Dublin Castle or from Whitehall. That, I believe, marks the close,
as I said, of a secular conflict; but before we glance at the future,
in the few words I have to say to you to-night, I do not think we
shall waste our time in dwelling for a few minutes on the paths that
we have trodden in the past, and the paths we are treading to-day.
We have been too used through the generations and the centuries to
conflict between our peoples and our nations, and we know--now that
we can look at these things from afar, I trust--that the root of that
conflict went deep down into the characters of the two peoples, and
that those characters themselves were moulded by their very different
histories. In Ireland you look back, as the Celt always will look
back, to the golden age. You were nourished on memories of that time
when Ireland was, according to the tradition of her historians and of
folk-lore, the island of saint and scholar. You look back to the
work of St. Patrick, who, I may remark, first converted Ulster before
he took in hand the rest of Ireland. We have relics of those days in
the luminous pages of your manuscripts and in the rare work of cross
and chalice which now lie in your museums. All that time, while we
in England were growing slowly into a united nation, with a
consolidated government, in Ireland, whatever the reason, the great
privilege was not yours because for centuries there was disunion, and
the stable government which broadened from age to age, following
precedent with us, had no such chance with you. This struggle for
centuries culminated at a time when hell was let loose throughout the
whole of Europe, and it is good that we should now forget those days.
With you, as with the rest of Europe--to use the words of one of your
own historians--"The soul of man was bloodied and bruised," but now
murdering hate is a dead thing, and once more in this struggling
world the love of God has some chance to contend against the eternal
stupidity of mankind.
The rule of reason is slowly emerging from the riot of violence, and
is throughout the world cleansing the foul parts of the infected
world with its medicine. In that process the veil of illusion has
been rent, but as compensation the rhetoricians are silent, and it
always seems to me that, with the first sense of responsibility and
the passage into full freedom, one of the most difficult times that
can face the Celt confronts you. For the Celt of all nations is a
man who has dwelt with his dreams, and to be plunged from his dreams
into the white light of the twentieth century is indeed a staggering
shock, and in that fierce light it is little wonder if with many
another man he finds himself precipitated from the heights on which
he fancied he dwelt into a pit of depression and of cynicism. But
all these things will pass. They are but the consequent evils of the
day, and the people will learn that salvation comes to them by the
industry of their own hands and by the work of their own brains.
If they cannot achieve it in that way, they will be no more able to
achieve it from Merrion Street than from Whitehall. The people must
save themselves. It is a hard and painful task, as we all know, to
build up. It is easy enough to destroy. It is easier to face death
for an ideal than it is to face the daily duty and the daily drudgery
against the forces of vice and ignorance, which have to be faced in
the attainment of any ideal. But Ireland is fortunate in this, that
in the North she has a statesman, an Irishman and a man of deep
wisdom; and in Dublin, in the Free State, you have as statesmen men
who have looked into the eyes of both life and death. They are
facing an almost insuperable burden to-day with courage and honesty
rare amongst statesmen.
We in England wish them well with all our hearts. We want the two
Governments of Ireland to have fair play from the world. We want
them to have a fair chance of settling down to their work, and so far
as we are concerned I think we have given proof of the sincerity of
our desires for the prosperity of Ireland. I have only one word more
to add. I have been told that just as the virtue of truth, on which
perhaps we English are apt to credit ourselves, is sometimes
presented in a form not dissimilar from aggressiveness and
insolence--I have been told that by those who do not love us--so I
have been told that the Celtic virtue of courtesy is sometimes
extended to a point where it almost becomes insincerity. As an
illustration, I have been told that if you ask an Irish peasant how
far you are from your destination, he is always more anxious to give
you satisfaction than information, and the illimitable distance you
have to travel before you reach your journey's end--the land of
heart's desire--is to him only "just beyond the hill." That is a
failing of all people with prophetic souls.
That ideal state, to which Mr. Cosgrave would lead his people along
an Irish road, and to which I would lead mine along an English road,
we tell each other is just over the hills. We know in our hearts we
shall never reach it, but if we did not believe that it was only just
over the hills we should never have the strength to go through that
dreary, dusty walk in attending to the needs of the caravan on its
journey day by day throughout this world. Our courses are set the
same. Our goal is the same. Our method of travelling may be
different, but it is because our paths run alongside, and because you
have asked me here to-night, that I feel we may now fairly join hands
as we proceed across that narrow strip of water, those of us who live
on this side and you who live on that.
WALES
AT THE ST. DAVID'S DAY DINNER
2_nd March_, 1925
I suppose that when an Englishman comes to dine with you he tries to
find some link by which he may explain his presence. In asking me
you have asked one that was born and bred, and whose people have
lived for a very long time, in those border counties where in the old
days we knew a great deal about you. In Shropshire, whence my family
migrated into Worcestershire to get a little farther from the border,
there are still to-day, I believe, about one-fifth of all the castles
that exist in England. Why they were crowded into that narrow area I
have no idea. And when I do go home and look from my garden, four
miles across the valley is the hill on which, according to tradition,
Owen Glendower had his camp, on, I think, the last invasion of our
county by the Welsh.
