PLATFORM TRICKS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19667, 8 December 1933, Page 7

PLATFORM TRICKS

CURIOUS TRAITS OF ORATORS

“Well, now . . This is the twoword formula which punctuates the speeches of Mr Lloyd George. He employs it to introduce nearly every section of his address. It is probable that he is unconscious of this little mannerism; but irreverent reporters have been knowrn to bet on the number of times that “Well, now” would occur in the speech which they were reporting. Although he is a fiery Celt, Mr Lloyd George does not make much use of gesture, except when he wishes to emphasise a point he has a way of smacking the fingers of the right hand down into the palm of the left. Mr Winston Churchill perhaps uses more gesture than any other British political speaker. One of his platform tricks is to raise both arms above his head w r hen he becomes extra earnest. He is known to take a good deal of care in the preparation of his speeches. One evening Mr Churchill was rehearsing a speech in the flat of a friend, waving his arms and addressing himself chiefly to the looking-glass over the mantelpiece. The butler entered with coffee. Instantly, Mr Churchill swung round on him and continued his oration. “The honourable gentleman has imported into this debate a cryptic reference to an I Oriental edible from which a beverage is more or less adroitly distilled.” he said. “Now r , sir, on behalf of His Majesty’s Government, let me tell him and his partisians, in terms in which there is no evasion, compromise, ambiguity, or equivocation—two lumps of sugar!” Prince of Wales. The Prince of Wales is a fluent speaker and seldom has to hesitate for a word. But he has one little trick ■ which is well remembered in Australia. ' His right hand every now and then flutters up to his tie, pulling it straight. The Duke of York speaks slow’ly, leaning forward w’ith the tips of his fingers resting lightly on the table in front of him. Something to lean against is a common need of speakers. Lord Balfour —before he went to the House of 1 Lords—delivered his speeches in the House of Commons with one elbow' on the clerk’s table. This idiosyncrasy he shared with his famous uncle, the great Lord Salisbury. When Lord Salisbury was addressing a meeting in the town hall at Birmingham a rail was erected at the front of the platform on w'hich the orator might lean. Lord Salisbury w r as a large man physically as well as mentally. He bore all his considerable weight on the temporary rail, and soon ominous cracking ounds w r ere heard. The rail began to sway, and several stone of statesman might have crashed dow r n among the reporters had not the orator, without pausing for a moment in his remarks, quietly altered his pose. It was a peculiarity of this Conservative leader that he hardly ever seemed to be addressing his audience directly. Rather he seemed to be thinking aloud, which lent a curious impressiveness to his orations.

Authors are seldom as fluent with the tongue as they are with the typewriter, but Mr Rudyard Kipling is an exception. He speaks w T ell and rapidly, and with little gesture. But nothing will induce him to lecture. To a lecture agency which tried to add him to its list of attractions he wrote: “I might do it rs soon as I have two mortgages on my house, a lien on the horses, a bill of sale on the furniture, and writer’s cramp in both hands; but at present I’m busy, and contented to go on with the regular writing business.” Sir Conan Doyle. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle used to get very hot when on the platform. When he was speaking in morning dress he would take off his waistcoat before he appeared, and button up his coat so that nobody might perceive the absence of the other garment. Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins (“Anthony Hope”) was perhaps the shyest author who ever faced an audience. On the occasion of his first public lecture he was so terrified that before ascending the platform he shook hands with his agent, saying: “Good-bye, So-and-so; I may never see you again.” A very popular and admired author was a complete failure as a public speaker. He was Matthew Arnold. The matter of his addresses might have been admirable, but the speaker was inaudible. He realised his limitations after his first attempt to lecture, when people who had eagerly crowded to hear him got up and went out in dozens because not a single word of his discourse reached them. The poor man took lessons in elocution, but even these did not avail. At his first lecture in New York a distinguished American, a former President, having watched Arnold's lips move for some minutes without hearing a sound, said to his wife, "Well, we have paid to see the British lion, but we cannot hear him roar, so we had better go home.” And they did.