The Stewart Family pictured in the mid 1920s: -R: Bob, Rab, Annie (Nan), William and Margaret.
To the best of my knowledge the last person in my family to still be fully committed to a Marxist-Leninist revolution died in 1978. He was my grandfather William Stewart and he was lovely. However, even though those that remain have spent the intervening forty-four years failing to overthrow the capitalist system, communism has loomed ever present in the background in our lives for all sorts of reasons. It is a bittersweet inheritance. I suppose there is nothing surprising in its presence as, from the inception of the CPGB in 1920, communism essentially became the family business for the next fifty years. Practically everyone was involved.
At the end of 1955 – a few months before Khrushchev would acknowledge the crimes of Stalin for the first time in his ‘secret speech’ MI5 picked up some office gossip about the Stewart family through one of the bugs it had placed in the offices at the Communist Party’s HQ in King Street, Covent Garden. Reuben Falber, who, when Bob Stewart finally retired in 1957, would go on to be responsible for distributing funds from Moscow, was overheard talking to fellow party worker Betty Reid about a recent scandal involving Bob’s nephew Greg – a Cambridge student who had just been unforgivably rude to one of the comrades at Central Books. Here’s part of the transcript in the security files:
‘They’re a family that-well, they’re a law unto themselves because you’ve got a combination of the old fellow’s prestige and money. BETTY asked where the money came from. Regret FALBER’s reply was whispered and could not be followed.
(From the MI5 Security File on Bob Stewart KV2/2790 – The National Archives)
The ‘old fellow’ is, of course, Bob Stewart and quite clearly the whole family had something of a reputation within communist circles. In fact, Betty Reid, in a conversation recorded about eight months later, was of the opinion that the Stewart children – William, Rab and Nan, had been “thoroughly spoiled all their lives.” This kind of attitude is elaborated further in an earlier document I came across in my grandfather’s security file on a recent visit to the National Archives. It’s dated 17th October 1932 and appears to be a memorandum from Special Branch to MI5 concerning the activities of Bob and his three children. I reproduce it here in full partly because I think it’s an interesting account of how the Stewarts and other similar families were viewed within the movement but mainly because I love the description of my grandfather.
The following information has been received.
WILLIAM STEWART, who used to drive the Soviet Ambassador’s car has given up driving altogether and is now employed in the Embassy as a ‘trusted’ man. He recently stated that he was engaged there on work of a secret nature, which included a little clerical labour.
His hours are from 5pm until 1am and his wife also has a job at the Embassy.
He is forbidden to undertake Communist Party of Great Britain work.
He now wears a small moustache, Charlie Chaplin style, which gives him an altered appearance, and carries an ash walking-stick. He often wears a light green shirt, brown jacket and shorts (at other times grey flannel trousers), light brown rabbit-skin hat, and brown shoes. He apes the appearance and mannerisms of a university student.
His father, ‘Bob’, is at present in Belfast where he is assisting the Irish Revolutionary Workers’ Party.
His brother, who lived with Ralph Edwin BOND, and was attached to St. Pancras Local Communist Party of Great Britain, has now secured a situation at Arcos Ltd. as also has his wife. Both have been transferred to Islington Local.
His sister, who was active in the Young Communist League of Great Britain, and who went to Russia on several occasions, has gone to live there permanently. She also was employed at Arcos and married a principal of that concern. As he has been recalled to Russia, she has accompanied him.
The state of affairs here outlined indicates how the movement is ‘exploited as a meal ticket’ (to use the phrase of certain disgusted genuine Communists) by certain fortunate families.
The CAMPBELL family is another case in point. The sum of over £20 weekly is received in John Ross Campbell’s home from Soviet sources.
The WATKINS’ are in the same position, whilst there is a host of others.
There is keen resentment in the ‘movement’ over this condition of things. It is freely expressed that no man and wife should be allowed to hold a situation while other ‘Comrades’ are unemployed. This objection has taken root and considerable trouble on the point seems likely to develop.
SUPERINTENDENT.
(From the MI5 Security File on William Stewart KV2/4494 – The National Archives)
The Unity Conference, 1920. Bob Stewart in the front row seventh from the left.
I came out of gaol in April 1919 and entered an entirely changed world from the one I had left. The heroes had returned from the war to find the golden promises of a land fit for heroes to live in had not materialised. Many were unable to find work. Many, when they found it, got low wages on which they could not adequately provide for their wives and children. The housing shortage became a serious social problem as the soldiers, married during the war, tried to set up house with their war-wives and young children. The landlords, taking advantage of the shortage, found ways and means to raise rents.
Foresters Hall in Dundee.
The Dundee I came back to had all these problems and more. Lack of work, low wages, unemployment, bad housing and a housing shortage, and to add to the confusion, thousands of war disabled demanding work and maintenance. During the war our party had absorbed many facets of socialism into its policy, so we changed the name from the Prohibition and Reform Party to the Socialist Prohibition Fellowship. We ran meetings every Sunday night in the Foresters Hall. They were always packed out, with hundreds left outside. Invariably there was a queue to get in an hour before starting time to make sure of a seat. My Prison Rhymes now became a bestseller. So, with the money from the collections and the booklet we were doing very well financially.
We got a new hall, the Unity Hall we called it, relaid the floor, bought the best seats available and certainly made it one of the finest little halls in the city. Despite this veneer of success, it became evident to those of us who were thinking politically that we were not making any real political advance, and certainly not making the basic political progress towards socialist organisation that the economic conditions warranted.
While in prison I had written to the monthly paper of the Socialist Labour Party, The Socialist, on the question of unity and the necessity for the various social sects and parties to get together. The Russian Revolution had had a profound effect in Britain. In all the left groupings our thinking had changed or was in the process of changing.
In all the left parties the need for, and the road to, unity was being discussed. In fact, in July 1919, only a few weeks after I came out of gaol, meetings seeking to establish unity had been held in London. Members of the British Socialist Party, the Workers’ Socialist Federation, the Socialist Labour Party and the South Wales Socialist Society had taken part. Although our party was not present, I got to know later that while agreement was won on a number of political principles, there was a fundamental division on the question of the attitude to the Labour Party. The B.S.P. members made crystal clear their demand that any new united party must be affiliated to the Labour Party. The W.S.F, and the SouthWales S.S. said it was useless to approach the Labour Party. Thus early, at the very first meeting, battle lines on this supremely important political principle were taken up.
Early in 1920 I was doing a meeting in Aberdeen. When I finished, I returned to the house of Jimmy Gordon to find Tommy Bell and Arthur McManus waiting for me. They were working for a unity conference and, after a discussion, asked me to use my influence to get our party to attend. So, I put it to the party and after due consideration we decided to participate and I was sent as a delegate.
This conference was held in early April 1920, in the William Morris Hall in Nottingham. There were members from the main left parties there. The B.S.P., the W.F., the South Wales S.S. and the Socialist Prohibition Fellowship. The Socialist Labour Party had split on the question of “attitude to the Labour Party” and only a section were represented at Nottingham. Of the people I remember, there was John S. Clarke, Tommy Bell and Arthur McManus from Scotland, Willie Paul who was leading the S.L.P. section, Bill Gee, a perambulating propagandist well known in all parts of the country, Charlie Pentie from Woolwich, Jock McBain, a foundry worker, Bill Hewlitt from Wales who was tragically killed in an accident in Moscow in 1921, Tommy Jackson, and of course others.
We had a day’s discussion, forenoon and afternoon. We hammered things out as best we could, collated the points of agreement and decided to issue a manifesto. We then went for a walk and left Tommy Jackson to draft the document. When we came back, we found a dance band playing in one part of the place and Tommy Jackson sitting with the dance music bellowing all around, a few beer bottles at his elbow, discarded manuscripts littering the floor at his feet, beads of perspiration trickling from his forehead. But he had done the job. The Manifesto of the Communist Unity Group was drafted. We went over it, slight changes being made, and then adopted the document. So, from the Nottingham Conference the call for Communist Unity went out. The Manifesto declared, among other things: “To create this force…by unity of all elements scattered throughout the various groups and Parties as the first essential to the formation of a Communist Party in Britain.” The Manifesto had twenty-two signatories.
The Manifesto from the Nottingham Conference produced immediate results. It provided the yeast to ferment the unity discussions and drew the left elements closer together. It really paved the way for the next big step forward, the Communist Unity Conference which was held in London on July 31st and August 1st 1920, on Saturday July 31st in the Cannon Street Hotel and the following day in the International Socialist Club, 28 East Road, London E.C.
The Cannon Street Hotel where the Unity Conference took place in 1920.
The conference was summoned by a Joint Provisional Committee of the Communist Unity Conference representing the Communist Unity Group, the B.S.P, and the South Wales Communist Council under the names of Arthur McManus, chairman, and Albert Inkpin, secretary. There were 152 delegates present holding 211 mandates. McManus was unanimously elected to preside.
Up to this time, when any discussions on unity had been held, many groups and individuals continued, after the discussions and decisions, to propagate their former minority viewpoints. Majority decisions were not being accepted. In order to get over this difficulty at the London Conference, it was agreed that “All bodies participating in summoning the conference are pledged to abide by its decisions on points of tactics and to merge their organisation into the new Communist Party. Representation at the Conference will be held to imply that branches, groups and societies represented will also accept its decisions and become branches of the Communist Party.”
This was accepted by the conference-a very big step forward at that time. With this understanding, the conference turned its attention to discussion and agreement on the main points of policy for the new party.
The first resolution covered the main aims of the party:
“The Communists in Conference assembled declare for the Soviet (or Workers’ Councils) system as a means whereby the working class shall achieve power and take control of the forces of production. Declare the dictatorship of the proletariat as a necessary means of combating counter-revolution during the transition period between capitalism and communism and stand for the adoption of these measures as a step towards the establishment of a system of complete communism wherein the means of production shall be communally owned and controlled. This Conference therefore establishes itself the Communist Party on the foregoing basis and declares its adhesion to the Communist International.”
In the discussion on this resolution, a number of speakers kept referring to the “use of the gun” as the real, and, for some, the only way to power. Naturally, after my prison experiences, this kind of talk irked me. In speaking to the resolution I said: “I do not want to stress too much the point being made about ‘men with guns’ but I do hope the sincerity of delegates not ‘gun-minded’ will not be questioned. Even the capitalist, powerful as he may be, will not be able to use guns except in so far as he can persuade the members of our class that our policy is detrimental to working-class interests. Whether guns come soon, late or not at all, there will be times when it is far more revolutionary to refuse to have anything to do with guns. I think the provisional executive which is to be set up by the conference will be far wiser to devote themselves to building up such organisation as will make it possible to win the maximum of our party policy with the minimum of violence.” On the Dictatorship of the Proletariat question I said: “I don’t know much about this, and I don’t think anyone else does here, but we know it is necessary and if the working class is to achieve power and we will require to do as the circumstances determine.”
It may be a strange thing, but I have invariably found that the people who want to “shoot it out’ are the worst stayers in the movement. They do not seem to be able to cope with the hard grind of day-to-day politics. Maybe, of course, that’s why they want to use guns.
This resolution, while causing a fair discussion, was passed unanimously, and then the conference turned to the subjects causing deep divisions in the left forces-attitude to the Labour Party and the advisability of parliamentary political action.
Tom Bell and a number of delegates were against having anything to do with parliament. In an appealing speech, Tom said: “Nothing can be hoped for from the Chamber of Parliament. Can Communist members of Parliament take the oath of allegiance? In all cases, Communists must hold their mandate from the party and not from their constituencies. The only Communist allegiance is to, communist principles not to royalty or decadent capitalism.”
