Labour Prime Ministers often fare well when history takes stock. Clement Attlee is widely hailed as one of Britain’s greatest leaders, rebuilding the nation after the Second World War and overseeing the creation of the National Health Service (NHS). Ramsay MacDonald, the first Labour Prime Minister, is remembered for breaking political ground in bringing the party to power, though his later decision to lead a Conservative-dominated National Government remains controversial. Even Tony Blair – whose legacy is forever shadowed by the Iraq War – is still regarded as one of the most influential Prime Ministers of the modern era, thanks to sweeping reforms in the late 1990s. In total, the UK has had seven Labour PMs – Ramsay MacDonald, Clement Attlee, Harold Wilson, James Callaghan, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, and Keir Starmer – but one often overlooked in the conversation about “the greats” is Harold Wilson.
So, was Harold Wilson actually Britain’s greatest Prime Minister? Let’s make the case for his place in history as one of the country’s most effective leaders.
Current Perception of Harold Wilson
Harold Wilson’s reputation has undergone a bit of a rehabilitation over time. In 2004, Ipsos Mori and the University of Leeds conducted one of the most in-depth surveys of 20th-century Prime Ministers. They asked 139 academics to score PMs on a 1–10 scale. Wilson ranked 9th out of 20, with a mean score just under 6 – the picture of a solid, “bread-and-butter” PM, but not someone considered truly exceptional.
That ranking was similar to his position in a 1999 survey of 20 historians, where he placed 10th (and yes, we’ll resist the obvious pun about being in that spot). This was the lower half of the table, although that list didn’t include Tony Blair.
Not all the polls put him in the middle, though. Historian Francis Beckett gave him a respectable 3 out of 5. In University of Leeds surveys in 2010 and 2016, Wilson ranked in the top five. YouGov polling has also put him fifth overall, with more people holding a positive view than a negative one. A 27,000-strong BBC Newsnight poll in 2008 reflected a similar sentiment.
In short, Wilson’s legacy has evolved from being seen as “decent but unremarkable” to “strong, if not quite legendary.”
The Case for Harold Wilson:
The Numbers
If we judge purely by statistics, Harold Wilson’s record is formidable. Not only was he Britain’s youngest PM in seven decades when he took office in 1964, but he also became one of the country’s most successful election winners.
Back in 1947, Clement Attlee appointed the 31-year-old Wilson as President of the Board of Trade, making him the youngest cabinet minister since William Pitt the Younger in 1782.
Wilson went on to win four general elections – a feat unmatched in the 20th century except by political heavyweights like Robert Walpole, Lord Liverpool, and William Gladstone. Reviews in History notes that he was the first occupant of Number 10 to increase his majority at successive elections.
His electoral victories tell their own story:
- 1964 – Narrowly defeated Conservative Alec Douglas-Home by just 200,000 votes, securing 317 seats to the Conservatives’ 304. His majority? A razor-thin four seats.
- 1966 – Transformed that slim lead into a commanding 98-seat majority, winning over 1.5 million more votes than the Conservatives and a record 48% vote share. This was the high point of his first term.
- February 1974 – In Britain’s first hung parliament since 1929, Labour returned to power despite a smaller vote share than the Conservatives, thanks to winning more seats.
- October 1974 – Won again, this time with a narrow three-seat majority, aided by Labour’s resolution of the miners’ strike that had plagued Edward Heath’s government.
Wilson was also the only person other than Winston Churchill to return to Downing Street after losing power – both benefiting from the quirks of Britain’s First-Past-the-Post system.
When he resigned in 1976, he did so on his own terms, telling an aide:
“I have been around this racetrack so often that I cannot generate any more enthusiasm for jumping any more hurdles.”
Citing stress, and with possible early signs of Alzheimer’s and colon cancer, Wilson announced his retirement at age 60. According to the Imperial and Global Forum, Gallup polls at the time showed nearly 50% of voters were satisfied with his performance when he stepped down – a rare exit with approval ratings still intact.
Legislation Under Harold Wilson
If there’s one thing people remember about Harold Wilson, it’s the sheer volume and significance of the legislation passed under his watch. The 1960s were a time of seismic cultural change across the globe — from the Civil Rights movement and “Summer of Love” in the United States to Cold War tensions and the rise of counterculture. Britain wasn’t immune, and neither was its politics.
Wilson’s government was right at the heart of that shift, introducing a raft of landmark laws that reshaped British society.
