Walpole: Kiss my bum (artist unknown)

Robert Walpole was Prime Minister from 1721 for 21 years – a record not yet surpassed – and he was the first to get it in the neck from cartoonists. His power depended upon the corrupt sale of government jobs and he dominated

Low: A 1939 view of Chamberlain's appeasement

In the days before photography, politicians were recognised from their cartoons. From the 1730s to 1820s, individual cartoons were sold in print shops – sixpence plain, a shilling coloured. Cartoonists such as James Gillray, Thomas Rowlandson, Richard Newton and George Cruickshank would etch their drawings on to a copperplate and then a few hundred copies were printed, to be sold hot-off-the-press as the up-to-date comment of the day. At first, these prints were passed around coffee houses in St James's, Pall Mall, Piccadilly and The Strand, where they were seen by only a few political insiders. But when prints were hung up in shop windows any passer-by could see them, and this was how politicians first came to be recognised by the

“There aren't enough women in my Cabinet”
Cummings: A 1982 portayal of strength and power

Pitt did not like these cartoons and his friends bribed the greatest political English cartoonist, James Gillray, to portray him in a more favourable light. It worked. He was shown dividing up the world with Napoleon in one of the most famous of British cartoons. It has been copied endlessly: Jim Callaghan dividing the Labour Party with Wedgwood Benn; Margaret Thatcher dividing the Conservative Party with Michael Heseltine; and Tony Blair dividing New Labour with Gordon Brown. In the 19th

Steve Bell: John Major's naff Superman image became famous

The golden age of cartooning, from 1780-1830, was brought to an end for two reasons: Victorian middle-class morality and a change in printing technology. In the 1820s, artists, notably Cruickshank, used wooden blocks for their drawings and these were placed alongside printed text – and the illustrated political pamphlet was born. The most famous of these was The Political House That Jack Built, an attack upon George IV and his ministers in 1820. This pamphlet was sold in editions of thousands and reached even industrial and provincial towns across the country.

At the same time, newspapers expanded rapidly, which helped to kill off the tradition of the print shop and suppress the vigour and obscenity of the 18th century. The mass-market developed, but editors did not want to shock their readers, and Victorian husbands did not want their wives and children in their own sitting rooms to pick up newspapers featuring crude and vulgar drawings.

The weekly magazine Punch was first published in 1841 and this became the voice of Victorian values. Each week the magazine had one major political cartoon, which emerged as a result of editorial discussion. The cartoonists, initially Leech and later Tenniel, were asked to produce a cartoon that made a magisterial comment upon the main issue of the day. As a result, prime ministers from Peel in 1841 to Asquith in 1914 had a much easier ride than their predecessors. There were no bare bottoms, no defecating, urinating or fornicating: prime ministers were depicted as statesmen.

Imagine today's heyday

The pompous portrayals of prime ministers by Punch were given a rude jolt by the cartoons of Max Beerbohm from the end of the 19th century. Beerbohm was a gifted essayist and theatre critic who drew Balfour as a wilting question mark; Lloyd George as the little twister; Asquith lifeless; Baldwin thoughtless; and Bonar Law senseless. Beerbohm used an incredible economy of line accompanied by ironic captions. His cartoons were rarely about specific political events; instead they delineated character. Max was incomparable and paved the way for the more irreverent style of cartooning that returned in the 20th century. We were lucky in the first half of the century that a New Zealander, David Low, and a Hungarian, Victor Weisz – “Vicky” – decided to settle in London, as they were both cartoonists of genius.

