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THE OPPRESSED ENGLISH

BY
IAN HAY

Author of "The First Hundred Thousand,"
"Getting Together," "A Safety Match," Etc.

[Illustration: Logo]

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1917

_Copyright, 1917, by_
IAN HAY BEITH

_All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian_




CHAPTER ONE


As a Scotsman, the English people have my profound sympathy.

In the comic papers of all countries the Englishman is depicted--or was
in the days of peace--as stupid, purseproud, thick-skinned, arrogant,
and tyrannical. In practice, what is he? The whipping-boy of the British
Empire.

In the War of to-day, for instance, whenever anything particularly
unpleasant or unpopular has to be done--such as holding up neutral
mails, or establishing a blacklist of neutral firms trading with the
enemy--upon whom does the odium fall? Upon "England"; never upon France,
and only occasionally upon Great Britain. The people and press
interested thunder against "England's Arrogance." Again, in the neutral
days, when an American newspaper published a pro-British article,
Potsdam complained peevishly that the entire American Press was being
bribed with "English" gold. A German school teacher is greeted by her
infant class with the amiable formula: "Good morning, teacher. _Gott
strafe England!_" (Never "Britain," as a Scotsman once very rightly
complained to me.) On the other hand, when there is any credit going
round--say, for the capture of a hitherto impregnable ridge on the
Western Front--to whom is that credit assigned? Well, it depends. If the
Canadians took the ridge, Canada gets the credit; and the world's press
(including the press of London and England generally) pays due tribute
to the invincible valour of the men from the Dominions. Or, if a
Scottish or Irish regiment took the ridge, the official report from
General Headquarters makes appreciative reference to the fact. But how
often do we see the phrase: "The ridge was stormed, under heavy fire, by
an English regiment?" Practically never. A victory gained by English
boys from Devon or Yorkshire appears as a British victory, pure and
simple.

Now why? Why should the credit for the good deeds of the British Empire
be ascribed to those respectively responsible--except the English--while
the odium for the so-called bad deeds is lumped on to England alone? To
a certain extent, England herself is to blame. When a Scotsman speaks of
Scotland he means Scotland. An Irishman, when he speaks of Ireland,
means Ireland and nowhere else. But when an Englishman speaks of
"England," he may mean Scotland, or Ireland, or even Canada! This
playful habit of assuming that England is the Empire, and that the
Empire is England, does not always make for imperial fraternity, even
though in the vast majority of cases not the slightest offence is
intended. To the average Englishman it seems simpler to say "England."

But there are other and deeper reasons. England is a big nation, while
the others are small. There are more people in London than in the whole
of Scotland, or Ireland, or, until recent years, Canada. And a small
nation is always intensely sensitive, and assertive, of its own
nationality. The English, too, are an exceedingly placid nation. Their
enemies call them self-satisfied, but this is hardly just. Scotsmen and
Irishmen celebrate the mysteries of St. Andrew's Day and St. Patrick's
Day with a fervour only equalled by that of the average American citizen
on the Fourth of July. But if you were to ask the average Englishman
the date of St. George's Day, he probably would not be able to tell you:
and under no circumstances would he dream of celebrating the occasion.

"Of course I am proud of being an Englishman," he says in effect; "but
everybody realizes that. So why advertise the fact unnecessarily? Why
make a cantata about it?"

It is this same attitude of mind which causes an Englishman to care
little, provided a piece of work is _well_ done for the cause in which
he is interested, who gathers the credit. Instinct and tradition have
taught him to set the cause above the prize. It is this characteristic
which makes him such an amazingly successful subordinate official,
whether in the Services or in commerce. He is not vitally interested to
climb to the top. His job, for its own sake, suffices him. He is content
to work below the waterline, and if the Ship goes forward he is
satisfied. So he smiles paternally on these aggressively patriotic
little brethren of his; allows them to absorb all possible credit for
their respective achievements; and philosophically shoulders the
responsibility for the shortcomings of the British Empire. It saves
trouble; it saves explanation; and an average Englishman would rather be
scalped than explain.

This stoical attitude is all very well, but it can undoubtedly be
carried too far. Patience is a virtue, but an overthick skin is not. The
courage of one's convictions can sometimes merge into blind indifference
to the opinions of other people. From here it is a mere step to "You be
damned!"

Let us consider the Englishman as he appears to the other inhabitants of
the globe, be they relatives, friends, or foes.




CHAPTER TWO


An Englishman and an American, in the earlier stages of their
acquaintance, are a complete mystery to one another. It seems incredible
that two such different persons should speak the same tongue.

The points of difference are not fundamental, but superficial. However,
things on the surface are always more conspicuous than things
underneath. For instance, the Englishman and the American are both
naturally warm-hearted. But when an American is glad to see you, he
shakes your hand for quite a while, and possibly will continue to hold
it until he has concluded his address of welcome. The Englishman shakes
your hand vigorously, drops it like a hot potato, and murmurs some
stereotyped greeting to his boots. He feels somehow that it would be
indecent to go farther.

