Chapter Eight.
The Willoughby Parliament in Session.
The “Parliament” at Willoughby was one of the very old institutions of the school. Old, white-headed Willoughbites, when talking of their remote schooldays, would often recall their exploits “on the floor of the house,” when Pilligrew (now a Cabinet Minister) brought in his famous bill to abolish morning chapel in winter, and was opposed by Jilson (now Ambassador to the Court at Whereisit) in a speech two hours long; or when old Coates (a grandfather, by the way, of the present bearer of that name in the school) divided the house fifteen times in one afternoon on the question of presenting a requisition to the head master to put more treacle into the suet puddings! They were exciting days, and the custom had gone on flourishing up to the present.
The Willoughby Parliament was an institution which the masters of the school wisely connived at, while holding aloof themselves from its proceedings. There was no restraint as to the questions to be discussed or the manner and time of the discussion, provided the rules of the school were not infringed. The management was entirely in the hands of the boys, who elected their own officers, and paid sixpence a term for the privilege of a seat in the august assembly.
The proceedings were regulated by certain rules handed down by long tradition according to which the business of the House was modelled as closely as possible on the procedure of the House of Commons itself. Every boy was supposed to represent some place or other, and marvellous was the scouring of atlases and geography books to discover constituencies for the young members. There was a Government and an Opposition, of course, only in the case of the former the “Ministers” were elected by the votes of the whole assembly, at the beginning of each session. They were designated by the titles of their office. There was a Premier and a Home Secretary, and a First Lord of the Admiralty, and so on, and great was the pride of a Willoughbite when he first heard himself referred to as the Right Honourable!
Everything that came before the house had to come in the form of a bill or a resolution. Any one anxious to bring up a subject (and there was nothing to prevent the junior fag bringing in a bill if he liked) usually handed in his motion early in the session, so as to stand a good chance of getting a date for his discussion. Later on, when more subjects were handed in than there were evenings to debate them, the order was decided by ballot, and due notice given every Friday of the business for the next evening.
Another feature of these meetings was, of course, the questions. Any one was entitled to question the “Government” on matters affecting the school, and the putting and answering of these questions was usually the most entertaining part of an evening’s business. Naturally enough, it was not always easy to decide to whose department many of the questions asked belonged, but tradition had settled this to some extent. The Home Secretary had to answer questions about the monitors, the First Lord of the Admiralty about the boats, the Secretary of State for War about fights, and so on, while more doubtful questions were usually first asked of the Premier, who, if he didn’t find it convenient to answer them, was entitled to refer the inquirer to some other member of the Government.
It need hardly be said that the meetings of the Willoughby Parliament were occasionally more noisy than dignified, and yet there existed a certain sense of order and respect for the “authority of the House” which held the members in check, and prevented the meetings from degenerating into riots. Another reason for the same result existed in the doctor, who sanctioned the Parliament only as long as it was conducted in an orderly manner, and did not offend against the rules of the school. And a final and more terrible reason still was in the fact that the House had the power of expelling a member who was generally obnoxious.
The session at Willoughby always opened on the Saturday after the May sports, and notice had been duly given that Parliament would assemble this year on the usual date, and that the first business would be the election of a Speaker and a Government.
The reader will easily understand that, under present circumstances, an unusual amount of interest and curiosity centred in the opening meeting of the school senate, and at the hour of meeting the big dining-hall, arranged after the model of the great House of Commons, was, in spite of the fact that it was a summer evening, densely packed by an excited assembly of members.
Most of the boys as they entered had stopped a moment to read the “order paper,” which was displayed in a prominent place beside the door. It was crowned with notices, the first three of which gave a good idea of the prospect of a lively evening.
1. “That the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by T. Fairbairn; seconded by E. Coates.
2. “That Mr Bloomfield be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by G. Game; seconded by R. Ashley.
3. “That Francis Cusack, Esquire, member for the Isle of Wight, be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed, A. Pilbury, Esquire; seconded, L. Philpot, Esq.
The humour of the last notice was eclipsed by the seriousness of the other two. It had always been taken for granted that the captain of Willoughby was also the Speaker of the House, and a contested election for that office was without precedent. Now, however, the old rule was to be challenged; and as the members waited for the clock to strike six they discussed the coming contest among themselves with a solemnity which could hardly have been surpassed in Westminster itself.
The clock sounded at last; every one was in his place. The seniors sat ranged on the front benches on either side of the table, and the others crowded the benches behind them, impatiently waiting for the proceedings to commence.
