Labour has been forced to ask the unions for large donations to help it to make up its shortfall.Its accounts showed that while income had risen slightly between December 1998 and December 1999, from £21m to £22.5m, costs had risen much faster. Financing and IT costs rose from £600,000 to £1.2m, and development costs from £4.5m to £9.3m. Labour has recruited 35 trainee organisers for "Operation Turnout", designed to help it win the general election.The report said 40 per cent of its income continued to come from members and small donors, 30 per cent from trade unions, 20 per cent from major donors and 10 per cent from commercial activity and events.The Tories had a deficit of £5.6m in March 1999, and relied much more heavily than Labour on large donors.. It was meant to be a throw-away line, a small thank-you to one of his Cabinet stars.

Yet when Tony Blair gave his keynote speech to the 1998 Labour Party conference, the reference to "our one and only Mo" triggered an extraordinary standing ovation. It was meant to be a throw-away line, a small thank-you to one of his Cabinet stars. Yet when Tony Blair gave his keynote speech to the 1998 Labour Party conference, the reference to "our one and only Mo" triggered an extraordinary standing ovation. The Prime Minister was forced to pause for several minutes as the packed hall at Blackpool's Winter Gardens cheered loud and long for the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. Shyly, slowly, Ms Mowlam rose to her feet and gave an embarrassed wave.

The woman who had fought for peace in Ulster despite her own battle with a brain tumour was truly the darling of the conference There was not a dry eye in the house. "That must have been the first time a speaker got a standing ovation in the middle of speech and it was not even for the person making the speech," said Mr Blair, clearly taken aback.Just two years ago, the mere mention of her name prompted adulation from the party rank and file. Yet today, one of Labour's brightest stars faces a life outside not just Government but Parliament. To the shock of many Labour MPs, including some friends, Ms Mowlam announced that she would not be standing at the next general election.Despite repeated claims that she had been the victim of a whispering campaign, Ms Mowlam was at pains to make clear that she had not been forced out against her will. Stories had abounded that both Peter Mandelson, who replaced her in Northern Ireland, and Jonathan Powell, Mr Blair's chief of staff, had been briefing against her. The charge was that she was too gaffe-prone, too much of a loose cannon, someone better at emotion than policy. Some of the more poisonous briefings even suggested she was still unwell.Yesterday, although admitting she had been hurt by reports of a campaign against her, Ms Mowlam was as robust as ever as she defended the Prime Minister "This is my decision It's nothing to do with British politics It's nothing to do with Tony Blair and Number 10," she said.

But as colleagues took in the impact of her announcement, questions inevitably centred on how exactly such popular minister could have been allowed to leave office.Dr Marjorie Mowlam has certainly always been unconventional. She was brought up in Watford and Coventry, no stranger to poverty, and under the eyes of her alcoholic father. She studied at Durham and Iowa universities before going on to teach in Florida and Newcastle. While in the North-east, her dream of becoming an MP came unexpectedly true when the MP for Redcar decided to quit just five days before the 1987 general election.She arrived at Westminster aged 38, and quickly became popular with successive Labour leaders Neil Kinnock, John Smith and Tony Blair. Her first Westminster job was as an assistant in the shadow Northern Ireland Office.

Then she became a spokeswoman on City and corporate affairs, taking part in Labour's "prawn cocktail" charm offensive.But shortly before the last general election she suffered the brain tumour. It was operated on successfully and she was compelled for months to wear a wig which she detested. "I hate the bloody things," she has said, "and have to carry two around with me because I kept losing one." Once, she surprised journalists at a press conference by suddenly whipping it off her head.A breath of fresh air in Ulster, she was credited with injecting new life into the stalled peace process first constructed under John Major. Her arrival at Northern Ireland acted as some kind of shock therapy to the strife-torn province, which had become inured to Secretaries of State of a very different breed. She replaced the foreboding which characterised most of her predecessors with an almost cheerful, unfazed approach.