Margaret Thatcher’s infamous rigidity of thinking, social awkwardness, lack of humour and perceived rudeness proved a mighty challenge for three men who would turn her from an electoral liability into an icon: TV producer Gordon Reece, playwright Ronald Millar and adman Tim Bell. 

The Iron Lady nicknamed them ‘the laughing boys’, a nod to the trio’s arrival for lunch at her flat in July 1978 – just nine months before the General Election campaign that brought her to power as prime minister – having already downed two bottles of champagne between them at a local pub.

Mrs Thatcher was wise enough to know she needed their expertise. Without them, she almost certainly would not have been elected, nor could she have sustained her leadership over a period of 11 years.

Reece dreamt up photo opportunities showing the would-be prime minister baking cakes, shopping and washing up. He wanted to mould her into what was later described as ‘a softly spoken, intimate, woman-next-door, a political Avon lady’ – so voters would not be ‘scared’ of her.

In office, Millar wrote some of her most famous lines, including: ‘You turn if you want to, the lady’s not for turning…’

And Bell, head of accounts at the Saatchi advertising agency, presented her with her winning campaign slogan ‘Labour isn’t working’.

Why was Mrs Thatcher so reliant on the three marketeers? As a humble grocer’s daughter who in 1975 became the first woman to lead the Conservatives, she was a woman from the ‘wrong’ class in a Parliament dominated by upper-class men. 

As a humble grocer’s daughter who in 1975 became the first woman to lead the Conservatives, Margaret Thatcher was a woman from the ‘wrong’ class in a Parliament dominated by upper-class men

But it was her manner more than her background which people found off-putting – voters included.

David Howell, a Minister in the Heath, Thatcher and Cameron governments, remembers:

‘[Ted] Heath was a great entertainer and he was always having parties down at his home in Broadstairs. Margaret would be asked along and, as ridiculous as this sounds now, one always felt sorry for her. 

‘She was a loner, not very good at chatting and inclined to lecture people. She wasn’t really in the swim and most of us saw her as over-obsessed with ideas.’

These traits might be characteristic of someone who is very driven, determined and single-minded, but they also point intriguingly towards autism, a condition widely recognised today, but one which was only given a name by the Austrian American psychiatrist Leo Kanner in 1943, the year Mrs Thatcher went up to Oxford.

Of course, it is impossible to diagnose individuals retroactively – and autism is notoriously difficult to classify in any case, being part of a spectrum – but allow me a little informed speculation. 

In researching and writing a new biography of Mrs Thatcher, I have spoken to many who knew her and have also been fortunate enough to gain access to around 150 private letters exchanged by her and her older sister, Muriel Cullen.

Starting in her teenage years, the letters contain detailed, almost obsessive descriptions of her clothing and of movies she has seen – and later, extensive but painfully dull details of her exploits at Oxford and in the foothills of politics.

It’s hard not to conclude that they represent what experts might term the ‘special or restricted interests’ those with this kind of neurodevelopmental condition frequently display.

The young Margaret (pictured, left, with her sister Muriel) was not popular at school and found it hard to make friends 

The young Margaret was not popular at school. She found it hard to make friends and was ‘perhaps a bit too eager and intense, inclined to be a know-it-all, her hand always up first in class’, as Robin Harris, one of Mrs Thatcher’s speechwriters, observed in his book Not For Turning.

According to one of her biographers, Penny Junor, ‘she tended to put a bit of a damper on their fun, to the extent that some of her classmates would walk a different route to school, so as not to meet up with her on the way’.

Margaret wasn’t offended by other girls’ behaviour towards her: she supposedly had notoriously thick skin. Or perhaps, in reality, she lacked the ability to read verbal and non-verbal clues, another characteristic prevalent among those on the autism spectrum.

It’s reasonable to speculate that if diagnosed today, Mrs Thatcher would almost certainly be classified as a level 1 on the Autism Spectrum Scale, meaning her symptoms allow her to be ‘fully functioning’. 

Until just over a decade ago, this mild form of autism was known as Asperger’s and some campaigners or ‘Aspies’ argue that they’d like to return to the old terminology to promote a greater understanding of levels of neurodiversity.

Aged nine, she famously told her primary school headmistress, who congratulated her on her luck at winning a prize: ‘I wasn’t lucky, I deserved it.’ Even then, she seems to have been unable to comprehend that she might come across as arrogant or patronising.

From Oxford, she wrote to Muriel that ‘at a Conservative meeting I gave my paper on agricultural policy, which was a staggering success’. There is no tongue in her cheek. Charles Moore, her official biographer, describes her as ‘literal-minded’.

The Roberts family when Alfred was Mayor of Grantham. Margaret was groomed for success by their father, probably because Muriel (left) lacked Margaret’s singularity of purpose (for which read neurodiversity) and showed far less interest in school work

She was by all accounts incapable of telling anything but the truth, and she saw the world in black and white, without nuance.