In the subsequent conversation the American speaks as he thinks, clearly
and with cohesion, articulating every syllable in a well-rounded
sentence. To an Englishman, a well-rounded sentence savours of pedantry;
so he clothes what is sometimes a most interesting remark in a few
staccato phrases and a "Don't you know?"

The chief thing that an Englishman dreads at the outset of an
acquaintanceship is expansiveness. The more the stranger expands, the
more the Englishman contracts. The only way to win his confidence is to
show yourself as reticent and as perfunctory in conversation as himself.
He will then recognize in you that rare and precious object, a kindred
spirit, thaw rapidly, and unbosom himself to a surprising extent.

The characteristic of the Englishman which puzzles the American most is
his apparent lack of interest in serious matters, and the carelessness
or frivolity with which he refers to his own particular subject or
specialty. The American, like the Athenian of old, is forever seeking
for some new thing. And when he encounters that new thing, nothing can
prevent him getting to the roots of it. Consequently, when an American
finds himself in the company of a man who possesses certain special
skill or knowledge, it seems right and natural for him to draw that man
out upon his own subject. But when dealing with an Englishman he usually
draws a blank. He is met either by a cold stare or a smiling evasion.
The man may be a distinguished statesman, or soldier, or writer; but to
judge from his responses--half awkward, half humorous--to your shrewdest
and most searching queries, on the subject of politics, or war, or
letters, you will be left with the impression that you have been
conversing with a flippant and rather superficial amateur. To an
American, who is accustomed to say his prayers to the gods of Knowledge
and Efficiency, and who, to do him justice, is always willing to share
knowledge with others, such conduct savours of childishness--nay,
imbecility.

What the American does not realize--and one can hardly blame him--is
this, that the average Englishman is reared up from schoolboyhood in the
fear of two most awful and potent deities: "Side" and "Shop." It is
"side" to talk about yourself, or your work, or your achievements, or
your ambitions, or your wife, or anything that is yours. This is perhaps
no bad thing, but it certainly handicaps you as a conversationalist,
because naturally a man never talks so well as upon his own subject. The
twin deity, "Shop," is an even more ruthless tyrant. Never, under any
circumstances, may you discuss professional matters out of official
hours. To talk "shop" is perhaps the most accursed crime in the English
Secular Decalogue (set down hereafter). For instance, in an English
military Mess, a junior officer who referred at table to matters
connected with the life of the regiment would render himself liable to
stern rebuke. At Oxford or Cambridge, an undergraduate who ventured,
during dinner, upon a quotation from the Classics, would be fined pots
of ale all around.

In short, the more highly you are qualified to speak on a subject, the
more slightingly you refer to it; and the more passionately you are
interested in a matter, the less you say about it.

However, perhaps it would be simpler to set down the Englishman's
Secular Decalogue at length, appending thereto the appropriate comments
of the proverbial Man from Missouri. Here it is.

_The Englishman's Secular Decalogue_

(1) Thou shalt own allegiance to no man, save The King. Thou shalt be
deferential to those above thee in station, and considerate of those
below thee. To those of thine own rank thou mayest behave as seemeth
good to thee.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "I own allegiance to nothing on earth but the
American flag. As a democrat, I recognize no man as being either above
or below me in station."]

(2) Thou shalt worship thine ancestors and family connections.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "You got nothing on me there. We worship our
Ancestors, too. Did you ever know an American who hadn't got his
pedigree worked out to three places of decimals? Besides, that is why
many of us have got such a soft spot for that funny old island of
yours."]

(3) Thou shalt not talk "shop."

[_The Man from Missouri_: "That strikes me as punk. As a business man,
without any mildewed delusions about ancestral acres, or the vulgarity
of trade, my aim in life is to _do_ business, and do it all the time,
and never worry about hurting the feelings of the family ghost."]

(4) Thou shalt not put on side.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "But you _do_!"

_The Englishman_: "No, we _don't_! That stiffness of manner is due to
shyness."

_The Man from Missouri_: "Very well, then. Let it go at that."]

(5) Thou shalt not speak aught but flippantly of matters that concern
thee deeply.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "There you puzzle me to death. When I feel
glad about anything, or bad about anything, or mad about anything--well,
it seems only common sense to say so. Can't you _see that_?"

_The Englishman_: "No. It isn't done."]

(6) Thou shalt never make public thy domestic affairs. Above all, thou
shalt never make open reference to thy women, in places where men gather
together, such as the Club.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, that is sound. Still, I consider that as
a nation you rather overdo the Secrets of the Harem proposition."]

