Some lives exude a dull grey and the challenge is to fill a canvas; and some are so bursting in colour that the challenge is to contain them in a single portrait. No one ever described John as dull or grey.
John was a complicated man, wrestling frequently with the tangle of ambition and altruism which motivates political animals.
To be sure he possessed deep principles.
But he was also determined to make his mark.
Self-doubt – which regularly overflowed in John – usually induces a retreat from struggle. But in John the opposite was the case. It was the spur which drove him to seek the struggle, to pull himself up from disadvantage, to aspire to the pinnacle of success, doubting all the while he was truly good enough to be there, but then proving that he was.
His achievements were extraordinary. He was essential in designing the major constitutional reforms of our government – the Scottish Parliament, the Welsh Assembly, the first elected Mayor of London and the elimination of most of the hereditary peers of the House of Lords.
He pioneered the idea of an integrated transport system. He championed inner city regeneration.
Throw him a problem and he would provide a solution. And I threw him a few. You may have forgotten the Dome! But today’s generation rejoices in the O2 centre, probably the finest entertainment venue in Europe. John’s doing.
And above all, he was a distinguished architect of the Kyoto Treaty on climate change – the first such agreement, and one which, without John, it is no exaggeration to say, would not have been secured.
All of these constitute a brilliant legacy.
But the colour in the portrait, what places the affection alongside the admiration, is John the character.
There is not one of us who thinks of John without a smile.
John would be the first to say that he and conventional English grammar had an uneasy relationship. Because he communicated not only with words but with body and soul.
Some years back, I met the lady who had interpreted for John during his visits to European councils.
She gazed wistfully into the distance: ‘John Prescott was my greatest professional challenge.’
‘I have my pride. This man was defeating me. Until I had an inspiration. Suppose I interpreted not what he said but what he meant. After that it was easy!’
There was never any doubt about John’s meaning.
In the early days of the Government I was negotiating, I thought quite discreetly, with Paddy Ashdown and Ming Campbell about the possibility of Lab-Lib cooperation. I was sat working at the Cabinet table. The door opened without warning and in steamed John.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded accusingly.
One of John’s disconcerting habits was starting a conversation in the middle, with no beginning preamble.
‘Where’s who?’ I said.
‘Don't give me that’ he barked ‘you know who I mean. Menzies.’ He lifted up the green tablecloth on the table. ‘You can come out from under there.’
Menzies? Then it dawned on me. ‘You mean Ming?’
‘Oh aye Ming you call him’ he said infusing the word with several decades worth of working class scorn, ‘yes him.’
He moved back to the door. ‘I just want you to know,’ he said as he exited: ‘I'm not having it.’
John was guardian of the Party’s conscience; but it’s important to remember he was also its educator.
Our relationship would never have worked had we been two peas but in different pods. John was loyal, a quality Prime Ministers value highly.
But when the New part of New Labour had to do difficult reforms, John would insist on being part of the debate.
Not to obstruct but to understand. And where persuaded would then be persuasive.
He had the most refined and intelligent intuition about what Labour must do to sustain itself in power.
The Conservative Party exists, traditionally at least, to wield power; and finds nothing inherently unprincipled about it.
Like most progressive movements – the Labour Party and power are uncomfortable in each other’s company. In its rational moments, which too often are preceded by a prolonged period of opposition, the Party knows it needs power to fulfil its purpose.
But it distrusts power. Finds it desirable but dangerous to its self-worth. Will advocate change but be curiously conservative in driving it or accepting the pain, the compromise, the trade-offs, which are its natural accompaniment.
This is the contradiction which John was instrumental in resolving, and in doing so, created the conditions by which that Government governed more than twice as long as any Labour Government before it.
John had the brain to make an argument and the personality to make it appealing.
That personality will forever be memorialised by ‘The Punch’!
The 2001 election is trundling uneventfully towards the finishing line. Then one afternoon I get a call from Alastair. ‘John has just thumped a voter.’
‘Oh’ I say. ‘Hard?’ ‘Well, he laid him out so yes.’ ‘Oh’ I say.
Anyway, cue pandemonium in the media and Party HQ. The general view amongst the campaign advisers is that it’s not good for the Deputy Prime Minister to whack a voter. Even if provoked.
I agree, not with enthusiasm, to call John and ask him to say sorry.
‘John’ I begin and I blather on for a few minutes. John interrupts me. ‘Cut the crap’ he says. ‘You want me to apologise, don't you?’ ‘Well yes John thank you for understanding.’
‘The answer’s no. I am not bloody well apologising and that's the end of it!’
I watch the film of the punch again trying to feel outrage and instead find myself cheering him on.
That settled it. At the next morning’s press conference, I decided on a line of which to this day I am inordinately proud. The media was on fire and the first question came breathlessly demanding what I had to say about the incident.
‘What I have to say is: ‘John is John’
‘What – that’s it??’ indignation. ‘that’s all you're saying?’
‘There isn’t anything more to be said,’ I replied and indeed there wasn’t.
We loved John because he was John. Unique. Irrepressible. Irresistible.
And very human.
John would not tolerate a hagiography. He wasn’t a saint, and we would have loved him less if he had been.
He could be obstinate. Hot-tempered. Hypersensitive to his own amour propre.
But somehow, his passion for the cause would extinguish any obstinacy, his generosity of spirit cool the temper and his awareness of his own fragility soften the effects of any heightened sensitivity.
His troubles and his epic efforts to overcome them and master them made his humanity real.
I once said to him – ‘John I wish you liked yourself as much as I like you.’
It is right we celebrate his life’s work. He played a huge part in the affairs of Government.
But I want to celebrate him also as a man. A good man. A man who started as my political partner and became my personal friend.
To Pauline his life partner, you were his rock and the waves no matter how fierce never overcame you. You are an amazing person in your own right and he knew how fortunate he was to have you at his side. And to David and Johnathan, he always spoke so proudly of you both. And with good reason. You supported him, sustained him and helped him through those last difficult years with love.
You will miss him. We will miss him.
But I hope – if John’s looking down on us and not already in deep negotiation with St Peter over the accommodation – he will see in this vast gathering today a recognition of how the working class boy from a small Welsh town rose to the highest ranks in the land, by merit, by graft, by greatness of courage and character and feel deservedly at peace.