Sexual Offences Act (1967)
Arguably the most historic measure of Wilson’s premiership, the 1967 Sexual Offences Act decriminalised homosexual acts between consenting men over the age of 21 in private.
Until then, homosexuality had been brutally punished. Playwright Oscar Wilde was famously sentenced to two years’ hard labour, while Enigma codebreaker Alan Turing was chemically castrated, an ordeal that led to his suicide at just 41.
By the mid-1960s, public attitudes had started to soften — if only slightly. In 1965, the Daily Mail ran a poll showing that 63% of respondents believed homosexuality should be decriminalised, although a grim 93% still thought it required medical or psychiatric treatment. Remarkably, the bill even found support from some Conservatives, including Enoch Powell and a young Margaret Thatcher.
The third reading in the Commons passed by a resounding 101–16. While the law was far from perfect — it excluded anyone under 21 and only applied to acts “in private” — it was the first step towards equality, laying the groundwork for decades of progress. As the late Christopher Hitchens once put it, it recognised homosexuality as “not just a form of sex, [but] a form of love.”
Race Relations Acts (1965, 1968) & Sex Discrimination Act (1975)
In a decade when racial tensions were on the rise, Wilson’s government tackled discrimination head-on. The Race Relations Acts of 1965 and 1968 banned racial discrimination in public places, housing, and employment — the first laws of their kind in the UK.
This commitment to equality carried into his later years in power, with the Sex Discrimination Act 1975 prohibiting discrimination on the basis of gender or marital status. Taken together, these laws marked a major turning point in Britain’s legislative fight against prejudice.
Equal Pay Act (1970)
A 1964 Labour manifesto pledge finally came to life in 1970 with the Equal Pay Act, guaranteeing that women and men would receive equal pay for equal work. It covered not just wages but also pensions, holidays, and bonuses.
The catalyst for the bill was the 1968 Ford machinists’ strike, when a group of skilled women discovered they were being paid 15% less than male colleagues for doing equivalent jobs — and promptly walked out. The strike became a defining moment in the fight for gender equality and directly influenced the law’s creation.
Abortion Act (1967) & NHS Family Planning Act (1967)
The same year as the Sexual Offences Act, Wilson’s government passed the Abortion Act, spearheaded as a Private Member’s Bill by Liberal MP David Steel but supported by the government. It legalised abortion under certain conditions, dramatically reducing unsafe, illegal procedures that accounted for around 14% of maternal deaths.
That year also saw the NHS Family Planning Act, which made contraception freely available through the National Health Service — a further step towards women’s reproductive rights.
Representation of the People Act (1969)
In 1969, Wilson’s government lowered the voting age from 21 to 18, instantly expanding the electorate and giving millions of young people a political voice.
It was a bold move that reflected the growing independence of Britain’s youth — although, in a twist of political irony, Wilson lost the next general election.
Murder (Abolition of Death Penalty) Act (1965)
Capital punishment was effectively ended under Wilson with the Murder (Abolition of Death Penalty) Act 1965.
By the 1960s, public opinion had begun to shift, fuelled by high-profile miscarriages of justice like Timothy Evans (wrongly hanged for murders later found to be committed by serial killer John Christie) and Derek Bentley (executed after his teenage accomplice shot a police officer under dubious circumstances).
Initially passed with a five-year “trial period,” the law was made permanent in 1969. No execution in the UK has taken place since.
Theatres Act (1968)
Until 1968, all stage plays in Britain had to be licensed by the Lord Chamberlain’s Office — a practice dating back to the Licensing Act of 1737, introduced to prevent political satire against Prime Minister Robert Walpole.
This censorship endured for over two centuries, despite calls for reform from literary heavyweights like J.M. Barrie and George Bernard Shaw. Wilson’s government finally abolished it with the Theatres Act, unleashing a new wave of creative freedom.
Government cultural spending more than doubled during Wilson’s first term, rising from £7.7 million in 1964 to £15.3 million within five years.
Divorce Reform Act (1969)
The Divorce Reform Act, passed shortly after Wilson left office in 1970, allowed couples to divorce without proving fault such as adultery. For the first time, people could end a marriage simply on the grounds that it had broken down — a major liberalisation of family law.
Chronically Sick and Disabled Persons Act (1970)
Pioneered by Labour MP Alf Morris, this landmark bill gave greater rights and support to people with disabilities, including access to travel, food, and recreation.
Although Wilson wasn’t directly involved in drafting it, he later appointed Morris as the world’s first Minister for the Disabled when Labour returned to power in 1974 — underlining his government’s commitment to social reform.