He was followed by delegates who put much the same point of view, but some with harsher words.
I spoke on this resolution and, with several others, put the point of view that we could not divorce ourselves from parliamentary action, that we must use parliament. “Our job is to be where the laws are made.” I remember Ellen Wilkinson delivering a revolutionary speech for parliamentary action, saying: “A revolution must mean discipline and obedience to working-class principles.” Ellen finally landed up as a minister in a Labour government. She certainly used parliament, but I am afraid not for the revolutionary principles she espoused that day.
When the vote was taken, a large majority were for the resolution supporting parliamentary action by the new party.
A fierce, no-punches-pulled debate on the attitude of the new party to the Labour Party concluded the policy debates. The big battle was whether or not the new party should seek affiliation to the Labour Party; or rather, to put it in its correct context, whether to resume the affiliation to the Labour Party already standing in the name of the British Socialist Party which was the biggest section of the new Communist Party.
The conference had two alternatives: (a) to seek affiliation,or (b) not to seek affiliation.
Hodgson moved (a) and Paul moved (b). The B.S.P. speakers in the debate came down heavily for affiliation because they knew by practical experience the value of affiliation to the mass Labour Party. Paul, Bell and others were violently against. In fact, the day before the conference opened Tom Bell had written an article in The Call against affiliation, saying: “Never was the time more opportune for Communists to proclaim their open hostility to the utopian aims of the Labour reformists, and pursue an independent course.”
Many delegates put the point that the last thing the right-wing Labour leaders wanted was the affiliation of the Communist Party. I remember George Dear putting this point in a very skillful way. He referred to a speech made by Jimmy Sexton, secretary of the Docks Trade Union, at the Scarborough Labour Party Conference, where Sexton had said: “Here is the British Socialist Party with 10,000 alleged members, paying £50 a year affiliation fees. They monopolise the conference, get five speakers to the rostrum the first day, demand a bloody revolution and Jim Thomas’s head on a charger, and then foist Colonel Malone on us. What the hell do they want for fifty quid?”
There were no kid gloves used, and the protagonists were nearly equal. This also showed in the vote. One hundred were for affiliation, 85 against. It was then agreed the matter be dealt with by the new Executive and be reported to the next conference.
Arthur McManus- The First Chairman of the CPGB. Albert Inkpin- The First General Secretary of the CPGB.
There were sixteen nominations put forward for the six positions on the Executive Committee. On an exhaustive vote, the following were elected: Fred Shaw 123 votes; I got 117; Dora Montifiore 115; Colonel Malone 106; W. Mellor 100, and George Dear 100. I must add here that Colonel Malone was the man who won some fame for himself by threatening to hang Winston Churchill from a lamp-post, for which he got six months hard labour. Arthur McManus was elected chairman and Albert Inkpin secretary.
The task set the Executive was to win further unity of the left movement and to take charge of the paper Communist, the official organ of the party. The headquarters were at 21a Maiden Lane, Strand, London.
During this conference in London a letter was sent by Lenin to the delegates. Lenin had taken a great interest in the attempts to forge left unity in Britain, in the problems of unity and in the tactics of the left groupings, as the letter from him to the conference shows:
Having received the letter from the Joint Provisional Committee of the Communist Party of Great Britain dated June 1920 I hasten to reply, in accordance with their request, that I am in complete sympathy with their plansfor the immediate organisation of a Communist Party in England. I consider the policy of Sylvia Pankhurst and the S.D.F. in refusing to collaborate in the amalgamation of the B.S. P., the S.L.P and others into one Communist Party, to be wrong. I personally favour participation in Parliament and adhesion to the Labour Party on condition of free and independent Communist activity. This policy I am going to defend at the second congress of the Third International on July igth in Moscow. I consider it most desirable that a Communist Party be speedily organised on the basis of the decisions and principles of the Third International and that the Party be brought into close touch with the industrial workers of the world and bring about their complete union.
N. LENIN July 18th 1920.
In the first edition of the Communist, dated August 5th 1920, I gave my opinion of the London Conference.
“The value of the conference was its evident eagerness and sincerity; its old men were young and its young men did not lack wisdom. The Leftest of the Left and the Rightest of the Right showed an evident anxiety to keep the CPGB free from that ineptitude for action that has hitherto been not an uncommon feature in the debating stage of our growth. Minor differences were relegated to their proper position.”
But the major differences were firmly entrenched. The main one was the affiliation question, and after that, parliamentary action. In the first edition of The Communist, McManus also wrote his impressions of the London Conference, and showed that the deep divisions on affiliation were still dominant. He wrote: “The voting on the Labour Party was such as indicated a strong, evenly divided opinion on the question of affiliation, and while according to the result the minority are honourably expected to acquiesce to the decision, there is also the obligation placed on the majority to fully appreciate the character and strength of the minority.”
At the first meeting of the new Executive held in August, discussion on affiliation brought the motion that an immediate application be made to the Labour Party. An amendment was then moved that the application make clear the objects, methods and policy of the Communist Party as set forth in the resolution passed by the London Conference. Naturally the amendment was accepted, but no doubt the supporters knew where they wanted to be, as time proved. The Executive unanimously accepting that an application be made, the following letter was sent to the Labour Party. As it is now an historic document, I quote it in full.
August 10th 1920
Dear Sir, At a National Convention held in London on Saturday and Sunday, 31st July and 1st August last, the Communist Party of Great Britain was established. The resolutions adopted by the Convention, defining the objects, methods and policy of the Communist Party, read as follows:
(a) The Communists in conference assembled declare for the Soviet (or Workers’ Council) system as a means whereby the working class shall achieve power and take control of the forces of production; declare for the dictatorship of the proletariat as a necessary means of combating the counter-revolution during the transition period between Capitalism and Communism; and stand for the adoption of these means as steps towards the establishment of a system of complete Communism wherein all the means of production shall be communally owned and controlled. This conference therefore establishes itself the Communist Party on the foregoing basis and declares its adherence to the Third International.
(b) The Communist Party repudiates the reformist view that a social revolution can be achieved by ordinary methods of Parliamentary Democracy but regards Parliamentary and electoral action generally as providing a means of propaganda and agitation towards the revolution. The tactics to be employed by representatives of the Party elected to Parliament or local bodies must be laid down by the Party itself, according to national or local circumstances. In all cases such representatives must be considered as holding a mandate from the Party and not from the particular constituency for which they happen to sit. Also, that in the event of any representative violating the decisions of the Party as embodied in the mandate which he or she has accepted, or as an instruction, that he or she be called upon to resign his or her membership of Parliament or municipality and also of the Party.
(c) That the Communist Party shall be affiliated to the Labour Party.
At a meeting of the Provisional Executive Committee held on Sunday last, we were directed to send you the foregoing resolutions, and to make application for the affiliation of the Communist Party to the Labour Party.
Yours faithfully, ARTHUR MCMANUS (chairman) ALBERT INKPIN (secretary).
One month later came the reply from Arthur Henderson, then secretary of the Labour Party, saying the application had been considered by the National Executive of the Labour Party and he had been “instructed to inform you (the Communist Party) that the basis of affiliation to the Labour Party is the acceptance of its constitution, principles and programme, with which the objects of the Communist Party do not appear to accord”. This reply led to further correspondence in which the words “do not appear to be in accord with the constitution, principles and programme of the Labour Party” figured prominently. The Communist Party asked: “Does the Labour Party rule that the acceptance of Communism is contrary to the constitution, principles and programme of the Labour Party, or is it the methods of the Communist Party to which exception is taken?”
Arthur Henderson, secretary of the Labour Party. Not too keen on CPGB affiliation. Lenin wrote that he was “as stupid as Kerensky.”
Back came Henderson: “Your letter raises a definite issue-the obvious conflict between the fundamentals of the Labour Party constitution, objects and methods, and those of the Communist Party.” He then went on to quote the following from the article by McManus in the Communist:
“One impression I should like to make definitely clear as gathered from Sunday’s experience (the London Conference), and that is that those arguing for affiliation to the Labour Party did not urge for, nor contemplate working with the Labour Party. The antagonism to the Labour Party was general, but those for affiliation held the opinion that such antagonism would best be waged within their own camp.”
To a man of Henderson’s calibre, this was meat and drink in argument, and he went on to quote part of a previous letter from the Communist Party, which said: “You have made a definite refusal to our request for affiliation on the ground that our objects do not appear to be in accord with those of the Labour Party. To be frank, we never supposed they were. Our worst enemy will not accuse us of ever pretending they were.”
No doubt, looking back, many things were said in the correspondence that, to put it mildly, did not smooth the way to affiliation. Really, the big difference between the parties was one of methods, Henderson and the Labour Party contending that the Communists would use violent methods while the Labour Party would not. Yet the fact was that the Labour Party, and Arthur Henderson in particular, had just supported the most violent war in human history.
After the correspondence, the Labour Executive decided to place the question on the agenda of the next Labour Party Conference. This took place on Tuesday 21st June, at Brighton. The affiliation question came up in the form of a resolution from the Norwood Labour Party, which said:
“That this Conference, whilst appreciating the difficult position of the National Executive Committee when called upon to deal with the application of the Communist Party for affiliation, owing to the various shades of opinion in the Labour Party which they represent, this Conference of the National Labour Party, in the interest of unity of the earning sections of the community who are opposed to the capitalist system, agrees to accept the affiliation of the Communist Party on the condition that the constitution of the Labour Party is accepted and the rules of the Communist Party are in conformity with the same.”
This was moved by W. A. Hodgson and seconded by Duncan Carmichael of the London Trades Council. An amendment “That the request for affiliation be not accepted was moved by Bert McKillop of the Social Democratic Federation and seconded by W. J. Brown of the Clerical Officers Association, Civil Service.
In a debate, A. J. Cook and Herbert Smith of the Miners Federation, and Bob Williams of the Transport Workers supported the resolution, while Manny Shinwell and Fred Bramley of the Furnishing Trades spoke against. The debate was very unreal. It did not deal with policy. The speakers for the resolution did not adequately show the need for affiliation to strengthen the left political forces and to win a more working-class policy. They tended to appeal to the right wing to accept unity. No one spotlighted the glaring evidence that the right wingers were afraid of affiliation because it meant the strengthening of the left wing of the Labour Party.
Naturally the right wingers played on this weakness, talked of “the methods of the Communist Party”, “acceptance of violence by the Communist Party”. Arthur Henderson, who was then Labour Party secretary, gave a most hypocritical performance in summing up for the National Executive. Just before the conference, a by-election had taken place at Woolwich. The Labour candidate was none other than Ramsay McDonald. During this by-election the Communist Party had issued a leaflet, part of which was quoted by Henderson to prove that the Communist Party were not to be trusted and would not support Labour candidates. The leaflet said: “The Communist Party feels it cannot allow the decision to run Ramsay McDonald to pass without comment… While the coalition candidate stands for capitalism in all its manifestations … the Labour Party candidate also stands for capitalism in all its manifestations.” Henderson made use of this in 1921to show that the Communists would betray the Labour Party. Yet ten years later Ramsay McDonald proved the Communists completely correct, when he betrayed the British working class, tried to destroy the Labour Party and deserted to the Tory National Government. Such was the verdict of history.
On the Wednesday morning, after Henderson had spoken, the Previous Question was moved. The voting resulted in 4,115,000 for, 224,000 against. So ended the first round of the question that was going to continue to push its way to the forefront of British politics and is still with us today.
