Chapter XVII · CHANGES UNDER THE WAR-ECLIPSE

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One of the general effects of a War in which the nations of the world were in death-grips was the belittlement of such national institutions as in time of peace derive their strength and influence from the sway of moral and intellectual ideals. It was the same with living beings. The young man, as the embodiment of physical force and fitness, was alone exalted. It appeared as if the soldier was the only man who really mattered, and that the factories and workshops which were concerned with equipping him efficiently for his work in the field of battle were the institutions that should be thought of most account. As compared with muscle and brawn, all else shrunk and shrivelled in importance. Even Parliament, one of the most ancient and renowned of English institutions, and certainly the most powerful, shared to some extent in the common fate. It was overshadowed and dwarfed in the deep anxiety that prevailed as to the possibility of a great disaster being brought about by the War. Indeed, it was said that in a time of war Parliament was not of much use, and might possibly become a hindrance to the Executive in the conduct of affairs. Some people urged that it would be better to close Parliament up altogether. It was found, however, that Parliament could not be dispensed with. Parliament remained the organ through which the policy of the National Government was announced to the people. And such measures as were necessary for the security of the Realm, in the opinion of the National Government, had to be passed by Parliament.

Accordingly, the sessions of both Houses were as long, if not longer, than those in times of peace. It is also the fact that only in Parliament did public opinion find free and unfettered expression, subject, of course, to the discretion called for in a state of war. While the Press was vigorously censored in news and comment, no attempt was made to censor the parliamentary debates. But, as the Grand Council of the Nation, Parliament was a pale shadow of what it had been only a year before. Procedure, manners, customs were modified; and the most remarkable change of all occurred in the spirit of its Members—in their ways of feeling, thinking and acting as politicians. In short, the English Parliament, that for 700 years—since 1213, when the idea of representation first became associated with the National Assembly—had been the arena of conflict between the two main tendencies of thought in politics, the progressive and the conservative, suffered an eclipse in the black shadow of the European catastrophe. Party opinions counted for nothing. They were merely as dust in the balance. Such interest and distinction as Parliament retained during the War were due to the extent to which it expressed itself as the symbol of the national unity and determination in the conflict.

Some outward signs of the change that came over Parliament were visible to those who passed by the Palace of Westminster. There was Big Ben, the great clock up in its high tower, by which the people of London are accustomed to set their watches. On its four immense dials the passing of time was still recorded, but the familiar musical chimes that marked the quarters and the resonant bell which struck the hours were both silent. At night-time the clock was no longer illuminated. The brilliant lamp on the top of the tower which, seen for miles around, tells comforted London that the House of Commons is sitting, was put out. The windows along the great river front that used to gleam so brightly at night were shrouded by thick blinds. Shaded and dim lights were substituted for the blaze of street lamps around the Palace of Westminster. But the Flag was kept flying. Over the mighty Victoria Tower the Union Jack flew predominantly mast-high in the day-time. It was a symbol of the unconquerable temper of the country in that time of darkness and peril.

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The first thing that must have struck the visitor to both the House of Lords and the House of Commons was the absence of youth, ever the pride and hope and promise of these Assemblies. This was particularly noticeable in the House of Commons. All were vanished, those bright and ardent spirits, whose voices were loudest in the approving cheers or defiant cries that marked the passionate debates on Home Rule but a little while ago. Two hundred or so were on active service in the Army and Navy. Some were dispersed among the ships of the Grand Fleet, which, silent and invisible, yet constituted an impregnable wall of steel and fire against invasion. Most of them were in Flanders or at the Dardanelles, or in Egypt or Mesopotamia—those grim arenas of conflict between divergent principles of statecraft and government, where the only speeches on both sides were the roar of cannon, sending forth the one common argument of a high explosive. The middle-aged and the old remained in the House—the middle-aged and the old who rule and manage and sometimes succeed, and other times make a frightful failure of things, so that the young and strong must go forth and try to make the crooked straight by brute force, at tremendous suffering and appalling sacrifice of life.

Several M.P.’s were wounded, others were taken prisoners of war; some died on the field of battle. It was in connection with the issue of new writs for the election of Members for the constituencies of those who had fallen in the War that the first change in old customs caused by the War was observable. As an old parliamentary journalist, I have always wondered at the seeming indifference with which the House of Commons as a body hears that a Member has been struck off its rolls by death. A new Member is brought into the House amid the cheers of his Party. He may sit at the deliberations of the House for a quarter of a century or more, but, unless he attains to the highest rank as a Minister, no notice is taken of his loss when he passes away. The writ to fill his vacant place is moved for by the Whip of his Party; and though, no doubt, the mention of his name awakens in the minds of his intimate friends a thought of kindly remembrance, the House as a whole is unmoved. Not a hat is raised by way of respect. This insensibility to the visits of death to the House was brought to an end by the War. On the moving for a new writ for the election of a Member in room of Lieutenant Gladstone, “killed in action”—as the motion said—every Member simultaneously uncovered at the mention of the gallant officer’s name, and the cause of his death.

