The precise place I had to fill and the precise functions I had to discharge were not as yet very clear, but all that, we felt sure, would become plain as things developed.
A few brief months of vague activities of "nursing" gave place to the excitements of the contest that followed the return of Mr.
Camphell-Bannerman to power in 1905.So far as the Kinghamstead Division was concerned it was a depressed and tepid battle.I went about the constituency making three speeches that were soon threadbare, and an odd little collection of people worked for me;two solicitors, a cheap photographer, a democratic parson, a number of dissenting ministers, the Mayor of Kinghamstead, a Mrs.Bulger, the widow of an old Chartist who had grown rich through electric traction patents, Sir Roderick Newton, a Jew who had bought Calersham Castle, and old Sir Graham Rivers, that sturdy old soldier, were among my chief supporters.We had headquarters in each town and village, mostly there were empty shops we leased temporarily, and there at least a sort of fuss and a coming and going were maintained.The rest of the population stared in a state of suspended judgment as we went about the business.The country was supposed to be in a state of intellectual conflict and deliberate decision, in history it will no doubt figure as a momentous conflict.Yet except for an occasional flare of bill-sticking or a bill in a window or a placard-plastered motor-car or an argumentative group of people outside a public-house or a sluggish movement towards the schoolroom or village hall, there was scarcely a sign that a great empire was revising its destinies.Now and then one saw a canvasser on a doorstep.For the most part people went about their business with an entirely irresponsible confidence in the stability of the universe.At times one felt a little absurd with one's flutter of colours and one's air of saving the country.
My opponent was a quite undistinguished Major-General who relied upon his advocacy of Protection, and was particularly anxious we should avoid "personalities" and fight the constituency in a gentlemanly spirit.He was always writing me notes, apologising for excesses on the part of his supporters, or pointing out the undesirability of some course taken by mine.
My speeches had been planned upon broad lines, but they lost touch with these as the polling approached.To begin with I made a real attempt to put what was in my mind before the people I was to supply with a political voice.I spoke of the greatness of our empire and its destinies, of the splendid projects and possibilities of life and order that lay before the world, of all that a resolute and constructive effort might do at the present time."We are building a state," I said, "secure and splendid, we are in the dawn of the great age of mankind." Sometimes that would get a solitary "'Ear!
'ear!" Then having created, as I imagined, a fine atmosphere, Iturned upon the history of the last Conservative administration and brought it into contrast with the wide occasions of the age;discussed its failure to control the grasping financiers in South Africa, its failure to release public education from sectarian squabbles, its misconduct of the Boer War, its waste of the world's resources....
It soon became manifest that my opening and my general spaciousness of method bored my audiences a good deal.The richer and wider my phrases the thinner sounded my voice in these non-resonating gatherings.Even the platform supporters grew restive unconsciously, and stirred and coughed.They did not recognise themselves as mankind.Building an empire, preparing a fresh stage in the history of humanity, had no appeal for them.They were mostly everyday, toiling people, full of small personal solicitudes, and they came to my meetings, I think, very largely as a relaxation.
This stuff was not relaxing.They did not think politics was a great constructive process, they thought it was a kind of dog-fight.
They wanted fun, they wanted spice, they wanted hits, they wanted also a chance to say "'Ear', 'ear!" in an intelligent and honourable manner and clap their hands and drum with their feet.The great constructive process in history gives so little scope for clapping and drumming and saying "'Ear, 'ear!" One might as well think of hounding on the solar system.
So after one or two attempts to lift my audiences to the level of the issues involved, I began to adapt myself to them.I cut down my review of our imperial outlook and destinies more and more, and developed a series of hits and anecdotes and--what shall I call them?--"crudifications" of the issue.My helper's congratulated me on the rapid improvement of my platform style.I ceased to speak of the late Prime Minister with the respect I bore him, and began to fall in with the popular caricature of him as an artful rabbit-witted person intent only on keeping his leadership, in spite of the vigorous attempts of Mr.Joseph Chamberlain to oust him therefrom.
I ceased to qualify my statement that Protection would make food dearer for the agricultural labourer.I began to speak of Mr.
Alfred Lyttelton as an influence at once insane and diabolical, as a man inspired by a passionate desire to substitute manacled but still criminal Chinese for honest British labourers throughout the world.
And when it came to the mention of our own kindly leader, of Mr.
John Burns or any one else of any prominence at all on our side Ifell more and more into the intonation of one who mentions the high gods.And I had my reward in brighter meetings and readier and readier applause.
One goes on from phase to phase in these things.
