THE COMMONS

Otago Daily Times, Issue 25797, 19 March 1945, Page 4

THE COMMONS

AN INTIMATE PEN-PICTURE

URBANITY AND SUDDEN STORM

James Lansdale Hodson LONDON, Mar. 6.

I sometimes think the most English institution of all is Parliament. It has occasionally been criticised in this war for having too many secret sessions or tor being too much under Mr Churchill’s domination, but on the whole it has magnificently vindicated itself. I spent seven hours in the House of Commons a few days ago listening to the final day’s debate on the Yalta Conference. It turned out a triumph for the Government. Churchill’s rubicund face puckered and positively beamed. His delight can be so transpareni.--one of his engaging qualities. This voting takes quite a few minutes. The whole House, coagulated into clusters, slowly wanders out. Churchill went out between Ernest Bevin, the fattest man in the House, and Arthur Greenwood — that tall, grey-haired Labour member for whom rnost people have some affection, and the man to whom the cry went up “Speak for England,” just before Britain declared war. The cordiality of those three together—for Greenwood is the Leader of the Opposition—gives you the keynote on the Commons —its urbanity, its Englishness. Not, however, that it is urbane all the time. Insults can flash across that floor, opposing members are close enough to look into each other’s eyes and scowl their hatred, as sometimes they do. There was a tempestuous scene earlier in the war when sedate Mr Amery, diminutive Secretary for India (whe sits, when in his own office, with his feet on a tuffet). cried out to Mr Chamberlain, using Cromwell’s verv words: “In the name of God. go! ” That was the day when Mr Lloyd George, Father of the House, held up his arms over his head at the conclusion of his Philippic speech and, hurling his Order Papers to the table, told the then Prime Minister to go to the King and surrender his seals. There is no mincing of words when the right occasion comes. Thunder and lightning can be felt. In a sense the House is like a mountain pool which can swiftly be swept by storm, with waves beating high: then an hour afterwards can be calm again.

A Responsive Audience

What strikes an occasional visitor like myself is the adult and civilised atmosphere. I feel that nobody could really be a success in the House—especially a successful Minister—unless he had a good temper, courtesy, and a sense of humour. The House is delighted at a shaft of wit cr humorous retort. It must be one of the quickest and best audiences in the world. And a speaker must be prepared to be interrupted and take a retort in good part, though nobody objects, of course, if ha makes a biting reply.