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One effect of the absence of all the young Members in the field was very remarkable. Probably never since the Witenagemot, the ancient assembly of wise men that was the governing body of the nation under the Anglo-Saxon kings, had there been in Parliament so many grey-beards, or—as hair is scarce or has gone out of fashion—so many bald heads, as during the War. It was a Parliament of seigniors, the “most grave and reverend” of the Shakespearian quotation, but hardly the “potent,” for in that time of War it would seem as if potency were the attribute of young manhood alone. It was a gathering of the Fathers of the Nation. Still, a few Members were usually to be seen in the brown of the soldier or the blue of the sailor. This was when officers home from the Front, wounded or on short furlough, appeared in the House in their active service uniforms. Other soldiers and sailors present were those in training in home camps or engaged in administrative duties. But the importance of this spectacle of Members in uniform was that it marked a breach with a long-established custom. Hitherto there was but one occasion when the wearing of uniforms, or any other dress but the dress of the civilian, was allowed in Parliament. That was at the opening of a new session. In both Houses, the mover and seconder of the Address in reply to the King’s Speech are required to attend in uniform or levee dress. On any other day but the opening day of the session, a Member would not be permitted to enter the Chamber in any clothes but the clothes of a civilian. I have seen Lord Haldane, when he was Mr. Haldane and Member for Haddington, refused admittance because he wore at the time the gown and wig of a barrister. Appearing as counsel before a Royal Commission sitting in the precincts of the House, he hastened to the Chamber to vote, at the sound of the division bells, and was stopped at the threshold by the doorkeeper who told him that he must disrobe before he could pass in. This custom prescribing civilian dress was suspended only for soldiers and sailors, and only for the period of the War. Even so, it marked a striking departure from tradition. Those who saw new Members introduced wearing the khaki service dress of a soldier or the blue uniform of a naval officer during the War witnessed a thing that was without parallel in the long annals of Parliament. It was also the case that, until the War broke out, khaki had never been worn in the House of Commons; and very conspicuous it was during the War, despite its supposed “invisibility,” in that assembly of civilians, though it did not tend to the easy identification of those who wore it. It was to be noticed, too, in all parts of the House—in the Nationalist and Labour quarters, as well as on the benches of the two main political parties, Liberal and Conservative—showing how general was the response of Members to the call to arms.

But in the midst of all these relaxations of ancient rules, which the War had brought about in regard to uniforms, there was, curiously enough, a rigid adherence to one kindred and closely allied custom. Even in that time of war no weapon of war could be taken into the House by a Member. Swords are worn by the uniformed mover and seconder of the Address at the opening of a session. That, again, is the only occasion when any symbol of the lethal duty of the soldier is permitted to affront the gaze of the unarmed representatives of the people in Parliament assembled. A revolver is an essential part of the service equipment of an officer. Yet one Member in khaki who during the War displayed a revolver in its lanyard was stopped at the door and required to leave the weapon in his locker outside before he could go to his place in the Chamber. Nevertheless, a sword is to be seen in the House of Commons at every sitting. The Serjeant-at-Arms carries it at his belt; but, then, the Serjeant-at-Arms is the chief executive officer of the House.

The interesting constitutional point, whether in the national crisis the proper place for Members of Parliament was in the House of Commons or in the field, was, after much discussion, settled by the acceptance of the view that the primary duty of a Member of Parliament is service in Parliament, which is the highest service under the Crown. The point was raised on the consideration of the second Military Service Act, 1916, extending the principle of compulsion to all men between the ages of 18 and 41. An amendment was moved in Committee to include Members of Parliament among the exempted persons, such as clergymen of all denominations. Many of the younger Members of Parliament had, as I have already indicated, joined the Forces while recruiting was still voluntary, and their patriotic action was an example to young men generally. On the other hand, it was contended that, as Members of both Houses were immediately concerned in the government of the Nation, their duty was to be in constant attendance at Westminster during the session, and that, in fact, to render them liable to compulsory service in the Army was a violation of the privileges of Parliament. But the motion was negatived. It was felt that the House of Commons, in passing a Bill calling up men of all classes to the Army, could not, in honour, or for shame sake, exempt its own Members. That, however, did not settle the question. Members of Parliament, like all other men called up by the Act, could go before one of the appeal tribunals set up for the hearing of claims for exemption. One Member did so, Mr. W. C. Anderson—the Labour representative of Athercliffe, Sheffield—and he was granted exemption on the ground, advanced by himself, that he was carrying on work of national importance, inasmuch as he was a Member of Parliament. That being so, it was announced in the House of Commons that the War Cabinet had decided to give to Members who were not already serving the option of joining the Army or continuing their work as Members of the House, and to Members who were serving the choice either of continuing in the Army or returning to the House. The decision appears to me to have been right and proper. Members had important duties to discharge outside as well as inside the House—enlightening their constituencies as to the progress of the War, maintaining the public spirit, ascertaining local grievances and obtaining their redress.