According to custom, Riddell, as captain of the school, rose, and briefly proposed, “That Mr Isaacs, Senior Limpet, be requested to preside until after the election of a Speaker.”
The appearance of the captain to move this resolution had always been the signal for a loud ovation from the House. But this year the cheers were confined to a very small cluster of schoolhouse boys, and died away languidly in the general silence which prevailed elsewhere. Riddell’s motion being seconded and carried, Mr Isaacs, a pallid unintelligent-looking Limpet, rose and advanced to the chair at the end of the table usually occupied by the Chairman of Committees, and, knocking with a hammer once or twice, demanded silence. This being secured, he called out, “Mr Fairbairn!” and sat down.
Fairbairn’s speech was brief and to the point.
“I beg to move that the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House. I don’t know that I need say anything in support of this.” (“Oh, oh!” from a voice opposite.) “The captain always has been Speaker, and Mr Riddell has already taken an active part in the business of the house and knows what the Speaker’s duties are. We all miss old Wyndham,”—(loud cheers)—“but I’m sure Riddell will be a worthy successor to him in the chair of this House.”
Coates having said, “I beg to second the motion,” Mr Isaacs put it to the meeting, and asked if there was any amendment. Whereupon Game rose, amid loud cheers from all quarters.
Game, as has already been said, was an honest fellow. He meant what he said, and generally said what he meant. He was fully convinced in his own mind that Willoughby would go to the dogs under the new captain, and therefore if Riddell had been his own twin-brother he would have protested against him all the same.
“I beg to move an amendment,” he said, “and it is this: That Mr Bloomfield be appointed Speaker of this House instead of Mr Riddell.” (It will be noticed by the way that when Willoughby sat in Parliament everybody was “Mr”) “And the reason I do so is because I consider Mr Bloomfield ought to be captain of the school instead of Mr Riddell. (Loud Parrett cheers.) I’ve nothing to say against Mr Riddell—(cheers from the schoolhouse)—except that I don’t consider he’s the right man in the right place. (Great applause.) He’s been made captain against our wishes,”—(“Hear, hear,” and “Oh, oh!”)—“and we can’t help it. But we’re not obliged to have him captain here, and what’s more, we don’t mean to! (Terrific cheers, especially from the juniors.) Mr Bloomfield’s our man. Only to-day he stopped a row in the Fourth in two minutes which Mr Riddell couldn’t have stopped if he’d stayed till now.” (Laughter, and cries of “Give him a clothes-brush!”) “The fellows all look up to Mr Bloomfield. He ran grandly for the school at the sports the other day, and licked the London fellow. (Here the enthusiasm became positively deafening.) What’s Mr Riddell done for the school? I should like to know. We want a fellow who has done something for the school, and, I repeat, Mr Bloomfield’s our man, and I hope you’ll elect him Speaker.”
Game sat down amidst a tempest of applause, which brought a flush of pleasure even to his serious face.
Many curious eyes were turned to Riddell to see the effect of this uncomplimentary oration upon him.
At first he had looked nervous and uncomfortable, and had even whispered to Fairbairn, who sat next him, “Don’t you think I’d better go?”
“For goodness’ sake, no!” exclaimed Fairbairn. “Don’t be a fool, Riddell.”
The caution had its weight. Riddell saw he must brave it out; and that being settled, he felt more comfortable, and listened to all the unpleasant things that were said in a composed manner which greatly perplexed his adversaries.
Ashley, who seconded Game’s motion, was hardly so fortunate in his remarks as his predecessor.
“I second the motion, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time we made a stand against this sort of thing.” (“What sort of thing?” from voices on the schoolhouse side.) “Why, schoolhouse tyranny. (Frantic Parrett cheers.) Why is the whole credit of Willoughby to be sacrificed for the sake of your precious schoolhouse?” (“Question!” “Order!” drowned by renewed cheers.) “Why, just because he’s a schoolhouse fellow, is a muff to be stuck over us? and just because he’s a Parrett’s fellow, is a splendid fellow like Mr Bloomfield to be snubbed in the face of the whole school? (Loud cheers.) It’s time Willoughby found out that Parrett is the cock house of the school.” (“Oh! oh!” from the Welchers.) “It’s got the best men in it. (Parrett cheers.) It’s head of the river.” (“Oh no, not yet,” from Fairbairn.) “Well, it will be very soon. It’s ahead in everything.” (“Except intelligence,” from Crossfield.) “No, I don’t even except intelligence. (Loud cheers from Bosher, and laughter.) And, as a sign of its intelligence, I beg to second the motion.”