At a meeting of the Communist Party Executive Committee in November, arising from a report on the work of the Third International, the need to further extend the organisation of the Communist Party was agreed upon, and a decision taken to organise a further Unity Conference. Discussion with a number of left groupings who had not been present at the London Conference took place. Among these was the Communist Labour Party. One of the leaders of this Party, Willie Gallacher, had been in Moscow at the time of the London Conference. In discussions with Lenin, Gallacher’s thinking on scientific socialism had changed and Lenin had got him to promise that on his return to Britain he would work for the unity of the working-class movement and for a united Communist Party.
A joint committee to prepare for the conference was formed, to compile the agenda and draw up the basis of representation! A manifesto was produced under the signatures of McManus and Inkpin of the C.P.G.B, J. V: Leckie of the Communist Labour Party, George Peat of the Shop Stewards’ and Workers’ Committees and E. T. Whitchead of the Communist Party B.S. T.I. (British Section Third International). The manifesto read as follows:
Comrades,
We address this statement and appeal to you in the hope of clearing away for all time the differences of opinion which have served to keep us apart in the past, thereby preventing the consolidation of the revolutionary forces in this country.
It is not our purpose to explain or justify those differences but simply to record the fact that our task has been much simplified by the decisions of the recent congress of the Third International. These decisions prescribe for the world movement the basis upon which such efforts as ours should be founded and constitute a clear and definite demand that a united Communist Party shall be established in Britain.
To this end the following organisations have assented to the proposal for the formation of a united Party, and have elected representatives to the above committees: Communist Party of Great Britain, Communist Labour Party, Communist Party (B.S.T.I.), Shop Stewards’ and Workers’ Committee (in a consultative capacity), and the left wing group of the I.L.P. (in an informative capacity).
The Committee has set about its task and has held a preliminary conference. We appreciate that the heartiest co-operation is essential if the united Party is to contain all the features which mark a real live revolutionary organisation. To this end we seek such assistance and urge that all the groups and bodies not in touch with the proceedings should communicate at once with the secretary, when the fullest information will be supplied. In the meantime we would counsel the closest observation of what is being done thus ensuring that when the National Convention takes place about the end of January the results will justify the hopes we place in the Convention.
The Bull and Mouth Hotel in Leeds. Later renamed the Victory Hotel and the location of the the 1921 conference where the CPGB was formalised. Demolished years ago, there’s now a Gregg’s on the site.
This appeal was the forerunner to the Leeds Conference, which was held in the Victory Hotel, Leeds, on the 29th January 1921. Jack Tanner was voted into the chair. There were 170 delegates.
Two resolutions were on the agenda, a unity resolution which was moved by Leckie and seconded by Watkins, and a merging resolution, which was moved by Gallacher and seconded by Paul. There were none of the fierce polemics which had raged at the London Conference, and the proceedings took place in a quiet and orderly atmosphere. A new Executive was appointed which had representatives from the former parties, and there were also representatives selected on a geographical basis. McManus was elected as chairman of the party and Inkpin as secretary.
It can be truly said that from the Leeds Conference the foundation of the British Communist Party was laid. Then the wagon began to roll.
Dundee Jail. Bob Stewart wrote most of the poems in Prison Rhymes here.
In the "Clink"-Edinburgh Castle
On jam and bread and bully beef,
They feed us in the clink,
There's a guard that's got the wind up,
And not a drop to drink.
We are short of fags and matches
And squeezed in very tight,
But we don't go short of scratches
When the flea-bags' come at night.
We are exercised each morning,
Deep down in Castle moat,
We play football and pitch and toss
And get the sergeant's goat.
We throw kisses to the ladies
And curses at the Yanks,
And when they pitch us cigarettes
There's mutiny in the ranks.
When the lovely war is over
And we're back at 'joyful' work,
When we've hypnotised old "Jerry"
And camouflaged the Turk,
When we meet again in "civvies"
What a tale we'll have to tell,
Of the clink up in the Castle,
Good old forty-second Hell.
Bob Stewart's Prison Rhymes
So I did my time in Dundee and with my remission I came up for my fourth court martial. Back to Edinburgh and this time to the Castle, with “Bobby” Moncrieff in charge. “Ha-ha,” they all warned with glee, “wait till Bobby Moncrieff gets hold of you.” But I knew Bobby, he was one of the family from Perth who made their fortune in ink. He was in command of the Dundee-Perth regiment of the Black Watch. I used to watch him march the jute workers through Dundee, men with the lowest wages in the country, hardly a bite in their belly, and Bobby howling at them “Bout turn!” “Forward march!” trying to make them into big brawny soldiers fit to be killed. Oh, I knew him all right, and I had known many of his kind in my time. But he didn’t put the fear of death into me.
However, I arrived at the Castle and got shoved into the guard-room. The sergeant said to the corporal, “Search that man.” “Not necessary,” I replied, “I’ll turn out my pockets.” So I counted my money, took out a box of matches and counted them. “What are you doing?” the sergeant hollered. “The Black Watch has a reputation! “I know,” I answered, “that’s why I’m counting my matches.” Soon I am shoved into another room with all the other delinquents. Like every other place, you soon make friends. First the meal. Beef and potatoes are served. But no fork and knife. “Where’s the tools?” I asked. No answer. So I sit, and the other lads, possibly hungrier than myself, ask, “Aren’t you going to eat it?” “Not without tools.” “Can we eat it?” “Better leave it till we sort this out.”
Back comes the sergeant. “Not eating the food, Stewart?” he says. “No, and I won’t until I get a fork and knife.” “Well, we will get you some sandwiches.” When the sandwiches came there was a rush for the plate of beef and potatoes that certainly did not say much for the culture practised in the British Army.
Into the guard-room came a wee drummer boy. I remember him well because he was so tiny. A jockey of jockeys, you might say. A bit nosey, he starts his own investigations. “What are you in for?” he asked me. “Because I won’t fight.” “Why won’t you go and fight?” “Because it’s not my quarrel.” “Christ, it’s no’ mine either:” Round and round he goes, asking his questions and getting his answers, until he comes to a fellow sitting very despondent and taking no heed of the proceedings. “How long have you been absent?” asks the nipper. No reply. Then he looks into the fellow’s face. “You’re no’ absent, he said, “you’re lost!” The lighter moments come and very often can linger much longer in memory than the tribulations. I did see Bobby Moncrieff but he must have been in a subdued mood. The war weariness was weighing heavily on everyone, even the Top Brass were feeling the weight of the loss of millions of good lives.
So I am again sentenced and returned to Dundee Gaol.
It was in Dundee Gaol I had a real barney with one of the religious mentors. The normal chaplain had gone to the front to administer religion to the soldiers, because you can’t very well preach the old adage “Fix your bayonet and say Be Holy or I’ll make you holy” if you don’t sometimes obey it yourself. Anyway, that honest little chaplain was succeeded by a little guy called McDonald. A little weasel. He and I never got on. Coming through the prison one day while I was whitewashing the walls, he said, “That’s a nice clean job you’re making of the walls, Stewart.” “I’m not cleaning the walls,” I replied, “I’m covering up the dirt.”
But I really detested him because he took advantage of his pulpit every Sunday to have a go at the Bolsheviks. Telling how Lenin ate children, Trotsky shot all the workers, and so on. The microbes eating each other up. I was sorely tempted to have a go at him, but Dave Donaldson was waiting to go out for another court martial, which is always a break, you understand, so I had to bide my time. When Dave went the storm broke.
The Weasel commenced his usual sermon with the evil doings of the Bolsheviks, then got on to his main theme, “They must be crushed like rats, etc., etc.” I could stand it no longer, so I jumped up. “You dirty miserable little coward,” I said, “standing up there in your coward’s castle maligning men who can’t speak back. Well, here’s one that speaks back, you dirty contemptible little rascal! They should put you in a prison cell not a prison pulpit.” During this outburst he sat down too surprised to say a word and he never rose again. It must be the shortest prison service on record in British prisons.
We were all marched out. One of the warders who knew me said, “You must write to the Prison Commissioners, Bob, complaining of the chaplain using his pulpit for political purposes.” “No,” I replied, “I have done what I wanted to do. Let it rest meantime.” Next came the Head Warder. “You’ll have to apologise to the chaplain,” he said. “That’s what I’m waiting for,” I replied. “Send him up here.” But he never came and the matter ended there.
During my stay in Dundee Jail I fancied myself as a poet and wrote a number of prison rhymes. I can make an apology for these because prison is not the best place to practise literary ambitions. However, when I came out of jail, the Prohibition and Reform Party published them in pamphlet form and they were a best-seller. Many thousands of copies were sold, giving a much-needed boost to the party funds.
The library in Dundee Gaol was composed of a few old copies of monthly and quarterly magazines. When I first asked for a book the warder said, “Christ, nobody reads here.” It was at this time that, through questions in Parliament and outside pressure, certain concessions were granted, so that newspapers and books could be sent to friends in prisons. An exception was The Tribune, published with great difficulty by the No-conscription Fellowship, which was the most hounded and persecuted little paper at that time. It was then edited by a group of women, amongst whom was Joan Beauchamp, who became the wife of W. H. Thompson, a famous expert on Compensation Law and Labour Law questions. The Socialist Monthly was also banned. Despite this banning, we still got these papers. I took up the question of supplies of newspapers with the Prison Commissioners, and finally we got a number of daily and weekly newspapers and a number of books as well. In fact, one of the new governors, on occasions, borrowed my books from me.
We got one or two of the warders, particularly the female warders, interested, and were able to circulate rationalist, progressive and socialist literature quietly in prison. Now and again our privileges were threatened when the newspapers turned up where they ought not to be, but we weathered the storms.
News from the outside only adds to the impatience and yearning for release-it was always galling to be divorced from activity as well as from home and friends.
It was while I was doing my term for the fourth court martial that the war finished, but still I was confined to gaol. Month after month was passing and not a word said about my release. One day I was communing with myself. “What am I doing in here? It was in April 1919. I was going with a bucket of water and a brush to clean some windows. “Ach,” I said, “I’m finished.’ So I went back to my cell and the warder hurried after me. “What’s up?” “I’m finished.” “What do you mean, you’re finished? “I’m through. I’m not going to do another damned thing. I’m not going to work, eat or drink in this prison.” Up came the Governor, but I held my ground. “I’m finished,” I said. “There’s neither sense nor reason for my being here. The war ended months ago and to keep me here is sheer malice. I am not going to continue.” That started the ball rolling and in a few days Dave Donaldson and I were out. They called a cab to take us home.
My first reception was from my little daughter, who on seeing us ran to her mother saying there were two dirty- looking soldiers coming into the house. But we had a real party to celebrate the occasion. So many people came that we had to borrow trestle-tables from the co-operative shop next door to accommodate all the guests.
So that was the end of the court martials. More prison sentences were to come, but I didn’t know that then. Left-wing politics in the twenties were not be to a bed of roses after all.
Duffy, he got huffy, And says he to little John, “You've got no business talkin' When you're out at exercise, I've tould you that, I'm sure, until I'm sick." “Ach, Duffy dear, recall the days,When you were human too, Before you took a screw’s job in the nick.” "There's got to be no more of it Or else I'll lock you up; Will yez promise that ye won't talk any more?" “Ach bless yer heart, I couldn't promise,such a stupid thing, I'd be speakin' to mesilf behind the door."
Bob Stewart’s Prison Rhymes
I was taken from Calton Gaol to East Linton to await my third court martial. The officer in charge there was a Broughty Ferry man (Broughty Ferry is a suburb of my home town, Dundee) and he asked me, “Is it true, Stewart, that while you were in Calton you got home at weekends?”‘ “If it is,” I answered, “I never noticed it.” “Well, that’s what they said in the Ferry.” “It isn’t the only lie they told about me in the Ferry.” As the Ferry was, and still is, the stronghold of Toryism since it became the home and playground of jute millionaires, I was certain I was right, but if anyone believed that conscientious objectors got weekends out from Calton Gaol they would believe anything.