(7) Thou shalt make War as a Sportsman. Thou shalt play the game. That
is to say, thou shalt not study the science too laboriously beforehand,
for that would savour of professionalism. And when thou dost fight thou
shalt have strict regard for the rules, even if it be to thine own hurt.
Moreover, thou shalt play for thy side and not for thyself. Thou shalt
visit no personal affront upon thine enemy when thou dost capture him,
for that is not the game.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, I'm with you there all the time. Perhaps
a little more seriousness and a little less pipeclay might help your
Army, but no one denies their clean fighting."]

(8) Thou shalt never be in a hurry. Thou shalt employ deliberation in
thought.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, sir, I know all about that! It used to
make me hot under the collar to sit and listen to an Englishman's mind
working--on its first speed _all_ the time. Now that I know you better,
I am getting used to it; but I confess, right now, that there was a time
when I regarded your entire nation as solid ivory from the ears up."]

(9) Thou shalt not enter into friendly relations with a stranger, least
of all a foreigner, until thou shalt have made enquiry concerning him.
When thou hast discovered a common bond, however slight, thou shalt take
him to thy bosom.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, that's right. I once shared a ship-cabin
with an Englishman on a seven-day trip. For three days we never got
beyond 'Good morning,' although I could see by the look in his eye that
he was kindly disposed, and was only held back by want of a reference.
However, the fourth day out he asked me if I had ever been in
Shropshire. I said no, but my sister had once visited there, with some
people whose name I have now forgotten. But that was enough. It appeared
that he knew the people; he was their vassal, or overlord, or mortgagee,
or something. After that he wanted to adopt me."]

(10) Thou shalt render thyself inconspicuous. Thou shalt not wear
unusual apparel, or thou shalt be committed to a special hell reserved
for those who, knowing better, wear made-up ties, or who compass
unlawful combinations of frock-coats, derby hats, and tan boots.

[_The Man from Missouri_: "Oh, you Clarence!"]




CHAPTER THREE


The Scotsman, in many ways, regards the Englishman from the same angle
as the American. He shares the American's unconcealed anxiety to get to
the root of the matter, and cannot understand a man who pretends that he
does not want to get to the root of the matter, too. To a Scotsman, "ma
career" (as John Shand used to call it in Barrie's play) is the one
important fact of life; and although the most reserved creature in the
world, he possesses none of the Englishman's self-consciousness; and it
never occurs to him to do anything so palpably insincere as to disown
his legitimate ambitions. To a Scotsman, then, the English are a
frivolous, feckless race, devoid of ambition, and incapable of handling
weighty matters with the required degree of seriousness. So he comes to
London and takes the helm. To-day a Scot is leading the British Army in
France,[1] another is commanding the British Grand Fleet at sea,[2]
while a third directs the Imperial General Staff at home.[3] The Lord
Chancellor is a Scot[4]; so are the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the
Foreign Secretary.[5] (The Prime Minister is a Welshman[6], and The
First Lord of the Admiralty is an Irishman.[7]) Yet no one has ever yet
brought in a bill to give Home Rule to England!

Take the Dominions again. What is the attitude of Canada, Australasia,
and South Africa to the mother country? Well, previous to the War it
must be confessed that the sons of the Empire regarded their parent with
a certain good-humoured tolerance, not unmixed with irritation. The
British Dominions overseas are peopled by an essentially independent and
sturdy race. They are descended from folk who left their native land and
braved the unknown, not because they were sent, but because an
adventurous spirit bade them go forth and better themselves. The British
colonies and dominions were all founded by younger sons, or men in
search of a career. They were never in the first instance fathered by
the State, as such. It was only after British interests in these distant
lands grew too great and unwieldy for private control that the British
Government reluctantly and tardily took over their management
officially. Men sprung from such a stock are naturally impatient of
stay-at-home folk who regard the British Empire as "England," and who
speak patronisingly of "Colonials."

These little differences were purely superficial, and by the subtle
irony of fate it was left to Germany to demonstrate how very superficial
they were. But they undoubtedly existed, very largely owing to the fact
that some--only some--of the later immigrants into the Dominions were of
a less hardy and desirable type than formerly--men who had come abroad
not from any spirit of enterprise or adventure, but because they had
been a failure at home. Such men were neither industrious nor adaptable.
It was this class that was responsible for the occasional appearance in
Canada and Australia of the legend: "No English need apply." Another
injustice to England as a whole!