This abrupt and somewhat vague termination to Ashley’s spirited address did not detract from the applause with which it was greeted by his own partisans, or from the wrath with which it was received by the schoolhouse boys.
The moment he sat down Crossfield sprang to his feet. This was the signal for loud schoolhouse cheers, and for general attention from all quarters, for Crossfield usually had something to say worth listening to.
“Mr Limpet, sir,”—(loud laughter; Isaacs, who had been drawing niggers on the paper before him, started, and blushed very much to find himself thus appealed to)—“I am sure we are all much obliged to the honourable member who has just sat down for the ‘sign of intelligence’ he has just favoured us with. (Laughter.) We’ve been looking for it for a long time—(laughter)—and it’s come at last! (Cheers and laughter.) Sir, it would be a great pity to let such an occasion pass without notice. I’m not sure that the doctor might not think it worth a half-holiday. A sign of intelligence from the hon. gentleman! And what is the sign, sir? (Laughter.) The hon. member seconds the motion.” (“Hear, hear!” from Parrett’s.) “Gentlemen of the same party say ‘Hear, hear!’ as much as to say, ‘We, too, show signs of intelligence!’ Do you really, gentlemen? I could not have believed it. (Loud laughter.) Why does he second the motion? Because he’s a Parrett’s boy, and Mr Bloomfield is a Parrett’s boy, and all Parrett’s boys say a Parrett’s boy ought to be the head of the school! Gentlemen, parrots aren’t always to be trusted, even when they show signs of intelligence! (Cheers and laughter.) Don’t you believe all a parrot tells you about parrots. (Laughter.) I prefer the arguments of the gentleman who moved the amendment. He says he doesn’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. (Cheers.) I agree with him—(tremendous Parrett’s cheers, and consternation of schoolhouse)—I don’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. He doesn’t think so himself.” (“Hear, hear!” from Riddell, and laughter.) “But the gentleman says Mr Bloomfield is the man. (Loud cheers.) I don’t agree with that at all. Mr Riddell knows very little about sports, though I do hear he was seen coxing a schoolhouse boat this morning. (Derisive cheers.) Mr Bloomfield knows almost as little about classics! (Loud laughter from the schoolhouse.) Why, gentlemen, do you mean to say you think a fellow who couldn’t translate ‘Balbus hopped over a wall’ without looking up three words in a lexicon is fit to be a Willoughby captain?” (Laughter from the juniors, and cries of “Time!” from Parretts.) “I say not. Even though he’s a Parrett’s boy, and therefore can show a sign of intelligence! (Laughter.) No; what I say is, whether we believe in him or not, Mr Riddell is captain; and until you can show me a less bad one, I’ll vote for him.”
This oration, delivered with great animation and amidst constant laughter, helped to put the meeting in rather better humour, all except the Parrett’s fellows, who did not enjoy it at all.
However, before any of them could make up his mind to reply, a shrill voice was heard from the other end of the hall, “Sir! It is time the Welchers had a word!”
This innocent announcement caused a loud burst of laughter, in which every one joined, especially when it was discovered that the orator was none other than the youthful Mr Pilbury himself!
He stood surrounded by a small cluster of admiring juniors, who glared defiantly out on the assembly generally, and “backed up their man” till he could hardly breathe.
“It’s all very well,” screamed Pilbury. (Loud cheers from Cusack and Philpot.) But here the chairman’s hammer sounded and cries of “Order” checked the orator’s progress.
“The hon. member,” said Isaacs, “cannot propose his motion till the motion before the House is disposed of.”
Pilbury scowled fiercely at the speaker.
“I shall propose it,” he cried, “and you’d better shut up, old Ikey!”
Game, amid much laughter, rose to order, and asked if these expressions were parliamentary?
Isaacs said, “Certainly not, and Mr Pilbury must withdraw them.”
Mr Pilbury said “he’d withdraw his grandmother,” and attempted to continue his speech, when Fairbairn rose and suggested to the hon. member that if he would only wait a bit the House would be delighted to hear him. After this conciliatory advice Pilbury let himself be pulled down into his seat by his admirers, and the debate on Game’s amendment continued.
It was hot and exciting. The arguments were mostly on the side of the schoolhouse, and the vehemence on the side of Parrett’s. Once or twice a Welcher dropped in a speech, attacking both parties and once or twice a schoolhouse boy spoke in favour of Bloomfield, or a Parrett’s boy spoke in favour of Riddell. At last, after about an hour’s angry debate, the House divided. That is, all those in favour of Game’s amendment moved over to one side of the room, and those against it to the other, and those who did not want to vote at all kept their seats in the middle.