Keeping me company in the line of court martials was a very fine man called Alex McCrae. A little chap who had been in Smyrna when the war broke out. When he came home to Britain he had declared his conscientious objection. His wife, a very pretty lass who was active in the No-conscription Fellowship, came to East Linton the day I arrived, to see her husband. Knowing this, McCrae asked the Broughty Officer in Charge if he could have a night out with his wife, which was granted. So when I arrived at East Linton I got a seat at a table set for four, McCrae, two of God’s own, Christadelphians I think, and myself. Knowing McCrae would be absent, these two others shared the third meal between them and never said “Would you like an extra bite?” I was so enraged that I rounded on them. “I don’t know which Bible class you were brought up in but there’s not a prostitute in the whole of Glasgow as mean as you two.’
Then off I went to Leith Street School for the court martial. The two men in charge were rankers, had risen from the ranks to this exalted position, and didn’t they let everyone know it. My wife arrived and they refused to let her see me. I got to know and demanded to see the orderly sergeant. “This is a bloody lousy trick,” I said, “keeping my wife and kid from seeing me.” “I know,” he replied, “but it’s that fellow Cross (the ranker), he refused permission. But hang around and I think it will be all right when he goes.” And it was.
But at the court martial I got my own back good and proper. It was a real field day. Edinburgh Castle was the headquarters of Scottish Command and most defaulters passed that way. So there we were, a huge crowd in Leith Street, sergeants, corporals, privates, all in the queue; and there in the court- the Colonel and his henchmen.
Command: “Prisoners and escorts in!” So in we march, and are ranged in front of the Court. The Chairman said, “I am Colonel so-and-so, this is Captain —-and this is Lieutenant —-. By regulation I have to ask you, each one separately, if you are satisfied with the composition of the Court.” He didn’t say what would happen if anyone objected. Then he went on. “Sergeant —-, are you satisfied?” “Yes, sor.” Then it came to Private Stewart. No answer. A repeat, a bit louder, and still no answer. So he passes on until the queue is finished then bawls out, “All except Stewart.” At least there is no “Private” this time. He then turned direct to me and shouted, “Are you satisfied?” “Before we come to that I would like to ask you a question,” I said. “What is it?” “How much notice should an accused get before he is court martialled?” “Well, that depends on the conditions.” “In the present conditions?” I asked. “Twenty-four or forty eight hours.” “What happens if you don’t get any notice?” I asked. Suddenly he whipped round on them lieutenant. “Did this man get notice? “Didn’t think it was necessary,” replied the lieutenant. “Case adjourned–prisoner and escort out!” shouted the colonel. “Wait here, Lieutenant.” My escort was standing, his eyes like glass, and the order had to be repeated. When we reached the corridor he was besieged by his mates. “What happened? What did he get?” “Made a bloody mess o’ them, case adjourned.” “Holy jees!” So the story buzzed around the escorts and accused, and all seemed highly pleased. Then the door opened and out came the lieutenant in a furious rage. “Take him back to barracks,” he shouted; then howled, “And see he gets no privileges.”
So we reach the street and then I find the escort is blazing mad. He had schemed that he could leave me after sentence and visit his wife who lived in Leith, only a mile away. “Well,” I said, “that’s tough on you, you haven’t done anything wrong. Why should you be deprived of a night with the wife? Why not buzz off and I will meet you in the morning?” “Can I trust you?” “Sure, I’ll be at the station in the morning.” So off he went to see his wife and I to see an old pal, Jimmie Leven, who lived out in Gorgie. There I had a great welcome, a bath and a good feed. In the evening Jim and I went to a Peace Committee meeting and I made such an impassioned speech that the secretary thought the war had come to his meeting.
I was soon back again and this time no mistake. All regulations duly observed – ‘Refused to Parade’ was the charge. So I was sentenced to two years’ imprisonment with hard labour (later remitted to one year). I was sent to the state prison in Edinburgh Castle. But I was not long there. My mother was much too old to make the journey to Edinburgh but naturally she wanted to see her youngest son as many times as she could. So she came a few times, and in the process discovered that the Governor came from the same part of the country as she did. When she had said good-bye to me, the Governor invited her into his office to chat–as we Scots say, “Hame crack ower farms and farmers, cattle and crops, lairds and tenants and the hamely fare o’ the countryside.” I remember my mother telling me about him saying to her, “What I canna understand, wumman, hoo wi’ a maither like you Robert’s an atheist.” “Aye;” she replied, “he was aye a great Bible student.”
My mother died while I was in the state prison, but military regulations would not allow me permission to attend the funeral. There was much local feeling about this because my mother was greatly respected by all her neighbours, and protests were made to the Lord Provost of Dundee. He did intervene and said he would vouch for my return. I was then transferred to civil imprisonment again in Calton Gaol for a few hours, and taken under a most inhuman warder to Dundee, where I arrived too late to see my mother buried; but I met the family, among them my two soldiering brothers who had managed to get leave. The warder was in a hurry to get back to Edinburgh and so he dumped me in Dundee Gaol. More deputations to the Lord Provost and the upshot was that it was decided I would do the rest of my time in Dundee. Dundee was a smaller prison than Calton, and at that time, much to the chagrin of the warders, not fully occupied. How well I remember their glee at reception of new prisoners. Not that they were more devoted to duty or softer-hearted than the turnkeys at Calton, but the massacres in Europe were eating up hosts of men, and patriotic as the warders naturally were, they were not at all anxious to be called up to the front for service.
As a matter of record, I helped some of them make out their claims for exemption on compassionate, domestic or other grounds. So the warder who locked me up for resisting military service then asked my assistance to fill up his application form for exemption so that he could continue to lock me up!
Jute being the staple industry of Dundee, the situation in its prison was more or less the same. Teasing jute ropes, making and sewing sacks for coal, copper, meat-packing, etc. The working day was ten hours, sixty sacks, sides and bottoms, being the daily norm: a smaller number of coal sacks, which were heavy and hard to bore with the needle. Of course, all material was hand sewn, there were no machines, and the work was primitive and not very economic. At times my work was in association with a fellow called Tammy Sword, a local worthy doing his fifty-second sentence for being drunk and disorderly. When he got really drunk he boasted that it took half a dozen policemen to carry him to gaol, where he was more at home than in his own home.
The warders appreciated Tammy’s capacity as a sewer. He set a hard pace for his fellow prisoners, but he had a soft spot for me. “Dinna sew any, Bob,” he would say,”tak’ some o’ mine to mak’ up your lot.” Dave Donaldson and I were couriers in a romance with his sweetheart, who was doing time in the female part of the gaol. Dave was working with the artisan warder who did the maintenance work, and so was able to move around. In this way amorous notes were exchanged between Tammy and his lass with great regularity. Dave Donaldson was a beam and scale maker, and was handy at pipe fitting and whatever small smithy work had to be done. When necessary I was his labourer. We changed over when there was a carpenter’s job to be done, I then becoming the skilled man. We painted and whitewashed too, and were getting quite proud of our skill until Willie Findlay, another “conchie” and a painter by trade, came to do his hard labour. Then we sadly gave in and admitted that painting was a trade.
Oh, Calton Gaol! Oh, Calton Gaol! Sae sombre, grim and grey, Within thy wa’s were gallant hearts, Held captive many a day, For they refused to bend the knee, To tyrant’s cruel sway, Their stand remembered aye shall be, They stood for liberty.
Bob Stewart’s Prison Rhymes
The days wore on to my second court martial. Now I was really beginning to know the ropes. Culprits for the court were lined up outside the court-room in good time, in charge of a sergeant. There was the usual to-ing and fro-ing, standing to attention, saluting and so on. Yours truly, of course, was taking no part in the proceedings and a young soldier standing near me said, “Some funny things come up in times of war.” “No, no,” I replied. “No different from time of peace. Only different uniforms.” “You should be shot,” he came back. “Well, if I wait till you save up to buy a gun I don’t doubt I’ll have my old age pension before that.” After a turn down the line, he came back and said, “Christ! that was a good one!”
The sentence of the court conformed to regulations. “For failing to obey military order, etc., etc. . . One year’s imprisonment with hard labour ” (subsequently reduced to six months). In due course I was escorted Calton Gaol, Edinburgh , and handed over to the authorities. The authorities, by trial and error, had discovered by this time that even their notorious “glass-houses”, the military detention barracks with their “at the double” man breaking exercises, only stiffened the resistance of the objectors to military service. The refusal to obey the “lion-tamers” was having a bad effect on the other prisoners who became inclined to emulate them, and so the government made a virtue out of necessity, and a show of their “humanity”, by transferring the objectors to civil jails.
Calton Gaol was grim and grey, old and forbidding both inside and out. Reception was not quite so noisy as the Scrubs. I remember the warder fussing around, listing the King’s property in my possession, which tended to get less and less as I passed through the guard-rooms where other soldiers were always short of kit.
“Whit’s your size in buits?” Try them on. “Have you had a bath?” Oh, aye, you look clean. “Where’s your moleskins?” In Scottish prisons the dress includes moleskin breeches tied at the knees with tape, long stockings which never matched, rough cotton shirt (Kirkcaldy strip to the trade), moleskin jacket, glengarry cap, and of course a badge with hall and cell number. “Oh, Stewart, whit’s your religion? “I haven’t any.” “Ye maun hae a religion, a’body has in here.” “Well, here’s one that doesn’t.” “Well I’ll just mak’ ye a Quaker, there’s a lot o’ your kind Quakers.’ So down on my cell card alongside age, height, etc., goes Quaker. Now comes the chaplain. What are you in for?” “Me? Twelve months.” “That’s not what I mean. What have you done?” “Oh, I refused to do anything.” I think he then began to tumble to the position so he went outside and looked at the card. “I see you are a Quaker.” “Not me, I neither quake nor shake.” “It says so on your card.” “Ah yes, I had a soldier’s suit on yesterday but that did not make me a soldier.” So ended the spiritual ministrations and Quaker was crossed out and atheist inserted in a bold hand.
A favourite prison tale is told of this chaplain, who was alleged to be fond of a “wee drap”. One of his congregation became suddenly religious and requested the chaplain to read a bit chapter to him as he had no glasses. This the chaplain did with great pleasure but he was not so happy when he heard the convert’s explanation–that next to the taste of rum the smell can be comforting.
To supplement the swashbuckling sermons of the professional chaplain who wielded the Sword of Gideon over us on Sunday mornings, we had a diversion to amateurism on Sunday afternoons with an Evangelist; accompanied by a lady organist.
Here is the routine. When the fleshpots were removed after dinner came the order: “Stools down to the Hall for Bible Class!” Down we clattered to the Hall, and set our stools, spaced well apart to avoid conversation between prisoners (it did not!).
Mr. Bannerman the preacher opened the service with prayer (that was a signal for whispers). Then came a hymn accompanied by a wheezy harmonium. A bit doleful, but it revealed to me where the griddlers, back court and street singers had received their training. Then the prisoners recited texts from the Bible, still more doleful, but it gave the prisoners a feeling of participation which they enjoyed. Then a short sermon, a bit weepy. Another hymn or two, then an announcement that anyone who recited the 15th Chapter of St. Luke without a mistake would receive a Bible on release. On my second Sunday I gave St. Luke full voice! I got that Bible when released.
