back by popular demand, the (first) successor piece to this
THE BIZARRE CONTINUED SURVIVAL OF LIBERAL ENGLAND
1932-1937: Alec Ewart Glassey (Liberal-‘Progress’)[1]
1934: Herbert Morrison (Labour), Winston Churchill (Liberal ‘Right’ – Conservative)
1937-1941: Alec Ewart Glassey (Liberal-led-Wartime Coalition)[2]
1941-1944: Alec Ewart Glassey (Liberal-Labour-Conservative “Grand Coalition”)[3]
1941: Winston Churchill (‘Rump’ Conservative)
1944-1949: George Schuster (Liberal-Labour-Conservative “Grand Coalition”)
1945: Geoffrey de Freitas (“United" Alliance)[4]
1949-1953: George Schuster (Liberal)
1950: Tom Williams (Labour), Anthony Eden (Conservative)
1953-1956: Aidan Merivale Crawley (Liberal)[5]
1955: Clement Davies (Labour), Anthony Eden (Conservative)
1956-1956: Aidan Merivale Crawley (Liberal minority)
1956-: Clement Davies (Labour minority)[6]
1956: Aidan Merivale Crawley (Liberal), Charles Duncombe, 3rd Earl of Feversham (Conservative)
[1] Prime Minister Walters’ resignation from stress and overwork, three years into implementing his massive new housing plan, was sad but not exactly surprising; he had seemed a man at sea for much of his premiership, and dealing with the world economy collapse (and raging conflict in Pacific) would have tried anyone. Nonetheless, his successor would be made (very consciously) of sterner stuff – at 45, Home Secretary Glassey was seen as the Liberals’ charismatic wonder-boy, had done a bang-up job in reassuring the public that the Liberals were here to effect change - and when Opposition benches tried heckling him as “Shattered” Glassey, he retorted that the only thing that had shattered was their majority. He proved it, too, resoundingly thumping Morrison and Churchill in 1934, as the taint of the ill-conceived “Illiberal Alliance” hung over both their heads. And if he had had a free hand, Prime Minister Glassey could have continued with his bold plans for economic reform; the ghost of the Great Swan-Dive finally banished.
[2] Instead, a torpedo went on its merry way into the belly of a British passenger liner. The RMS Samaria sunk in a manner of minutes, off the coast of Australia, and that tussle between the two giants of the Pacific, America and Japan, finally went international. Glassey declared, flanked by his cabinet, that “We cannot accept the naked premise that might makes right, that munitions make morality, that slaughter grants sovereignty. And so we shall not accept it.” And so it was war.
[3] A torturous campaign of island hopping commenced – but Prime Minister Glassey (backed up ultimately by the subsequent intervention of Brazil, Spain, and even Germany) would not give in. By 1940 he could proclaim, proudly, that “the hour of liberation is now at hand”, as British troops fresh from victory in Puerto Rico finally landed in Tampa Bay, accompanied by the Japanese seizure of San Diego. It would take Mexico’s intervention, alongside a brutal year of northwards marching – before a resistance-planted landmine killed President Wickliffe Draper on the retreat from Harrisburg, and with him the American will to keep fighting.
After that Glassey just had to deal with low level guerilla warfare – and with the equally ineffective pro-American efforts of Winston Churchill. The biggest challenge, frankly, was his own exhaustion, and Alec “Unbreakable” Glassey resigned of his own accord after 12 years, leaving the reins of the Grand Coalition to his competent Foreign Secretary.
[4] The coalition might have broken up sooner had Geoffrey de Freitas not persisted in leading an (increasingly senseless) opposition to British occupation. As de Freitas harangued the government for burning down Washington (again) and installing a British-born, half-American in power, most of the country was quietly grateful for the order that Provisional President Macmillan had restored to their western neighbor.
[5] Everything Aidan Crawley touched turned to gold, or so it seemed. The charming, square-jawed former cricketer mixed even-handedness with a genuine desire to build on Glassey’s reforms, and his rise was meteoric. But timed wrong. He went from Housing Secretary to Prime Minister at a time when the Schuster government – and the Liberal Party – was in free fall. Schuster was old and gray, the Coalition had fallen apart, and the Liberal Party itself had been in power for almost three decades. It is to Crawley’s immense credit (and to his ability to work with the new medium of television), that with the backdrop of a weak economy and rising foreign tensions, he fought the surging Labour Party to a standstill. But his majority of three seats was simply too thin – and with its erosion and a new general election that had the air of inevitability to it, the Liberals sunk to second place for the first time in a generation.
[6] Clement Davies was, ironically enough, himself a former Liberal – but discontent with the wartime coalition and the tepid pace of reform set by Schuster had pushed him into the open arms of the Labour Party – and as one of the few members with actual experience in government and long-term parliamentary service, his succession after Tom Williams, as a more moderate voice, was not altogether that unexpected.
The Caesarea Crisis was.
