Archibald Cronin - The Stars Look Down

“It’s extremely strange,” David reflected in an odd voice. “That car of Bebbington’s. It’s a Minerva, isn’t it? I wonder how exactly it came along?”

Harry Nugent glanced sideways at David, his eyes gently satirical beneath the bony ridges of his brow.

“Perhaps it’s for his services to the State,” he suggested.

“No, but seriously, Harry,” David persisted, unsmiling. “Bebbington’s perpetual wail is that he has no private means. And now that car and chauffeur.”

“Is it worth while being serious?” Nugent’s mouth twisted with unusual cynicism. “If you must know the truth, our friend Bebbington has just joined the board of Amalgamated Collieries. Now, don’t look so desperate. There’s plenty of precedent. It’s all perfectly in order and neither you nor I nor anyone else dare say a word!”

“Amalgamated Collieries!” In spite of himself David’s tone was bitter. He glanced across at Nugent, stung by a swift resentment. Nugent’s passive acceptance of the fact added to his troubled restlessness. Nugent had been a tired man lately, rather jaded in his manner, slower, even, in his walk, accepting his failure to secure inclusion in the Cabinet almost with resignation. There was little doubt that Nugent’s health had failed greatly, his old vitality seemed spent. For that reason alone David did not pursue the subject. When Ralston arrived he switched the conversation to the meeting which they had all three promised to attend at the League of Democratic Control, and together they set out towards Victoria Street through the fog.

But David was not happy in his mind. The session, begun with such elation, continued strangely ineffectual, strangely like those sessions which had preceded it. Often, during the weeks which followed, his thoughts returned to Sleescale, to the men whom he had promised justice. He had pledged himself. The party as a whole had pledged itself. That pledge had won them the election. It must be implemented, even if it meant throwing themselves upon the country once again. The conditions in Sleescale were so appalling now — the town stricken with destitution, the men harbouring a hidden mutiny against the social order which condoned such misery — that he felt the growing urgency for action. He was in touch with the men, with Heddon, Ogle and the local officials. He knew . The situation was not imaginary but existed in grim reality. It was desperate.

In the face of the crisis David built all his hopes upon the new Coal Mines Bill. He saw it as the sole solution of the problem, the one logical means to achieve the vindication of his party and the salvation of the men. From time to time he had news of the Bill which was in the process of being drafted by a Cabinet Committee consulting with a special committee of the Miners’ Federation. But neither Nugent nor he was on this committee and information was of the scantiest. The internal administration of the party had become universally stringent and members of committee resented any form of approach. It was, in fact, impossible to discover the shape or context of the Bill. Nevertheless, the Bill was coming forward, this much was assured. And, as December drew near, David told himself that his premonitions had been absurd, merely the echo of his own impatience. He waited with a growing expectancy.

Quite suddenly, on December 11th, the Bill was introduced. Sponsored by the President of the Board of Trade, supported by the Attorney-General and the Minister for Mines, it was formally presented for the first time. The House was not particularly full, nor was there any sense of the momentous in the air. The whole thing passed undramatically, even hurriedly. The title of the Bill was short, generalised and elusive. A bare ten lines quickly read out; a bare ten minutes from first to last, and the thing was over. David listened with a rising apprehension. He could not fully understand. There was, as yet, no indication of the scope of the Bill; yet, even at this early stage, its limited application was borne in on him. Rising hurriedly, he went into the lobby and made representations to several members of committee, urgently requesting a draft copy of the Bill. He even approached Bebbington in his anxiety to secure the draft. By that same night the full text of the draft was in his hands. Only then did he appreciate the significance of the new measure. His reaction was indescribable. He was not only stunned. He was appalled.

It so happened that on the 11th Nugent had been called up to Edgeley and David spent the evening alone, studying the draft. Even yet he could not believe the evidence before his eyes. It was incredible, staggering — a shattering blow.

He sat late into the night, thinking, trying to define his own line of action. Resolution firmed within him. He saw all that he could do, all that he must do.

On the next day he attended early at the meeting of the Parliamentary Labour Party Committee. It was a small meeting, perhaps half the normal size. As he surveyed the meagre gathering, David’s heart sank. Lately, ministers had been irregular in attendance, but this to-day was especially significant, the more so as the Minister for Mines was absent. Only Dudgeon, Bebbington, Nugent, Ralston, Chalmers and some twenty-odd members of committee were in the room. An after-luncheon feeling hung about the air — Chalmers had the two bottom buttons of his waistcoat loose, while Cleghorn, with a half-shut drowsy eye, settled himself to snatch a comfortable nap.

Jim Dudgeon was in the chair. He glanced at the papers in his blotter, swept the table with his owl-like gaze, then read rapidly:

“The programme of the House this week will include discussion on unemployment, debate on housing and the second reading of the Coal Mines Bill…”

David jumped to his feet.

“Mr. Chairman,” he exclaimed, “on a point of order may I ask whether this Bill is intended to represent the policy of the Labour Party?”

“Hear, hear!” called out several members from the committee left wing.

Dudgeon did not look in the least put out. He eyed David affably, up and down.

“Have you any reason to believe that it does not represent the policy of the party?”

David struggled for calm, yet he could not restrain a biting sarcasm from his tone.

“It would appear that this Bill, in its present form, is slightly inadequate. We were returned to this House pledged to Nationalisation. We bound ourselves in a signed manifesto to alleviate the tragic distress in the coalfields, and to reorganise the industry on national lines from top to bottom. And how are we proposing to do it? I am not aware if all the members of this committee have seen the full text of this Bill. But I have seen it. And I can assure them that it outrages every promise that was given.”

There was a silence. Dudgeon rubbed his chin reflectively, peering at David from behind his big horn rims.

“The point you forget is that we’re in office here, we’re not in power. We must make shift the best way we can. The Government is bound to compromise.”

“Compromise! This isn’t a compromise. It’s sheer cowardice. The Opposition could not have produced a Bill which panders more to the owners. This Bill is all coalowner. Retaining the quota system, throwing out the minimum wage proposals, blinking at the ‘spread over’—it is a Tory Bill and every member of the House will shortly be aware of it.”

“Just a minute,” Dudgeon murmured blandly. “I’m a practical man. At least, I’ve got a reputation for bein’ a practical man. I believe in goin’ to the point. Now what exactly is your objection?”

“My objection!” David broke out. “You know that this Bill offers no fundamental solution to our difficulties. Its essential purpose is to market coal. It is a ridiculous attempt to reconcile two definitely irreconcilable principles. The quota system is a positive injury to the miners and can never be anything else. When you compare what we pledged ourselves to do and what the Government now proposes to do, the thing becomes a crying outrage.”