My family has some connection with Wales if you go back far enough.
Long, long years ago there were two Baldwins who tossed a coin at
some remote place on the Continent, and one went East, where he
became King of Jerusalem, and thereby preceded by about a thousand
years Sir Herbert Samuel, and another went West, crossed over, first
into England and then into Wales, where his name was softened, as you
soften everything in Wales, and he gave his name to what we in
England call the county of Montgomery.
Another century slipped by, and an archbishop of my name, translated
to Canterbury from Worcester, went on a pilgrimage into Wales. He
went with a very specific object. He knew that the Welsh were
devout, and he had been told that they made most admirable foot
soldiers, so he tried to secure them for the Crusades, and he took
with him an eloquent archdeacon and journalist by name Giraldus. I
regret to say, however pure one's motives, the twelfth century
differed little from the present. There were those who said that my
ancestor, if I may call him so, really went to Wales because he
wished by celebrating Mass at the High Altar of each of the four
Welsh cathedrals to establish the supremacy of Canterbury. I don't
know whether that was true, but some of the priests in Wales,
thinking that it was, did their best to impede his progress, though
without success, and the only part of Wales in which this holy man
met with an unfavourable reception, I regret to say, was in the
county of Carnarvon. It is a source of infinite regret to me that
the distinguished representative of that part of Wales[1] is unable
to be present to-night, for we might then have got to the bottom of
this secular trouble. But so undisturbed am I by what happened all
those centuries ago that I am thinking this summer of starting on a
pilgrimage myself, not by palfrey, but by motor-car, and I shall
leave Bewdley by what we still call the Welsh Gate and go to preside
over--a word of ten letters signifying a national festival--to be
held at a little town of eight letters.[2]
It is strange, indeed, to look at the border country to-day and to
think that it was for so long by Severn and Wye a scene of
interminable raids. Now there is no more peaceful part of England
than that of which the Shropshire poet wrote:
In valleys of springs of rivers,
By Ony and Teme and Clun,
A country of pleasant livers,
The quietest under the sun.
We tried, it is true, in those days to keep you out of England, and
now we come to do homage to you in our own capital, of which you have
almost taken possession. Not for the first time in history have the
Greeks defeated their conquerors, and, indeed, this country had a
very narrow escape in the years immediately succeeding the War from
the imposing of Welsh as the diplomatic language of Europe.
There are times in the life of a Prime Minister when he is able, not
without difficulty, to get away from his arduous work and disappear
for a short time unseen by the public and unknown to the Press. I
had the good fortune so to disappear and find myself by accident in
the studio of a Chelsea sculptor. When there I saw an exquisitely
beautiful statue of a young shepherd, the original of the figure
which now stands in a mountain village in Merionethshire--the figure
of a poet (Hedd Wyn) who took his part in the Great War. You have
all heard of the story of this private soldier in the trenches who
had written a poem for your great festival at Birkenhead, and how he
was killed on Pilkem Ridge before he received the crown that would
have been given to him; and the sculptor explained to me that the
poet's Hero had been composed of Prometheus and the Man of
Nazareth--the energy that makes for kindliness and beauty; whenever I
think of Wales, it is not of her industrial areas, but of the
country, and I look upon that figure as a type of what our rural
civilisation can produce. That poet has again proved the truth of
the old saying that "The Celt goes forth to battle and has always
fallen"; but there is the additional truth that there are some
defeats which mean more than victories, and which are in themselves
victories everlasting.
Finally, I would like to remind you of the beautiful words used by
St. David the last time he spoke to his own people:
"Be joyful and keep your faith, and believe and perform the small
things which you have heard and seen with me, and I will go the road
which our fathers have travelled. Be courageous while you are upon
the earth, for you will not see me any more in this world."
If that can still be a message to the people of these islands, and if
they will listen to it, we shall have nothing to fear in the future,
and the name of St. David will go down the ages blessed by the
English as well as by the Welsh.
[1] Mr. Lloyd George.
[2] Pwllheli.
GLASGOW
AT GLASGOW
1_st October_, 1925
It is a matter of peculiar pride to become a burgess of a city which
is one of the most famous in the world. There can be few corners of
the world into which the fame and name of Glasgow have not
penetrated, and where there cannot be found some product of your
manifold energies, and, in these latter days, where the echoes of the
voices of your Parliamentary representatives have not been heard. I
know full well that the honour you have done me is to me as first
Minister of the Crown, and I believe you have made me this
presentation as a recognition that I have tried, at any rate, to
discharge my duties as the chief servant of the people in no party
spirit, and that you mean it as an encouragement to try to go forward
and do better.