THE BIZARRE CONTINUED SURVIVAL OF LIBERAL ENGLAND
1932-1937: Alec Ewart Glassey (Liberal-‘Progress’)[1]
1934: Herbert Morrison (Labour), Winston Churchill (Liberal ‘Right’ – Conservative)
1937-1941: Alec Ewart Glassey (Liberal-led-Wartime Coalition)[2]
1941-1944: Alec Ewart Glassey (Liberal-Labour-Conservative “Grand Coalition”)[3]
1941: Winston Churchill (‘Rump’ Conservative)
1944-1949: George Schuster (Liberal-Labour-Conservative “Grand Coalition”)
1945: Geoffrey de Freitas (“United" Alliance)[4]
1949-1953: George Schuster (Liberal)
1950: Tom Williams (Labour), Anthony Eden (Conservative)
1953-1956: Aidan Merivale Crawley (Liberal)[5]
1955: Clement Davies (Labour), Anthony Eden (Conservative)
1956-1956: Aidan Merivale Crawley (Liberal minority)
1956-: Clement Davies (Labour minority)[6]
1956: Aidan Merivale Crawley (Liberal), Charles Duncombe, 3rd Earl of Feversham (Conservative)
[1] Prime Minister Walters’ resignation from stress and overwork, three years into implementing his massive new housing plan, was sad but not exactly surprising; he had seemed a man at sea for much of his premiership, and dealing with the world economy collapse (and raging conflict in Pacific) would have tried anyone. Nonetheless, his successor would be made (very consciously) of sterner stuff – at 45, Home Secretary Glassey was seen as the Liberals’ charismatic wonder-boy, had done a bang-up job in reassuring the public that the Liberals were here to effect change - and when Opposition benches tried heckling him as “Shattered” Glassey, he retorted that the only thing that had shattered was their majority. He proved it, too, resoundingly thumping Morrison and Churchill in 1934, as the taint of the ill-conceived “Illiberal Alliance” hung over both their heads. And if he had had a free hand, Prime Minister Glassey could have continued with his bold plans for economic reform; the ghost of the Great Swan-Dive finally banished.
[2] Instead, a torpedo went on its merry way into the belly of a British passenger liner. The RMS Samaria sunk in a manner of minutes, off the coast of Australia, and that tussle between the two giants of the Pacific, America and Japan, finally went international. Glassey declared, flanked by his cabinet, that “We cannot accept the naked premise that might makes right, that munitions make morality, that slaughter grants sovereignty. And so we shall not accept it.” And so it was war.
[3] A torturous campaign of island hopping commenced – but Prime Minister Glassey (backed up ultimately by the subsequent intervention of Brazil, Spain, and even Germany) would not give in. By 1940 he could proclaim, proudly, that “the hour of liberation is now at hand”, as British troops fresh from victory in Puerto Rico finally landed in Tampa Bay, accompanied by the Japanese seizure of San Diego. It would take Mexico’s intervention, alongside a brutal year of northwards marching – before a resistance-planted landmine killed President Wickliffe Draper on the retreat from Harrisburg, and with him the American will to keep fighting.
After that Glassey just had to deal with low level guerilla warfare – and with the equally ineffective pro-American efforts of Winston Churchill. The biggest challenge, frankly, was his own exhaustion, and Alec “Unbreakable” Glassey resigned of his own accord after 12 years, leaving the reins of the Grand Coalition to his competent Foreign Secretary.
[4] The coalition might have broken up sooner had Geoffrey de Freitas not persisted in leading an (increasingly senseless) opposition to British occupation. As de Freitas harangued the government for burning down Washington (again) and installing a British-born, half-American in power, most of the country was quietly grateful for the order that Provisional President Macmillan had restored to their western neighbor.
[5] Everything Aidan Crawley touched turned to gold, or so it seemed. The charming, square-jawed former cricketer mixed even-handedness with a genuine desire to build on Glassey’s reforms, and his rise was meteoric. But timed wrong. He went from Housing Secretary to Prime Minister at a time when the Schuster government – and the Liberal Party – was in free fall. Schuster was old and gray, the Coalition had fallen apart, and the Liberal Party itself had been in power for almost three decades. It is to Crawley’s immense credit (and to his ability to work with the new medium of television), that with the backdrop of a weak economy and rising foreign tensions, he fought the surging Labour Party to a standstill. But his majority of three seats was simply too thin – and with its erosion and a new general election that had the air of inevitability to it, the Liberals sunk to second place for the first time in a generation.
[6] Clement Davies was, ironically enough, himself a former Liberal – but discontent with the wartime coalition and the tepid pace of reform set by Schuster had pushed him into the open arms of the Labour Party – and as one of the few members with actual experience in government and long-term parliamentary service, his succession after Tom Williams, as a more moderate voice, was not altogether that unexpected.
The Caesarea Crisis was.
Last edited:
