Cummings has got through to Sunak (Ian Forsyth/Getty Images)

“I’m a long way from Manchester so I might be missing something,” tweeted one Westminster pundit, “but it surely takes a special kind of spin-doctor genius to decide to axe the Manchester leg of HS2 during your annual conference in, err, Manchester.” Well, I was in Manchester, and as I toured around the city centre pubs on Sunday night, it began to make more sense. Or at least, I could see why — through the prism of a particular game plan that relied on a particular last-minute Hail Mary pass — it might make sense.
Rishi Sunak’s decision to cancel the Birmingham-to-Manchester leg of HS2 has been described as an embarrassing PR blunder, a spectacular snub of a host city that immediately invited the ire of mayor Andy Burnham and dozens of very sensible think tanks and highly credentialed economists.
These critics are almost certainly right. The building of a modern high-speed railway that will shorten the journey from Manchester to London to just over an hour — and free up the full-to-bursting West Coast Main Line to carry more regular and reliable local and freight services — seems to be a matter of when rather than if. Sure, we can kick it down the track for a few years, but the cost of doing so will only rise. And, in the meantime, local train services will continue to share tracks with faster intercity rail, and hordes of travellers will have to put up with the dismal services of Avanti West Coast, a company that sometimes charges us more to visit London than it would cost to fly to Italy, and then makes us stand up for two hours to drive home the humiliation.
“Make it make sense” goes the tagline of a popular online meme, and on the fact of it, cancelling this leg of HS2 just doesn’t. And yet, I think there’s a symbolism to this week’s decision that appeals to Sunak. It is the sign of a new last-gasp strategy, which involves killing what you might call Manchester-Toryism.
For most of the past 13 years, Manchester and the Conservative Party have been engaged in an awkward but mutually profitable embrace. Successive Tory governments have found the city to be a useful screen on which to project their claims to economic radicalism, starting with George Osborne’s Northern Powerhouse and reaching to Johnson’s unrealised notion of “levelling up”. Both men visited Manchester to make cliché-peppered speeches about reviving growth in the cradle of the Industrial Revolution, and both raised hopes that something might be done about the scandalous London-everywhere divide in this country.
Manchester, for its part, was a willing partner in this game. Play along, and you could get regeneration funding and devolved powers that rival cities will wait years to match. Since the late-Eighties, Manchester’s Labour leaders have become studied pragmatists in their dealings with Downing Street. In 2021, when I was researching a profile of Sir Richard Leese, Manchester’s council leader for a quarter of a century, one insider explained: “He understands the old adage that he doesn’t have allies; he has interests.”
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