Class Warfare Rumbles in the Tory Camp : Britain: Each man contending for prime minister in today’s vote is blessed or cursed by his place in this stratified society.

Class warfare has returned to Britain following the fall of Margaret Thatcher. There is no fighting in the streets, but each contender for prime minister has been blessed or cursed with his own place in Britain’s still class-sensitive society.

Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd, despite his protests, holds the baton for the upper class. He was educated at Eton College, training grounds of the Tory great, and Trinity College, Cambridge, the choice of Prince Charles. He posed for photographs this week in the manner of a country squire preparing for a portrait by Gainsborough--his young wife in tweeds, his daughter in Wellington boots, the candidate and his son beneath a broad oak tree while a comfortable horse stands by.

Hurd rails furiously to all who will listen about the idiocy of choosing a leader by his image. But that’s because his own image is so devastatingly clear: He may not know much about economics or the national health service or about ordinary people’s schools, but he has weight or “bottom,” he can be trusted, and, although no aristocrat, can carry the burdens of noblesse oblige .

Former Defense Secretary Michael Heseltine wears the middle-class badge. He is a self-made millionaire and owns many more acres than Hurd. But he offers himself as the “man going places,” the man whose personal computer has a program ready-made for Britain, the man who can sell new policies door to door and buy back old votes.

Chancellor of the Exchequer John Major has the working-class label. His father was often unemployed and for a while walked the circus trapeze. Today’s would-be prime minister was once also unemployed, was turned down for a job as a bus conductor and has no university education. He was an accountant and bank executive before being elected to Parliament a mere 11 years ago.

All three men now offer similar policies. But it is Major who has made class an issue. And it is Major who has the best chance of stopping Heseltine’s momentum today as the 372 Conservative MPs vote.

The centerpiece of Major’s campaign is a call for a classless society. This cry has resounded deeply inside a party that has always been nervous of its roots in the landed gentry while proud of it ability to widen its appeal and be the “natural party of government.” He has gained support from the self-styled “caring” upper class, who believe that he will promote the redistribution of wealth and, unlike Thatcher, improve public services to the poor; he also has the support of the Thatcherite meritocracy that sees him as the man most committed to protecting national sovereignty and the value of savings.

John Major has never been a flamboyant politician--and probably could not be now so broadly appealing if he had been. Like President Bush’s successful Supreme Court nomination David Souter, he has left few tracks. Those looking for inconsistencies in his record find little.

Thatcher promoted him soon after his election because he dared to stand up to her in a heated Downing Street argument one night. As he left her office he told the chief whip that “that’s the end of my career.” “No,” came the reply. “It’s only the beginning.” And so it proved, as the gray-looking man from South London, whose chief loves were football and cricket, turned out to have an instinctive feel for government, for twisting arms without leaving bruises.

He is frank about the problems of his poor education. He admits that he has to work harder than his university-trained colleagues to master a new subject. During his brief tenure as foreign secretary last year, he occasionally seemed to the foreign office mandarins to be swimming beyond his depth. But it has proved hard to level such criticisms against a politician who seems to symbolize a classless society and dares to wrap himself in its flag.

He may suffer from being associated with the unsuccessful Thatcher years rather than the triumphant earlier ones. As the British economy sinks, he may be judged too easy a scapegoat or too inflexible to change course. But a few months ago, when the most recently sacked members of Thatcher’s Cabinet were squabbling over their state-provided country houses, Mr. and Mrs. Major let it be known that, if it made the prime minister’s problems any easier, they were happy to stick with their own modest home in his constituency. Prissy and puritanical, whispered the critics. Powerful symbolism, thought those who are trying to elect Major prime minister today.