“TAY PAY” IS DEAD

Dominion, Volume 23, Issue 82, 31 December 1929, Page 8

“TAY PAY” IS DEAD

FATHER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS MOST BELOVED MAN IN ENGLAND Dominion Special Service. (By Nellie M. Scanlan.) London, November 21. T. P. O’Connor is dead. “The last of the genuine Victorians, ’’ said Bernard Shaw. The Father of the House of’Commons; the grand old man of journalism. In his fiery youth, with pen and tongue he fought for Home Rule for Ireland. In mellow age, be was the most beloved man in England, probably more beloved here even than in Ireland. For forty-nine years he has been a member of the House of Commons, and for many years his Scottish constituency in Liverpool has returned him unopposed. Mr. Lloyd George, with thirty-nine consecutive years of membership, succeeds him as Father of the House of ommons. Hard Struggle in Early Years. Like most successful writers, T.P. had a hard struggle in his early years. He knew the pinch of poverty, the tireless effort, the bitterness of disappointment. But he was not embittered. He founded several newspapers, a couple of which are flourishing journals to-day. His last personal venture, “T.P’s. Weekly” published its last copy three weeks ago, but only when his final illness made the relinquishing of his task imperative. But he still continued his weekly article in the “Times.” As a diarist, the gossip writer of his age, T.P. has been compared with Pepys. He knew everyone, and was welcome everywhere. Before he died he received messages from the King and Pope, and personages of high and low estate. It has been said that he did not reap the financial benefit he should from his enterprises; the rich dividends did not come his way, but his personal writings, right up till his death, brought him in a considerable income. But there were always the poor. His own household was modest, a comfortable flat, and a couple of servants. But his generosit; was great. No one ever appealed to him in vain. His hand was always in liis pocket to help. About forty years . go, T.P. married an American, Mrs. Howard, who survives him, but their lives have long been lived apart. Famous Dinner Parties. T.P’s. informal dinner parties were famous, and I am glad to have been included among those guests—writers, musicians, politicians, artists, grand dames, young priests, bankers, peers, kinema stars —people of every nationality. He was an admirable host, and at one time a noted after-dinner speaker. I can see him now, eating his simple diet, as the various courses were passed round, the silky white hair, the twinkling eyes, the benign smile, and the trail of snuff down his jacket. His courtliness to women was proverbial, that old world courtliness that did not wane when knees came in and hair went out. T. P. O’Connor was the greatest obituary writer of his day. Indeed, to have your obituary written in the “Times” by T.P. was the seal of distinction. These were critical but kindly, and he could draw a vivid picture of a man or woman in a few simple phrases. Requiem Mass in Westminster Cathedral. He lay in-state in Westminster Cathedral, and the six tall candles flickered in the sunlight that streamed in through the high windows on to the velvet pall, and the gold harp that lay upon it. The great church was packed for the Requiem Mass. The Prime Minister, Mr. Ramsay MacDonald, came in quietly, indeed, few recognised him as he passed up the aisle. Mr. Lloyd George, still the vivid personality, had not entered the door, before there was a stirring of interest in the vast congregation. The same round face, and mane of white hair, the same flashing bright eye. and he stopped and shock hands here and there as he came forward. Sir James Barrie, the quiet little mouse came in. Lord Reading. Lord Burnham, Sir John Lavery—all the distinguished names in politics and journalism and art. A stately Greek, with flowing beard, black silk robes and veil like a nun, wore a magnificent jewelled ornament. He, too, mourned a friend.

There were no tears; it. was not a sad service, nor a mournful passing. The sun shone like spring, and many smiled with tender memories as this line old man was born past, with the flags of England and Ireland upon his simple oak coffin.