There were always “Conchies” passing in and out of Calton Gaol, many of them religious, who enjoyed reciting texts. I thought I might diversify the service a bit, so started to quote the poets: Tennyson, Burns, Shelley. Other “Conchies” soon followed suit with their favourites, from Omar Khayyam to Walt Whitman. It got too much for Mr. Bannerman, who said we must take only texts from the Bible. I think he had been taken to task by his superior. After that we had a bit of difficulty in persuading some of the lads not to utter some of the rather bawdy texts from the Good Book which might offend the lass at the music box.
One Sunday we had visitors from outside to see what we looked like. As usual the texts were invited. After a few regulars had said their piece I took a turn with: “Woe unto you Scribes and Pharisees–Hypocrites” etc., etc! That tore it! I think the visitors were taking it to heart. The outcome came the next Sunday when Mr. Bannerman told us we were getting into a rut with our texts, so we must take them in future from the 19th Psalm, which had plenty of verses, but it was deadly dull. So I tried my hand at making my own texts. They sounded much the same, and there were no complaints.
One day I was sitting in my cell at Calton when the door opened and in comes the warder. “I wonder at you, Stewart,” he says, “all these nice people who come to see you, your wife, your wee lassie and the others, all such nice people.” “Well, what of it?” I asked, puzzled. “On your card it says you are an atheist and I thought all atheists were thieves, robbers, devils or whoremongers.” “How many atheists have you in this jail?” I asked. “Only you,” he answered. “Well, if all the others are Christians it doesn’t say very much for Christianity, does it? So the poor old joker went out, locked the door and made off quite confused.
It was in Calton Gaol I first heard of the March Revolution in Russia. One day I was going round the exercise ring when in beside me came my old pal Dave Donaldson who had just been convicted again and given another dose. “There’s been a revolution in Russia. They’ve set up Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils,” he whispered. “There will be a revolution here in six months.” “Hae ma doots,” I said, but the warder put an end to our observations on this epoch-making event.
Time marches on. Sometimes much better than the army. My time came to an end, and I was sent for by the chief warder, the Governor being away. “Well, Stewart,” he says, “you are to get another chance to shoot the Germans.” “Look, brother,” I replied, addressing him in good trade union language, “if ever I take it into my head to go shooting it won’t be Germans I’ll be looking for.” “And who will you be looking for?” “Warders.” And with that I moved to my third court martial.
Viscount Peel, for the Government, said these men, conscientious objectors, must not be released, as their purpose was to abolish conscription.
I hear the sounding tread, my Lords, Of many a million feet, As the toilers of the earth, my Lords, March down to your defeat. To destroy your laws and statutes, That have made of earth a hell, And in memory of the gallant hearts You stifled in the cell.
Bob Stewart’s Prison Rhymes
So I was booked for a crime: Refusing to go on parade.
Details of my civil trial were handed over to the Chairman, Colonel in Charge. “Stewart,” he said, “take my advice, behave yourself and soldier properly.’ I replied, “I am old enough to be responsible for my own behaviour, and as for soldiering, certainly not in this war.” “Right, you leave me no alternative,” he said. “One hundred and twelve days with hard labour.”
So that was it, one hundred and twelve of the best in Wormwood Scrubs.
Arriving in London, I was handed over by my military escort to the civil authority which in fact was much less civil than the army. I shook hands with the military escort and was handed over to the Scrubs’ gate warder. Then, as nowadays, the warders liked to be called officers, but a screw by any other name is still only a turnkey, himself under just as close a surveillance as the prisoners in his charge. They differ a lot. Some are sadistic and cruel, extra officious and bent on promotion. Others, under their official skin, are reasonably human. All of them are fearful of the economic consequences of losing their steady and comparatively lazy occupation which carries a pension with it. So they sweat to keep their record clean.
The Scrubs was one of the largest and in consequence most regimental of what were known in official jargon as ‘His Majesty’s Prisons’, which of course he never used as a personal residence. I was turfed into a reception cell to await disposal. It was a dirty, begrimed hole, some thirteen feet long and six and a half broad, its dingy walls covered by names of former occupants and an occasional word of advice, like “Sleep on it”, and some uncomplimentary remarks about officers and prison food. Scribbling on walls seems to be a favourite occupation of the Britisher in prison, possibly arising from, or maybe giving rise to, our high literary accomplishments as a nation. In one cell that I afterwards occupied, a previous occupant had written with a needle on the brickwork an almost complete catalogue of the books in the prison library. It must have been a long and tedious task.
I got a pint of skilly for breakfast and a concoction which would have horrified my wife, called soup, for dinner. Late afternoon I was officially received, my height and weight were taken, my personal possessions together with every article of kit enumerated to the barking of a head warder, then a bath in three or four inches of tepid water, and a suit of prison clothes, not ready to wear but already well worn. Then we were lined up to pass the doctor, face to the wall, while the warder shouted “Stand apart, stop talking.” In to the medico, one at a time, “Shirt up and trousers down for the doctor.” Amusing but strange to me that members of this humane profession should lend themselves to this farcical medical examination and humiliation of their fellows.
“Get them books, get up them stairs.” Them books were one Bible and one Prayer Book, which are the compulsory library of each prisoner during his stay except when on punishment.
So I became a number on the third corridor of the D hall, which at the time was entirely occupied by the “conchies”, that is those who had been tried in civil courts handed over to the military, court martialled and sentenced.
At the Scrubs, what was named the Supreme Appeal Tribunal held its sessions to re-examine each case lest any more-than-usually flagrant injustice had been perpetrated by the lesser tribunals. It was presided over by one of the Salisbury family, Lord James Edward Hubert Gascoyne-Cecil, 4th Marquess of Salisbury. This was to guarantee true impartiality, as such members of the British aristocracy would be sure to distinguish true conscientiousness from mere honest refusal of men to be conscripted to fight any enemy selected for them. In reality, the tribunal’s business was to separate the “sheep” from the “goats” by offering an alternative to prison sentence, in the shape of the Home Office work schemes, or removal to Dartmoor or Wakefield, where the locks were removed from the cell doors and a certain amount of freedom of association allowed. Those who refused to submit to alternative service, which meant voluntary service in the prosecution of the war, were condemned to the established routine of serving sentences in civil prisons, repeated court martials and further sentences. They were known as the “absolutists” who resisted all attempts to make them conform to any measures of military discipline.
So I go before the Supreme Tribunal, the Marquess of Salisbury in the chair. “I have your papers here, Stewart,” he said. “Nothing much we can do with you.” “Good,” I replied. “You can do without me altogether if you like.” But he did not like. My impression of him was that impartiality was not his strong point. So at the Scrubs I was to be for one hundred and twelve days without a visitor or a letter. Many letters came but were held back and I only received them when my time expired.
A cell in Wormwood Scrubs few years before Bob’s time there.
My new abode was the usual brick-walled domicile, thirteen feet by about seven feet. Its furnishing, a six feet by thirty-inch board bed. Top and bottom sheets of canvas, one or two blankets according to season, a bedcover, a small table under a pane of obscure glass through which a flicker of gaslight shone, sufficient to strain your eyes when reading. A small shelf for books, and a pint pot, a tin basin and a jug for water, a minute portion of soap, a very small weekly supply of toilet paper and a slop pot for natural necessities. A window in the outer wall with twenty-one very small panes of obscure glass. Woe betide any prisoner who was caught (as many were) trying to get a cock-eyed view of the outside world by standing on the stool provided to be sat on and not stood on. A copy of the prison regulations and diet sheet was hung on the wall. A mark on the centre of the wall, I learned, indicated where the prisoner should stand when the Governor made his inspection, at which time the prisoner must place his cap on top of his bed.
Religion is a very important part of prison routine. In fact you can hardly get into prison unless you have a religion. In the Scrubs, because it was so big, they had a “bunch’ of chaplains. The one I saw was a big red-faced fellow. “Religion?” he asked me curtly. “Don’t need one,” I answered just as curtly. “Don’t you believe in God?” “Which one?” That did it. “No chapel,” he shouted to his aide and that was my religious interview at an end.
I soon ran into my first bit of trouble. As I have said, the screws regard themselves as officers and like to be called Sir. I have never said Sir to anyone in my life, and certainly did not see why I should make an exception for the screws in the Scrubs. One of them said to me, “Call me Sir.” “Why?” I asked. Well, there is no direct answer to that but it meant I did two weeks in very, very solitary confinement. After that I went to sewing mail bags for an hour or two a day and also did a bit of artisan work as a joiner. We had exercise once a day, and with the large contingent walked from nowhere to nowhere and back again. What a silly exhibition.
After the first fortnight a prisoner is staged–that is, he is now considered fit to work in association. You are marched before the inspector. “What was your occupation in civil life?” “Agitator.” “What, no trade?” “Yes, carpenter.” “Could you earn a living at it?” “I could earn more than I get in here.” So I am passed to the carpenter’s shop and am given a test, then set to labour, making furniture and fitments for the H.M. Office of Works. Now there were greater opportunities of getting to know my fellow victims.
When we were working, on a platform overlooking us all paced the disciplinary warder who had no responsibility for work. He was the watch dog and his growling and barking often annoyed the artisan warder more than it did the prisoners. Artisan warders were, in my experience, more intelligent and less cunning than their mates. Their job was to get the work completed and in the process they had to discuss problems with the working prisoner. Thus there was formed an association. All tools, of course, were checked, and at the end of the work locked up in a cupboard with drawings of each tool to show where it should be put (like kids in a kindergarten). Pencils had to be sharpened by the disciplinary warder on the bridge–he painted one end and notched the other lest the lead be pinched for writing purposes. There was a powered saw and a planer but the grindstone was hand-driven. It may have been meant for punishment but actually it made gossip a bit easier, as one had to hold the tool while another turned the grinder.
Here it was I first met Dick Penifold of Brighton, who afterwards became a devoted member of the Communist Party and a leader in the co-operative movement. I remember when we were given one week’s solitary confinement and loss of one day’s remission. It was Good Friday. On exercise I contrived to fall behind Dick and whispered, “You’ll get an Easter Egg with a red flag on it for tea.” Dick laughed too loud and we were carpeted before the Governor next morning. Result, no association for one week, loss of eight marks and one day’s remission, which meant nothing.
Although a prison day seems much longer than the normal twenty-four hours, the one hundred and twelve days passed and my stay in the Scrubs came to an end. So I was taken to the Governor and then to reception to be transported to Dreghorn in Scotland for my next court martial. But the escort did not turn up and I had to do an extra day. Just my luck, overtime without pay.
Next day, in breezed a bright little corporal, well polished and full of himself, to take me to Scotland.
When I asked what had detained my escort the day before, he rattled off a story about how the escort had fallen among thieves, and bad lassies, which I guessed was bunkum. When later on I met the missing escort I got the true story. The alleged robbery was a cover-up for some inefficient book-keeping, which together we sorted out, greatly to his relief. Some years after the close of that war I was speaking at Buchanan Street, Glasgow to a very appreciative audience. At the close a neatly but poorly clad middle-aged man said: “You won’t remember me!” “No, laddie, I canna place you.” “I was the escort that got lost in London. “The uniform made you look a bit smarter!” “Oh, aye, Bob. I didn’t believe you when you said you’ll need to be a real hero to live in Lloyd George’s Land Fit for Heroes’, but by Jesus you were right!”
He was with millions on the dole- the forgotten men.
When the little fellow and I got outside the gates at the Scrubs I dumped my kitbag on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m not carrying it,” I replied. “It’s not my kitbag, it belongs to the king, let him carry it.” So there and then began a first-class row, not about the king, he was unimportant, but about the more mundane problem of who should carry the kitbag. Finally we made a deal. We would take turn about and leave it at King’s Cross Station in the left luggage until train time. The wee fellow wanted to see London but was not too keen to do the sights accompanied by such a scruffy soldier as myself.