India, again. Here "Pax, Britannica" exists in its highest and most
creditable form. India is mainly governed by English university men,
selected after laborious preparation and searching examination, from all
walks of life. Each of these men is a living exemplification of the
British supreme talent--the talent for efficient departmental work in a
subordinate position. He may rule a district containing several million
souls, and so long as he rules it, he will rule justly according to his
lights, and he will not make a penny out of the operation. In due course
he will return to England, and live in honourable obscurity upon a
modest pension. But all this will not save him from being denounced as a
tyrant and interloper. The hill tribes of the north will cast resentful
glances upon the man who represents the power which holds them back from
the delectable plunderland of the south; while in Bengal over-educated
Babus will bleat indignantly, regardless of the inevitable consequences
to their property and their women, for the immediate withdrawal of the
officious and unnecessary British rule from India. A thankless
existence, my masters, yet somehow worth while, despite endless
drudgery, absence of personal distinction, and years of absence from
home and children. The Ship goes forward!

On the Continent of Europe, again, the English are regarded with varying
degrees of affection or dislike; but their appraisers are all unanimous
in regarding them as slightly demented. To the French, for instance, the
English Tommy, with his uncanny frivolity in the face of death, his
passion for tea and jam, and his eternal football games behind the
trenches, is a standing enigma and jest. But Frenchmen will always
remember how the little British Army hurled itself to certain
destruction, in August, 1914, at the mere call of friendship, and French
women will never, never forget the exemplary behaviour of the British
soldiers toward the civil population behind the line.

As for the German, his opinion can be succinctly summarised. Before the
War he regarded the Englishman from a military point of view as a
negligible quantity, from the commercial point of view as a back-number,
and from the diplomatic point of view as the easiest thing on earth.
Now, according to latest official intelligence from Potsdam, it was the
reptile statesmanship of England that conspired with France and Russia
to invade peaceful Germany, and it is "English gold" that has lured the
people of America to disastrous participation in the common doom of the
Allies. As a soldier, the Englishman has done better than Potsdam
expected: but only by shameful contravention of the usages of war. The
Prussian is a great stickler for etiquette in this respect. War to him,
whether he be emitting chlorine gas or sinking a hospital ship, is a
serious--nay, sacred--business. But the imbecile English persist in
regarding war as a game. What is worse, they win the game. Not long ago
a regiment of "Kitchener's Army" captured a strongly fortified village
from the Prussian Guard. That was bad enough, but the manner in which it
was done amounted to nothing less than an outrageous breach of
professional etiquette. They went to the assault kicking a football!
Their commander kicked off, and they never stopped until they had kicked
the ball, riddled with bullets, into the trench and captured the
garrison. And yet the English have the temerity to complain of German
breaches of International Law! Yes, I fear the English are most harshly
spoken of in Germany just now.

There remains one other point of view to consider, and that is the Irish
point of view. It must have a chapter to itself. Ireland usually gets a
chapter to herself.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Sir Douglas Haig.

[2] Admiral Beatty.

[3] Sir William Robertson.

[4] Lord Findlay.

[5] A. Bonar Law, who is half Canadian, and Arthur James Balfour.

[6] David Lloyd George.

[7] Sir Edward Carson.




CHAPTER FOUR


One of the first queries put to a Briton by an American after the pair
have achieved a certain degree of intimacy, is: "Why can't you people
settle the Irish Question?"

The form of the query varies in intensity. Earnest well-wishers say: "I
don't profess to understand the ins and outs of the matter, but wouldn't
it save a deal of trouble all round if you were to _give_ them Home Rule
and have done with it?" Candid friends say, quite simply: "If you
English can't run Ireland yourselves, why not let the Irish have a
try?" (Here again we may note that England, not Great Britain, gets the
blame.) Finally, a well-meaning but ferocious lady wrote to me the other
day from the Middle West, to enquire: "How does England dare to pose as
the champion of Belgium, when all the while she is grinding poor Ireland
under her heel?"

All this is very illuminating, and at the same time distressing, to the
stay-at-home Briton, who had always imagined that his domestic troubles
were his own property, and were not causing concern to other people. But
it is an undoubted fact, and cannot be too strongly impressed upon the
English people, that the failure of Great Britain to settle the
so-called Irish Question is a distinct bar to a complete entente
cordiale with America, and, to a certain extent, with the British
Dominions overseas.

But before plunging more deeply into the matter, let us make one thing
clear. It is not from want of effort or from lack of good will on the
part of the English people that the Irish problem still remains
unsolved.

This is not, thank Heaven! a disquisition upon the pros and cons of the
Home Rule Question. Home Rule is coming quite soon, anyway. But it is
permissible to set down here, briefly, the reasons why the English
people have so steadily declined to accede to Ireland's persistent
demand for a separate Parliament for so many years.

The first rock upon which both sides split is the difficulty of
determining what, exactly, is meant by "Home Rule."

When a responsible leader of the Irish Nationalist party states his case
to an audience which is friendly without being bigoted--in Canada, say,
or at a meeting of moderate English Liberals--he clothes his appeal in
some such words as these:

"All we ask is the right, as a little nation, to conduct our affairs in
our own way, without interference from the officials of another and more
powerful nation. Ireland free, and Ireland a nation, can then take her
proper place as a loyal daughter of the Empire, side by side with Canada
and Australia."

