Westminster Corridors
Those men (and, for that matter, women) are only truly great who place their ambition rather in acquiring to themselves the cons cience of worthy Enterprises than in the prospect of Glory which attends them. These exalted spirits would rather be secretly the authors of events which are serviceable to mankind than, without being such, to have the public Fame of it.
Ever conscious of such precepts, the virtuous flower arranger of Downing Street, Mrs — oops, sorry, I mean—My Lady Marcia Wil liams long cogitated before finally accepting the signal honour offered her by the Prime Minister. In the end she did so, I am told, mainly for the sake of her little ones, Hadrada and Senlac, who, fatherless in a wicked world, were left to themselves most days, playing with their Tiny Tots' Reclamation Kit. Fie and fiddle faddle; to listen to some I would fain believe that there was Jealousy rampant about the Town. If virtue cannot be honoured by reward, then justice is no longer. Besides, our sage Mr Harold Wilson has used his List to bring together those whom, shall I say, might in the past have been more friendly to each other. • My Lord Douglas Houghton, so long a pillar' of the Trade Union movement and then a worthy Member of the Club, was much respected by all who knew him. Now, by a delicious irony, he is joined with the Lady for whom (it is rumoured) he never before had much time. Clearly, it pays to stand up to My Lady Marcia (if readers will excuse the expression). The only other Member of the Club who ever opposed the Lady and told Mr Wilson so was My Lord George Wigg. Logically, it has been noticeable at the Club these past few days how many Ruffians have been heard to say "We oppose her — Harold is too much influenced by her.". The chief bellower and prancer, Mr Dennis Skinner, has even been heard to mutter how well he likes the sound of "My Lord Bolsover." The trouble is that laughter, while it lasts, slackens and unbraces the mind, weakens the faculties and causes a dissolution in all the powers of the soul. As my Cousin Addison once said: "Laughter, when applied to Fields when they are in flower or to trees in blossom, runs through all languages and into high and low places." A wise Cousin, indeed.
The only' thing that Puzzles me is the sensitivity of some to this new List of Honours. When a learned and much revered colleague of mine wrote some small time ago about the impending elevation of My Lady Marcia, this scribe was summoned to Downing Street where he was berated for his insolence by the bullet-shaped press secretary, Mr Joe 'SS' Haines (who must be feeling very foolish now).
Then, when Mr Haines came to the Club to present the List (a function hitherto always performed by the Prime Minister conferring the honours — could it be that Mr Haines has delusions of grandeur?) he discussed all the peerages save that of My Lady Marcia. When a member of the Lobby asked her age, Mr Haines swallowed his Mitcham Mint savagely and said: "You're no gent." As if Mr Haines would know.
The truth of the matter is that My Lady will serve a useful purpose in the Upper Club. Apart from "strengthening Ruffian representation there" (which is what Mr Wilson wants) she will, incidentally, be able to keep an eye on My Lord George-Brown who has been heard recently to opine that there is no reason constitutionally why a Prime Minister should not come from the Lords.
It is no bad thing that Mrs Secretary Castle has set a precedent by declaring that although her spouse will now be My Lord Ted, she wishes to remain Mrs Barbara. For a moment I was alarmed at the prospect of how many Lords Williams would need hurriedly to disclaim — besides, "By Lord Williams" looks a clumsy by-line in a newspaper.
Tom Puzzle
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