We were an incongruous couple, my smart escort and I, to be parading in public, but queer sights are common in London and except when we lined up at a theatre queue, small attention was paid to us. Then my escort showed off the handcuffs to show our relationship, or the absence of it, to the girls whom he was trying to impress. I don’t think he made much headway because at this time, in 1917, people were showing signs of war weariness and accustomed to seeing even dirtier conscripts than I. I don’t remember much about the show that night except that one of the performers was a countryman of mine, Harry Lauder, that much lauded Scots comedian who made a large fortune out of representing his fellow countrymen as either half drunk or half daft. He achieved further fame and fortune, a knighthood and a castle, and was a welcome guest at the tables of the great when he took to occasional anti-Labour tirades. During the show I wrote postcards to my wife and friends and was so busy that when “the King” was played the whole audience dutifully rose except me; but as the escort was more concerned with a young lass and getting her address for future purposes he did not notice the incident.
The show being over we left for King’s Cross, lifted the offending kitbag and boarded the train for my native heath. Into the guard-room on arrival at the barracks, where my escort explained that our late arrival was due to the prisoner being sick. As I was not asked for an explanation or opinion it passed, although by the manner in which my escort explained to the lieutenant the delights of London I very much doubt whether he was believed.
This officer was an agreeable chap who had been wounded and shell shocked. During his convalescence he was appointed to a non-combatant labour corps composed of conscientious objectors who were prepared to fit into military requirements which entitled them to pay, and their wives to allotments. This corps was usually an odd assortment of Christians from every sect- Orthodox, Auld Kirk, Free Kirk, Quakers, Christadelphians, Episcopalians, Roman and other Catholics, and other idealists, I.L.Pers and other near-socialists, and many who objected to killing or being killed in war. I always found them rather timid and less friendly than the regular soldiers with whom I fraternised in various guard-rooms.
I met one bright exception to this rule, although I have now forgotten his name. We were introduced by a corporal from Leith, a ship’s painter in civil life, who brought him into the guard-room saying, “Here’s a pal for you, Stewart, he wouldn’t eat his bloody dinner so now he’s for it.” He really was a fine pal, and well read, he knew Shakespeare’s tragedies, comedies, histories, sonnets and all. I learned much about literature from him and we had as good a time as ever I had in the guard-room, and not without fierce debates about politics. He was a member of the I.L.P, and I tried hard to cure him of that mixture although my own politics were mixed enough then. It transpired from the prisoner’s story that the rations were being cut, which he thought was being done by two officers in charge who were then helping themselves, and taking a “load” on their weekends home. To my query, “Well, what about it?” he replied, “This crowd will not stand up to the officers.” No one would bell the cat.
I suggested a round robin and after days of patient work a typist orderly was found with courage enough to type the complaint, which was then signed by quite a number, and was sent on my advice to Scottish Command. Long afterwards, I learned through the grapevine that an enquiry had been held and the officers in question transferred. They were an objectionable pair of super-patriotic bullies, dressed up in their brief authority, full of swank and swagger well behind the lines.
When War's insane alarming blast With discord rent the air, And rage of lust and devilry Convulsed earth's bosom fair, When workers, forced from useful toil, To waste the wealth they'd made, Were fed and clad and gun equipped, To ply the warrior’s trade.
Bob Stewart’s Prison Rhymes.
With the enactment of the Military Service Acts in 1916, military service was imposed on all males of military age. Prior to that date, Britain’s armies were alleged to be composed of volunteers, a veneer that concealed the fact that unemployment, poverty and low wages had for a long time been the main recruiting officers for the fighting services. Very few artisans ever joined the army voluntarily, so that in the main it was recruited from the unskilled labouring and agricultural workers.
The technique of modern war, developed from 1914, demanded the widening of the pool to include the more highly skilled engineers and other craftsmen. The terrible wastage of officers and men could not be quickly replaced by the ballyhoo of pipe and brass bands, by clerical sermonising, or by indirect pressure, so compulsion by law came to fill the gap.
To sugar the pill and provide cover for “indispensables”, one-man businesses, etc., clauses were included in the Acts by which military service tribunals could grant exemptions. To meet religious susceptibilities, a clause enabled tribunals to exempt from military service those who had a conscientious objection to the shedding of human blood or taking of life. It was under this latter clause that many of the people not protected by other exemption clauses filed their exemption claims, which were generally rejected, and in the end some ten thousand “conchies,” as they came to be called, were tried in civil courts and handed over to the military authorities, where if they did not submit to military service they were court martialled and sentenced to prison.
My own case will illustrate what happened.
After my appeal to the tribunal had been rejected, as I was not a member of any religious or semi-religious organisation but a well-known socialist and anti-militarist, it being assumed that only religious people like Quakers, Christadelphians, priests in holy orders and their like could aspire to a conscientious objection to killing their fellow men, I was called to present myself for military service, which I refused to do. Then came the law in the shape of two local detectives to take me to the police court to be charged with “absent without leave”. However, the Chief Constable, who prosecuted, asked for a remand for a week, which gave me a little more time to prepare my wife to carry on my trade union and other work and also for me to put in a few more “no-conscription” meetings, much to the annoyance of the local respectables, who if they couldn’t get me shot at least expected me to be put out of sight for a long time.
However it was back to the police court again, where a military guard was already waiting to take me over. After the preliminaries, an officer from the recruiting office took the witness stand to prove that on a given day I was ordered to appear and did not do so. I was therefore marked absent and a warrant issued for my arrest. He looked rather pleased with himself, as did the magistrate, but their expressions changed when I asked, “Under what regulations do you mark a man absent?” “Under the King’s Regulations,” was the reply. “Under which one?” I persisted. The beak looked blank. The assessor said, “Can you help us, Mr. Stewart?” a rather unusual form of address to a prisoner at the bar. So I helped them by quoting the appropriate paragraph from the manual of military law which contains the King’s Regulations, in which it was clearly stated that a man could not be posted absent until twenty-one days had expired from the date of his call-up. Naturally the word of a prisoner cannot be taken as final, so a messenger hurried to the Sheriff Court next door to find a copy of the manual, which of course bore out my contention. The magistrate and his assessor consulted and it was then announced, “I am afraid we can’t convict.” So out again I went free, to the great glee of a small crowd who had gathered to see what would happen to Stewart, and the extreme chagrin of the military escort, beautifully polished, a straight slim soldier, handcuffs at the ready, waiting for me to be convicted. “Aye laddie,” I said. “You’re too early,” and off I went.
So the responsible military authority had to start all over again with my call-up, the time allowance and the other routine. Actually it was by sheer accident that I had discovered this paragraph, which I came across when I was looking for a way out for another man who had declared his conscientious objection, and had asked me to assist in the preparing of his case.
Dudhope Castle.
But time is inexorable, and everything was in order on the next occasion, when I was duly convicted, handed over to the guard and taken to Dudhope Castle, an ancient and dilapidated building which served as the local military prison, there to await an escort to my regiment.
During the period of conscription, my wife and other women were busy in assisting other objectors who were arrested, bringing them food while they were waiting to be transferred to their regiments. So it was no surprise to me when a guard told me, “Your wife’s ootside, Bob, and she’s brought you a parcel,” which he handed over to me. This instantly made me quite popular. I once told Sir Borlase Childs, Director of Personnel to the War Office, that “Soldiers are either one of two things, hard up or fed up” – and when they are hard up, tea and cakes are very acceptable. So we had a good feed and a wee concert in the guard-room, a nice introduction, but not a typical one, to my military career.
Next morning in came the Provost Sergeant, who had an evil reputation, and with him the Officer of the Day. “Shun!”‘ shouts the sergeant, and everyone shuns except me. The officer looked horrified. He turned to have a word with the sergeant, who told him who I was, and then they made a speedy exit. Immediately, in marches the sergeant and two privates. “Stewart!’ he shouts. “That’s me.”‘ “Out!’ And out I went into solitary confinement, no doubt to teach me a lesson to shun when ordered to do so.
So down I went into the infamous “rat-pit” all on my lonesome. Not that I minded very much, because I always get on very well in my own company. Then I have furious arguments with myself as to whether I am doing right or wrong, and if nothing else, it helps to pass the time. So in the rat-pit I remained, but not for long. A few days later an escort came to take me to my regiment at Hamilton Barracks, about seventy miles from Dundee.
On arrival at the barracks, I was, after examination of the necessary papers, dumped in the guard-room where about a dozen others, mostly absentees, were sleeping or playing cards. I can recall this well because it was Hogmanay, the evening of the 3rst December, which is a night to celebrate in Scotland. In the guard-room were over a dozen soldiers, all patriots absent without leave, or in on some other charge. There was one, Charlie by name, a bit of a Glasgow comic, who was keeping a wound in good condition so that he would not have to return too quickly to his regiment. So we stand around for a bit and then the old arguments come up.
“Why don’t you go to the war?”
“Because it’s not my war.”
And then comes the serious discussion about the reasons and necessity for wars. But Charlie could not prevent his mind wandering to the sesonal celebrations. “Christ, ” he said, “in Glasgow there’s my faither, my maither and my big braither and sister, a’ the neebours roondaboot, they will a’ be in the hoose. And there’s my picture above the mantelpiece and they’ll be saying ‘Well, here’s tae ye, Charlie’, plenty o’ nips in the bottle, and here’s me in this bloody place and canna get even a drink o’ water. What a bloody rotten Hogmanay, what a bloody rotten war.”
We bedded down at last under the scruffy blankets and in the morning I wrote a postcard home to my wife saying I was well, the company was friendly but the blankets were lousy. The censor scored that bit out but the blankets were removed for delousing that day.
Next morning I was served out with kitbag and clobber. This accompanied me from barracks to prisons and back again, and grew lighter and lighter with each move until, at my discharge in 1919, only the suit and cap were left to comply with the order of return. But more of that to come. It came to my turn to be ordered on parade, which I ignored, and was conducted under guard to the orderly room where a very young officer barked “Attention!” “Not me, laddie,” I replied, and so I was remanded for my first court martial.
It was commonly said that the First World War came like a bolt from the blue. That was true for the mass of the population, but it was not true for the government of the day or for the socialists.
In 1912, as I remember, a tremendous campaign was waged by the government for what was then called National Service. The chief propagandist for this was Lord Roberts, “Bobs”. who of course was reputed to have won the South African war. It is never the common soldiers who win wars. Lord Roberts did a tour of the whole country with all the biggest halls in the big towns put at his disposal. When he came to Scotland I followed him around, holding meetings immediately after him. My meetings were naturally in the open air, but nevertheless we got big audiences. We were quite clear in our minds what the intention of the government was and impressed upon the people that the demand for national service was only the introduction to military conscription, no matter how they dressed it up. The workers would be conscripted for war when war came.
On the 4th of August 1914, war against Germany was declared. I spent the following two years, up until the time of my arrest, speaking on anti-war platforms against the prosecution of the war. In this period it was very difficult, but our little organisation in Dundee, and in a number of places throughout Scotland, kept going from the first day war was declared.
Our job was made more difficult by the division in the labour movement. The members of the Labour Party were at sixes and sevens in their attitude to the war. The Labour Party then was described as a federation, consisting of trade unions, trades councils, socialist societies and local parties. The co-operatives were not, at that time, a political party, nor was there individual membership of the Labour Party. That came in 1918. In the Labour Party, the Independent Labour Party claimed 60,000 members, the British Socialist Party 10,000 members and the Fabians 2,000 members. A variety of socialist societies like the Clarion Fellowship, the Church Socialist League, the Herald League, etc., were with the Second International, but with the outbreak of the war, and despite excellent decisions on international solidarity passed before war was declared, the Second International was torn to tatters.