Public Image
Harold Wilson was perhaps the most working-class prime minister Britain has ever had — a true rags-to-riches story in a political landscape often dominated by privilege. Unlike the long line of Eton-educated leaders (20 PMs have hailed from there), Wilson was a proud northerner, born in Yorkshire to a chemist father and a schoolteacher mother.
According to Ben Pimlott’s 1992 biography, a 10-year-old Wilson once told his mother: “I am going to be prime minister.” It wasn’t an idle boast. Years of political graft followed, with Wilson holding multiple Cabinet and Shadow Cabinet posts. In 1947, at just 31, he became President of the Board of Trade — the youngest cabinet minister of the 20th century. This early exposure in high office gave him credibility and legitimacy long before he reached Number 10.
Building the Everyman Image
Wilson understood the power of presentation. His working-class image was deliberately cultivated to resonate with ordinary voters. In the run-up to the 1964 general election, his placement as Labour leader saw Gallup polls give him a 15.5% lead. That momentum grew after a Sunday Times interview with his wife Mary, who spoke warmly about his simple tastes — his love of home cooking, his fondness for HP Sauce — reinforcing the “man of the people” narrative. Soon, Labour enjoyed a 20% lead in the polls.
Upon becoming PM in 1964, Wilson reportedly told journalists:
“I still can’t believe it. Just think — here I am, the lad from behind those lace curtains in the Huddersfield house you saw, and now I’m about to go to see the Queen and become prime minister… I still can’t believe it.”
A Surprising Bond with the Queen
Despite assumptions that his working-class background and Labour politics would clash with the monarchy, Wilson enjoyed a famously warm relationship with Queen Elizabeth II. He was a frequent guest at Balmoral, joining picnics and holding weekly audiences that often ran over two hours.
The Queen even broke with tradition by visiting Downing Street for Wilson’s departure dinner — the first time she had done so for a PM in over 20 years. Many accounts suggest Wilson was among her favourite premiers. As he put it, their relationship was marked by “relaxed intimacy,” with Her Majesty allowing him to break protocol, smoke his pipe in her presence, and linger for post-meeting drinks.
The Pipe-Smoking Prime Minister
One of Wilson’s most recognisable traits was his ever-present pipe, which became a defining part of his public persona. Rarely photographed without it, he was even named Pipesmoker of the Year in 1965 by the British Pipesmokers’ Council.
But Wilson wasn’t just a visual icon — he was a commanding speaker. One commentator described him as “a magnificent orator, both in the Commons and at public meetings. He destroyed both Alec Douglas-Home and Harold Macmillan at the dispatch box, and Edward Heath never matched him.”
His sharp political mind and knack for memorable lines produced some enduring quotes, none more famous than: “A week is a long time in politics.”
Popularity with the Public
Wilson’s public appeal was clear in the polling numbers. Former Labour MP Roy Hattersley recalled that Gallup surveys found 64% of the public described him as “likeable,” with just 7% disagreeing. His long-time secretary and confidante, Baroness Falkender (Marcia Williams), summed up his accessibility:
“He was on your screen, he was in your home, and you could identify with him.”
The Aberfan Disaster
We have separated this into its own section, having covered the deeply tragic Aberfan Disaster in detail before. On 21 October 1966, years of coal waste mismanagement culminated in catastrophe. A 30-metre-high wave of coal slurry — around two million cubic metres in total — hurtled down the hillside into the Welsh village of Aberfan. It struck the local school and surrounding buildings, killing 144 people, 116 of them children.
Wilson arrived in Aberfan within 12 hours of the disaster — an impressive turnaround given the era’s slower communication and travel — making it one of the first major tragedies to be covered extensively on television. His speed of response stood in stark contrast to Queen Elizabeth II, who, despite later citing it as her greatest regret, did not visit the village until eight days later.
According to The Guardian, Wilson empowered Secretary of State for Wales Cledwyn Hughes to “take whatever action he thought necessary, irrespective of any considerations of ‘normal procedures’, expenditure or statutory limitations.” Within days, Wilson called for a formal inquiry, telling Parliament:
“It is expedient that a tribunal be established for inquiring into a definite matter of urgent public importance — viz. the causes of, and all the circumstances relating to, the disaster at Aberfan, Merthyr Tydfil, on Friday the 21st day of October 1966.”
The resulting report was, in Wilson’s own words, “devastating.” His government introduced the Mines and Quarries (Tips) Act 1969, designed to prevent such a tragedy from ever occurring again. While no legislation could undo the horrors of Aberfan, it ensured that coal tips across Britain would be properly regulated and maintained.
