The Iron Intellectual
The only time I spoke with Margaret Thatcher about her own death was over dinner at her home in Chester Square in London, when the conversation got round to Charles Moore’s authorized biography of her. “Is it going to be a cradle to the . . . ,” I said, not quite wanting to finish the morbid sentence. “I think the word you’re looking for is grave, Andrew,” she replied good-naturedly. “And the answer is yes.”
About the Author
Andrew Roberts, who reviewed Hitler’s Philosophers for us last month, was appointed by the late Lady Thatcher to the Margaret Thatcher Archive Trust.