There was no need to count the numbers of the rival parties as they stood. Only about twenty-five stood beside Fairbairn and the schoolhouse, while nearly two hundred and fifty boys crowded the side of the room along which Game and his followers took their stand. The triumph of the opponents to the new captain was complete, and the school had given him and the head master a most emphatic reply to the late appointment.
Riddell would have much preferred to be allowed to withdraw of his own accord rather than remain to be beaten. But his friends had all opposed the idea as cowardly, and he had given in to them. He now took his defeat very placidly, and even joined in the laughter which greeted Mr Isaac’s call.
“Now, Mr Pilbury!”
Mr Pilbury was “off his speech.” If he had been allowed to proceed when he first rose, he had the steam up and could have let out, as he told his friends; but now the spirit had been taken out of him. However, he was compelled to make an effort, and began as before, “Sir, it is time the Welchers had a word.”
He didn’t mean anything funny, he was certain, but everybody laughed.
“Why shouldn’t old Cusack here—” (“Order, order”)—“What’s the row?”
Isaacs informed the hon. gentleman that members of that House were always called “Mr”
“Mr Cusack, then,” said Pilbury, “it’s just a dodge of Ikey to floor me in my speech. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack— Eh, what say?”
This was addressed to Philpot, who was eagerly trying to prompt his ally.
“Go it, let out at them,” he whispered.
“Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack go it and let out—that is—all right, Philpot, you pig, I’ll pay you out, see if I don’t. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack, gentlemen—er—”
“Do,” suggested Cusack himself.
“Do,” shouted Pilbury, “do, gentlemen—do? Why shouldn’t—(all right, Gus Telson, I see you chucking darts)—why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack—”
“Does any gentleman second the amendment?” asked Mr Isaacs, evidently getting hungry and anxious to be released from his post.
“Yes,” shouted Philpot, “Mr Gentlemen, yes, I do—and—”
“Wait a bit, you howling cad,” exclaimed Pilbury, in excitement. “I’ve not done yet!”
“Mr Philpot!” said Mr Isaacs.
“Philpot be blowed,” cried the irate Pilbury, “wait till I’m done.”
“Order, order,” shouted members on all sides.
“Moved by Mr Pilbury, seconded by Mr Philpot,” began Isaacs.
“Easy all,” cried Philpot, “I’ve not spoken yet.”
“Order, order,” cried Isaacs.
“Order yourself,” retorted Philpot, “I’ve got a right to speak.”
“So have I,” said Pilbury, “and I was up first.”
“Forge away,” said Philpot, “you’ll be all right.”
“Nothing to do with you if I am all right,” snarled Pilbury.
“You seem to think you’re the only fellow can talk.”
“Ays to the right, noes to the left,” said Isaacs, in a loud voice.
The House instantly divided, and before either Pilbury or Philpot could make up their minds about proceeding, the motion had been declared lost by a majority of three hundred odd to one.
In a great state of wrath the injured Welchers left the hall, making as much noise as they possibly could in doing so.
As soon as they were gone, Isaacs put the question that Bloomfield be elected Speaker, and this was carried without a division, the schoolhouse fellows not caring to demand one.
Amid loud and long-continued cheers the new Speaker took his seat, and as soon as silence could be restored, said, “I’m much obliged to you all for your vote. I hope Willoughby won’t go down. I’ll try to prevent it for one. (Loud cheers.) I’m very proud to be elected your Speaker, and feel it quite as much honour as if I was captain of the school.” (Loud cries of “So you are!”—from Parrett’s.) “In reference to what one gentleman said about me, I hope you won’t believe it. I’m twelfth in classics. (Laughter from the schoolhouse and terrific applause from Parrett’s.) That’s all I have to say.”
The remaining business of the afternoon was dull compared with what had gone before. The elections for the various posts in the Government did not excite very much enthusiasm, especially among the juniors, who deserted the meeting soon after they began. After what had occurred it is hardly to be wondered at that the partisans of Bloomfield and the Parretts had the matter pretty much in their own hands, and used it to their own advantage. When the list was finally declared, it was found that only one schoolhouse fellow, Porter, had a place in the “Cabinet.” He was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer. Game was First Lord of the Admiralty, Wibberly, War Secretary, Ashley, Home Secretary, and Strutter, a comparatively obscure boy, Premier. All these, as well as the other officers appointed, were Parrett’s fellows, who may have flattered themselves their election was a simple recognition of merit in each case, but who, taken altogether, were a long way off being the most distinguished boys of Willoughby.
Parliament did not adjourn till a late hour that evening, and no one was particularly sorry when it did.