Gavin Thomas, The British Constitution (London: World, 2005)
… The period between the 1921 and 1923 general elections is sometimes called the Imperial Spring, not because the party had a resurgence but because it melted away. The 1921 vote, carried out under heavy government pressure, brought 207 Imperials into Parliament, along with about twenty nominally independent allies. A year later, fewer than 150 MPs took the Imperial whip, with some losing their seats in by-elections and others crossing the floor or becoming independent. And by the time the National Government resigned and the campaign for the October 1923 poll began, the number of Imperial stalwarts stood at 108.
Not even that many would survive the voting. The 1923 election was the first truly free one since 1914, and the first since 1911 to be held under anything resembling normal conditions. Whatever appeal the Imperial platform may have had during the depression, seven years of disastrous rule ensured that it didn’t carry over to the recovery. When the votes were counted, Ulster was the only region where Imperial support held up: the party won a few seats elsewhere in the country, but finished with just 28 representatives in Westminster.
Many of the former Imperial seats ironically went Socialist, going from one form of radicalism to the other. The Socialists indeed emerged the largest party, winning 253 seats, with the remainder being divided between the Liberals, the Tories (now renamed the Progressive Conservatives), the True Conservatives and splinter parties. There was some discussion of another Tory-Liberal coalition, but too many people remembered how calamitous the last one had been, and by this time, a majority of Liberal MPs were Liberal-Labour, so the Liberals chose to align with the Socialists instead. On 20 November 1923, Herbert George Wells entered 10 Downing Street as Britain’s first Socialist Prime Minister…
… The Socialists had promised to give Britain a written constitution, and there was surprisingly little resistance: so thoroughly had the unwritten constitution been shredded during the Imperial era that nearly everyone agreed the rules should be codified. But the Socialists’ lack of a majority meant that the constitution would not be the sweeping document it had envisioned. The draft voted out of the House of Commons in early 1925 did guarantee universal suffrage, equal rights for women and a broad range of civil liberties, but it said little about economic rights. Several of those had already been enacted by ordinary legislation – including a bill preserving some of the Imperials’ better ideas, such as works councils and wage floors – but these would be subject to review by future Parliaments rather than being placed off limits.
The monarchy and the House of Lords also proved highly contentious. The Socialists ran on a republican platform, but no other party supported them. The most they were able to get, as part of the coalition agreement, was a referendum on the monarchy to be held before the constitution went to final draft. And although a referendum in late 1921 or even 1922 would likely have returned a majority in favor of a republic, the political environment in 1924 was very different.
The Socialists ran a strong “yes” campaign, focusing on the myriad ways that King Albert had facilitated Imperial misrule. But by this time, George V, now eighteen years old, had made a strong first impression, and the sentimental attachment that many people held for the monarchy had returned. The “no” campaign also made the more practical point that the dominions would be more likely to accept the sovereignty of a king than a British president, and that abolition of the monarchy in Britain would likely be followed by a similar move in Ireland. With Ulster again a battlefield and Ireland under a strongly nationalist Catholic government, Irish withdrawal from the empire could lead to war.
The referendum was, in other words, one of the first tests of Nils Branting’s theory of sovereignty, popularly known as “neo-feudalism.” [1] And while Branting’s arguments about monarchy as a unifying force were little mentioned during the campaign, the voters were swayed by precisely that. One of the new features of the referendum was exit polling, and of the 63 percent who voted in favor of keeping the monarchy, a majority said that “keeping the empire together” was the deciding factor.
As for the House of Lords, the Socialists strongly favored abolishing it and replacing it with a senate elected by proportional representation. They again faced opposition from much of the rest of the political spectrum, though, and they also remembered that the Lords had been the final check on the Imperial Government. By the time the horse-trading began, the party’s heart wasn’t really in the push for abolition, and while they secured significant reforms, these ironically involved
expanding the number of peers.
The constitution would curb the Lords’ power over domestic affairs: they no longer had a vote on money bills, and other acts could become law without their assent if passed in three successive parliamentary sessions. No new hereditary peerages could be created, and if an existing line became extinct, its titles would be extinguished. But at the same time, the ability to create life peers was expanded – including, for the first time, allowing women to be given life peerages – and Asquith’s much-derided Imperial Lords scheme was resurrected in a form more acceptable to the Socialists.
