MEMORIES OF SOME PARLIAMENTS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14235, 4 December 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

MEMORIES OF SOME PARLIAMENTS.

BY FRANK MORTON.

Albeit a Kentish man of my birth, I spent my boyhood in. the Midlands, and, visiting London but seldom, never actually looked upon the lords of talk at Westminster. Later, as a young fellow m Sydney, I saw something of the Parliament, of New South Wales, something of its rate fine flashes and its general savagery and squalor. Mr. JackMcElhone was in his heyday then, and there were others. But my actual personal connection with a Parliamentary body came later, when I was a cub reporter in Singapore. lam not yet sure whether the Legislative Council of the Straits Settlement can properly be called a Parliament. It is composed of a few officials, and a few non-officials nominated by caprice or arrangement. At its head, supreme and unassailable, sits the Governor. In a Crown colony, the Governor is the Government. The official wing of the Legislative Council is in the majority, and on all grave questions Unit majority votes (and talks), according to the Governor's instructions. The unofficial members talk a good deal, often very brilliantly, always very well; but 1 could never see that their votes actually counted for much. The Governor in my day was Sir Cecil Clementi Smith, a man of high character and great dignity, shrewd wit and adminiolo coolness. He approached the delicate task of his administration with unfailing tact and unfaltering courage, and many of his warmest admirers were among the opponents of his policy. Sir Charles Warren, who, us head of the Loudon police, had been actively failing to discover Jack the Ripper, had been made military commandant of the Straits, and Sir Charles and Sir Cecil promptly differed on a matter of precedent. There was a little war and a big brother, so that for a time things in Parliament were lively. Sir Chas. Warren was a fussy, portentously important man, who wore a monocle day and night. Once, moved by impish curiosity, we roused him out at grey dawn. He came to us blinking in pyjamas, but the monocle was in its place. It seems a thousand years ago, all that.

In Singapore, Parliament met on occasional afternoons, and I have known it to sit as long as two hours. All the speeches were fully reported on the following day, but it was my duty to write a rapid longhand precis to appear in my paper the same evening. I still sympathise with the printers, when I think of that precis. The master-printer was a Macao Portuguese, named Gobo, and he wept over my handwriting as the wickedest thing in Asia. In Calcutta I had to do with the reporting of two Legislative bodies of much the same type; the Legislative Council of Bengal and the Viceroy's Council. They were —how shall I put it?—more impressive and picturesque than the Legislative Council of the Straits; but I never knew a viceroy with the dignity of Sir Cecil Clementi Smith. The sittings were long, because we had now to reckon with the devious arguments and interminable loquacity of the Babu members. Babu Surendra Nath Ban-' erji was still a publicist in the bud. He spoke on every subject, volubly. It was a tradition of ours that he lay awake through the dense night, weeping with joy to. remember his eloquence so exquisite. He was {lie" most determined orator I have ever known. But I was working up towards my full speed at this time, and found Mr. Banerji excellent for .practice,.' Tvanscriplion vrtis happily very easy, because a speech of Mr. Banerji of ten thousand words' length would go comfortably into a'paragraph in the Englishman. Once, I remember, when he was especially oratorical and diffuse, I got even with him, and my paper announced that "Mr. S. N. Banerji also spoke." The first, of my Australian Parliaments was the Parliament of Tasmania. 1 was in Hobart on and off for years, and in the end became Government shorthand-writer; but I never really got over my first surprise. If that Parliament had not been too old-fashioned, it would have suggested Noak's Ark. There was, of course, no Labour party in Tasmania then; but there were already a few harmless gentlemen who believed themselves to be democrats. The Premier, Sir Edward Braddon. was a retired Anglo-Indian official, the strongest and shrewdest man' in Parliament, and a Tory to the marrow. I remember him gratefully because of his quality as a speaker. He spoke slowly and clearly, very ac-curately,-putting in the commas, and semicolons ; and always rather interestingly, as a man who knew of what he talked. The Legislative Council was at that time the dullest, oldest, and sleepiest in the world. It was known locally as the deadhouse, the valley of dry bones, the house of dodery. and I know not what contemptuous things beside. It had many prejudices, but no opinions. Every member voted accordingly. Wonderfully archaic was the Parliament of Tasmania. When a message passed between the two Houses, it was borne in person by the Usher of the Black Rod. who came and literally battered on the door of the House to which the message was directed., Then there would be a sudden interruption cf business while the message was received and read. I used to spend most of my time with the more intelligent members in the smoking-room. Returning to Sydney, I was engaged doing work for Hansard. The Parliament of New South Wales had many brilliant men in it just then, and the work was always interesting. My friend Daniel O'Connor adorned the Legislative Council, and when he and I had been to a Mikado's Birthday one Wednesday, he returned to add, great joy to the deliberations of his august chamber. There were men in that Parliament, and I find men in politics more admirable than mannikine, even when the men misbehave and cause uproars. Ministers did not venture to take such liberties with Parliament as New Ministers take; and Pnrliam-ru. was vastly less indulgent to Minify.. idiosyncrasies than New Zealand Pariii it is.

Let me note that an Australian Hansard is a full and truthful report of the proceedings of Parliament. Members are not permitted to cut up or beautify their proofs. They are' not even allowed to make any substantial alterations of their proofs. If they desire to change a word that matters they appeal to the principal shorthand writer, and he, if the matter seems to involve an important alteration, refers the subject to the Speaker. IhdJe appeals are very seldom made, because members have learned that what they say on the floor of the House noes into the record. But in New Zealand members do what thev choose with their proofs, so that you have no trustworthy record of the proceedings of Parliament. Further, some of the most important debates in Parliament are in Committee, and in New Zealand debates in Committee are not reported. It is a very curious thing that, with all our talk of progress, we have one of the silliest Hansards in the world. Tn Sydney I found that there was no tolerance of mistakes. We were paid to take verbatim notes, and if we failed in any respect we were held -without excuse. I have known a very good shorthand writer to be put on for sessional work, and immediately discharged when some involved and rapid speaker proved too much for him. The veteran Thomas Allen Reed made a confession to me once, when we were travelling with the Opium Commission. "The truly trustworthy reporter," he said, "is the man: who can always f write two hundred words a minute,. and r who can do it, if necessary standing on his head." Or on his ear,'. Mr. Reed 'might have added. I have seen it done. ':./■} <': „

Reporting is easier in Australia than in New Zealand, because public men there are generally more accurate in their; speech. There are many men that can DC reported verbatim without revision." In New Zealand (with the exception of Mr. Justice Chapman) I know of none. » v