I am receiving the great honour from you at a time of very grave
difficulty. No progressive country has ever been free or ever will
be free from difficulties. We have come through a prolonged and
terrific struggle for our very existence, we are borne down under a
burden of taxation resulting from that struggle, we are perplexed by
the changes occurring under our eyes in the channels of the world
trade on which we are so dependent, and we are profoundly depressed
at the thought of the numbers of unemployed, and of the continuance
of unemployment.
Nothing could be easier than to paint a sombre picture full of
shadows, and to ask ourselves: "Does Scotland stand where she did?"
or "Is England played out?" But that would not be a true picture.
The life of Glasgow is the story in miniature of the whole
country--the gradual evolution, the increase in population, power and
prosperity. It was not so long ago, as the generations of men are
reckoned, that Glasgow was but a village, and almost before the
people realised what was happening her traders began to go out over
the seas of the world. The Clyde was deepened, coal and iron were
discovered in your neighbourhood, your great series of pioneers and
inventors from James Watt to Lord Kelvin made their names and the
name of the city known throughout the world, and in two short
centuries Glasgow passed from being a little country town into a
mighty city of a million souls, which has drawn into its vortex not
only the people from the glens of the North, but from the farming
country and, indeed, from overseas, so that you now have a fourth
part of the population of Scotland packed together in this area in a
density greater than that which exists in most of our English towns.
The story of Glasgow is thus a story of stupendous adventure and
achievement, answering to some of the deepest instincts of human
nature. Such a story has not been achieved without strain and
conflict, and even loss. Past generations have left to us a city,
and we have to maintain its character, noted particularly for the
fierce energy of its people, the high quality of their workmanship,
and the boldness of their municipal enterprise. It is true to say
that the labours of Glasgow, industrial, commercial and municipal,
have profoundly affected the current of modern civilisation in all
parts of the world, and have affected it largely for good.
This has been done by the co-operation of mind and brain. There has
been no standing still; there is no standing still to-day. We have
to remember that while in the time of our fathers the changes that
always came, came slowly, what is apt to disconcert us is the speed
at which changes come to-day--changes social, industrial and
commercial. To-day the chemist is revolutionising industry. We are
beginning to make various things by artificial processes which might
have seemed like miracles a quarter of a century ago. To-day I am to
have the pleasure of seeing a great municipal experiment which you
are making in order to learn whether you cannot light your city, dye
your clothes, clear your atmosphere and drive your motor cars out of
coal. It is this ceaseless activity that has made Glasgow what she
is, and that is the hope of her future.
What Burke said of the State is true of the city. We have a
partnership, not only between those who are living, but a partnership
over many generations with those who have gone before us and with
those who will follow us. The life of a city is a continuous thing,
a living organisation, and its citizens are members not only of one
another but heirs of those who went before. And so, while we inherit
a civilised way of life and opportunities and comforts and pleasures
far beyond the dreams of our ancestors, it is also true that we
cannot escape inheriting the very texture of city life, the results
of the failings of good men and of the sins of evil men.
No problem which faces Glasgow is greater than that of housing, our
inheritance from an age when the Industrial Revolution swept so
quickly through the land that it had done its work before people
realised that it had come at all. Quite apart from the essential
wrong of such conditions of housing as still exist to-day, there is
no doubt that those conditions are the most fertile source of that
social discontent which is known so well in this city, as in other
congested parts of the kingdom. Grievous as it may be to see social
discontent, it is yet a better thing than cynical indifference or
lazy acquiescence in conditions such as I saw in this city yesterday
afternoon. I know how aggravated the problem is here, particularly
through the tenement-house system and through the rush of
immigration. It is not for us to apportion blame; it is a waste of
time to do so. We are all to blame, and we have all come short of
perfection. Let us see that our sympathy is not wasted in noisy
declamation or in mere fault-finding. Let us rather wed the social
enthusiasm that does exist here to experience and reason. The task
of improving the worst quarters in our great cities is hard enough to
demand the co-operation of the best men and women of all classes, and
those who withstand such an aim, whether from a selfish regard for
their wealth or property, or from a desire to monopolise their skill
and exploit the city--these people, in whatever ranks of life they
are found, are the worst enemies of the communal life.
I am convinced myself that the day will come when we shall have to
eviscerate our great cities, a tremendous task, but one to which the
imagination and the vision and the wisdom of the best of us may well
be devoted. The task is enormous, and therefore it is all the better
worth doing. I like to think that even at a time like this, when we
are preoccupied with unemployment and the hardship arising out of it,
we are yet giving our minds to try to raise up in this kingdom
better, healthier, more beautiful communities than exist to-day, and
I should like to think that I am becoming a burgess of your city at a
time when the public conscience is stirred on these matters as never
before, and when in Glasgow there are those who are striving might
and main to make Glasgow what she once was and might be again,
namely, one of the fairest cities in the kingdom. In that high task
I would fain be associated with my fellow-burgesses. I shall follow
you in your struggle to solve the problems that surround you, knowing
that as you accomplish them you are not only making Glasgow better,
happier, healthier and more prosperous, but are contributing in large
measure to the security, prosperity and happiness of the people at
large in these islands which are our home.