Wilson later reflected on 21 October 1966 as “probably the worst day of my life,” underscoring how deeply the tragedy affected him. His swift presence, empathetic handling, and determination to legislate for change left a lasting impression on the Welsh community and the nation.
Vietnam Evasion
If botched foreign conflicts can define — and tarnish — a premiership (Tony Blair’s Iraq War being a recent example), then avoiding one can strengthen it. Harold Wilson’s steadfast refusal to involve Britain in the Vietnam War stands as one of the most defining aspects of his foreign policy.
During the 1960s, the Vietnam conflict became a global flashpoint. In the United States, President Lyndon B. Johnson faced mounting public opposition, with chants of “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” echoing at rallies. In Britain, the perception of unwavering US support led to domestic protests — including a 10,000-strong march in London in March 1968.
Despite repeated pressure from Washington, promises of economic aid, and Britain’s own economic struggles, Wilson maintained a strict non-interventionist stance. In a top-secret letter to Johnson, he wrote:
“My decision on my policy here is dictated not by political pressure but by what I know to be right.”
This refusal came at a cost. UK–US relations soured, compounded by personal friction between Wilson and Johnson, and by Britain’s concurrent decision to withdraw its military bases from east of the Suez — a move that fed American fears of Soviet expansion.
Still, Wilson held firm. As biographer Rhiannon Vickers noted:
“The US Administration and President Johnson repeatedly demanded that Wilson commit troops to the Vietnam War, but he steadfastly refused to do so.”
This is not to say Britain was entirely disengaged from global military affairs — it had just concluded the Borneo Confrontation a year earlier, and memories of World War II, the Korean War, and post-colonial conflicts still lingered. But the combination of a weary public, a fragile economy, and Wilson’s moral judgment meant Britain would not enter Vietnam.
In hindsight, history has looked kindly on this choice. Wilson’s refusal spared Britain the deep political scars, financial costs, and public backlash that many other allied nations endured — a decision that remains one of his most respected legacies.
Modernisation of the Nation
When asked about his proudest achievement as prime minister, Harold Wilson often pointed to one thing: the creation of the Open University. After receiving an honorary degree from the institution, he remarked:
“Everywhere I go in the world they want to know about the Open University, and I’m very proud to be asked.”
The seeds of the idea were planted before Wilson’s election as PM. He was acutely aware of the disparity in higher education access between rich and poor households, and in his famous 1963 “white heat of technology” speech, he proposed a “university of the air” — an innovative concept that would eventually evolve into the Open University we know today.
Key to making this vision a reality was his Minister for the Arts, Jennie Lee, who fought through considerable opposition to see the project through. Without Wilson’s leadership and Lee’s persistence, it’s doubtful the Open University would ever have existed — and it’s telling that Wilson himself regarded it as his crowning legacy.
Wilson’s modernising instincts extended far beyond education. In housing, he presided over the most impressive building figures of the last century, hitting a peak in both public and private construction at the same time. At one point, more than 400,000 new homes were completed in a single year. His 1966 manifesto pledged an even more ambitious target of 500,000, and while he fell just short — achieving roughly four-fifths of that — the results were still unprecedented.
As the Red Brick blog notes, Wilson “set a tone for government… oversaw radical commitments in manifestoes… and worked diligently to deliver them. Both the commitments and the delivery put our current politics to shame.”
His reformist streak was also evident in constitutional innovation. In 1975, Wilson became the first British prime minister to hold a nationwide referendum, giving the public a direct say on the UK’s membership in the European Economic Community (EEC), the forerunner to the European Union.
The reasons were as political as they were democratic. Biographer Ben Pimlott argued that Wilson’s move was partly to avoid an internal Labour Party split, noting:
“He knew that if he brought Britain out, Roy Jenkins and his followers would be off — yet if he stayed in, he would offend Benn, Shore and Silkin. But they had no other hole to go to.”
By putting the question to the people, Wilson found a neat escape hatch from potential Cabinet mutiny.
The official government pamphlet at the time urged voters:
“I ask you to use your vote. For it is your vote that will now decide. The Government will accept your verdict… whichever way it goes.”
Wilson backed the “Yes” campaign, as did his entire senior team — Chancellor Denis Healey, Foreign Secretary James Callaghan, and Home Secretary Roy Jenkins. The Conservatives were overwhelmingly in favour too, with new leader Margaret Thatcher joining 249 of her 275 MPs in supporting membership. With the exception of The Morning Star, all major newspapers endorsed “Yes.”
