UNAUTHENTIC IMPRESSIONS
.
IV.—Dr. Addison.
The ridiculous tradition of government by K. C.'s has for some time past been broken down, and quite a number of our present Ministers have never taken silk in their lives, except from cocoons in a match-box. There is at least one business man in the Cabinet, and even the Lord Chancellor, great lawyer though he is, is almost equally renowned as a horseman. "He sits the Woolsack," a hard-riding Peer has said of him, "almost as though he were part of it."
Of this tendency to break away from the Bar Dr. Addison is one of the pleasantest examples. We Englishmen surely owe as much to our great physicians as to our great lawyers, and in some cases indeed the fees are even higher. After the Demosthenic periods and Ciceronian verbosity of some of our previous rulers Dr. Addison's bright bedside manner with an ailing or moribund Bill is a refreshing spectacle. The shrewd face under the shock of white hair is too well known to need description. The small black bag and the slight bulge in the top-hat, caused by the stethoscope, are equally familiar. Nor is there wanting in Dr. Addison that touch of firmness which is so necessary to a good practitioner and in his case comes partly, no doubt, from his Lincolnshire origin, for he was born in the county which has already produced such men as Sir Isaac Newton, the late Lord Tennyson, M. Worth of Paris, the present Governor of South Australia and Hereward the Wake.
None but the robustest of officials is allowed to direct the affairs of the new Ministry of Health. The patron saint of its Chief is St. Pancreas and his eupepsia is reflected in his subordinates. His junior clerks whistle continuously, his liftmen yodel, his typists sing. Of his own official methods I have been privileged to obtain the report of an eye-witness. Let us suppose that, as frequently happens, a deputation of disappointed house-hunters has arrived to see him.
Leader of Deputation. We want houses and we won't wait.
Dr. Addison (tapping his forehead and glancing significantly at his Private Secretary). Tck, tck! That's very serious. Shall we feel the pulse?
[Leader of Deputation puts his hand
out. Private Secretary takes out
his watch. Sixty seconds elapse.
Dr. Addison. Do you take much walking exercise?
Leader of Deputation. No.
Dr. Addison. Ah, I thought as much.
"After breakfast walk a mile,
After dinner rest awhile."
What you need is a good sound constitutional every morning. If you see any houses, of course there is no objection to your looking at them. But keep on walking, mind; don't loiter. And come back to me in a month's time and we'll see how you are then.
[Exit Deputation, looking slightly dazed.
Almost equally successful is Dr. Addison's professional method in dealing with representatives of the Building Trades Unions. A bricklayers' leader, let us say, has expounded at great length the technical difficulties which prevent rapidity of construction.
Dr. Addison (softly and suddenly). Take a deep breath. (Bricklayer takes it.) Say ninety-nine! (Bricklayer tries hard.) Where do you feel the pain?
Bricklayer. In the shoulders and arms.
Dr. Addison. Tck, tck, we must go easy. Don't take it too quickly, and we'll have you right again before the year's out. Try three bricks a day and come and see me in a month's time.
These, however, are not the only methods by which Dr. Addison has attempted to remedy the crisis. At his suggestion a permanent sub-committee of the Cabinet, called "The Happy Homes for Heroes' Panel," was appointed, and it was during one of its sessions that the bright idea of Housing Bonds was originated, I believe by Sir Alfred Mond. If the campaign has not met with the success which it deserves, the cause is probably to be found in the slightly unfortunate title whose assonance suggests to the public mind the "House of Bondage" in the Psalms. It would have been better, I think, to adopt Mr. Austen Chamberlain's suggestion, which was "The Cosy Cot Combine."
However, things are not as bad as they might seem, and outside one large suburb the other day I observed a gang of bricklayers actually in operation, anxiously hovered over by a clerk from the Ministry, thermometer in hand.
I think I have forgotten to mention in this brief sketch that Dr. Addison has a frame of iron. Since I have said it of all the other Cabinet Ministers of whom I have spoken, I ought certainly to say it of Dr. Addison too. Like Mr. Lloyd George, like Mr. Winston Churchill, like Sir Eric Geddes, the Minister of Health and Housing has a frame of iron. All that he really needs is the concrete.
K.
Wealthy Parvenu (showing acquaintance his house, "ancestors," etc.). "Ah! an' they're all tip-top an' pre-war, mind yer."