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‘Oh, Mr Thomas, what am I to do?
Your Restruct’ring Committee
Has sent my train to Crewe
I need to get to Highbury, to see them win the cup,
Oh, Mr Thomas, I do wish you’d hurry up!’

Oh! Mr Thomas, music hall song regarding Jimmy Thomas’
Restructuring Committee’s perceived slowness and inefficiencies, dated 1928​

Staying On Track
Jeremy Clarkson

b195992721.png

Jeremy Clarkson during filming of 2009's series of 'Top Link', the BBC's flagship railway programme

In an attempt to make this book more ‘accessible’ to those less scholarly members of society, this and a number of other chapters in this book are kindly provided by members of the broadcast and journalistic media. We thank Mr Clarkson for his frank and amusing writing style.

I’ll make no bones about it – I’m no historian. You won’t find any pieces of chalk in the pockets of my jacket, or my neck to be crooked from years of staring down into dusty volumes about the Roman Empire. The contents of my pockets are more likely to be my car keys, a notebook containing the latest numbers I’ve jotted down from the side of trains, and a plane ticket to Iberia. On a good day, that is. As you can probably tell, my interests lie more in British engineering than in British exceptionalism (when Richard Hammond first told me that phrase in the studio I asked if it was some sort of real ale). So naturally, when Professor Durham wrote to me to ask if I would contribute to this book of his, I was more than a little sceptical. So sceptical, in fact, that you could probably have cut glass on the stiffness of my raised right eyebrow. But when he told me what he wanted me to write about – ‘something about engineering. The railways, design industry, that sort of thing’ – I was sold. As a railway enthusiast (cars have always been a secondary passion for me) since my dad first took me on the Brighton Belle when I was 4, I consider it a great honour to be able to put down in writing an account of the great railways of this great country.

So, despite me not being much of a historian in general, I’m not ashamed to say that like any self-respecting gricer I know the history of the railways of this fair isle of ours pretty much off by heart. The bit I’ve been asked to recount first is the first stage of the plans that the Union put in place when it took over from the UK in the 1920s. Basically, the ‘grouping’ plan that had been instituted in 1922 after the Great War ended the chaos (or so it seemed) of all the different railway companies in the country by combining them all into four part-state owned but operationally independent companies: the Southern Railway, the London and North Eastern Railway, the London, Midland and Scotland Railway and the Great Western Railway. These groupings, while a marked improvement on the cripplingly inefficient (and horribly exploitative of their workers) companies that were running things all over the country before the Great War, were themselves severely lacking in the efficiency and workers’ rights department. It’s not surprising that Jimmy Thomas and his railway union were leading lights in the General Strike that led to the Revolution, given how unpopular the bosses of the railway companies were. Working conditions were appalling, and there was widespread concern among the railwaymen that the railway network itself was not helping the most needy sections of the country that it needed to. In short – it wasn’t that great, it was too expensive for the poor, and poorer areas were woefully under-serviced.

So that was the lie of the land on the eve of the Revolution. Flash forward a couple of years and Jimmy Thomas (the same bloke) has been put in charge of reorganising the railway network along socialist lines. Complete nationalisation was talked about, but rejected as too expensive and potentially taking too much control away from local Syndicates. Thomas’ commission decided instead on two key plans. First it would work closely with the railwaymen of the Union to improve working conditions and hours, while increasing services in under-represented and poorer areas. Second it was to work with both the Federal Committee and the local Syndicates (regional groupings of local Unions, each with their own Chairpersons) to establish a new, freight-focused (there was little call for moving around the country at time) rail network. The track would be the responsibility of both the regional rail operator (there were four, like under Grouping, but they had been given a thoroughly socialist structure now) and the Federal Committee. Timetables, rolling stock and so on would be the sole responsibility of the individual railway operators. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? Well, I don’t blame you if it doesn’t sound that simple, because it wasn’t.

