Roy Hattersley, the novelist, biographer and journalist is also Baron Hattersley of Sparkbrook, Privy Councillor and lifelong Labour politician. As such he scorned to use a microphone in such a cosy auditorium as that of Durham's Gala Theatre. Instead, declaring "I had rather this be a conversation between you and me than a dissertation from behind a podium," he stepped to the front of the stage and began to explain why - or indeed, he conceded, "why on earth?" - he had decided to write a book about the Edwardians.
He had not set out with any such intention; rather his plan had been to write a biography of Joseph Chamberlain, whom he described as "without a doubt, the most important politician never to have been Prime Minister". He thought he was well-prepared for the task, since he knew about Chamberlain's youth, and the middle of his life, and thought that all he would need was a little research into the end of his life, after 1900. But his investigations into Chamberlain's opposition to the 1902 Education Act led him onto unfamiliar ground, and the realisation that this was an interesting and almost secret period. The conventional view of the Edwardian era - as a long sunlit afternoon before the darkness of the Great War - only describes the experience of a small part of the population. It was also the period in which philanthropists like Seebohm Rowntree began to carry out social surveys, and provide evidence of the extent of poverty in Britain. For as many as 30% of the population, having just enough money to get by depended on nothing unforeseen happening; illness, unemployment or some unexpected expense would throw them into poverty.
So why had we got it so wrong? Roy Hattersley offered two reasons for this simplistic view of a complex era. The first was that it was overshadowed by two periods which were strongly characterised in the public mind: it followed the long reign of Victoria, and it preceded the trauma of the First World Way. Inevitably, it tended to be dismissed as an interregnum. Moreover, while there was more to the Edwardian era than idleness and pleasure, these characteristics were present, and they were exemplified by the behaviour of the king. Edward VII had come to the throne in "impossible circumstances". He had been Prince of Wales for thirty years, but Victoria had excluded him from any rôle in the monarchy: he had, for example, been on holiday in France when he had learned from the newspapers that his mother had become Empress of India. Excluded from work, he had naturally spent his time in play, and in these circumstances Roy Hattersley emphasised that despite the scandals which had attached to him as Prince of Wales, "In fact, he wasn't a bad king. He wasn't a particularly good king. He wasn't any sort of king."
The king and his playmates regarded themselves as Society (with a capital S); but another understanding of the word society may be traced to this period. It was the period of the formation of the Labour Party; but the practical changes were mostly introduced by the Liberal Party. Legislation on employment, pensions and education marked the beginnings of an acceptance that public welfare is a matter for which politicians have a responsibility. The moment which best symbolised this shift, said Roy Hattersley, was a remark of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman in the parliamentary debate on the King's Speech following the Liberal landslide victory of 1906: "Enough of this foolery! It might have served in the previous parliament, but it has no place in this, for we have work to do."
If it was a surprise to hear a Labour politician (and a man who, although regarded as being on the right of the party throughout his active career, has since become a left-wing critic of New Labour) giving so much credit to the Liberal party, there were more surprises in store. Lloyd George was given due credit for his reforms, but the charismatic hero of the story was Winston Churchill. As much to his own astonishment as to that of his audience, Roy Hattersley had discovered a young Winston Churchill who was neither the leader of World War II nor the bitter conservative of the post-war years, but an impetuous radical. At the Board of Trade he had set up Labour Exchanges, and wanted to nationalise the railways. At the Home Office, he had believed that prison does more harm than good. He had, as Home Secretary, arrived at the Siege of Sidney Street and attempted to persuade one of the armed police to lend him a rifle, so that he could take a shot at the armed gang who were holed up on the premises.
This was perhaps the most colourful anecdote of the evening, but there was a wealth of other evidence that the Edwardian era was in many respects a crucible of modernity. It was at this time that women's suffrage had become inevitable (though the Pankhursts were, according to Roy Hattersley, "not the kind of people you want to go with on a walking holiday in the Lake District!"). Likewise, the shape in which Ireland eventually achieved Home Rule was decided during the Edwardian period. In 1890 the motor car and the aeroplane were unknown; by 1910 they were, if not commonplace at least recognised sights. The Football Association tried in vain to cap transfer fees and footballers' wages (but could not prevail against the opposition of the rich northern clubs). It was a period of creativity in art, in music, in literature.
For over an hour, Roy Hattersley held his audience's attention, speaking with passion and without notes, quoting dates and facts and telling lively stories. Then, after a period for questions, in which he answered with equal enthusiasm questions on other interpretations of the early twentieth century and on the current referendum on regional government, he signed books for those whose appetite for Edwardiana had been whetted by his talk.
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