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The Spike or Victoria University College Review September 1924

James Ramsay MacDonald

page 45

James Ramsay MacDonald

There is a little village far away in the North of Scotland, beside the grey waves of Moray Firth, where dwells a people in whose veins the blood of the Highland Scot mingles with that of the Scandinavian Sea Rover. It is a village set in a county rich in a heritage of legend—a heritage that is enshrined in the ruined castle of Spynie, and away beyond in the wonderful remains of Elgin Cathedral—it is the village of Lossiemouth. It was here that there was born, over fifty years ago, in a two-roomed but and ben, one of those rare spirits who in every age seem to stir men's minds with visions of better things and to inspire those great movements that mark Humanity's slow progress towards the ideal.

James Ramsay MacDonald was born in Scotland with all the material circumstances loaded heavily against him. In the very first years of his life the stinging reality of poverty was burned into his child's mind as he wandered the cruel streets of London, penniless, in search of employment, without a friend, lonely and desperately poor. Little wonder, then, that in the after years when a man from his own Scotland arose in England to champion the cause of the common people, MacDonald was able to turn to him with an understanding sympathy. When Keir Hardie appeared in the public life of Great Britain, fighting an election campaign with only the name of Labour on his banner, sounding the note for the independent representation of the world of Labour in Parliament, Ramsay MacDonald wrote to him, wishing him God speed in the effort, and on that day the first contact was established between two men who were to create a movement that would profoundly influence the whole world's future.

A few short years and MacDonald, finally breaking away from the old Liberalism, entered upon his life work as he joined hands with Keir Hardie in a great effort to bring into being a new political movement of Labour that would set out to create that fairer and nobler order of things that he called by the name of Socialism.

Twice he fought election campaigns and twice he was defeated, but it was an ideal that must be realised, and with the same indomitable courage that enabled him to triumph over poverty, he threw all his strength and all his energy into the effort until at last his work bore fruit in the formation of the first Labour Representation Committee.

Another General Election, and there were a million souls pledged to support the new movement—fifty candidates in the field, and MacDonald one of them, fighting with a new inspiration and bringing idealism into Politics. The traditional parties were challenged as they had never been challenged before, and all England was startled by the advent of a new political force. When the heat of the battle had passed, away in the village of Lossiemouth there was a torchlight procession wending its way through the streets towards the little home of MacDonald's mother, to announce the election of her son to the British House of Commons.

In Parliament, hailed by men of vision as one of the world's coming men, the boy who had wandered the streets of London in poverty had elevated himself from insignificance to fame; but his achievement was greater, far greater even than this, for he had created a new hope for millions of men and women to whom life page 46 is a starved and stunted thing—he had created a new power, a power that to-day is moulding the destinies of the British Empire—nay, is bringing peace and hope to the whole world of men—he had created the greatest political force of the age. The dream of James Ramsay MacDonald had taken shape in reality—the Labour Party was born, and the great purpose of MacDonald's life was achieved.

There is a vein of tragedy that seems to run through the story of the lives of the world's great men, and it appears more than once in MacDonald's life story. It had been his dearest hope that the working people of all lands should be drawn closer together in a brotherhood that would rise above nationality, and year after year in the International Conferences of Labour he had pledged his very life to the lofty ideal of human brotherhood; but there were forces at work in all the nations, silently ranging the people one against the other, and the war clouds were fast gathering over Europe, until in 1914 suddenly, with a lightning flash, there burst the storm that was to shatter his dream.

In that fateful sitting of the British House of Commons, after every other political leader had thrown his influence on the side of war, there was a tense silence as Ramsay MacDonald arose, a solitary figure, to voice his protest against Britain's entry into a war that would solve nothing, achieve nothing, and only serve to degrade the people who engaged in it. Only a few days, and the very Labour movement that he had led swung over to the side of war, leaving MacDonald in isolation, save for a few friends. A few years, and his life comrade, Keir Hardie, passed to his grave, literally broken-hearted.

Another General Election, and MacDonald was rejected by an overwhelming majority of 14,000 votes—yet another election, and again rejected. Oh! his story is the story of all the Prophets through all the ages; despised and rejected, but

"Count to me o'er earth's chosen heroes,

They were souls that stood alone ..."

In these days Ramsay MacDonald stood alone as few men have, but he had faced the world alone before, and now once again, with the same unflinching will, yea, with the very will and courage of the martyrs, he faced a hostile world—a world that was mad with the passions of War.

Once again he commenced an uphill fight. He was libelled and vilified—'Traitor, Pacifist! Disloyalist!" these were the terms that were thrown at his head. "To the tower with Ramsay MacDonald!"—that was the language of a placard that was posted throughout the length and breadth of England.

Almost in the very shadow of the Cross, with the storm of the war passions beating around him, in the face of the bitterest of opposition, he proclaimed his faith and in defiance of popular opinion he preached his ideals, and as all the falsehood of the wartime propaganda was mercilessly exposed, as year followed year, and the toll of wealth and life mounted up, there was a significant change in the opinion of Labour. Until . . . the next picture in the story of his life is that of a huge London crowd that watched the night signs on the night of the 16th November, 1922. The fog was sweeping up and the air was deathly cold, till, when after three hours of patient watching, a notice was flashed on the notice board, there was a curious thrill ran through the crowd as they read the announcement: "Aberavon—A Labour Gain." The cheers page 47 rang out. Ramsay MacDonald had entered public life once more. Victory followed victory. Chosen by the Labour Party as its selected leader, MacDonald entered Parliament once again—this time as leader of His Majesty's Opposition.

Could any victory be greater?—but there was a greater yet to come. Another General Election, and with dramatic suddenness Ramsay MacDonald was called upon to fill the high office of Prime Minister of Great Britain—called upon to deal with problems that involved the whole future of the world's civilisation.

Oh, you who have ears to hear, listen as Ramsay MacDonald takes office, with these words on his lips: "The first great duty we put our hands to is to establish peace and create the conditions of peace." No longer the old slogan, "Prepare for war," but at last the new ideal, "Prepare for peace." Listen again as he thrills that huge Albert Hall meeting with the fervour of his idealism: "We have built our final habitation away on the horizon. We are a party of idealists. We are a party that away in the dreamland of imagination dwells in the social organisation fairer and more perfect than any organisation that mankind has ever known."

There is a mighty struggle being fought out to-day in Europe, in the whole world's wide arena, in the hearts of men. It is a struggle between the old and the new, between old ways of thinking, old conceptions, and the new ideals. The old has brought destruction, death and war with all its hideousness to the world, but through the ruins Ramsay MacDonald comes with the light of idealism in his eyes, challenging the old and proclaiming the new.

Slowly the antagonisms that divide the nations, the ugliness and the beastly hatreds vanish before the touch of the new idealism. Almost miraculously problems that all the older policies and the older statesmen had failed to solve are solved, and MacDonald is turning the tide of the world's events towards peace and happiness in a way that makes the whole world marvel.

And now as we leave Ramsay MacDonald to ponder over the lives of other great men, let us think of him slowly working into the texture of the world's affairs the ideals that he has preached all the years of his life; let us think of him as he looks away towards the horizon, where, in his imagination, there exists that nobler and more perfect order towards which all Humanity is moving; let us think of him as his voice rings out with the calm assurance of a great faith, saying—

"These things shall be! a loftier race
Than e'er the world hath known shall rise,
With flame of freedom in their souls
And light of knowledge in their eyes."