Thomas and his committee had their work cut out for them. The UK’s system of grouping had begun the job of restructuring the network, but focused it more on passenger work. Local Syndicates really had no interest in their own workers deserting them for a more industrially rich area, and the focus that the Union required was very much freight-based. New parts, building materials and so on needed to be able to get across the country with high priority to allow the plans made by the country’s Syndicates to take shape – for instance, the lads in Sheffield wanted to triple the city’s steel output by 1930. That meant coal from Newcastle, blast furnace materials from Kent and increased supplies of iron from Cornwall. The Sheffield Syndicate (affectionately nicknamed ‘the People’s Republic of South Yorkshire’ thanks to the ballsiness of the men in charge) had successfully struck deals with all the other appropriate Syndicates and were on track (pun intended) to make this happen. The trouble was, the railways weren’t up to it. The Sheffield Syndicate was demanding at least five full trainloads every hour until noon, and the network wasn’t kitted out for that sort of load. Junctions got clogged up, passing loops had queues stretching back miles and large sections of the line in rural areas were still in single track thanks to the bonkers era of ‘railway mania’ in the 19th century.

This wasn’t the only problem they faced, but it represents all the chaotic redevelopment that the railways had to supply throughout the 1920s. Couple with this (another pun, sorry) the problem of passenger traffic having to exist on the same lines – unemployment might not have existed anymore [Debatable – J. Durham] but some people still had a gran in Scotland they had to visit, and football fans still had away games to go to – and Thomas and his committee had an absolute nightmare on their hands. By 1929, industry had started improving but not at the rate people wanted, and John Maclean himself was breathing down Thomas’ neck like a lorry driver in a queue behind a 19 year old blonde.

Luckily for poor Jimmy, his saviour was about to arrive. Balding but tanned, healthy yet pipe-smoking (take that, anti-smoking culture) and arguably the greatest administrator this country has ever produced, Clement Attlee arrived home from Bengal on 11 June 1929. He’d been exceptionally highly praised by the locals in Bengal for the work he’d done for their railways, and learned a fair few tricks of the trade while he was at it. His plan for the Union’s railways was simple but ambitious, and combined with Thomas’ command of the Unions it had a chance of working. Clem is said to have entered Thomas’ office without any sense of grandeur, sat down opposite him when invited to do so, and looked him dead in the eyes. ‘So, what’s your big idea, Comrade?’ Thomas asked. Attlee’s reply was characteristically subdued and simple, while making a massive statement at the same time.

‘Four tracks good. Two tracks bad.’[1]

This simple formula would be applied and extended to every trunk line (and some branches) in the country. The problem had always been the railways choking on the amount of freight they now had to take on. Clem had proposed to, wherever possible, double the amount of track currently in use. It was an incredibly ambitious idea, not least because of the amount of land the railway syndicates were going to have to buy up to accomplish it. Thankfully, regionalisation[2] meant that instead of convincing local landowners acre by acre, once the local Syndicates were convinced (and when their committees had taken one look at the number of jobs that would be created for local men, they were convinced pretty quickly, I tell you) there were no more administrative hurdles. As a result, the glorious stretches of eight-track line that run on the major northern industrial routes that survive to this day (there is a bridge a short walk from Wakefield Westgate that provides, in my humble opinion, the best spot to photograph large numbers of trains from on the whole network) were underway by 1930 and completed by 1934. The load on all lines was lightened and jobs were created in areas particularly hard hit by the departure of capitalist bosses who left with their workers’ rightful wages stuffed in a grandfather clock and set off for Canada. The restructuring, after looking in its early stages like it would fail, had achieved great success. In helping him, Clement Attlee had saved Jimmy Thomas’ skin – but not for long. Thomas knew his star was falling as Attlee’s was rising, and Attlee found himself elected Commissary for Home Infrastructure after Thomas’ resignation at the Congress of 1932.

62352154.jpg

A loco about to speed along a section of track south of Liverpool, along the famous ‘Octuple Way’

There was one other piece of business that Thomas’ committee had to attend to, although it was usually handed off to the more idealistic and less administratively talented members. A number of locomotives on the rails and about to be completed were of classes and names most unsuitable for a republican railway network. Thomas’ committee’s most lasting legacy aside from the increasing of the numbers of tracks is the set of guidelines they published for all future namings of locomotives, as well as the names they gave the particularly reactionary locos running at the time. Here are a few of my favourites:

Proposed GWR King Class became Visionary Class
‘King George V’ renamed ‘John Maclean’
‘King William IV’ renamed ‘George Loveless’
‘King Charles I’ renamed ‘Oliver Cromwell’
‘King George IV’ renamed ‘William Blake’

6022_King_Edward_III_outside_Swindon_shed._1954.jpg

Visionary Class locomotive 6022 ‘George Loveless’

Proposed LMS Royal Scot Class became Defender Class
‘Royal Ulster Rifleman’ renamed ‘South Wales Territorial’
‘Royal Engineer’ renamed ‘Chief Builder’
‘Royal Scots Grey’ renamed ‘Ironside Cavalry’
‘Queen’s Westminster Rifleman’ renamed ‘Cheapside Militiaman’

r2631-lms-rebuilt-royal-scot-class-lrg.jpg

Defender Class locomotive 6133 ‘West Yorkshire Territorial’

Proposed SR Schools Class had focus shifted from the now-defunct Public Schools
‘Eton’ renamed ‘Slough Middle School’
‘Whitgift’ renamed ‘Croydon High School’
‘Repton’ renamed ‘Milton Keynes School for Boys’ (my alma mater!)
‘Charterhouse’ renamed ‘Broadwater School’

Schools-Class.jpg

Schools Class locomotive 900 ‘Slough Middle School’

Proposed LMS Coronation Class became Heroine Class
‘Queen Elizabeth’ renamed ‘Florence Nightingale’
‘Queen Mary’ renamed ‘Emmeline Pankhurst’
‘Duchess of Devonshire’ renamed ‘Emily Davison’
‘Coronation’ renamed ‘Clara Zetkin’

46234_Duchess_of_Abercorn%2C_Crewe.jpg

Heroine Class locomotive 6220 ‘Clara Zetkin’

So there we have it. I hope this summary hasn’t been too jarring, stuffed in here between pages and pages of waffle from some men who are no doubt a billion times cleverer than me. What I wanted to convey to you is the beauty of the British camaraderie and ingenuity that was displayed in the restructuring of our railways in the 1920s and 1930s. Organisers like Attlee and Thomas, engineers like Bulleid, Stanier and Gresley (all of whom had turned down places on the Exile ships – they loved their people more than any king, those fine men) and union men and leaders across the country pulled together to produce the right lines, the right freight plans and the right locomotives for the situation. And in true British style, they did a fantastic job, for our railway system was up to scratch and handled everything we threw at it.

Until the war.

[1] Eric Blair, Clem: The Man Who Rebuilt Britain (London: The Book Club, 1955) p.42.

[2] A shorthand term used to describe the regional Syndicates’ ownership of all formerly private land – as opposed to nationalisation.

 
Oh my, it was an amazing update. A Socialist Clarkson, brilliant! :D
No wonder he prefers trains to cars, I doubt a Union of Britain would keep producing Rolls Royces (or at least they'd switch to something cheap and modest), and Jaguar Cars could never be founded in this universe.
 
Oh come on. Feckin Clarkson would be born in Canada if it all. This should be a James May book or nowt, guv.

'Clarkson was born in Doncaster, then in the West Riding of Yorkshire, to teacher Shirley Gabrielle Ward and travelling salesman Edward Grenville "Eddie" Clarkson' - from Wikipedia. Hardly the high and mighty background that would have seen his parents or grandparents flee to Canada in the first place. So I stand by my decision - it's also motivated by a desire to get my own back on Clarkson for being such a right-wing petrolhead by turning him into... well - the above!

Thanks for your comment, ColonelIronboot. Very astute analysis of the car industry - there will always be areas I can't cover in the updates so I'm glad they give you enough information to let your imagination fill in the blanks.
 