Well, nothing could sound more reasonable or unexceptionable than that.
But two comments present themselves. In the first place, you will note
that the orator says "We." "We" means the Nationalist Party,
representing about seventy per cent.--possibly more--of the Irish
nation, and ignores the existence of the minority--a minority which,
before the War, had deliberately and openly declared its intention, and
was fully prepared, to fight and die rather than be forced out of the
Union. Such a determination was doubtless very indefensible, but there
it stands. It is recorded here as one of the trifling factors which
prevent the Irish Question from being settled out of hand by the mere
wave of some amateur magician's wand. Secondly, it implies that Ireland
is not free. Now here is a statement that can be refuted at once.
Ireland is just as free as England and Scotland and Wales. In one
respect her freedom is very much greater, for she is heavily
over-represented in the House of Commons. An Irish member, returned by a
remote Galway fishing village of fifteen hundred voters, can balance the
vote, say, of an English member representing a great working-class
constituency of forty or fifty thousand. If a redistribution of seats,
on a basis of proportional representation, were to be ordered in the
House of Commons to-day, Ireland would automatically lose about thirty
seats. The Irish members, then, wield a power in the councils of the
United Kingdom to-day quite out of proportion to the population of the
country which they represent.

In another respect Ireland enjoys a freedom not vouchsafed to the
nations of the sister isle. In the dim and distant days before the War,
Mr. Lloyd George was engaged in a campaign of what his friends called
Social Reform, and his victims Rank Piracy. One of his most unpopular
flights of legislation was the Land Valuation Act, and another was his
National Insurance scheme. Neither of these acts has ever been visited
upon Ireland, for the simple reason that the Irish people refused to
entertain them at any price; so the oppressed English, as usual, gave
way, and paid the piper alone. Again, last year, when the Military
Service Act, imposing conscription upon every able-bodied man between
nineteen and forty-one, became law, Ireland was once more exempted. To
the black shame and grief of every true Irishman, Ireland to-day stands
officially aloof and alone in the struggle for liberty and humanity. The
thousands of her gallant sons who are fighting in the trenches alongside
their English and Scottish and Ulster comrades find difficulty in
filling up the gaps in their ranks, because certain of their brothers
prefer to stay at home--to make political bargains, or to engage in the
profitable task of supplying the demands of depleted Great Britain for
ablebodied labour.

So much, then, for the little flaws underlying the responsible
Nationalist's earnest appeal. But a greater shock to the sentimental
supporter of Home Rule, as such, comes when he is confronted with this
same modest proposal translated into the actual terms of an Act of
Parliament. The Home Rule Act, the storm-centre of the summer of
1914--so severe was the storm that it quite dispelled the fears of
Germany lest Great Britain should step in and interfere with the great
_coup_ planned for August--contained the following provisions; and
these provisions were the irreducible minimum which the Nationalist
Party (who held the balance of power in the House) were prepared to
accept:

(1) A Parliament to be established in Dublin.

(2) Ireland to be exempt from Imperial taxation. Great Britain was to
pay for the entire upkeep of the Army and Navy, but to continue to pay
the Irish Old Age Pensions, together with an annual subsidy to Ireland.
In other words, England and Scotland were to find the money, and The
Irish Executive were to spend it. The sum involved, including both
direct payments and remissions of taxation, amounted to an annual free
gift of about thirty-five million dollars.

(3) About forty Irish members were to be retained in the House of
Commons.

There were many other clauses, but these three will suffice to show the
difference between a Home Ruler indulging in sentimental aspirations and
the same gentleman engaged in the transaction of business. The second
clause might have passed muster; for the Englishman, with all his
faults, has never been niggardly. But Clause Three broke the camel's
back.

To the average Englishman the one redeeming feature of Home Rule was the
prospect it offered of getting rid, once and for all, of the Irish
members from Westminster. The gentle intimation that forty of these
would still remain, to assist in the counsels of England and Scotland,
and incidentally to glean such further pickings for Ireland as could be
secured by the help of forty skilfully manipulated votes, was too much
even for the much-enduring Englishman. The worm turned, and the storm
broke. It is difficult to understand why such an astute leader as Mr.
Redmond should have insisted upon such a condition; for it automatically
destroyed the claim upon which he based his plea for the sympathy of the
United States and the Dominions--namely, the plea that Ireland should be
permitted to govern herself after the fashion of Canada and Australia,
neither interfering with or being interfered with by the Parliament at
Westminster.

