Since we last met, the House has suffered a
very grievous loss in the death of one of its most distinguished
Members, and of a statesman and public servant who, during the best
part of three memorable years, was first Minister of the
Crown.
The fierce and bitter controversies which hung
around him in recent times were hushed by the news of his illness and
are silenced by his death. In paying a tribute of respect and of
regard to an eminent man who has been taken from us, no one is
obliged to alter the opinions which he has formed or expressed upon
issues which have become a part of history; but at the Lychgate we
may all pass our own conduct and our own judgments under a searching
review. It is not given to human beings, happily for them, for
otherwise life would be intolerable, to foresee or to predict to any
large extent the unfolding course of events. In one phase men seem to
have been right, in another they seem to have been wrong. Then again,
a few years later, when the perspective of time has lengthened, all
stands in a different setting. There is a new proportion. There is
another scale of values. History with its flickering lamp stumbles
along the trail of the past, trying to reconstruct its scenes, to
revive its echoes, and kindle with pale gleams the passion of former
days. What is the worth of all this? The only guide to a man is his
conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and
sincerity of his actions. It is very imprudent to walk through life
without this shield, because we are so often mocked by the failure of
our hopes and the upsetting of our calculations; but with this
shield, however the fates may play, we march always in the ranks of
honour.
It fell to Neville Chamberlain in one of the
supreme crises of the world to be contradicted by events, to be
disappointed in his hopes, and to be deceived and cheated by a wicked
man. But what were these hopes in which he was disappointed? What
were these wishes in which he was frustrated? What was that faith
that was abused? They were surely among the most noble and benevolent
instincts of the human heart-the love of peace, the toil for peace,
the strife for peace, the pursuit of peace, even at great peril, and
certainly to the utter disdain of popularity or clamour. Whatever
else history may or may not say about these terrible, tremendous
years, we can be sure that Neville Chamberlain acted with perfect
sincerity according to his lights and strove to the utmost of his
capacity and authority, which were powerful, to save the world from
the awful, devastating struggle in which we are now engaged. This
alone will stand him in good stead as far as what is called the
verdict of history is concerned.
But it is also a help to our country and to our
whole Empire, and to our decent faithful way of living that, however
long the struggle may last, or however dark may be the clouds which
overhang our path, no future generation of English-speaking folks-for
that is the tribunal to which we appeal-will doubt that, even at a
great cost to ourselves in technical preparation, we were guiltless
of the bloodshed, terror and misery which have engulfed so many lands
and peoples, and yet seek new victims still. Herr Hitler protests
with frantic words and gestures that he has only desired peace. What
do these ravings and outpourings count before the silence of Neville
Chamberlain's tomb? Long, hard, and hazardous years lie before us,
but at least we entered upon them united and with clean
hearts.
I do not propose to give an appreciation of
Neville Chamberlain's life and character, but there were certain
qualities always admired in these Islands which he possessed in an
altogether exceptional degree. He had a physical and moral toughness
of fibre which enabled him all through his varied career to endure
misfortune and disappointment without being unduly discouraged or
wearied. He had a precision of mind and an aptitude for business
which raised him far above the ordinary levels of our generation. He
had a firmness of spirit which was not often elated by success,
seldom downcast by failure, and never swayed by panic. When, contrary
to all his hopes, beliefs and exertions, the war came upon him, and
when, as he himself said, all that he had worked for was shattered,
there was no man more resolved to pursue the unsought quarrel to the
death. The same qualities which made him one of the last to enter the
war, made him one of the last who would quit it before the full
victory of a righteous cause was won.
I had the singular experience of passing in a
day from being one of his most prominent opponents and critics to
being one of his principal lieutenants, and on another day of passing
from serving under him to become the head of a Government of which,
with perfect loyalty, he was content to be a member. Such
relationships are unusual in our public life. I have before told the
House how on the morrow of the Debate which in the early days of May
challenged his position, he declared to me and a few other friends
that only a National Government could face the storm about to break
upon us, and that if he were an obstacle to the formation of such a
Government, he would instantly retire. Thereafter, he acted with that
singleness of purpose and simplicity of conduct which at all times,
and especially in great times, ought to be the ideal of us
all.
When he returned to duty a few weeks after a
most severe operation, the bombardment of London and of the seat of
Government had begun. I was a witness during that fortnight of his
fortitude under the most grievous and painful bodily afflictions, and
I can testify that, although physically only the wreck of a man, his
nerve was unshaken and his remarkable mental faculties
unimpaired.
After he left the Government he refused all
honours. He would die like his father, plain Mr. Chamberlain. I
sought permission of the King, however, to have him supplied with the
Cabinet papers, and until a few days of his death he followed our
affairs with keenness, interest and tenacity. He met the approach of
death with a steady eye. If he grieved at all, it was that he could
not be a spectator of our victory; but I think he died with the
comfort of knowing that his country had, at least, turned the
corner.
At this time our thoughts must pass to the
gracious and charming lady who shared his days of triumph and
adversity with a courage and quality the equal of his own. He was,
like his father and his brother Austen before him, a famous Member of
the House of Commons, and we here assembled this morning, Members of
all parties, without a single exception, feel that we do ourselves
and our country honour in saluting the memory of one whom Disraeli
would have called an "English worthy."
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