ANGLO-AMERICAN FRIENDSHIP
THE ANNUAL RE-UNION DINNER OF THE BRITISH
WAR MISSIONS TO THE UNITED STATES
29_th April_, 1925
Looking back, I think that if there was one thing that struck our
delegates, on whatever task they were engaged in America, it was the
amazing and the generous hospitality showered on all alike by their
new friends in every part of the United States. Apart from the
personal side they were struck by the immense effort that the United
States made in those early days of the war, when they showed an
example of enthusiasm, of hard work, and of receptiveness to
ideas--when they showed that natural characteristic of hero-worship,
and came forward to do everything in their power to help their Allies
to bring to a successful issue the terrible undertaking in which they
were engaged.
Living as I was at that time in London, and working at the Treasury,
I cannot help in a gathering of this kind recalling the day when the
first American troops appeared in London. I do not know how the
reception of those troops affected the Americans themselves. The
outlook was different to them from what it was to us, but I shall
never forget standing on the Horse Guards Parade watching them
marching by, not to a storm of cheers, which perhaps some had
expected, but in a deep, profound silence, which to me was far more
moving than any cheers.
Speaking for myself, I understand what was passing through the minds
and hearts of that crowd. As we looked at these young men, the pick
of their nation, so fresh, so keen, so enthusiastic, with their fine
military bearing, the thought that was prominent in my mind was how
they had come three thousand, four thousand and five thousand miles
to Europe to help us.
I wondered how it looked to them. I thought of the homes from which
they had come, the strangeness of the surroundings to them, their
feeling of fresh enthusiasm, of our feeling of worn but grim
determination begotten of the three years of hell through which we
had passed, and I could not help thinking how little, in the triumph
of that march, they could realise what that fiery furnace was towards
which they were going, and from which few of those early regiments
could ever hope to return. It seemed to me then as impossible to
cheer as I always find it impossible to applaud when I have heard the
most beautiful music that stirs the soul rather than the head.
But, after all, we are here to-night to celebrate friendships which
were made in a time such as I have endeavoured to depict, friendships
which certainly individually, I believe, in hundreds of cases have
only grown stronger with the passage of time. We thought then much
of our combined and united influence on the world. Possibly the
freshness of that feeling, maybe in both countries, has to some
extent evaporated in the strenuous years of peace which have
followed. But there is just as much need, if not more need, to-day
for that understanding, for that co-operation, and for that mutual
help, as ever there was in the time of war. Strangers as many of us
were to each other, we rapidly became acquaintances, and
acquaintances became friends, and gatherings such as these will keep
those friendships alive, if indeed anything be necessary for that
purpose, and we hope that through us they may help to keep alive the
friendship of the nations.
If I may say one more word to the English here--it is not necessary
to you, but it is necessary to our country people, and I look to you
to teach our country people--it is this: it is quite true that we and
the Americans have much in common, but what most English people who
do not know America forget is that the essential thing for mutual
understanding is to realise what we have not got in common.
The root of any differences which may occur at any time between our
two peoples is the root of most of the trouble in this world--it is
the root of ignorance. And it is because it is one of the objects of
this society to dispel and eradicate that ignorance that I rejoice in
its existence and in its continuance. I think probably many of you
taught America something of the nature, the quality, and the
character of our people, just as many of those who came from America
during the war taught the same lesson to our people. But it rests
with you, and I am glad to hear it from Sir Thomas Royden to-night,
to carry out the good work and to teach those who have not had our
advantages what we ourselves have learned, because friendship at the
best of times is fragile; a friendship will not run long of itself;
friendship requires care and consideration.
I do not think there is much more on that subject I can say to you,
and I think that what I would say has been far better expressed by
others than I could express it myself. I will content myself by
using some words which were uttered more than sixty years ago, which
epitomise all that I would say, and all that I hope, and all that I
believe:
"Whatever else may happen, whatever misfortune may befall your
country or my own, the peace and friendship which now exist between
the two nations will be, as it shall be my desire to make them,
perpetual."
These were the words of Abraham Lincoln. Since those words were
uttered we have passed through Armageddon together. May the
friendship between the two nations, based on mutual knowledge and
understanding, be perpetual for the benefit of the whole world.
FRIENDLY SOCIETIES
AT STOURPORT, AT THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER OF THE
ANCIENT ORDER OF FORESTERS (STOUR VALLEY)
18_th February_, 1924