Further into the political merits of the case we need not go. As already
stated, the purpose of this disquisition is not to prove a case for or
against Home Rule, but to point out to friends whose knowledge of the
subject has been derived almost entirely from the perfervid orations of
imaginative gentlemen with Irish surnames and (too often) German
salaries, who have abandoned their beloved land for the more sympathetic
and lucrative atmosphere of New York--firstly, that England during the
past fifty years has stopped at nothing, short of the disintegration of
the United Kingdom, to remove and assuage the ancient grievance of
Ireland; and secondly, that the chief bar to a complete and speedy
settlement of the affair is, and always has been, the inability of a
lovable but irresponsible people to agree amongst themselves as to what
they really want.

The task of redressing wrongs has not been confined to one Party. Fifty
years ago the Church of England was the Established Church of
Ireland--an obvious injustice to a people of whom the great majority
were Catholics. Therefore the Church of England in Ireland was
disestablished, by a Liberal Government under Mr. Gladstone. Again, for
generations the cry had gone up from Ireland that Irish land was owned
by great landlords of English descent, who spent most of their time in
London, and confined their energies as lords of the manor to evicting
such of their tenants as could not or would not pay their rent. This was
obviously a very wrong state of affairs, and fifteen years ago a
Unionist Government set out to put it right. Parliament passed George
Wyndham's Land Purchase Act, the object of which was to enable the
tenant-farmers of Ireland to _buy_ their farms from the landlords. The
tenant was invited to state the sum which he could afford to pay for his
farm, and the landlord was invited to state the sum which he was
prepared to accept. This was indeed a gorgeous opportunity for both
tenant and landlord. The two amounts, having been stated, were adjusted
and confirmed by a Board, and the intervening gap--no small gap, as may
be imagined--was bridged by the English taxpayer. This little experiment
in philanthropy cost the tyrannical English considerably more than five
hundred million dollars. Under its provisions every Irish peasant is now
his own proprietor. Evictions are a thing of the past. Yet how often is
this fact so much as admitted by soulful exploiters of Erin's wrongs in
America or the Dominions?

Then, as regards Ireland's inability to express her desires with a
single voice. Roughly, Irish political parties fall under the following
heads:

(1) The official Nationalist Party, under Mr. John Redmond.

(2) The Protestants of the North.

(3) The Unionists of the South and West.

(4) The frankly revolutionary party (Sinn Feinn, Clan-na-Gael, etc.),
whose "platform" is absolute separation from England and the British
Empire.

The official Nationalist Party is divided into many groups, but at its
best it represents the true soul of Ireland--the soul of a
high-spirited, imaginative, and intensely quick-witted people--fiercely
impatient of the stolid, matter-of-fact, self-complacent race across the
Irish Sea. In this respect Ireland resembles a "temperamental" wife
married to an intensely respectable but unexciting husband. She wants to
"live her own life." The Irish character again, ever prone to dream and
brood, prevents Ireland from forgetting her ancient wrongs. Heaven knows
they were grievous enough; but they were probably no worse than those of
Scotland; and if they had been regarded as hers were by Scotland, they
need have left no permanent mark. Edward the First, "The Hammer of the
Scots," wrought no less havoc in the days of Wallace than Essex and Sir
John Perrot in the time of Elizabeth. Ireland has her Ormonde, and that
grim forerunner of Democracy, Oliver Cromwell. Scotland can point, with
an equal degree of unhappy satisfaction, to Claverhouse and the Butcher
Cumberland. But the phlegmatic Scot has avenged these outrages in subtle
fashion. He does not brood; he simply migrates to England in the
capacity of a peaceful trader, and proceeds to spoil the Egyptians at
his leisure. Ireland, differently constituted, refuses to forget. And it
is those two overwhelming forces--undying resentment, and impatience of
the control of an intellectually inferior though mentally more stable
race--that lie at the root of the Irish Home Rule agitation of to-day.
"Leave us to ourselves!" cry the Nationalists. "We don't _want_ to be
brought up-to-date! We don't _want_ to be made business-like and
efficient! We don't _want_ scientific farming, or state-aided
incubators, or sanitary milk cans. We are not interested in the glorious
British Empire. We only ask to be left alone with our own beloved,
witty, unmethodical country, to manage or mismanage as we please!" And
it is that sentiment which has underlain the steady, consistent
resistance of the official Nationalist Party to all attempts on the part
of England--some of them very admirable attempts--to improve the
condition of Ireland. Their attitude is perfectly logical. Such
legislation, if successful, would prevent the coming of Home Rule. And
most of the bitterness and sorrow of the last thirty years has arisen
from the inability--perhaps natural--of the average matter-of-fact
Englishman to appreciate that attitude of mind.

"We offer you," he says, "a fair and equal share--the same as our
own--in the running of the greatest Empire that the world has ever seen.
For goodness sake what more do you want?" And back, without fail, comes
the unvarying cry--so heartfelt, so tragic, yet in many ways so
unsubstantial:--

"Ireland a Nation! Ireland Free!"

