Alan Patrick Herbert was born in Elstead, Surrey in 1890. After studying
law at Oxford University he served in the
Royal Navy during the First
World War. After the war he published the novel The
Secret Battle (1919).
In
1924 Herbert joined Punch Magazine
and
two years later had his first theatrical success with the production
of Riverside Nights. He also wrote the lyrics for Tantivy
Towers (1930) and Helen
(1932) and published the novels The Water
Gipsies (1930), Holy Deadlock
and What a Word (1935).
Herbert
became the Independent MP for Oxford University
in 1935. A campaigner for reform of the marriage and divorce laws,
played an important role in the passing of the Matrimonial Causes
Act in 1938. He was also a strong supporter of Neville
Chamberlain and his Appeasement Policy.
Herbert
retired from the House of Commons in 1950.
Other books by Herbert included two volumes of autobiography, Independent
Member (1950) and My Life and
Times (1970). Alan Herbert died in 1971.
(1)
Alan P. Herbert, speech, House of Commons
(1935)
I have in my hand a Bill which I am ready to introduce next Friday,
or on the Friday after, or on all the Fridays, until it is passed
into law; and I swear that it shall be passed before this Parliament
is over. But I must remind them that all the serious politicians laughed
when I disclosed my obscene designs upon my almost virgin University.
They said that with my extraordinary opinions I ought to go to Hoxton,
to the taverns, to the racecourses of our land, and hope perhaps to
scramble together a discreditable vote or two, but that to go to Oxford,
the citadel of Christian enlightenment and the stronghold of orthodoxy,
a constituency with more parsons to the square vote than any other
constituency besides - this was lunacy. However, I went on, and the
walls of Jericho fell down. Therefore, I would ask honourary Members
in the north-east corner of the House to consider again before they
laugh at my intentions.
At all
events, here is this Bill, and it is not a feeble little Bill. It
is called the Matrimonial Causes Bill. It is a Bill to reform the
indecent, hypocritical, cruel, and unjust marriage laws of this country.
It is a Bill which carries out or is based upon the recommendations
of the Majority Report of the Royal Commission which reported twenty-three
years ago, and I am ready, as I say, to introduce it next Friday.
In your
wise advice to us the other day, Mr. Speaker, you mentioned the decline
of public interest in the proceedings of this House. I was wondering
then whether some part of that decline might not be due to the fact
that so many high and great problems are discussed in the House which
are not understood or understandable by the common people, and that
simple human problems such as are dealt with in this Bill, and which
the common man does think he understands, are so seldom mentioned
here, and when they are mentioned are dismissed as frivolities.
(2)
Alan P. Herbert, Independent Member (1950)
At Westminster, through everything, the Mother of Parliaments remained,
a prime target, easily distinguishable, beside the river. The House
of Commons Chamber was destroyed: a bomb fell the same night (10 May
1941) through
the roof of the Lords, not far from their Chamber. The Palace of Westminster
and precincts were hit by ten high explosive bombs, one oil bomb,
and many hundreds of incendiaries. St. Thomas's Hospital, across the
river, was hit many rimes. Almost every building in sight beside the
river was wounded. One morning I left Westminster Pier and saw large
holes in the eastern face of Big Ben. But the Speaker was still in
his fine house by the Bridge. For the most part, true, they sat during
the hours of daylight only: but the doodle-bugs were not afraid of
daylight.
It was
a pretty grim place to work in, too, during the war. The 'black-out',
in such a building, was an almost impossible
problem. A few hurricane-lamps on the floor were the only lighting
of the great Central Hall, and they made it a lofty tomb of gloom.
All the windows went in the early blitzes: the east side was all cardboard
and sandbags, and you could not see the river from the Smoking Room.
On the terrace was a Guards machine-gun post (of which I went in fear
many nights on patrol, in the early days, when E-boats were expected
in the Strand). Our favourite pictures and tapestries were taken away,
and left depressing gaps. The Harcourt Room was full of beds for the
A.R.P.: the lower corridors were anti-gas refuges. The Smoking Room
closed earlier - very rightly - to let the staff get home before the
blitz. And all the time there was the feeling that the things that
mattered were happening elsewhere - a strange sad feeling for the
proud M.P. and law-giver. It was pleasant enough for me, after a long
voyage up the river from Canvey Island, to pop into the Smoking Room
in the evening, hear the gossip and have a drink (if there was any
one left), to dart in now and then, with special leave from the Navy,
and make a speech about this or that. But I could not have endured
to be there all the time: and I honoured those who were.
(3)
Alan P. Herbert, Memories of the Forties (1965)
As far as Vauxhall there was the light of early dusk, and after Lambeth
it was nearly the light of day ... The Temple and its lawns were brilliant
and beautiful... The Pool, below London Bridge, was a lake of light.
I saw a stupendous spectacle. Half a mile or more of the Surrey shore
was burning ... The wind was westerly, and the accumulated smoke and
sparks of all the fires swept in a high wall across the river. The
scene was like a lake in Hell. Burning barges were drifting everywhere
... We could hear the hiss and roar of the conflagration, a formidable
noise, but we could not see it, so dense was the smoke. Nor could
we see the eastern shore.
There were pepper fires,
loading the surrounding air heavily with stinging particles so that
when the firemen took a deep breath it felt like breathing fire itself.
There were rum fires, with torrents of blazing liquid pouring from
the warehouse doors (nor any drop to drink) and barrels exploding
like bombs themselves. There was a paint fire, another cascade of
white hot flame, coating the pumps with varnish that could not be
cleaned for weeks. A rubber fire gave forth black clouds of smoke
so asphyxiating that it could only be fought from a distance, and
was always threatening to choke the attackers.
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