The opposition camp included future Labour leader Michael Foot, Tony Benn (who warned of a European “democratic deficit”), Conservative Enoch Powell, and parties like the SNP, Sinn Féin, and the UUP.
The turnout was 64.6%, with 67% voting “Yes” — majorities in all four nations of the UK. While not the highest turnout in British history, it comfortably beat later referendums such as the 2011 AV vote (42%). Wilson described the process as:
“A free vote, without constraint, following a free democratic campaign conducted constructively and without rancour.”
The EU issue would of course return — most dramatically with Brexit — but in 1975, the referendum was considered a democratic success. Wilson remains one of only two prime ministers to hold a UK-wide referendum.
Wilson also embraced the growing influence of television in politics. After leaving office, he became — to date — the only former PM to host a commercial television programme, the late-night discussion show Friday Night, Saturday Morning. The experiment was, by most accounts, a disaster, but in hindsight, it’s a fascinating “so bad it’s good” slice of political pop culture. The closest comparison since is Boris Johnson’s four stints guest-hosting Have I Got News for You before becoming prime minister.
A Case Against Harold Wilson
Devaluing the Pound
While Harold Wilson’s premiership had many high points, it would be dishonest to ignore its missteps — and one of the most significant was the handling of the pound in the mid-1960s.
Wilson, alongside his Chancellor of the Exchequer James “Jim” Callaghan, delayed devaluation for far too long. Historian John Simkin of Spartacus Educational calls it “probably the biggest single blunder” of the post-1964 Labour government.
The idea of devaluing the pound might sound alien — although given Britain’s more recent economic history, perhaps less so — but in 1967 it became unavoidable. A prolonged economic downturn, worsened by a dockers’ strike and a six-day Suez Canal closure, left the government with no choice.
Wilson had previously been staunchly against devaluation. He even banned any public discussion of it, believing it would “damage Labour politically, tarnish Britain’s international reputation and relax the economic pressures on British industry to reform and modernise itself.” For a man who was the only former economist to occupy Number 10, it was an especially awkward reversal.
In November 1967, the government finally acted, cutting the pound’s value by 14% — from $2.80 to $2.40 — and raising interest rates from 6.5% to 8%. Wilson addressed the nation in his now-famous “pound in your pocket” speech, insisting that the devaluation didn’t reduce the actual amount of money Britons had. The line was savaged by critics, with Opposition Leader Edward Heath calling it “the most dishonest statement ever made.”
European Economic Community Failure
Wilson’s relationship with the European Economic Community (EEC) — the forerunner to today’s European Union — was a mix of advocacy and frustration. While he would later campaign to keep Britain in the EEC, his first attempt to join ended in failure.
In 1967, Britain made its second formal application for membership under Wilson’s leadership. The result was an emphatic “non” from French President Charles de Gaulle. His reasons were partly economic — citing incompatibilities between British industry and EEC policies — and partly political. Above all, de Gaulle disliked Britain’s close ties to the United States, fearing the UK would act as Washington’s Trojan horse inside the bloc.
French resistance was hardly new. De Gaulle had long been suspicious of the Anglo-American “special relationship,” and Churchill once described him as “a Frenchman who is a bitter foe of Britain and may well bring civil war upon France.”
At the time, the BBC reported that “only France remain[ed] opposed,” with Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Italy, and Germany all backing Britain’s entry. In response, Wilson issued a 16-point rebuttal, rejecting offers of associate membership and reaffirming Britain’s bid for full membership — a move that enjoyed majority support in the Commons when announced on 2 May 1967.
Still, the rejection was a blow. Membership of the EEC was a goal shared by all three major parties, and the veto dented Wilson’s credibility. Adding salt to the wound, it was his political rival Edward Heath who eventually sealed the deal. After de Gaulle resigned in 1969 and died in 1970, Heath moved quickly, securing Britain’s entry on 1 January 1973 — under terms Wilson disliked but nonetheless inherited when he returned to office in 1974.
Public Perception
Earlier, we touched on how vital public image was to Harold Wilson. For much of his career, that image earned him respect, admiration, and even a certain warmth from the public. Yet not everyone bought into it — and some of the most surprising critics came from cultural icons and sharp-tongued satirists.
One of the more unexpected sources of attack was The Beatles. On the surface, this seems odd — the same man who had given the Fab Four their MBEs in 1965 later found himself the subject of their scorn. But politics and pop culture have a habit of colliding.