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It would not be quite correct to say that criticism of the proposals of the Government was no longer heard in the House of Commons. The House remained the great central organ of the Nation. The questions were too stupendous—the supply of man-power, the supply of munitions, to mention a few—and the issues dependent upon them too momentous, and there were, moreover, in the House too many minds representing divergent interests and opposing points of view. There were even a few Members, in a pettish kind of humour, disposed to fret and tease the Ministers. But anything like censorious or merely factious criticism would so grate on the sensibilities of the Assembly that any Member attempting to indulge in it would be overwhelmed in a storm of indignation. What was over and done with for the period of the War was Party controversy, or the discussion of public questions in the light of Party principles. In the deep peace which brooded over the House of Commons the division bells were practically silent. On the few occasions that divisions were challenged, the majorities for the Government were immense. The first Compulsory Service Bill was read a second time by a majority of close on 400, and a third time by a majority of 347. This mood of the House found vent in small things as well as great. Hitherto, all proposals to remove the grille, or iron screen, in front of the Ladies’ Gallery was scouted by both Parties. In 1917 the grille was taken away, and no one objected. What is more, women were allowed to sit with men in the public galleries at the other end of the Chamber.

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But this state of things did not last. It could not last, for it was repugnant to the ineradicable disposition of politicians to differ, to contend, to oppose, and ultimately to form groups for the advancement of particular opinions and aims. Even before the War, when the disciplinary methods of Party organization were so rigid and powerful, there were a few Members on both sides unwilling to run always in harness, or inclined, on occasions, to bolt. Men of this type, with independent or wayward minds, have always been regarded by the Whips as intriguers and factionists, boasters and loud talkers. The disorganization, the actual break-up, of the Party system caused by the War allowed them freer play than ever, and dissatisfaction with the conduct and progress of the War gave a direction to their activities. “Ginger groups” were formed by both Liberal and Conservative Members, having as their common watchwords “efficiency and vigilance.” They sought to test every executive and administrative act of the Government by the question, “Will it tend to the achievement of Victory?” More variety of opinion in regard to the War began to show itself, and, consequently, much less unity of action between the Coalition Government and its followers, Liberals, Unionists and Labour. In time, the spreading discontent led to something like a revival of an organized Opposition, and, as in peace time, its aim was to discredit the Government with a view to its overthrow.

The disruption came early in December 1916. Mr. Lloyd George left the Government because the changes he proposed in the Cabinet system of directing the War were unacceptable to Mr. Asquith, as Prime Minister. In this action Mr. Lloyd George had the support of the Unionist Members of the Cabinet. Mr. Asquith, being unable therefore to carry on his Administration, resigned. The King sent for Mr. Lloyd George, who undertook, as Prime Minister, to form a new Government, having the co-operation not only of the Unionist Party, but of the Labour Party, and a large section of the Liberals also. He proceeded on extraordinarily novel and bold lines. Executive Government by Cabinet was suspended. In place of the orthodox Cabinet of twenty-four, consisting of Ministers at the head of the chief Departments, he created a small War Cabinet of five Members, in whose hands he concentrated the supreme direction of the War.

It consisted of the Prime Minister himself; Lord Curzon, who was then Lord President of the Council and Leader of the House of Lords; Mr. Arthur Henderson (Chairman of the Labour Party), Minister without office or without portfolio, as it was called; Lord Milner, Minister without portfolio; and Mr. Bonar Law, Chancellor of the Exchequer, who, being also Leader of the House of Commons (hitherto the post of the Prime Minister), was not expected to attend the meetings of the War Cabinet regularly.