She admitted this herself in her memoirs: ‘I was perplexed by the metaphorical element of phrases like, “Look before you leap”. I thought it would be far better to say, “Look before you cross”.’

This confusion over such metaphors and idioms and ‘not always understanding hidden meanings or inference and taking phrases literally’ is among the core characteristics of autism, according to the National Autistic Society.

In the most infamous example of this she failed to understand the witty rejoinder written for her by Ronald Millar, referring to the then prime minister James Callaghan, who, invoking Moses, had said that the nation would enter ‘the promised land’. 

When Millar gave the kicker to her riposte – ‘Keep taking the tablets’ – she argued: ‘Ronnie, nobody calls them tablets any more. We’ll say, “Keep taking the Pill”.’

Mrs Thatcher famously had little or no conventional sense of humour. She struggled to understand jokes, double entendre or implication. 

Ferdinand Mount, another of her former speechwriters, described his time working for her at No 10 in his memoir Cold Cream as a ‘holiday from irony’.

Pictured when she was leader of the Opposition, Mrs Thatcher’s biographer Tina Gaudoin says that her biggest problem socially, and sometimes politically, was that she could never ‘read the room’

‘It was well known that she was resistant to humour, often had to have jokes explained to her,’ he says.

‘But she was also indifferent to most of the tricks of paradox, ambiguity, understatement and saying the opposite of what you mean, which pepper the talk of almost everyone else in the country.’ 

Ad-man Tim Bell also detailed a delicate situation that arose when he was called upon to illuminate Mrs Thatcher as to why she was never to use the term ‘pussy’ – as in: ‘The trouble with Mr Callaghan is he couldn’t even organise pussy.’

‘What’s wrong with “pussy”, dear? What do you think it means?’ she asked Bell, to the delight of other Ministers present.

‘The one thing she definitely lacked throughout her political career was a sense of humour,’ agrees Jonathan Aitken, former MP for Thanet East, who dated the PM’s daughter, Carol. ‘She was notorious for not getting the joke.’

She was especially unamused when she heard on the grapevine that Aitken was making his own jokes at her expense, once suggesting, when lamenting her lack of foreign policy nous, that the PM thought ‘Sinai is the plural of sinus’.

‘She most certainly did not find that funny,’ Aitken says, ruefully.

According to Claire Jack, an expert in women with autism spectrum disorder, those with autism may take things literally and are less likely to engage in laughter purely for the sake of social interaction.

‘Perhaps it’s not so much that autistic people find things less funny – they may just not respond to the same social cues to laugh at things out of politeness or manners,’ she writes.

The unfiltered directness of people who are neurodiverse can sometimes cause them to be unintentionally cruel.

Even as a child, Mrs Thatcher was unsparing in her descriptions of the way people looked or dressed: ‘The new games mistress is not young as we have been used to having. Her name is Miss Dales and she looks about 30’; and ‘the history mistress is very disappointing. She is quite middle-aged and very dowdy in dress,’ she wrote to her sister Muriel.

In 1948, she described to Muriel the Colchester landlady with whom she was living while working in her first job at British Xylonite Plastics: ‘To our surprise Mrs Mac [Macaulay] looked completely out of place – in fact, she looked rather tarty – not so much in dress as in behaviour and of course her figure doesn’t help.’ 

Later in life, her directness would make others feel uncomfortable, but leave her unfazed. ‘She was utterly incapable of feeling embarrassment. I’ve seen her say and do things that no other person would,’ says Charles Powell, her former private secretary.

Her press secretary, the irascible Bernard Ingham, once called her ‘the most tactless woman I have ever met’. And he spoke as a loyal friend.

Mrs Thatcher’s press secretary, the irascible Bernard Ingham (pictured), once called her ‘the most tactless woman I have ever met’. And he spoke as a loyal friend

She was no more sparing of her sister Muriel’s feelings than anyone else. Many people with an autism diagnosis don’t ‘do’ empathy, in the same way that they don’t ‘do’ tears at the expected moments. 

Even those closest to Mrs Thatcher can count on one hand the number of times they saw her cry. Writing to Muriel in November 1948, she references ‘Eric… whom you thought was rather nice?’ 

This is likely code for the fact that Muriel has, in more modern parlance, ‘the hots’ for Eric. And yet Margaret fails to see how her subsequent words or actions might wound her sister.

‘Well,’ she continues triumphantly, ‘he’s coming to supper tomorrow evening.’

She then writes again to Muriel with further details: ‘Eric Derbyshire turned out to be a bit of a bore – he’s rather inclined to talk as if he’s in the pulpit half the time and he’s very self-righteous.’

A supreme irony, given that this is precisely the criticism that later in life many of her political opponents would level against her.

The biggest ‘tell’ is probably her inability to master social situations. A characteristic of autistic spectrum disorder is that sufferers often find it difficult to understand how others think or feel.