Two categories of people from outside Britain were given the right to sit in the Lords: up to twenty judges, who would sit as Law Lords and Privy Council members and act as a final court of appeal for the empire; and up to two hundred life peers chosen by the elected legislatures of the dominions and colonies. In those colonies with partially-elected legislatures, only the elected members would participate in choosing these peers. And legislation affecting the empire as a whole
would require the assent of both the House of Lords as a whole and a majority of the “imperial peers.” If any territory were to leave the British Empire, its peers would retain their titles – as the Indian peers did, notwithstanding the recognition of the Republic of India – but lose the right to vote in the Lords.
This was a compromise that left no one very happy, but like many such compromises, it would last for some time. And even many of the Socialists became reconciled to the scheme when they learned who some of the new life peers would be: Mary Obioma, hero of the Igbo Women’s War; the Madras communist Mohanraj Neelakandan; Trinidad trade-union leader Samuel Butler; and Xolile Nyusile of the All-South Africa Reform Congress. Another, somewhat embarrassed, new peer was Funmilayo Abacar, who became Baroness Touré of Ife at the same time that she sat as a socialist deputy in the French parliament…
Mary Lynch, The Irish Question and the Formation of the Commonwealth (London: Macmillan, 1988)
… Ireland and Jamaica were the two most intractable problems facing the post-Imperial empire, and the former was closer to home. In the wake of the Imperial Government’s fall, many Catholics who had been driven out of Ulster made their return, some of them with arms provided under the table by the Irish government. In Donegal and Cavan, especially, they ran into the Scottish and Northern English farmers who had settled there under Imperial land grants, and who were in no mood to leave their new farms and return to being landless tenants in Britain. The indecisiveness of the National Government, which had agreed to put off most controversial matters until the 1923 election, led the settlers to form militias, and by the time peace was made in India, the Second Donegal War had begun in northern Ireland.
The Socialist-Liberal coalition was divided on how to respond. Many of the Socialists wanted to return all of Ulster to Ireland and wash their hands of the matter, but the Imperial MPs who made up the great majority of the Ulster declaration vowed to declare independence if that happened. The prospect of a full-scale war between Ulster and Ireland, which would inevitably drag in the rest of the empire, was profoundly unpalatable. Others favored a massive military presence in Ulster to quash both nationalist and settler militias, with some sort of restitution for the Catholics who had been displaced, but the army detachments quickly became targets for both groups and many of the former refugees refused to accept compensation. Matters became worse when Catholic militiamen assassinated a Liberal junior minister who was touring Omagh, and the gun used to carry out the killing was found to be of Irish army issue. There were calls both within and without the coalition for punitive measures against Ireland, with some even clamoring for war.
This was the state of affairs when the 1924 Imperial Conference met in London. The dominions and the imperial peers, which had contributed heavily to Britain’s financial recovery and had no stomach for another round of warfare, took charge of brokering a deal. Their final proposal was to cede Donegal, Cavan, Tyrone and Fermanagh, where the greatest number of Catholic refugees had come from and where they had succeeded most in re-establishing themselves, to Ireland, while the remaining five counties would become a separate Dominion of Ulster. Catholics who had owned farms in Ulster would have the choice of accepting compensation or free land in Australasia, as would the settlers in the counties that reverted to Ireland. The cession, and the land exchanges, would be carried out in stages over a period of two years.
Britain, wishing to be rid of the Ulster problem for good, accepted almost gratefully. Ireland was more reluctant, but like the government of the Imperial era, it realized that it couldn’t win a fight against both Britain and the dominions, and that it could still claim victory for winning back much of what its predecessor had lost. The agreement was signed with minor revisions, and a special master from the International Court of Arbitration was appointed to hear claims and fix compensation. Many of the settlers and refugees themselves were dissatisfied but, realizing that their respective patron governments wouldn’t support them, few resisted forcefully. Ulster and northern Ireland would be the scene of low-level violence for years to come, but never at the level of the Donegal Wars, and many of the Catholic Irish and Protestant Scotsmen who chose to emigrate to Australasia would find that they had become neighbors.
With the Irish Settlement, Britain’s attention now turned to Jamaica, which had taken full advantage of London’s distraction, and to a Caribbean adventure that would prove costly…
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[1] See post 3545.