Eddie Barnes: It's no wonder politicians want to put their families first

ALAN Milburn started it. Five years ago, the then Health Secretary shocked everyone. First he resigned entirely unexpectedly. That was mildly interesting. But then it emerged that his stated reason for doing so – "to spend more time with the family" – was in fact true. Now that was weird.

So conditioned had we become to the concept of avaricious politicians standing on each others' heads in the climb to the top (and indeed, so perfectly had Milburn up till then fitted that caricature), that the revelation simply did not compute. Milburn's case was filed away, marked "odd".

Last week, Nicol Stephen followed him. Perhaps we should have seen the clues (opponents have long claimed that Stephen is a bit of a skive) but both the news and the stated reason for his going seemed bizarre. And yet true, it seems. "A line had been crossed," he declared. Mrs Stephen may or may not have issued an ultimatum, but a fork in the road had been reached – politics to the left, family to the right.

Yesterday, the Labour candidate for the Glasgow East seat at Westminster, George Ryan, similarly backed out, we are told, because his partner was afraid that the media would rake over old dirt once dished against him.

Combine this with the rumours that Labour MSP Andy Kerr is to step back from contesting the vacant Scottish Labour leadership because he is enjoying the company of his loved ones too much, and it appears we are approaching a trend.

One wonders what on earth previous generations of politicians would have made of it all. Scouring Roy Jenkins' biography of Winston Churchill, there appears to be just one instance when his wife, Clemie, got a little upset at the demands of the job – when Churchill, after arriving at Chequers for Christmas 24 hours late, suddenly declared he was off to Athens on Christmas Eve. "Clementine, who was usually good at taking in her stride both her own and her husband's absences, retired to her room in floods of tears," writes Jenkins.

But the past is a foreign country. Quite what Churchill would have made of the Sky News newsbar, for example, is an interesting thought. The spate of politicians now resigning and ducking out from the limelight to spend time with their families is a symptom of a crisis of doubt afflicting many politicians who are wondering more than ever whether the glamour of the job, and the lure of power, is worth it.

The politicians themselves give a clear reason for this malaise. When Milburn quit, he remarked on the difference between politics now and in previous generations. "Twenty-four hours a day media, greater scrutiny, higher public expectations." No one can doubt he has a point. Politicians, especially those in positions of leadership, lead lives which, frankly, most of us would flee from after about a day.

It has reached pretty silly levels. One MSP told me last week she was worrying about whether or not to declare on her register of interests a picture she was given recently by a group of school children. Justly or not, many politicians feel a little hounded – guilty until proven innocent.

And, as a result, they are increasingly looking at the debit side of their life – the travel, the press scrutiny, the fact that most people think they are wasters – and wonder if it is worth the bother. Most say yes. Sadly, too many in the Scottish Parliament come to this conclusion knowing that this is the best paid job they are ever going to get, so they're going to stay whatever.

But for those with a bit of talent, when a wife or husband is at home, demanding to know why they are putting themselves through the ringer, and when children are involved, the equation changes. Many politicians will agree that they are fair game to public scrutiny. They have got used to the pressure. But what tips them over the edge is when it gets to their families. More and more, we now see them yielding to that pressure.

Politicians sometimes do not help themselves. At Holyrood, too few MSPs rise to the challenge of the scrutiny. Better to follow the example of Alex Fergusson, now Presiding Officer.

A few years ago, assailed by journalists over why he had filed such costly expenses claims, the Tory farmer simply shot back (I paraphrase): "Because I'm worth it." Many politicians would be surprised by how a little backbone can often subdue the baying pack.

But the worry is this: how many potential political leaders are being lost because they fear the smell of the greasepaint? Are we creating a culture where only Type A men will ever prosper? Questions for us all to answer.