Memories of the future : $b Being memoirs of the years 1915‒1972, written in the year of grace 1988Knox, Ronald Arbuthnott
History
Memories of the future : $b Being memoirs of the years 1915‒1972, written in the year of grace 1988
Knox, Ronald Arbuthnott
English fiction -- 20th century; Satire, English; Twentieth century -- Forecasts
morning,” or “the honourable member whose ears are so much too large for
her,” and so on. At the conclusion of the proceedings, a vote of censure
was passed on all the officers. The President then rose, and proposed
the dissolution of the Society; the Treasurer seconded, and the motion
was carried _nem. con._ I do not know why we enjoyed it, but we did.
Alas, one begins to discover even as an undergraduate that man’s most
violent innovations turn almost at once into a sort of archaic ritual.
The Union, of course, was a more serious affair: of this Society I had
the honour to be the first woman President. We had some fine speakers in
those days, notably Eustace Travers, who afterwards became a very
successful book-maker, and Arthur Cardman, who as Lord Bythorpe did so
much to improve the breed of Hertfordshire cattle. But this was long
after the days of real Union eloquence, the days of Raymond Asquith and
Humphrey Paul. The most notable debate at which I was ever present was
that at which the proposal for Indian Home Rule was discussed, only six
months before it was carried into effect. Indians in those days used to
come to Oxford in large numbers, and the front benches were parted by an
absolute division of colour, “looking,” Savage said to me, “just like
those advertisements of stuff to dye your white hair with, only the chap
in the picture has only tried it on one side for a start.” Lord Cheadle
was the guest of the evening, and I imagined, as I looked at his bowed
shoulders and untidy white hair, and listened to his voice, still
silvery in quality though lacking its old fire, how those tones must
have thrilled the Commons at the time of the Five Years’ War. The
excitement was intense throughout the evening: every sentence of Lord
Cheadle was cheered to the echo, and the very dons in the gallery shook
their fists when his Nationalist opponent appealed for her
fellow-countrymen. The voting, as usual, went against the visitor, and
we had the satisfaction of feeling that the Oxford Union had once more
dictated its policy to the Government.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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