All this marked a vast change in constitutional procedure. Yet it was carried out without any previous consultation with Parliament, though, undoubtedly, if there had been, Parliament would have approved, for the statement of policy subsequently made to the House of Commons by Mr. Lloyd George, and the reasons he gave for his constitutional experiments, were enthusiastically endorsed by the majority of the Members. Nor was the country consulted. As in the case of the formation of the first Coalition Government, so in the second, the new Ministers were relieved of the necessity of vacating their seats and being re-elected. Once more it was demonstrated how swiftly and effectively the Constitution can be made to work to great ends, whether for good or evil, in rapidly changing conditions. A still more remarkable thing was done in June 1917. General Smuts, the great South African statesman and soldier, was appointed a member of the War Cabinet by Mr. Lloyd George. Previously, Prime Ministers of Dominions on a visit to London during the War attended meetings of the Cabinet—Sir Robert Borden of Canada, in 1915, and Mr. Hughes of Australia, in 1916; but these attendances were only for single meetings, at the invitation of the Prime Minister of England, Mr. Asquith. The appointment of General Smuts was for the period of the War. It was welcomed by men of all political schools of thought, but while there was in constitutional law no formal obstacle to it, the inclusion in the Cabinet of one who was not a Member of either House of Parliament was without precedent.

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Finally, one Parliament saw the War through, from Sir Edward Grey’s memorable declaration on August 3, 1914, as Secretary for Foreign Affairs, that the Cabinet had decided to stand by France, to Mr. Lloyd George’s announcement as Prime Minister of the terms of the Armistice with Germany on November 11, 1918—the two greatest and most momentous scenes that Parliament has witnessed, perhaps, in its long history. It was elected in December 1910, and assembled in January 1911. One of the first things it did was to pass the Parliament Act limiting the veto of the House of Lords on Bills passed by the House of Commons, and reducing its own statutory term of existence from seven years to five. Dicey in his fine work, Law of the Constitution, declares there are things which Parliament has done in other times, and done successfully, which a modern Parliament would not venture to repeat. “Parliament,” he says, “would not at the present day prolong by law the duration of an existing House of Commons.” That was true enough in 1885, when the work was first published, having regard to the political thought prevailing at the time. The passage stands in the eighth, and, as the author calls it, the final edition, which appeared in 1915. But the War being then on, circumstances had arisen that were undreamt of in 1885; and in August 1915 Parliament extended its existence by seven months without a word of protest being raised in either House. The period of five years fixed for the life of Parliament by the Parliament Act would have come to an end on January 30, 1916. It was unanimously agreed that the country must not be plunged into the distraction and turmoil of a General Election in a time of war. Four other Acts amending the Parliament Act had, in fact, to be passed. This, however, did not interfere with the prerogative of the Crown to dissolve Parliament at any time. It was always in the power of the House of Commons, should it become dissatisfied with the conduct of the War by the Government, to pass a vote of want of confidence, upon which the Government would have immediately resigned, and a new Government, acceptable to the House of Commons, would have been formed, with or without a General Election. But, in the result, the War Parliament had the unique distinction of having first abridged and then five times extended its own life. It lasted into the last quarter of its eighth year. Thus, the period of seven years fixed by the Septennial Act, under which Parliaments had been elected for two centuries, was exceeded. The War Parliament lived longer than any of its twenty-nine predecessors since the Union with Ireland in 1800. The longest of these Parliaments was that of 1820-26, which lasted six years and forty-two days. On November 25, 1918, the War Parliament was dissolved just a fortnight after the Armistice which brought hostilities in the World War to an end. Nineteen Members of the House of Commons, and twelve peers were killed. Two volumes containing their names and their services, together with the names and services of parliamentary officials who also fell in the War, were placed in the libraries of Lords and Commons. Shields with the names of Members of the House of Commons who gave their lives were put up in the Chamber, at each side of the Clock.

The Parliament to the very end was dominated by the influences of the War. One of the last things it did was to pass the Representation of the People Act, which, though it effected a change amounting to a revolution in the method of electing the House of Commons, and consequently in its constitution, passed both Houses with the tamest debate and unprecedented infrequency of divisions. The General Election took place in December 1918, on the greatly extended franchise laid down by the Reform Act; and the new Parliament assembled early in 1919, with a vast number of measures for the reconstruction of Society rendered necessary by the War and pressing for immediate settlement in the light of new political canons, estimates, and revaluations, called forth by the War, and with far less money at the command of the Government for social purposes. Before the War public expenditure was £200,000,000 a year. The Estimates for 1920 were £1,400,000,000. This brought about an entire change in the financial moods of the House of Commons. Before the War, the rule was, “Expenditure is determined by policy.” After the War it became, “Policy must be controlled by revenue.” The return of Government by Party—each with definite political principles—was also quickly called for. The Coalition was found in peace to have no properly defined policy. It was a thing of compromises. Party organization was re-established, and though there were some fresh Party regroupings, and some new Party names were adopted, there appeared again the old two main divisions of conservatism and progress—one with a banner inscribed, “Go slow,” and the other with a banner inscribed, “Let her rip.”