George Harrison, “the quiet Beatle,” wrote the politically charged anthem Taxman in response to Wilson’s government imposing a 95% supertax on high earners. John Lennon made sure to name-check Wilson (alongside Edward Heath for balance), delivering biting lines such as:
“Should five percent appear too small / Be thankful I don’t take it all.”
For the biggest band in the world — with a truly global reach — to publicly lambast domestic tax policy was no small blow to the prime minister’s image.
Meanwhile, the satirical magazine Private Eye — co-founded by the late Peter Cook — made Wilson one of its earliest and most consistent targets. The long-running column Mrs Wilson’s Diary, written largely by John Wells, imagined the private thoughts of Wilson’s wife in scathing and often absurd fashion. One fictional entry lampooned Wilson’s relationship with U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson, portraying the PM as dim-witted and easily pushed around.
Wilson frequently found himself on Private Eye’s covers under headlines such as: “All the lies and smears inside!”, “Drugged with power”, and even “Should this man be kept alive?” — complete with a bandaged portrait. While tongue-in-cheek, these barbs chipped away at his credibility.
His sensitivity to media criticism didn’t help. During the BBC’s Yesterday’s Men documentary, an interviewer casually asked Wilson about his forthcoming memoirs. The ex-PM bristled, declaring: “I’m really not having this!” and halting the recording. He branded the question “ridiculous” and even threatened consequences if the footage or transcript leaked — behaviour that host David Dimbleby later described as “a storm in a teacup.”
Other Reasons for Unpopularity
Wilson’s difficulties with the press were only part of the problem. Political realities were just as damaging. The European Economic Community issue split his Cabinet ideologically, leaving little room for decisive action — a situation made worse by his declining health in the mid-1970s.
By the time he resigned in 1976, biographer Roy Jenkins and others noted his reputation had sunk. In Harold Wilson: The Unprincipled Prime Minister, it is stated plainly: “When he retired in 1976, Wilson’s reputation was… at a low point.”
His perceived paranoia became a recurring theme. Wilson feared MI5 surveillance, alleged smear campaigns, and even claimed there had been two separate coup plots — one in the late 1960s and another in the mid-1970s — aimed at removing him from power. Journalist Barry Penrose recalled Wilson “speaking darkly” of these supposed conspiracies. Whether or not such plots existed, the rumours painted him as jumpy, distrustful, and increasingly unstable in the public eye.
Some of the more outlandish allegations went as far as accusing Wilson of being a Soviet agent. MI5 even opened a file to assess whether he posed a security risk. The inquiry came to nothing, but the mere fact it existed was enough to fuel suspicion.
Finally, there was the controversy of Wilson’s resignation honours list — the infamous “Lavender List.” Several recipients later attracted scandal: Lord Kagan, inventor of Wilson’s favoured Gannex raincoat, was imprisoned for fraud; Sir Eric Miller took his own life while under investigation for corruption. Even the decision to award an OBE to comedian Mike Yarwood — famous for impersonating Wilson — raised eyebrows. Critics, including senior Labour figures, argued that these appointments inflicted lasting reputational damage.
There is no denying Harold Wilson’s significance — arguably the most important prime minister between Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher. In terms of influence, he belongs in Britain’s top five leaders of the modern era, alongside Churchill, Thatcher, David Lloyd George, and Tony Blair (even if much of Blair’s tenure came in the following century).
But was he the best? I’d say yes.
Like every leader, Wilson had shortcomings, but these pale in comparison to what he achieved and what he spared Britain from. He championed equality across class, gender, and sexuality; delivered transformative reforms for women, gay people, and the disabled; expanded access to education through the Open University; and modernised a country that was drifting behind its Western European neighbours.
In the short term, his refusal to commit British troops to Vietnam was a masterclass in political pragmatism. In the long term, his commitment to social justice, housing, and opportunity reshaped Britain for the better. In that sense, Wilson’s politics anticipated the soft-left strain of Labour seen today — but he remained Labour through and through.
Even his rivals acknowledged his skill. Nemesis Edward Heath called him “a fine politician,” while The Guardian’s Geoffrey Goodman described him as “a remarkable prime minister and, indeed, a quite remarkable man.”
Harold Wilson wasn’t perfect — no prime minister is — but he worked for the people, sought positive change, and fought for equality and justice. Measured by the Britain he helped create, Harold Wilson stands as Britain’s greatest prime minister.
