here—more immediate—that I’d like to stay to read it, if that’s all right.”
“By all means, Martin. Stay as long as you like. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. I hope, though, that you’ll join me for an aperitif before dinner. Alec’s sure to be back by then.”
“Thanks. I’d like to.”
Sellick left then, closing the door behind him. I sat at the desk and looked out across the garden and the valley towards the sea, then back at the picture of that face and those eyes, imagining Strafford doing the same. I opened the Memoir and looked at his firm, assured handwriting, betraying nothing, no sign, no quaver, that might tell me the message those eyes held for him. There was only one way to find out. Eagerly, I resumed my reading.
MEMOIR
1900‒1909
P arliament was due to assemble in early December 1900. By then , I had recovered somewhat from the euphoria of election night and had taken rooms in Pimlico, so as to be handily placed for Westminster. Sir William had kindly arranged my introduction to some of the leading figures of the party and my brother had quietly assured me of such financial support as might be necessary in the straitened circumstances of a fledgling M.P.
I had supposed that, in the Parliamentary Liberal Party, I would rejoice in the company of enlightened, like-minded men steering a straight course for the betterment of their country. I soon discovered that such a rosy view could not be sustained when I actually joined their ranks. I knew, of course, that the war had created a division of opinion. What I did not know, but sought rapidly to as-similate, was that on virtually no point was there universal agreement, that many of the disagreements had more to do with personal enmities than issues of principle and that possibly the only uniting factor was an interest by individuals in cultivating a political career. Such and swift was the disenchantment of the new M.P. for Mid-Devon.
But I must not do an injustice to the many able men whom I encountered at Westminster. Campbell-Bannerman , the leader, was a tough old Scottish Liberal who at once surprised me by his radicalism. He seemed determined to soldier on despite the mutterings of those who thought him mediocre. I was often told how we should revert to Rosebery or plump for Asquith as leader but, as a young and
P A S T C A R I N G
45
impressionable man imbued by my father with a respect for older generations, I unhesitatingly aligned myself behind C-B.
The only issue on which we might have differed was the war.
But my experiences in South Africa had not endeared me to our cause in that conflict. My latter days there, spent as they were more amongst the local populace than the military, had filled me with great respect for their robust desire for independence and I felt sure, as did C-B, that the correct Liberal line was to deplore a piece of heavy-handed colonialism. In taking this view, I found an enthusiastic welcome in that most fiery spirit of the party—Lloyd George, whose accounts of speaking against the war in public almost persuaded me that I had had a softer time of it at Colenso.
Lloyd George was an inspiration. Not that much older than me, he embodied what seemed the youthful promise of the party.
Instead of the non-committal crustiness I found in older members, Lloyd George could exuberantly and persuasively propound so many reforms that one was left only wondering in which order they should be introduced. Whilst laying great stress upon his Welshness, he did not trouble himself to disguise his own ambition , the very English one of being Prime Minister. I could see no reason why he should not be, indeed contemplated the prospect with some relish for my own position should he one day have charge of things.
For I was not slow in developing my own ambitions and a desire to advance them.
It was certain , however, that neither the Liberal Party nor its rising young men could hope for much whilst the war
“By all means, Martin. Stay as long as you like. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. I hope, though, that you’ll join me for an aperitif before dinner. Alec’s sure to be back by then.”
“Thanks. I’d like to.”
Sellick left then, closing the door behind him. I sat at the desk and looked out across the garden and the valley towards the sea, then back at the picture of that face and those eyes, imagining Strafford doing the same. I opened the Memoir and looked at his firm, assured handwriting, betraying nothing, no sign, no quaver, that might tell me the message those eyes held for him. There was only one way to find out. Eagerly, I resumed my reading.
MEMOIR
1900‒1909
P arliament was due to assemble in early December 1900. By then , I had recovered somewhat from the euphoria of election night and had taken rooms in Pimlico, so as to be handily placed for Westminster. Sir William had kindly arranged my introduction to some of the leading figures of the party and my brother had quietly assured me of such financial support as might be necessary in the straitened circumstances of a fledgling M.P.
I had supposed that, in the Parliamentary Liberal Party, I would rejoice in the company of enlightened, like-minded men steering a straight course for the betterment of their country. I soon discovered that such a rosy view could not be sustained when I actually joined their ranks. I knew, of course, that the war had created a division of opinion. What I did not know, but sought rapidly to as-similate, was that on virtually no point was there universal agreement, that many of the disagreements had more to do with personal enmities than issues of principle and that possibly the only uniting factor was an interest by individuals in cultivating a political career. Such and swift was the disenchantment of the new M.P. for Mid-Devon.
But I must not do an injustice to the many able men whom I encountered at Westminster. Campbell-Bannerman , the leader, was a tough old Scottish Liberal who at once surprised me by his radicalism. He seemed determined to soldier on despite the mutterings of those who thought him mediocre. I was often told how we should revert to Rosebery or plump for Asquith as leader but, as a young and
P A S T C A R I N G
45
impressionable man imbued by my father with a respect for older generations, I unhesitatingly aligned myself behind C-B.
The only issue on which we might have differed was the war.
But my experiences in South Africa had not endeared me to our cause in that conflict. My latter days there, spent as they were more amongst the local populace than the military, had filled me with great respect for their robust desire for independence and I felt sure, as did C-B, that the correct Liberal line was to deplore a piece of heavy-handed colonialism. In taking this view, I found an enthusiastic welcome in that most fiery spirit of the party—Lloyd George, whose accounts of speaking against the war in public almost persuaded me that I had had a softer time of it at Colenso.
Lloyd George was an inspiration. Not that much older than me, he embodied what seemed the youthful promise of the party.
Instead of the non-committal crustiness I found in older members, Lloyd George could exuberantly and persuasively propound so many reforms that one was left only wondering in which order they should be introduced. Whilst laying great stress upon his Welshness, he did not trouble himself to disguise his own ambition , the very English one of being Prime Minister. I could see no reason why he should not be, indeed contemplated the prospect with some relish for my own position should he one day have charge of things.
For I was not slow in developing my own ambitions and a desire to advance them.
It was certain , however, that neither the Liberal Party nor its rising young men could hope for much whilst the war
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