Mr. Jack Jones M.P., “Humorist of the Commons” Tells His Life Story

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 376, 9 June 1928, Page 23

Mr. Jack Jones M.P., “Humorist of the Commons” Tells His Life Story

T will probably surprise my readers—as it certainly would most of my friends —to learn that, but for family circumstances, I might to-day

have been Father Jones instead of Jack Jones, M.P., writes the author of this article, whom “T.P.’s Weekly” terms “The Inimitable Humorist of the Commons.” In the little Tipperary village of Nenagh, where 1 was born, I took a very great interest in the local Catholic Church. When quite small I became one of the altar boys. I used to accompany the parish priest when he went to administer Mass at the farm houses in the district; I helped him as a server at the altar; X rang the beil regularly in the morning, and I often went early to the church to help my grandmother, who was the church cleaner. My interest in matters theological was ardent and sincere; at the same time, the shilling that I earned every time I accompanied the priest for the celebration of Mass in the outlying farmhouses was a welcome addition to the meagre family income. Moreover, after the religious celebrations it was usual for the priest and his flock to sit down to a substantial repast as the guest of the farmer, and this meant something to the child of a poor Irish family. The bell-ringing was also rendered profitable to me in this way. Actually it should have been done by the altar boys in turn; but most of the others, being wealthier than I was, preferred to pay me a penny to do

their turn, while they took out their penn’orth in the form of an extra hour in bed. The hard facts of life taught me at an early age to make the most of every opportunity that came my way.

During this time I was a pupil at the little village school, run by a Catholic fraternity who, of course, viewed my predilection for an ecclesiastical career with warm favour. However, any such hopes that I had entertained were completely frustrated, when I was 11 years old, by the death of my father and our migration in search of a family livelihood to Liverpool. Here my mother obtained work as a nurse, while I found employment as a draper’s errand-boy.

There was no Shop Hours Act in those days, and I regularly put in a 12-hour day—from eight to eight—with the exception of Saturdays, when 1 was on duty till 10 p.m., and then had a pile of parcels to delive. before I could call the rest of the day my own. I stuck this job out for two years, and then, on my employer refusing me an increase in my scanty wages, I decided to try something else. This was my first “strike,” and I fancy nobody will accuse me of acting rashly.

My next billet was a page-boy in a Liverpool hotel. This was a “bit of fat” in comparison with my first job. My wages were a pound a month, with all meals found, and then there were the tips, which made quite a useful addition to my regular pay. In my spare time, I acted as billiard-mar-ker, which sometimes brought me a

little extra from customers who fancied their performance with the cue. However, at the age of 16 I decided that something more worthy of the status of a man—as I then pictured myself to be—ought to be found, and I accordingly obtained employment as an engineer’s labourer in the railway workshops at Horwich. Young as 1

was, 1 had very decided ideas as to the dignity of labour, and I did not think that the wages we were receiving bore anything like a proper relation to that dignity. Four of my workmates thought with me, and the five of us formed a trade union. Fired with enthusiasm, we induced the late Pete Curran, M.P., to come down and address us, and, as a result of the meeting then held, large numbers of our fellow-workers put down their names as being willing to join us. On the following Friday we five ringleaders were paid off. My own reputation as an "agitator” followed me to Wigan—where, after

a few days’ work as a lamp-cleaner with another railway company, I was again “sacked” —and pursued me till, having been arrested for “causing an obstruction on the highway,” by holding a meeting at Nelson, 1 was sentenced to 14 days’ imprisonment. This was in 1597. and I thought it rather hard lines that the very day on which my sentence began should be the day on which Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee was celebrated. As I was being taken along to Preston gaol the people of Lancashire were hurrying in their thousands to Blackpool and other holiday resorts to celebrate the greater occasion. I was put to work on that diabolical and now happily obsolete device, the treadmill, on entering prison. Following a long spell of under-nourish-ment through unemployment. 1 was sorely out of condition and collapsed before 1 had been long at work. However, I was made to go through with it as best I could: during my prison spell i did on an average six hours of treadmill a day. Soon after this galling experience 1 came to London, on the advice of Arthur Hayday—now a fellow M.P.— who, not content with mere wordy kindness, offered me the hospitality of his home On arrival in the metropolis I found work as a bricklayer's labourer, and in the course of this occupation met with a mishap which came near to terminating mscareer. We were at work on a big tobacco factory when part of the scaffolding gave way, and I started for the street level without the advantages of a lift or a flight of stairs to help me on the way. Luck was with me, however. There were three “landing places” more or less directly beneath me; a pile of bricks, a stretch of bare pavement, and a heap of sand. I hit the sand, and so came off with nothing worse than a severe shaking. The rest of my history falls into a later period of my life. By 1918 I had become well known in trade

union circles in London, and it was largely owing to this that I was able to secure return as M.P. for Silvertown, a constituency whicli I have held at every subsequent election with increasing majorities. With regard to this, I will say nothing except to express the hope that my career i in the House has shown that I have 1 forgotten neither the joys nor the sorrows of the days of my youth.