CHAPTER SIX

In which Mrs. Asquith behaves with characteristic Energy

Oxford at this time was a ferment of political activity. It was full of young ex-soldiers, who considered, with pardonable presumption, that having endured Hell for five years, they were justified in suggesting the lines along which the New England (the Lloyd-Georgian England) was to be remodelled. And so we formed ourselves into clubs, concocted newspapers, wore ties varying from the noblest shade of blue to the bloodiest tint of red, and extracted a great deal of pleasure out of it.

On the outskirts of Oxford lived Mr. and Mrs. Asquith, watching with interested eyes this ferment of budding talent. I do not know if Mr. Asquith ever actually said ‘Catch ’em young,’ but, to use his own type of phraseology, he was not unaware of the advantages which might conceivably be expected from a judicious sowing of the Liberal Seed among mentalities still unprejudiced and alert. It was only to be expected therefore that when I, in company with two staunch friends of the same College, formed the Oxford University Liberal Club, he should accept the position of President with alacrity.

As soon as the club was formed, we arranged a monster meeting in the Oxford Town Hall, and decided that it would be rather fun to have a thoroughly pompous dinner beforehand. We therefore invited various celebrities, who all, to our astonishment, accepted; and when the plans were well in hand, I departed to tell the Master’s wife of our intentions.

Now, it has been suggested to me that the Master’s wife did not absolutely ‘appreciate’ Mrs. Asquith. At any rate, although it was understood that Mrs. Asquith was to dine at Balliol, there was trouble. So much trouble, in fact, that it seemed as though the dinner could not take place at all.

This was a dreadful situation. We had already asked Mrs. Asquith to dine. She had already accepted. It was quite impossible to put her off. What was the matter?

It was afterwards suggested to me, by an ingenious scholar of Balliol, that the college authorities feared that Mrs. Asquith would have a disruptive influence on callow youth. A foolish reason, of course. If we wanted, we could have asked Mrs. Asquith to dine with us in our rooms on every day of the week, Sundays included. She would not have accepted, but that is another story.

However, I never did discover the real reason, and, as a matter of fact, there was no need to do so, for the Master’s wife, in the interests of Liberalism, very kindly asked Mrs. Asquith to dinner herself. And so, that was how we dined,--the men in one building, the women in another, as closely segregated as though we had been members of some strict religious order which forbade the intermingling of the sexes.

Asquith was in great form at dinner. I had never seen him before, and if first impressions are of any value, be it recorded that he struck me as having a head far too large for his body. His face was of a pleasant, rosy hue, rather like that of a genial baby, his body was short and rather inclined to stoutness. Two things only about him suggested the sheather of swords--his hair and his voice. The former was long and white and so silky that one longed to stroke it. His voice was deep and rich with a quality that also suggested silk.

The first thing he said to me after we had been introduced was:

‘Did you get my box?’

This cryptic remark needs a little explanation. As soon as Asquith had consented to speak for us he sent word by his secretary saying that it was most important that we should prepare for him a box, some ten inches high and twelve inches broad. This object must be covered in green baize, and placed on the table at which he was going to speak. It was destined, as we afterwards learnt, to carry his notes.

Such a request was, at first, a little surprising. One had always thought of Asquith as a man with an endless flow of language, who did not have to rely upon written memoranda in his speeches. However, the more one learns about apparently impromptu oratory the more does it appear in its true light, as carefully prepared. Winston Churchill has told us that the speech that gained him his greatest reputation as an impromptu was written out six times with his own hand. Bright used to have an entire synopsis hidden between the palm and fingers of his left hand, and I am sure the more ‘mountainous’ districts in Lloyd George’s perorations are carefully hacked and hewn beforehand. So at least Asquith was in good company.

During dinner I asked him if it was true that he had once laughingly summarized the most valuable attribute of Balliol men as a ‘tranquil consciousness of superiority.’

‘A tranquil consciousness of _effortless_ superiority,’ he corrected. ‘Don’t forget the “effortless.” That’s the whole point of it. But,’ he added, ‘I don’t want to corrupt the youth of Balliol by such agreeable theories as that.’

He had an extraordinary thirst for knowledge about post-war Oxford--a thirst that was almost pathetic, so clearly did it indicate a love of the very stuff, one might almost say, the very smell, of scholasticism. Was there much unrest among the undergraduates? Did they find it hard to settle down after the War? How many people were abandoning the classics? And what was their chief reason for doing so? Was it lack of time or lack of thought, or mere laziness? One could not help thinking what an admirable Master of Balliol Asquith would have made if he had ever chosen to abandon politics for university life--(his natural element).

Dinner passed quickly under this fusillade of questions, and I was longing to see how Mrs. Asquith had fared in her comparatively solitary dinner. It cannot have been a very inspiriting one, for when we all trooped over to the lodge, and joined them in the big room upstairs, the atmosphere was gloomy, not to say strained. Mrs. Asquith was sitting on a table, swinging her legs, which were encased in grey Russian top-boots, and she greeted our arrival with a whoop of delight, and started to talk very quickly, as though she had been pent up for years. How wonderful of the undergraduates to give her a bouquet of red roses! Had they guessed that she was going to wear a red hat? And did they mind her not dressing? No? How charming of one to say that she looked nice in anything, etc., etc.

The Master’s wife, on the other hand, said nothing at all, but remained by the fireplace in what appeared to be deep melancholy. I went up to her and said, ‘We really ought to be going along to the Town Hall now. The meeting starts in five minutes.’

At this she brightened considerably, and said:

‘Is Mrs. Asquith going?’

I explained that it was snowing outside, and that the other guests had to be disposed of first. Mr. and Mrs. Asquith would bring up the rear, as they were the most important people.

‘Oh, I see,’ she said, ‘Mrs. Asquith’s the climax, is she?’

I was very thankful when we were all safely landed at the Town Hall, and the meeting had begun.

I needn’t say anything about the meeting itself, except that everybody made admirable speeches, which called forth a great deal of applause, and set the fires of Liberalism blazing fervently. A few extra lines may, however, be inserted to make this sketch of Mrs. Asquith a little less shadowy.

I am perfectly certain that this lady has been very much maligned by the British public. A section of that public regards her as vulgar because she is enthusiastic, prejudiced because she is loyal, conceited because she is frank, and generally a very tiresome creature. They have not the wit to realize that she is, in reality, a woman almost unbearably sensitive, who is aggressive only in self-defence, and that she is so emotional that she does things in public which some people regard as outrageous only because they do not understand her.

I shall never forget, for example, seeing her at the end of the meeting, put her hand on her husband’s shoulder while they were playing God Save the King, and, as soon as the King was saved, throwing the flowers from her bouquet into the stolid faces of the crowd below. How I sympathized with her at that moment. I should have liked to jump to the roof with elation. The only difference was that Mrs. Asquith had the courage to do what she wanted, and I hadn’t.