AS Sir Michael Hirst and his family this week dodged tabloid cameras and fled from their retreat in Aviemore, older journalists recalled those days of cheque-book journalism when rival press packs chased runaway heiresses round Scotland. Like many of the sagas from these distant days, the Hirst affair mixes personal tragedy and farce in about equal proportions.

His fall has been widely interpreted in terms of ideological splits. It flowed, rather, from personalities and old scores.

Between the two Michaels - Hirst and Forsyth - there was little love lost. They had patched up a working relationship. Forsyth would have been less than human if he had forgotten that it was none other than Sir Michael, as president of the Scottish Conservative and Unionist Association, who had led a delegation demanding his own removal as chairman during the bitter civil wars of 1990.

In the Hirst affair, Mr Forsyth did nothing. Formally, he had no locus. The chairman is appointed by the Prime Minister. His hands are clean. But he did nothing to help. He kept his silence. He did not kill but he did not strive officiously to keep alive.

Sir Michael's troubles flow from hubris and ambition. They began with what at first seemed a great opportunity. The ill wind which has blown Mr Allan Stewart out of the blue-chip Tory constituency of Eastwood might do him some good. He discussed the new horizons with friends last Monday evening.

Mr John Major, he told them, had talked to him about the possibility of a peerage in the dissolution honours. However, now he was drawn to the possibility of a return to the Commons. He was only 51. If he won Eastwood, it was probable that the other surviving senior Tories would not relish becoming Shadow Scottish Secretary. It might therefore fall to him.

On Tuesday morning, he went on Good Morning Scotland with the intention of paying graceful and regretful tribute to Mr Stewart. The interviewer, Derek Bateman, pressed him about Eastwood. What was at the front of his mind popped out. He would rule nothing out, he said.

That morning, he went to open a local Tory Office in Glasgow. What had been scheduled as an obscure duty, expected to attract no media interest, was filmed and photographed. In an unfortunate image, Sir Michael was seen combing his hair - or preening himself, as an enemy said.

By now, his own advisers were alarmed that his eagerness would be taken for unseemly presumption. They let it be known to their supporters in Eastwood that Sir Michael would go forward only if the constituency association made him the sole candidate. He was sensitive to Labour jibes that the electorate had rejected him in 1987. As party chairman, he did not relish another double snub.

His insistence on unopposed selection now leaked into the press. His enemies were mobilised. Mrs Anna McCurley materialised as a potential candidate. She, like Sir Michael, was one of the class of '87 removed from Westminster. She would rather see Donald Duck as a candidate, she said, than Micky.

By now, reporters' phones were red hot. His enemies were briefing the tabloids. Some of them had been working for months on Sir Michael's gay affiliations but had had to let the matter drop for want of evidence. Last Thursday, a resourceful Scottish tabloid reporter phoned Tory Central Office in Leith and tried an old dodge. Would they comment on Sir Micky's gay connections, she asked. She had pictures, statements.

She hadn't but the Tories were spooked and nervous. Had not Mr Major and Mr Michael Heseltine been hinting heavily that sexual misdemeanours, if exposed, should mean rapid departure?

However, one voice counselled caution. It was that of Mr George Birrell, former editor of the Scottish Daily Express, who had been hired by the party, on the recommendation of Mr Brian Meek, to improve its abysmal press relations.

From his press contacts, Mr Birrell thought the tabloids didn't have enough to go on but wasn't absolutely sure. He reached Sir Michael, on the stump with Defence Secretary Michael Portillo, to warn him of what was happening. Mr Birrell told him to sit tight until the morning, by which time he would have checked out what the tabloids had. As a result of the discussion, however, Sir Michael withdrew from the Eastwood running.

That evening, Sir Michael, pale and silent, was driven home. Later, he phoned the lawyer Sir Adrian Shinwell, a powerful west of Scotland Tory, past president of the SCUA and now the party's legal adviser. He has been called the Scottish Tories' Red Adair, after the fabled troubleshooter who puts out fires in oil wells.

He is a friend of Sir Michael's and stands above the factional battles. Sir Michael would therefore give his advice great weight. On Friday morning, Sir Adrian went to the Hirst home in Milngavie, and began a meeting with Sir Michael and his wife, Naomi.

Sir Adrian reviewed the evidence and made his recommendation. He did so without specific knowledge of what was to appear in the Sunday tabloids but he concluded that the situation was unstable. It would make life hell for Sir Michael, his wife, and their three children. And it would widen and deepen the pool of sleaze in which the party was mired. In short, the Tories' Red Adair proposed a controlled explosion in the hope of putting out the fire.

Later, they were joined by Mrs Goldie, now chairman, and the party's director, Mr Roger Pratt. Mr Jackson Carlaw, the south-side car dealer who is now her deputy, was summoned from holiday in Jersey. He arrived at about 8pm to find the atmosphere fraught with emotion. Sir Michael, who had interrupted the proceedings for a private meeting with his family, was with his wife, Naomi, and two of their three teenage children. There were tears as the family united around him.

Sir Adrian was angered by press reports which said there was blood all over the carpet and that the Hirsts had been held prisoner their own house. In fact, Sir Michael wrote his own resignation, tapping it out on his computer at about 9pm. Mr Forsyth was informed of it at midnight.

Mr Birrell, meantime, was in a state of mounting frustration. He had made his inquiries and satisfied himself that the tabloids stood exactly where they stood before: they simply didn't have enough to go on. He tried to reach the Hirst home all day. Phone calls got no further than the answering machine. Even Sir Michael's bleeper, usually to be relied on for a quick response, elicited no answer.

On Saturday, Mr Birrell went into the office to find a fait accompli. He hit the roof and harsh words were exchanged with Mr Pratt and other media director Bill Shaw. Had it not been for their pusillanimity, he told them, the tabloids would have nothing. It was Sir Michael's own admission of a past indiscretion which would let them run the story they had been unable to publish for months.

In the traditional euph-emism, their relationship broke down and Mr Birrell left on the spot. The next day's papers entirely substantiated Mr Birrell's advice. They were a farrago of unsourced allegations. However, the fire, instead of going out, took deeper hold. In the absence of authoritative briefing, speculation raged in the Scottish press and the dominant theory of a Tory coup emerged.

In the final analysis Sir Michael was destroyed by his enemies in league with the tabloids. But he was also betrayed by his friends. They simply lost their bottle. To paraphrase the Marquis of Montrose, they feared his fate too much to put it to the test, to win or lose it all. Now he has the time to reflect on a career lost without a fight.

In the final analysis, Sir Michael Hirst was destroyed by his enemies in league with the tabloids. But he was also betrayed by his friends. They simply lost their bottle. They fearedhis fate too much to put it to the test.