And if only Ireland could have formulated her appeal in a spirit more in
accordance with that genuine _cri du coeur_, and less in the spirit of
the extremely materialistic Home Rule Bill of 1914, there is little
doubt that she would have had her wish long ago.


Then Ulster. The men of Ulster differ entirely from the other elements
of Irish political society in knowing exactly what they want.

"We belong," they announce, "to the Union; we are proud of the Union;
and we shall resist, to the death if need be, any attempts to force us
out of it."

That is all there is to be said about Ulster. But the brevity of
Ulster's contribution to the controversy does not simplify the solution
in any way.

Here is a curious footnote to the Ulster problem. Americans will
remember that in the early summer of 1914 certain British Regiments
(unconscious of the very different task which awaited them in August)
were instructed to hold themselves in readiness to enforce the Home Rule
Act on Ulster. A number of the officers of those regiments resigned
their commissions rather than fight against their own kin. They were
much criticised at the time. But in 1776, when the British Army was
mobilized against the American Colonies, a number of British officers
resigned their commissions, too (and incidentally sacrificed their
careers), rather than fight against their own flesh and blood across the
sea. Thus does History repeat herself.


Then the Unionists of the West and South. Their sentiments are the
sentiments of Ulster, but their position is very different. Though
numerically quite strong, they are scattered over a wide area. They
cannot, like centralized Ulster, act on "interior lines"; and it is
probable that when a definite form of Home Rule crystallizes out of the
present turmoil, it will be found that their interests have been
sacrificed by the mutual consent of the stronger factions.


Lastly, that curious medley of brooding visionaries--ever the prey of
the agitator--political place-hunters, subsidised pro-Germans, and
ordinary cut-throats, which calls itself Sinn Feinn. This interesting
organization is actuated by a variety of sentiments, varying from a
passionate remembrance of woes long past down to a sound business
instinct for the loaves and fishes of salaried office. The tie which
binds together all its incongruous elements is a fierce hatred of
England, derived possibly from the remembrance that rather more than two
centuries ago Oliver Cromwell sacked the fair city of Drogheda, or in
certain individual cases from a lively personal recollection of having
been committed to gaol for three months by a tyrannical magistrate for
the trifling indiscretion of burglary or theft.

Whatever its motives or ideals, this party has only one panacea for all
ills, and that is complete separation from "England." They aspire to
none of the status of Canada or the other Dominions; they are out for
secession, pure and simple--secession accompanied, if possible, by a
mortal blow at the hated pride of England. In order to put their amiable
intention into effect, the Sinn Feinners proceeded, on Easter Monday of
1916, to deal the British peoples, including some three hundred thousand
of their own compatriots serving on the Western Front, a stab in the
back in the shape of that grim medley of tragedy and farce, the Dublin
"revolution." The farce was supplied by Germany, which deposited upon
the western shores of Ireland, from a submarine, a degenerate criminal
lunatic named Casement, who had already failed egregiously in a
monstrous effort to seduce the Irish prisoners in the German prison
camps from allegiance to their cause. Casement was promptly arrested by
the local village policeman, and his share in the matter ended. But in
Dublin there was no lack of tragedy. The forces of the "revolution"
struck the first blow for Freedom by an indiscriminate massacre of such
British soldiers as happened to be strolling about the streets, unarmed,
in their "walking out" dress. The killing was then extended to a large
number of innocent civilians, not all of the male sex; and the apostles
of Freedom then settled down, with the able assistance of the slum
population, to the unrestrained looting of the shops and houses of
Dublin.

Naturally the whole of Ireland stood aghast at the crime. Denunciations
of the murderers poured in from every side, irrespective of political
creed. The leader of the Nationalist Party publicly repudiated and
condemned the occurrence in the House of Commons. Never did England and
Ireland stand so close together as on that day. But one thing was
morally certain from the start, and that was that when the first flush
of indignation had died down, the old pernicious sentimentality and
political animus would raise their heads again. And it was so. The
"revolution" was crushed. Some twelve or fifteen executions took place,
either of men who had been directly convicted of deliberate murder, or
of those who had set their names to the outrageous document which
authorized the same. It is difficult, considering the circumstances, to
see how a conscientious tribunal could have done less, for to have
condoned such a blend of black treachery and plain murder would rightly
have been construed as an act of weakness. But it is even more
difficult--nay, impossible--to conceive any handling of the situation
out of which persons interested would have refrained from making
political capital. The Oppressed English were booked for trouble, both
"going and coming."

