The Sun 42 WYNDHAM STREET, AUCKLAND SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1929 THE PROLETARIAT IN PLUSH

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 696, 22 June 1929, Page 8

The Sun 42 WYNDHAM STREET, AUCKLAND SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1929 THE PROLETARIAT IN PLUSH

JACK HAYES, Ben Smith, Tom Henderson and Bill Whitely have become political members of the Royal Household. A few years ago, before they passed from common tasks into politics, they earned their white bread and margarine as, respectively, a policeman, a horse-cab driver, a co-operative leader and a trade union official. Now, as Ministers of the Royal Court, in fine raiment and in possession of quaint and profitable power, they easily may command at least wholemeal bread and butter and marmalade, without which no English breakfast is complete, or anchovies on toast. They will enjoy a full share of calories and vitamins. The remuneration of each is £7OO a year, and no salary may ever be more easily earned. A message from London the other day suggested that public interest was centred most on the Hon. John Hayes, M.P., who, as Vice-Chamberlain of the Royal Household, will be called upon soon to perform the most picturesque and onerous duties. He must wear one of the most elaborate uniforms seen at Westminster at the opening of Parliament. And not only must he bear forward in noble dignity the King’s Message to the House of Commons, but he must retire backwards bowing—a perfect model of obeisance and genuflection. It has been pointed out that this feat is so difficult that it is always cheered if successfully accomplished. Agag, indeed, did not know the real meaning of wariness. Fortunately, Mr. Hayes treaded the streets of London for years as a beat constable and may be relied upon not to stumble and so embarrass the Labour Government. The proletariat is now in plush. It has been a slow, uphill journey, but Labour in Great Britain has travelled far from the homespun plainness of Keir Hardie and Clydeside demagogues in hodden-grey, ill-dressed, beeapped or bonnetted with headgear never exceeding a shilling for the best tweed, and usually having a splash of blood on the collar, not as the symbol of Socialism, but as evidence of a cheap and harsh razor. Today, political Labour can wear silk hats and morning coats with the best of the aristocrats and dine undismayed with kings and foreign ambassadors. There is no fair reason in the world of argument why the champions of labour politics should fail to fill their roles as well as the hereditary peers in plush coat and silk breeches. Indeed, if super-taxation and death duties under a Labour Administration should ascend one can foresee the day when the present gilded three hundred thousand of Britain’s best people will crowd the rails at Epsom and around famous football grounds all attired in factory suits and caps, and grateful for simple pleasure. Those who may fancy that the Labour Ministers at Westminster or the Royal Court, or in other high offices, will look incongruous and fail to adorn historic circumstances, need only glance back to the days of the first MacDonald Government and note how its humblest member, Jimmy Brown, an honest collier, won the respect and affection of all Scottish folk for his rugged dignity and common sense as Lord High Commissioner of the Church of Scotland. On the great occasion of his enthronement Mr. Brown and his douce wife journeyed in the early hours of the morning to Edinburgh on a milk-train. He arrived in the capital, stepped off the crude train and became on the instant the King’s representative. Bands crashed out the National Anthem, halberdiers presented their spears, flags dipped as only they can dip on the high ramparts of Scotland’s ancient citadel, and proud Marchionesses of auld Scotland curtsied to the homely wife of Jimmy Brown. Incidentally, the Lord High Commissioner and his lady did well in trying circumstances and won sincere admiration and respect. What a collier accomplished ought easily to he within the compass of former policemen and cab-drivers. It bas to be noted, however, that the brief reign of Labour in 1923 hastened a significant change in the appointments to the Royal Household. The Conservative Government deprived of political character the offices of Lord Chamberlain, Lord Steward, Master of the Horse and three of the six Lords in Waiting. No country in the world approaches Great Britain in its range of quaint political offices and social sinecures. So far, the Labour Government has not aspired to elevate an ardent supporter to the splendid position of Lord High Carver who is privileged, wherever the King is, to demand and exercise the traditional right to carve the joint, but quite plainly here is a prospect for and an encouragement to butchers to cleave their w-ay into high politics. There are many other odd positions which Labour might exploit, if it really wished to secure paid posts for all the members of its party, these ranging from easy billets worth a thousand a year down to the archaic jobs of heralds and pursuivants with a remuneration varying from £25 to £l6 13s 4d each a year, but there is a limit even to Labour valour.