I heard Mr Herbert Morrison —who has the spirit of Cockaigne in him, who has, besides his mop of hair and his spectacles, a sharp Cockney tongue; suddenly say: “ I fear nothing nor nobody.” He was growing a little impatient of his hecklers, who were chivvying him for not publishing a report. It was Churchill a week ago who levelled a finger at his critics and cried: "I’m giving you facts—you can’t stand facts.” Oh, no! Nothing namby-pamby about the Commons. But how pleased the House is to be played on by an orator; to be titillated, amused, and stirred. How readily and gladly it gives its attention to a speaker who has first-hand knowledge of his subject. Yet it is true it will not stand being lectured and treated like a class of students, no matter how great the expert is. It expects and insists on the quality of humility in him who would speak to I have said I was in the Commons, but in fact I was in the Chamber of the House cf Lords, which the Commons are using, their own having been partly demolished by a bomb. The old Commons benches were green; these of the Lords are red—red leather; four tiers of them; no arm rests, nothing to divide one member from another. The Chamber is rather small; you feel you could turn it into a church or a banqueting hall with no great trouble. There are three large oil paintings near the roof behind the Speaker’s chair, and at intervals 18 lifesize figuresvearved in stone of Crusaders and the like. No daylight enters; the large chandeliers are always lit. In front of tlie Speaker, in his full-bottomed wig like a judge, sit three clerks with tomes, and, of high importance, the mace. An old-world procession brings in his mace. At 11 precisely you hear, if you are standing in the main hall, a distant voice erving, and a policeman snouts,, riats off! ” Presently comes a man in*, kneebreeches, stockings, and stiff white shirt, and the mace-bearer wearing a jewelled S wcrd; then the Speaker, the tram of whose robes is carried as though he were a King. The Speaker was ill when I was there, but the procession took in the uiace. ( An official near my elbow murmuredi The mace—that important thing! Without the mace the House cannot sit, and when the Commons goes into committee tne mace is lifted from the table to a lower position. These bits of old-world ceremony and tradition survive, and pride is taken in them. Even the more revolutionary elements, who come breathing fire and Ihunder, begin after a while be proud of traditions. You can see it when the four tellers who have counted the votes stand and make their bow to the SDeaker • you see it m the bow each member gives to the Speaker when ne Ss or leaves the Chamber; you hear it in the Speakers cry, Lock . do °vL when votes are about to be cast. Yet, mixed with this ritual, is an easy-going air. Ministerial Informality The Prime Minister and other Ministers sil nefr tables (which look as i they belonged to a lawyer’s office). Quite olten those B Ministers sink back on that red bench and put their feet up on the table. If a speaker is dull you observe the members chatting in low voices It sounds like a hive ot bees. At time—which goes on from 11 a.m to noon—that front bench is well filled. Churchill himself is often there answeringffi 1 person—sometimes very trumpery Questions, too. But the Prime Minister treats the house with great deference (some say with a trifle of flattery), and craves its indulgence when he wants to break a long speech by takmg Umch His hair is getting mords and more scanty, his face mere cherubic but his voice is as resonant and blandishment of wit as keen as ever. Few can resist him their affection. One’s, eye goes along that bench. Anthony Eden’s hair is more flecked with grey, but very thick, his face looks more ruddy. He has poise, suavity, and a trick of turning round t see that his own back benehers do not feel left out. He is the best-looking of the Ministers, tall, lithe, what foreigners regard as typically English. But he is less English in fact than Churchill, no more English than Herbert Morrison or Ernest Bevin. Sir John Anderson and Sir William Jowitt sit there, black-coated, stiffcollared, a touch of hooded bird about them. Ellen Wilkinson’s auburn head imports a brilliant blob of colour. But how small she looks. Attlee, Deputy Prime Minister, has the head of a schoolmaster bald, with metalled spectacles, but he wears well. (The doodles he draws are dainty and geometric, his private wit better than his public.) Across the floor one picks out Aneurin Bevin, thickset, thick iron-grey hair, a Welsh voice that can be high-pitched, the faintest of stammers and the art of oratory with its suspense, its leading his hearers to expect a compliment, then hurling a thunderbolt. Sometimes he is up and down like a jack-in-the-box, striving to catch the Speaker’s eye. He, too, has a ruddy face, which is surprising for a Commons man. Eleanor Rathbone is there, looking older, a fighting figure who has put family allowances on the political map, and presently will have put them on the Statute Book—what a triumph that is! There is A. P. Herbert, wearing somewhat ostentatiously, perhaps, his petty officer’s uniform; this professional humorist, who did great work by putting over a Bill reforming the divorce law—additional achievement —doing it as a private member. „ , “A good Commons man. You have heard the phrase used. Some men have the gift others have not. You cannot achieve it without loving the House, devoting a good part of your life to it, learning to speak to it almost as a fellowship, a kind of club. Of course, there is occasion for great oratory, as Churchill has shown several times in this war. “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” Nobody who heard him say that will ever forget the occasion. You must know your subject or else speak with good commonsense; have the ability to give and take. One of the most "impressive things to an onlooker is the way in which even the Prime Minister will give way and sit down again for a moment or two when a critic rises to ask a question or contradict. Humour is a tremendous asset as is a fine turn of phrase. But integrity and ability shine out of men and the House will stand a good deal from an honest man who knows his stuff, no matter how stumbling he is or at times how little he seeks to placate the House. Mr Lloyd George, when Prime Minister in World War I, devoted less time and deference to the House than Churchill has done In this. Churchill has been supremely wise. In a period when democ-

racy has been fighting for its life, when the art of Government through debate has been scorned in so many nations, it was fitting and proper to show how the Mother of Parliaments could proudly uphold her head, not only with dignity, but with efficiency. Critics have called the Commons “ a talking shop ”—so it is; but when a Bill had to be passed giving the Government all the powers it needed, it was passed in a week. Churchill has the Commohs, so to speak, in his blood. In and about the House he moves as though it were home. The other morning, walking down the lobby, he bade a cheerful “ good morning ” to an old clerk-messenger. The messenger looked round to see which notability the Prime Minister was addressing. It took him a moment to realise it was himself. Again, after Mr Harold Nicolsorr, who obviously had a cold, had spoken on Poland, the Prime Minister ran into him. He said: " I congratulate you on your speech. I shall give you a lozenge for your throat.” There he is, a towering; historical figure, but essentially human and kindly. And jaunty too. I shall nosoon forget him going out between Bevin. and Greenwood to record his vote.