Of the press, the Daily Citizen and the Daily Herald cracked up either before the war or in 1914, and then the Herald became a weekly. Other weeklies were the Labour Leader, Justice, the Clarion, New Age, New Statesman, the Railway Review and a number of small local weeklies run mostly by the I.L.P. There was the Irish Worker run by Connolly and Larkin in Dublin. There were fifty monthlies and a number of trade union journals. But the vast mass of the material published was reformist. Little of it was written from the Marxist standpoint of scientific socialism, although many anti-war articles continued to find a space.
Roughly speaking, on the first real test for socialist internationalism, the red flags turned to tartan with the complete collapse of the Second International and the triumph of the right-wing pro-war people in the British Labor Movement. In Scotland, the I.L.P. called a truce, although a number of their members continued to conduct anti-war propaganda. Forward, the I.L.P. paper Tom Johnstone’s rag-bag I used to call it–had a peculiar line. One writer, who wrote under the pseudonym of “Rob Roy’ was for the war lock, stock and barrel, yet Tom Johnstone and others confined themselves to exposures of the kind of thing that comes up in any war-paying too much for guns, not getting good guns for the money paid, and so on.
On the 4th August, the day on which war was declared. I was at a meeting in Peterhead speaking for the Prohibition and Reform Party. The meeting was on the links facing the prison and anyone who couldn’t make a good socialist speech looking at that view didn’t know anything about socialism. I was quite a popular speaker in Peterhead because I had made it my job to become acquainted with the fishermen’s problems. The Peterhead fishermen had what they called a Parliament, which they held on the dockside. A good democratic practice that could well be emulated in many places at the present time. This Peterhead Parliament had endured for over 100 years. I used to go down to the dockside and listen to the parliamentary discussion, and many things I learned, both in policy and procedure. Because of my interest in their affairs I was always a welcome visitor.
We had a very big meeting on the links that day and I was just getting into my stride when I was drowned out by the music of a passing band.
“What on earth’s that?” I said.
“It’s the Naval Reserve going to the station,” came the reply from the audience.
Of course in most fishing centres there were a good number of men of the Naval Reserve. They got a retainer, which added to their income and acted as a sweet little pill to recruiting. I stopped the meeting and we all followed the band and the reserves to the station. Wives and mothers were weeping, but most people didn’t know what it was all about. Wars are always sprung on the people. They don’t know their enemies until they are told. They certainly are not allowed to pick their enemies, otherwise a lot of people would disappear. The band was from the Salvation Army and I always remember the tune, “Lead Kindly Light”. Where they were being led I tried to tell them when we resumed the meeting on the links.
In the evening we held another meeting in the Fish Market, which was crowded despite the rain. My chairman was a fisherman called Mitchell, the first fisherman socialist and rationalist I ever met. A very clever man, who according to Dr. Williamson, superintendent of the fish hatchery Aberdeen, was one of the best scholars in marine zoology he had ever had. Mitchell worked on the trawlers, was torpedoed during the war and lost. I remember the introduction to my speech that night. I said: “Whatever else may transpire in the coming war, you will all learn in the course of it or in its aftermath that it is a capitalist war. It is not worth sacrificing the bones of your domestic cat, or your pet canary, even less those of your husbands, brothers and sons.”
When war was declared, many of the lower-paid workers volunteered, which was natural enough because a soldier’s pay was better than a labourer’s. It also had an appeal to the wives because their army separation allowance came regularly, whereas sometimes the wages didn’t. But in the main the artisans and better-paid workers stayed at the work bench, and it was here in the factories and in the industrial field that the government’s problems began to show.
There were several threats of strikes in 1914, but the call came for industrial truce. The right-wing leaders of the unions tried hard to hold the workers in check, the slogan being “The country is in danger’, but they never tried to explain what part of the country the workers actually owned. I don’t know of any honest working man who got anything out of the war.
The industrial truce meant handcuffing the workers. In July 1915 came the Munitions of War Act which meant that it was a penal offence to leave your work without the consent of your employer, and, worse, also a penal offence to refuse to take a new job, whatever the rate of pay. Offenders against the Act could appeal to the Munitions Tribunals where the chairman had the final say. No appeal against his decision could be accepted. There was the dilution of labour and imported labor imposed by the government with the assistance of the trade union leaders. Then came the rent increases and the steep rise in the cost of living. The militants had certainly plenty to battle against.
As the war proceeded, the lefts in the labour movement began to fight back, particularly in the workshop. Industrial unionism, a principle which had been gaining ground in industry for some years, began to find a real practical expression. Best known were the Workers’ Committees on the Clyde, the formation and activity of which are graphically described in Willie Gallacher’s book Revolt on the Clyde and in his Last Memoirs. These grew out of the shop stewards movement, which early in the war was operating as a parallel force with the district committees and local branches.
As the months passed, the war became less and less popular, and the anti-war meetings better appreciated and better attended. Naturally the position of a speaker was very difficult because we often had in the audience people stricken with anguish through the loss of husbands or sons. One also had to fight against the clever official attitude to the war. “We are against war in general but not this particular one. We are not to blame for this war, it was forced on us by the Germans in their lust for expansion” and so on. This was the main stock-in-trade of the Labour people.
The capitalist need for labour meant that the doors of national and regional committees were opened to Labour men and women. They were used in recruiting campaigns and helped to get conscription accepted. They helped to organise the demonstrations with brass bands, pipe bands, flute bands, popular singers, variety artists and top spellbinders like Ben Tillet and Bottomley. The latter was all for a business man’s government and himself made good business out of it. He was not only one of the top speakers at the recruiting meetings, but one of the best paid.
In politics there was the usual intrigue. The position at the front was not too good. We, of course, had the world’s best generals and the best armies; we always have; but for some unknown reason we were retreating. So Lloyd George squeezed out Asquith because he was too tame, which was no doubt true because he was a man somewhat above the battle. He was a lawyer with a fine gift of words, who in the constituency of East Fife could hold his constituents enthralled with the necessity of changing the kitchen arrangements in the House of Commons. All very well in its way, but not good enough for a main post in a capitalist war cabinet.
On 7th December 1916, Lloyd George became prime minister and secured the support of Conservative, Labour and about half of the Liberal M.P.s in the House. Bonar Law and Balfour, much to everyone’s surprise, agreed to serve under Lloyd George. The prosecution of the war was taken out of the hands of the cabinet and entrusted to a war council of five, headed by Lloyd George himself. Henderson, the Labour leader, was a member of the war council, being a Minister without Portfolio. Another Labour leader, Barnes, was Pensions Minister, a post held by Henderson in the preceding Asquith coalition.
Unfortunately they did not go in on their own but took the Labour Party with them. “Prosecute the war to end war!””Fight for a land fit for heroes to live in!’ are samples of the slogans that began to be propagated in the labour movement. There were oceans of condemnation for German imperialists and none for their British counterparts: but that came as the casualty lists grew bigger and bigger.
The volunteers began to dry up, so the Derby Scheme was introduced. This was named after Lord Derby, its initiator. Fighting for his country meant a lot to Lord Derby, who owned a very large slice of it. In this scheme men who had not already volunteered could attest themselves as ready to enlist and were given a khaki armlet to put on their sleeve so that people would know they were patriots although not yet in the firing line. None of them had any desire to be there because it was being forced home to them every day that war in the trenches was no picnic but a deadly business in the slaughter of human beings who did not know what the war was about. As the volunteers dried up there came the recruitment of special battalions. There were sportsmen’s battalions and, for the smaller men, bantam battalions. I said at the time that if the war lasted long enough they would be recruiting canary battalions.
The capitalist capacity to divide and conquer operated in every field to try and win the acceptance of the Military Service Acts. Single men versus married men; big business men against small business men; the indispensable workers against the dispensable. The times I have sat at the tribunals and watched managers of jute works come in with about a dozen workers to state their case. Dispensable or indispensable? The workers were never asked their opinions. They had no right to an opinion. The manager had a right to an opinion, the tribunal had a right to an opinion, in fact they said they had the most right and used it too; and if they were a Court of Appeal they knew their job was to turn down the appeal, which they invariably did. Men must be found for the front, and no trick to achieve that end was left out.
The Military Service Acts brought the big fight against conscription. In the true British tradition, unity was scorned-not one organisation but a whole number were in the struggle. There was the Anti-Conscription League, mainly fathered by the trade unions; the No-Conscription Fellowship; the Fellowship of Reconciliation; the Society of Friends. There were Socialist objectors, Christian objectors, Quaker objectors. Objection was the word that counted and the government had a great objection to any kind of objector. The conscientious objectors were quite voluble in their objection to the war and the Christian objectors did valuable work in their objection to conscription. Naturally the official leaders of the church did not take that line. They are part of the establishment of capitalist governments, and as a consequence have the job of bringing in God on the side of the establishment they are working for. This is covered up with beautiful language, texts from both the Old and New Testaments, and for them it is quite easy to justify service for war, just as it is easy to warrant resistance to war. You pay your money and take your choice. Well, you get your Bible and take your choice anyway.
In the case of the conscientious objector it was the refusal to serve that was the important thing, not the opinions held against war. Refusal to serve was penal and you were entitled to be treated as an enemy.
In 1915 the local organiser of the Scottish Horse and Motormen’s Union was called up and the job fell vacant. I applied for it and got it, the pay being 30s a week. This gave me the opportunity to do my work during the day and attend anti-war meetings in the evening. It also meant I got back into the Trades Council as a delegate and was able to play a part there against conscription. We had quite big meetings in Dundee at the time, in the Albert Square, and sometimes, in bad weather, indoors. At the Square a number of forces men would drift into the audience, men from the Black Watch, the Camerons or Argylls and often a sailor or two, so one had to be careful in speech; but in dealing with human beings, and usually seeing the human side of problems, I became quite skilful in speaking. After all, soldiers and sailors are human beings and certainly they were getting tired of the war. They came and went. Many only travelled one way. Naturally they were being led by the very best generals but that did not prevent the human sacrifices of Passchendale and the Somme. After the wars, when the memoirs are written, we hear, of course, of the idiots who were leading the armies, but during the wars this is kept a close secret. The hospitals became filled to capacity with the wounded but the war went on.
Of course war is a profitable business for some, and while they babbled about the war to end war and so on, some of the business people were in no hurry to end it. Many people like this I knew in Dundee–I could give names but I won’t because of libel actions people for whom the war was an extremely profitable business. Fortunately I am long-living and have an extremely good memory for such things.
Although committed to temperance, Bob Stewart couldn’t abide the ‘religious prattling’ within the Scottish Prohibition Party.
During all the comings and goings, organising for the trade union and for the Templars, I was always drawn to political affairs. In a way this was natural, because Dundee was a politically radical city and had been so ever since the days of the Jacobins when Palmer, an associate of Thomas Muir, had been banished to the hulks in Botany Bay for his political activities. Dundee was also one of the main centres of Chartist agitation. In the 1880s and 1890s, Dundee was a real stronghold of radical liberalism and the local weekly newspaper, The People’s Journal, published strong radical views. I sold this newspaper on the streets and got fourpence a dozen; even when a boy I was doing a useful job in spreading the message.
