Middlesex, Norman Beresford Tebbit was the son of Leonard Tebbit, a pawnbroker, and his wife, Edith.
After attending Edmonton County Grammar, he took a job aged 16 as a trainee journalist at The Financial Times, where the requirement for him to join a trade union in order to be employed sowed a determination to break the power of the closed shop.
Following national service with the RAF – when he flew Meteor and Vampire jets, narrowly surviving one terrifying crash – he joined the airline BOAC as a long-haul pilot and navigator.
His previous unhappy encounter with the unions did not stop him becoming a highly effective official for the pilots’ union, Balpa.
He entered Parliament in 1970 as Conservative MP for Epping, joining the right-wing Monday Club.
When Mrs Thatcher became party leader in 1975, he strongly backed her agenda of free market reforms and curbing the power of the unions which had brought down Edward Heath’s Tory government.
She in turn encouraged him to harass Labour ministers from the backbenches – he made headlines after accusing Michael Foot of “pure undiluted fascism” during a heated exchange over closed shops.
Following the Tories’ general election victory of 1979, she made him a junior trade minister, promoting him to the cabinet as employment secretary two years later.
Certainly he was cut from a very different cloth than a previous generation of Conservative ministers – the patrician Harold Macmillan once sniffily remarked: “Heard a chap on the radio this morning talking with a cockney accent. They tell me he is one of Her Majesty’s ministers.”
He was, however, tailor-made for Mrs Thatcher, spearheading the government’s legislative assault on the power of the unions – who had brought down the last Tory administration of Edward Heath – with his Employment Act.
It was following inner city riots in Handsworth and Brixton in 1981 that he made the infamous remark which led to him being dubbed “Onyerbike”.
Rejecting suggestions the violence was a natural response to rising unemployment, he retorted: “I grew up in the Thirties with an unemployed father. He didn’t riot. He got on his bike and looked for work, and he kept looking till he found it.”
Such comments fuelled his hardline “Nasty Norm” reputation – the satirical puppet show Spitting Image memorably portrayed him as a leather-jacketed thug brutally beating up political opponents and fellow ministers alike.
For all their political affinity, his relations with Mrs Thatcher did not always run smoothly and he later recalled there were occasions when he left No 10 unsure whether he would still have a job by the time he had returned to his department.
“But I was never frightened of her,” he remembered. “The most she could do was sack me. I didn’t see any point in not standing up to her.”
Following the Tories’ 1983 general election victory, there was a move to trade and industry but his life was turned upside down the following year when an IRA bomb tore through Brighton’s Grand Hotel during the Conservative Party conference.
Mrs Thatcher, the main intended target of the attack, escaped unscathed but it took four hours for fire crews to extricate Mr Tebbit and his wife from the wreckage.
While Mrs Tebbit was left needing round-the-clock care for the rest of her life, he recovered to return to the political fray with his appetite for confrontation very much intact.
The prime minister believed his populist instincts – he was described as the personification of “Essex man” – made him the ideal candidate to plot her bid for a third term in No 10 and in 1985 she made him Tory Party chairman.
She was however reportedly not amused when he urged her to take more of a back seat in campaigning after polling showed her leadership – the so-called “that bloody woman” factor – was turning off voters.
The 1987 general election campaign was marked by rows and tensions within the Tory camp amid suspicions among Mrs Thatcher and some of her allies that Mr Tebbit was more interested in advancing his own leadership ambitions.
It culminated on so-called “wobbly Thursday” with Lord Young – who Mrs Thatcher had installed in No 10 to keep an eye on her chairman – allegedly grabbing Mr Tebbit by the lapels and yelling: “Norman, listen to me, we are about to lose this f****** election”.
Nevertheless, come polling day, the Conservatives were again returned with a three-figure majority and Mr Tebbit appeared at the window of Central Office alongside the prime minister to enjoy the acclaim of the party faithful.
It was to be the apogee of his frontline political career, and in the aftermath of victory he announced he was leaving government so he could devote more time to looking after his wife.
For all the difficulties of the preceding months, Mrs Thatcher said she “bitterly regretted” losing a kindred spirit from the cabinet.
Having once been seen as her natural successor, it meant giving up any hope of taking the top job, a lost opportunity which, he later acknowledged, was a source of regret for him also.
He remained politically active however – particularly on Europe – and, after stepping down as an MP in 1992, he was made a life peer.
In the House of Lords, he formed a new alliance with Baroness Thatcher (who had also been ennobled) to oppose the Maastricht Treaty, signed by John Major, which created the modern European Union.
That year he brought the Tory party conference to its feet with a rabble-rousing speech condemning the agreement, much to the fury of Mr Major who accused him of hypocrisy and disloyalty.
In later years, Lord Tebbit continued to attract controversy with outspoken remarks on a range of issues from immigration to homosexuality.
He refused to attend services conducted by the dean of St Edmundsbury Cathedral after he entered into a civil partnership and warned that legislation to allow same-sex marriage passed under David Cameron was alienating the Tory faithful.
He was the author of a number of books including The Game Cookbook – featuring his favourite recipes for partridge, grouse, pheasant and the like – which proved to be a surprise hit in 2009.
In 2020, his wife, Lady Tebbit, died aged 86. He never forgave the IRA terrorist responsible for her terrible injuries.
Lord Tebbit is survived by two sons and a daughter.