Low, in the London Evening Standard, relentlessly attacked Stanley Baldwin and Neville Chamberlain for their support for appeasement. Although Low was a socialist, he admired Churchill for standing up to Hitler and portrayed Winston as a great national hero. It is important to remember that popular opinion at that time was with Chamberlain, and when he returned from Munich the chorus of a popular song was, “God Bless You, Mr Chamberlain”. In Punch, Illingworth portrayed him as the Dove of Peace, but Low depicted him as a victim of the German tiger that was covered in swastikas and munching Chamberlain's famous umbrella. Vicky, also a socialist, wanted to see the defeat of the Tories in 1959 and so, in the Evening Standard, cartooned Macmillan ironically as “Supermac”, comparing the Prime Minister unfavourably with Superman. It had exactly the reverse effect: it actually enhanced Macmillan's reputation and helped him to win the 1959 election. This was one of the rare occasions when a cartoonist's work rebounded and benefited the victim.

Pomposity punctured

In 1771 the then Prime Minister, the Earl of Bute, was so rattled by savage cartoons that alleged he was having an affair with the Dowager Princess of Wales that he scuttled out of office. Stanley Baldwin, renowned for his calmness, was stung by the cartoons of Low, whom he dismissed as “evil and malicious”. Anthony Eden used to ring up his Chief Whip, Ted Heath, every morning at eight o'clock to complain about how the press was treating him – not surprisingly, for he was savaged over the Suez fiasco, being depicted in Punch as a sheep in wolf 's clothing. Heath went on to collect cartoons of himself, but only those which were flattering. When I asked him why he did not have any that were critical, he replied, with an air of aloof dismissal, “I can't think of any. If they were unfair, I would not remember them.”

As was usually the case, the Duke of Wellington got it right. He was seen laughing at some of the cartoons of himself, although sometimes privately he was hurt. He said to his companion: “There is nothing but calumny in the world, Mrs Arbuthnot, and I must make up my mind to be exposed to it.” The most caricatured Prime Minister, because of his long political life, was Churchill. He experienced the full range of cartooning, from the vicious to the adulatory. But in his second premiership in the 1950s, he did not like those cartoons which dwelt on his great age and approaching senility.

Margaret Thatcher has been cartooned many thousands of times and most have been pretty vicious. However, the cartoons often played to her strengths, depicting her as an Iron Lady, a strong and determined leader who would not make U-turns. Although these were often flattering images, Mrs Thatcher did not care how she was depicted – she rarely looked at cartoons and never bothered to watch Spitting Image. She appeared to be a gift for cartoonists, but the more the left-wing artists attacked her, it seemed, the stronger she became.

John Major was harshly treated, with cartoonists depicting him as indecisive, grey, stubborn and hapless. The cartoon image of him that is likely to be remembered most is that created by Steve Bell, cartoonist of The Guardian and an avowed socialist. He first drew Major as a turnip on Maggie's farm and then as a poodle, but neither of these images stuck. Then Bell struck upon portraying him as a naff Superman who wore his M&S Y-fronts over his trousers. Cartoonists have always liked props – Disraeli's goatee beard; Neville Chamberlain's umbrella; Churchill's cigar; Wilson's pipe; Margaret Thatcher's handbag; Tony Blair's teeth and ears – and it was the Yfronts that became the prop by which Major could instantly be recognised in cartoons.

As for Blair, Peter Brookes's work in The Times got to the heart of the Iraq debate, showing that he saw through the deception over weapons of mass destruction from the very beginning. It is not necessarily only with hindsight that the cartoonist's art makes a political statement. Steve Bell was constantly cutting as he foresaw developments in the Blair/Brown leadership squabble. However, as the late Alan Coren (former editor of Punch) memorably once remarked: “The pen isn't actually mightier than the sword. The sword will destroy all pens in time – and we don't lie in our beds trembling in case Iran gets hold of a bottle of ink.”

Prime ministers and politicians can be hurt by cartoons, but they should remember the cartoonist's role is not to couch favour or approval. They should ignore the cartoons that flatter and resist wincing at the ones that ridicule. If, at times, the attack does strike home, they should never let it show. The reputations of the real political giants have not been impaired by the images created by the cartoonists. Great politicians rise above the invective, no doubt sufficiently confident of their own reputation to allow their achievements to be judged by history, rather than by cartoons.