In 1892, a political leftward move took place in Dundee when Jimmy McDonald, then secretary of the London Trades Council, stood as a Labour parliamentary candidate and polled 345 votes. In 1895 he again contested, this time as an Independent Labour Party candidate, and polled 1,313 votes. I did some campaigning for McDonald in this election and remember that the elder men thought this was an excellent vote because his candidature did not have the support of the Dundee Trades Council. A resolution which sought to support him in the Council had been defeated and an amendment to support the Liberal candidate had been carried by 19 votes to 16. It was shortly after this that I became a delegate to the Trades Council and very soon began to take part in the debates.
The Scottish Labour Party had been formed on July 23rd 1892. Many of the temperance men left the Liberal Party and joined the new party, taking their temperance views with them. But at this time I was still singularly obsessed with the struggle to stop the sale of strong drink and remained uncommitted to any political party. However, I read avidly-topical pamphlets, books theoretical and otherwise- I particularly remember several by Karl Kautsky. American temperance books and socialist pamphlets held a particular appeal, and I was always drawn to the Chartist books because they had a positive political programme.
Up to just after the turn of the century, therefore, my life consisted of finding a job, trying to keep it, trade union work, organising in the temperance movement, speaking and debating on radical platforms and reading and trying to assimilate the new revolutionary socialist ideas.
On my return from South Africa I was soon back again in the organising and political groove. I became full-time organiser for the Scottish Prohibition Party with a wage of 27s. a week; this was much less than I could have earned in the yards, but political idealism was taking a hold of me and political principle was more important than money. The Prohibition Party was committed to a reformist labour programme but was semi-religious. I travelled up and down Scotland in all the big cities and in many of the villages doing propaganda meetings. We had a small newspaper called The Prohibitionist, and I helped to edit this as well.
This was the period of great political struggle to break Liberal-Labour coalition politics and for independent working-class action. In the General Election of January 1906 fifty-one Labour candidates were returned as Members of Parliament, including some fine leaders for independent working-class action such as Keir Hardie. One month later, on February 15th at the Memorial Hall in Farringdon Street, London, the Labour Representation Committee transformed itself into the Labour Party and thus started the final break with Liberal-Labour unity and the birth of organised independent working-class political action. One of the first demands of the independent Labour M.Ps was the passing of the Trades Disputes Act, a very progressive piece of legislation that stood the test of time for over half a century.
In the 1906 Parliamentary General Election, Alex Wilkie, general secretary of the shipwrights’ union and one of the original Labor Representation Committee of 1900-6, stood on the Labour ticket in Dundee and won. He was, however, very much a Lib-Lab politician, and, while campaigning for him, I and a number of others tried to change his ideas. Dundee was then a double-barrelled constituency, that is, there were two votes for two parliamentary seats. Wilkie was returned to Parliament together with a Liberal named Robertson.
The year 1908 was one of heavy trade depression and high unemployment, but politically it was a vintage year for me. I stood for the Dundee Town Council and won. The full-time secretary of the Prohibition Party, Scrymgeour, was also on the Council so this made a mover and seconder for any motion we desired to put. We certainly enlivened the Council meetings. The first night I took my seat we were both suspended for being “‘offenders against decorum”. I had called another councillor a liar and the Lord Provost interrupted me to warn against the use of such language. The Provost was Jimmy Urquhart and I knew he had a university education, so I asked him to tell me how I could call a man a liar without actually saying so. “See me after the meeting,” he replied, “but don’t use that word here.”
There was a Baillie on the Council called Robertson who was, among other things, a director of the Dundee Football Club. Some material had disappeared from the Council Stores and found its way to the Dundee Football Club. I called Robertson a thief. This was a bit too much for a mere reprimand. I was taken to Court and fined £5 and £8 costs, but it put a stop to a number of things that were going on. A friend of mine, Adam Piggot, a butcher, paid the fine or I would have been “inside” again, because £13 was a small fortune to me in those days.
All this was good political campaigning, because it was all official Town Council business, and the local press gave it great publicity. Dundee in 1908 was in a desperate position. Unemployment was rampant, so bad that relief work had to be arranged. Soup kitchens were erected in the wards. Farmers from the surrounding area brought in vegetables free, and local butchers donated beef and bones. Door-to- door collections for money were organised and food was distributed to the needy- over half of the town were needy. I did an immense amount of work on relief both for the Prohibition Party and as a councillor. One helper I remember, who worked like a Trojan, was a Roman Catholic priest called Turner. He was out day and night working; and never a needy case was turned away. He was a kindly, hard-working man, which was more than could be said for many of those who did nothing but were always on hand to give advice on how the relief should be distributed.
The employment position was so bad that I moved in the Council that we provide some work for the unemployed. I suggested that to provide work trees be planted in the Blackness Road to beautify the street. Many were against it because it was spending the town’s money needlessly. However, I won; the trees were planted and are still there today. Blackness Road, lined with trees, is one of the prettiest in the city.
Blackness Road, Dundee. Early 20th century.
During the Council term I was elected as a representative to the Blind Institution Committee. Usually the meetings of the Committee lasted fifteen minutes. Minutes would be read and approved, a lot of nice things said and then everyone would go home. The Committee consisted of one or two mill owners, a few business men and representatives of the Town and Parish Councils. At my first meeting the minutes were read and approved and then I started to ask questions. There was consternation, but I knew many of the blind people living in their own homes were weaving baskets, making mattresses and the like, and were being very poorly paid. So I continued to press my questions and to get answers, which when followed up made it clear that the manager was making absurdly high profits out of the blind people’s work. On leaving the meeting, one of the mill masters, a great county cricketer, Sharp by name, said to me, ” Stewart I did not know anything like that was going on. I think it’s a scandal.” “So do I,” I replied, “but the living standard of the working class is a scandal.” He nodded his head and went away. No doubt next morning he would be demanding more effort from his jute workers to provide more profit for himself.
After a year in the Council I had to stand for re-election. A campaign was waged, in which the local press took a hand, to get Councillor Stewart, that spendthrift agitator, out of the Council. Naturally, with the expenses for relief work the rates had gone up -32d. in fact- -and I got the full blame for this. Of course I defended the relief work, but the forces against me were too strong, and I was defeated at the poll.
The year 1908 saw another famous election in Dundee. It was a Parliamentary by-election in which Winston Churchill stood as a Liberal candidate.
Winston Churchill campaigning in Dundee, 1908.
Churchill had started his parliamentary career as a Tory and won the seat at Oldham in October, 1900. In the fight for tariff reform at the beginning of the century he changed his coat and became a Liberal, contesting the North-West Manchester constituency. In the general election of 1906 he defeated Joynson Hicks in what was accepted as a safe Tory seat. In 1908 he succeeded Lloyd George as President of the Board of Trade and this necessitated a by-election. (This was the parliamentary procedure of the period: when an M.P. became a cabinet minister he had to face the electorate again.) On the 24th of April, 1908, in the by-election at North-West Manchester Jonson Hicks got his revenge and defeated Churchill, largely because of the intervention of Dan Irving, a Socialist candidate. The date is important because, while, Churchill was contesting this by-election, the Dundee Liberal Party were meeting to choose their candidate for the Dundee by-election. After a few stormy meetings the decision was postponed. There was a terrible row at the time, with the local press giving pages of publicity to the rumours that some Liberal leaders in Dundee were keeping the candidature warm for Churchill should he be defeated at Manchester. So it came about that Churchill, who was defeated as a sitting M.P. on April 24, packed his bags and was campaigning in Dundee three days later. On May 10, sixteen days after his defeat, the Dundee result was announced and Churchill was returned to Parliament and became President of the Board of Trade, but as M.P. for Dundee and not for Manchester. In this by-election I was election agent for Scrymgeour. The Prohibition Party had decided not to support the candidature of Stuart, the Labour candidate, but to put up our own candidate. It was a short but lively campaign. With four candidates in the field, the meetings were all packed out. I remember one meeting in the Drill Hall at which Churchill spoke. He shouted to the crowd: “Britain has great imperial strength. We have belted the world with free institutions.” He was speaking in Bell Street, next door to the Sheriff Court, across the road from the Salvation Home for fallen women; next door to that was the Parish Council Lunatic Department, nearby the Curr Night Refuge for homeless people to get a cup of tea and a bed, before they started their wanderings the next day. The gulf between Churchill’s oratory and the living reality was there in the street where the meeting was held. This was a good propaganda point I certainly did not miss.
During the counting of the votes I noticed Churchill standing alone in a corner twisting little rubber bands around his fingers, and as each one broke he threw it away. He was obviously in a very agitated condition.
I went over and started a conversation with him about stopping the sale of strong drink, asking what he would do in Parliament to bring this into law. It was obvious he was only interested in one thing-the result. In retrospect he was right; another defeat in Dundee after Manchester would have ruined his political career. “How do you think it’s going?” he asked me. “You’re in by a mile, worse luck,” I said. You didn’t have to look at the vote-counting very long to see that. However, our little discussion on prohibition had not gone entirely unnoticed. Later, the Provost, Jimmy Urquhart, came over to me and said: “I understand you’ve been trying to convert Winnie to prohibition. By Christ! Bob, you never give up!” He said it in a voice of admiration for my courage and with the certainty that I was on a forlorn quest. As later years proved, Churchill and the prohibition of strong drink were poles apart.
Edwin Scrymgeour.
Scrymgeour and I had many differences in the election campaign. He dwelt too much on religion. He had a great advantage over all the other candidates because he had a mandate from God. His speech to the crowd after the announcement of the result was really heavenly: “I feel deeply grateful to the Almighty God that has enabled the Prohibition Party to put me forward as the first British Prohibition candidate and look forward to another day when success will attend our efforts.” That speech was the beginning of the break in the Prohibition Party.
Winston Churchill was Member of Parliament for Dundee until the general election of 1922, when Willie Gallacher stood for Dundee as a Communist candidate. But in 1908 he was the hero. When the result was declared that May night, the Dundee workers not only lifted Churchill shoulder high, they lifted his motor car with him inside it and carried him down Bell Street.
A year or so after the election the inevitable split came in the Prohibition Party. I could no longer stomach the religious prattlings of Scrymgeour and some of his adherents. A number of us broke away and formed the Prohibition and Reform Party. It was at this period that I wrote the pamphlets, En Route To The Sober Commonwealth and Socialism, which were laced with good socialist principles. Apart from the aim of achieving complete National Prohibition its aims were:
SOCIALISM The abolition of private ownership of the land and the means of manufacture, production and exchange, and the substitution of public or social ownership without compensation.
COMPLETE DEMOCRATIC RULE Abolition of the hereditary principle in government, adult suffrage, initiative and referendum, devolution on separate Parliaments of domestic legislation.
INTERNATIONALISM Recognition of the common interests of mankind. The establishment of international arbitration courts for the settlement of all disputes between nations, leading up to world-wide government elected by the citizens of all nations.
(In Chapel, male prisoners are partitioned off from females.)
We go on Sunday to the Church, And sit amongst the boys; The girls are on the other side, We tell that by the noise, The warders grim, our shepherds are, Perched on their seats to view The motley: flock of wayward sheep They watch the service through.
Of prayer, and chant, and sacred verse, The pastor spares he none; An' in his prayers confesses oft The rotten things we've done. ‘Twirls seem his God's a magistrate; Safe seated up on high, Who, when he hears the weekly tale, Must surely wink his eye.
A summary of war-like news Each Sunday morn provides, And parson's magisterial God Compelled is to take sides. He must become a God of War To help us smite the German, And so establish peace on earth By sword in place of sermon.
At last the service to a close The parson duly bringeth, And through the Chapel dolefully Jehovah’s praises ringeth, With pose affected, hands outstretched, He benediction utters; Methinks his love for fellow-men Amicted is with stutters.
Breaking the Fetters 