Probably it would have been best to have held a series of drumhead
courts-martial, followed by instantaneous executions, wherever
necessary, while public opinion was not merely prepared but anxious for
such. But that is not the English way. Each prisoner was accorded a
full, conscientious, and lengthy trial. What was worse, the trials were
held _seriatim_; with the result that by the time the last man had been
condemned or acquitted, Irish public opinion, ever volatile, had veered
round to an attitude of sympathy with the frustrated conspirators. The
opportunity to denounce "English justice" was too strong. The fact that
scores of innocent people had been foully murdered by the
"revolutionists" was forgotten. As might have been anticipated from the
start, the odium for the whole tragic occurrence, both the crime and
the punishment, was laid by popular acclamation upon the shoulders of
England. To-day, particularly in the United States, industrious
propagandists are busily engaged in extolling the virtues of the
departed criminals; and no tale seems too improbable, no accusation too
fantastic, for those whose profession it is to disseminate them.

One case in particular has gained unnecessary notoriety in the United
States. An unfortunate man named Skeffington, a harmless visionary,
instead of following the counsels of common sense and staying at home,
wandered forth into the streets of Dublin during the height of the
rioting. Here he was arrested by an English officer who, with a party
of troops, was engaged in clearing the streets. This officer had
recently returned from the Western Front on sick leave. Utterly unstrung
by the appalling sights which confronted him, he appears to have
suddenly lost his mental balance. At the end of the day he visited the
barracks where his prisoners were confined, selected Skeffington and two
others, and ordered their execution. The sentence was carried out. In
due course the matter was reported to the authorities; a searching
inquiry was held; and the afflicted officer was confined in an insane
asylum. Such are the facts of the wretched occurrence; the wonder is,
not that it should have happened, but that, in all the turmoil and
agony of that hellish night in Dublin, it should only have happened
once. But it is easy to imagine the form in which the story is being
presented in the United States. Poor Skeffington is now canonised as a
man who died for freedom with his back against a wall; while his widow
is, or was, touring the chief cities of America, where she is being
exploited by astute politicians (with Teutonic axes to grind) as a
victim of the tyrannical "English" Government.




CHAPTER FIVE


The redeeming feature of Irish politics lies in the fact that the
grimmest tragedy is never far removed from the wildest farce. For
example, within the last few months two by-elections have been held in
Ireland for the purpose of returning new members to the House of
Commons. In each case the candidates have been respectively an official
Nationalist and a Sinn Feinner. That is to say, a representative of the
constitutional Home Rule Party has been pitted against a member of the
frankly separatist and revolutionary party. In each case the Sinn
Feinner has been elected. The fact that one of these gentlemen is at
present undergoing a term of penal servitude somewhat prejudices his
chances of taking part for the present in the counsels of the Empire. It
also adds one more little complication to the task of selecting a
suitable constitution for a nation which allows its undoubted sense of
humour to run away so completely with its sense of national
responsibility.

As these words are written, the news comes that that resourceful
statesman, David Lloyd George, has conceived the happy notion of
collecting all the Irish political parties around one table, with
instructions to evolve a constitution of their own--the instructions
being backed by the information that the offspring of this convention,
provided it conforms to the most elementary criterions of common sense,
will receive official endorsement forthwith. The present titanic
struggle on the Western Front pales into insignificance at the thought
of what will go on around that table. What will be evolved we do not
know; but two things seem certain. Firstly, practically any scheme of
Home Rule upon which the combatants can agree will be accepted by the
people of England and Scotland. They are genuinely fond of their brave,
witty, and turbulent neighbours; they are genuinely appreciative of the
splendid work that has been done in the War by the Irish troops; they
are broadminded enough to bear no malice for the recent disturbance in
Dublin, for they can now view that untimely abortion in the right
perspective; and they are painfully conscious that their own efforts to
confer peace and contentment upon Ireland have not been an unqualified
success. Finally, they are sick of strife and argument; and it is
probable that any scheme which does not abandon Ireland, and
incidentally expose the adjoining coast of England, to the intrigues and
designs of a corrupt and Teutonically inclined Separatist Party--and it
is this fear which has lain at the very foot of English opposition to
Irish Home Rule for generations--will go through. And may that day not
be far distant!

Secondly (and from the point of view of this laboured discourse, most
important of all), it can never be said again, either by doubting friend
or candid critic, that Ireland is debarred from selecting her own form
of government by the action of the English people.




CHAPTER SIX


Ireland, as ever, has drawn us far from our text.

But I have said enough to demonstrate to unbiassed observers the present
deplorable status of that unfortunate country, England. To-day her chief
offices of State are occupied by Scotsmen of the most ruthless type;
Wales supplies her with Prime Ministers; while Ireland appropriates all
her spare cash and calls her a bloodsucker. When the War is over, and
the world has leisure to devote itself to certain long-postponed
domestic reforms, it is most devoutly to be hoped that the case of that
unhappy but not undeserving people, the English, may be taken in hand,
and that they be granted some measure, however slight, of political
freedom. After that we must do something for Poland.


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End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Oppressed English, by Ian Hay

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