Biographer Tina Gaudoin says that to compensate for her seeming inability to make friends at Oxford and throughout the rest of her life, Margaret would focus on her passions: politics, religion and – surprisingly, perhaps – her appearance

Margaret’s seeming lack of empathy or tact would make her life a lonely one: ‘You couldn’t get close to her,’ Betty Spice, a college mate, told Charles Moore, while another described her as ‘not easy to know’.

‘A great many of her relationships were transactional – she was like a sponge,’ says an acquaintance of both Margaret and her husband, Denis.

‘She would learn all she could and then discard that person. She didn’t seem to have a clue about the idea of friendship in the same way that most women would.’

Her biggest problem socially, and sometimes politically, was that she could never ‘read the room’. Indeed, what sometimes came across as arrogance or coldness was often her inability to understand what to do or say in informal social situations.

‘She wasn’t one for small talk,’ says Caroline Slocock, who spent two years as her private secretary.

Anne Hamilton, wife of Archie Hamilton (her former Parliamentary Private Secretary and then Armed Forces Minister from 1988 to 1993), who spent a great deal of time with her during her later years, agrees.

‘She was actually very happy to chat, but you needed to get her on to something she actually had an interest in or passion for – that could have been anything from getting aid into Romania to historic houses or antique china.’

Former Conservative MP and Cabinet Minister Oliver Letwin, who worked for Mrs Thatcher in the 1980s, says she could be impossible to deal with.

‘She would talk over you all the time and you never got the sense she was listening to what you said. But you would later discover she had taken in exactly what you had said. And there were only important subjects. She had absolutely no small talk whatsoever. And I mean none.’ 

To compensate for her seeming inability to make friends at Oxford and throughout the rest of her life, she would focus on her passions: politics, religion and – surprisingly, perhaps – her appearance.

One of her contemporaries at Oxford recalled that ‘her preoccupation with her appearance caused amusement. She went to the most expensive hairdresser in Oxford [Andreas] and spent the days during the [vacation] combing the West End for suitable dresses’.

‘The one thing she definitely lacked throughout her political career was a sense of humour,’ agrees Jonathan Aitken, former MP for Thanet East. ‘She was notorious for not getting the joke.’

And as far as the young Margaret was concerned there was nothing wrong with that. ‘The essence of the well-dressed woman should never be exaggerated,’ she later told Vogue in 1985 (she appeared in the magazine four times in total).

‘Appearance is the first impression people get of you. And it does matter. It matters tremendously when you represent your country abroad.’

A common trait of the neurodivergent thinker is to use an obsession or fascination as a distraction in what they may perceive as a ‘crazy’, out-of-control world. It seems perfecting her appearance may have played that role for the prime minister.

Before what appears to be an important series of four Oxford evening events, she wrote hurriedly and without nicety to Muriel, embellishing her notepaper with ‘SOS’ to request ‘the pearls because I shall be wearing black two-piece for [event] one and three and black dinner frock for the second… the most important things are the pearls which will have to be sent off straight away – if they are to reach me by Friday’.

‘I have been to a very smart dressmaker here with my velvet and she promised to make it up before the end of term. Send Vogue when you have finished with it,’ she directed impatiently, finishing another letter to Muriel and underlining the imperative.

The sunny-tempered Muriel also had potential, but it was Margaret who was groomed for success by their father, probably because Muriel lacked Margaret’s singularity of purpose (for which read neurodiversity) and showed far less interest in school work.

In 1975, in a rare interview, Muriel said that at school she regarded Margaret as a ‘nuisance’ because she was always being held up by her teachers as an example.

Charles Moore, writing in The Spectator on Muriel’s death in early December 2004, described the relationship between the sisters as reminiscent of ‘those bits in the Sherlock Holmes stories in which Sherlock’s brother Mycroft… is even more brilliant than the famous detective, but has no inclination to pursue the thing full-time’.

Mrs Thatcher’s innate determination reflected her straight-talking, no-nonsense, self-professed Victorian values, which she described as ‘disciplining yourself to do what is right and important’.

She expected her Cabinet Ministers, colleagues and backbenchers to do the same.

She was often disliked but I would suggest her neurodiversity left her unmoved by, and unresponsive to, the disapproval of others.

In fact her greatest virtue, in retrospect, is how little she cared if people liked her.

Labour politician Denis Healey once described ‘her imperiousness, which reminds me very much of Catherine the Great or the Dragon Empress, who presided over the terminal decline of the Manchu Dynasty in China’.

Autistic or not, I think she would have taken that as a compliment.

© Tina Gaudoin 2025

Adapted from The Incidental Feminist by Tina Gaudoin, to be published by Swift Press on September 11, priced £22. To order a copy for £19.80 (offer valid to September 20; UK p&p free on orders over £25) go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.

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