What an utopia, everything seems to work. :p

I agree it's something of a wank at the moment. But stick with it. Remember that in KR the Union's biggest problem is that while Federationism has kept most people happy, it hasn't permitted the big industrial expansion that people want because of the autonomy it still offers. Nothing lasts forever...
 
You've ruined Clarkson! :eek:

I hope the Union won't turn everyone into such saps.
 
You've ruined Clarkson! :eek:

I hope the Union won't turn everyone into such saps.

You'll have to wait and see. I've had my revenge on Clarkson now, I daresay there's no-one else I want to ruin for a good few updates ;)

Out of interest, what did people think of the content of the update? This was the most challenging one to make interesting so far, as it dealt with... well, infrastructure and railways rather than WAR and ARGUMENTS. Did people manage to stay awake during it and enjoy it?
 
You'll have to wait and see. I've had my revenge on Clarkson now, I daresay there's no-one else I want to ruin for a good few updates ;)

Out of interest, what did people think of the content of the update? This was the most challenging one to make interesting so far, as it dealt with... well, infrastructure and railways rather than WAR and ARGUMENTS. Did people manage to stay awake during it and enjoy it?

I won't lie. It was good but not nearly as interesting as the other updates. But it has the content to blame for that (railways are hardly the stuff of legends and thrills). I did quite enjoy seeing how good old modest Atlee got himself into a position of power. :)

Hopefully we can get some more WAR and ARGUEMENTS in your future updates. ;)
 
Thanks for the honesty. This was mostly an experiment to see how successfully I could 'glam up' an internal and domestic issue like railway restructuring. The next update will gloss over the rest of the 20s (including some foreign policy) and take us up to the crucial year of 1931. Cookie for whoever knows why it's going to be a crucial year. (will require some substantial Kaiserreich backstory knowledge)
 
Hold on, British state-run railways that actually work?



*plonk*


Quick, El Pip has collapsed!



Also: The father of Clarkson's wife won a VC during Operation Market Garden.
 
Hold on, British state-run railways that actually work?



*plonk*


Quick, El Pip has collapsed!



Also: The father of Clarkson's wife won a VC during Operation Market Garden.

Not quite state-run (regionalisation as opposed to nationalisation) but no private enterprise involved, certainly not. All done by co-operatives acting in the interests of their workers, through Union elections to determine certain representatives on the Management Committee. :)

And yes, I knew that about Clarkson's father-in-law. He went Rambo with a PIAT and eventually a 2in mortar, did he not? Might try and work it in somewhere later on.

PS: Something of an honour to have you in the thread. What think you so far, if you've read any more than the most recent update?
 
*blushes*

I like it, and I've been lurking in here for quite a while. While I find the basic premise of Britain going Syndie somewhat implausible in the mod, you managed to rectify that error. Keep it up! :)
 
Great AAR, I love the setting of Kaiserreich and it's enjoyable to see you flesh out the backstory. Socialist Clarkson is certainly an interesting proposition (his reaction to this version of himself would be fun to watch) and I'm amused by the thought that there's apparently a large market for railway programmes. Looks like Socialism really can transform the nature of a man.
 
Yep. If you look at who wrote the biography that it's quoted from you'll see it's a nod to that very book.
 

‘Don’t you dare let them put me in Westminster Abbey.’
- John Maclean’s last words​

Red Clyde Rising: John Maclean (1879-1931)
Shirley McKitterick

johnmaclean.jpg

Any student embarking on a degree in Political Biography will tell you that the first essay they will ever be told to write is about John Maclean. The man known as ‘The Great Compromiser’, ‘The Father of the Republic’, ‘The Red Giant’, and, according to Hugh McDiarmid, ‘Beautiful’ has, perhaps more than any other leader of our Union, been immune from real criticism or serious evaluation. Perhaps it is his status as the first Chair of the Congress of the Trade Unions, or his death at the relatively young age of 51, that have created this air of an invulnerable historical opinion around him. But one thing should be made clear about this article – I neither come to bury Maclean nor to praise him. There is no agenda here, no attempt to undermine the years of veneration that Maclean has been subject to. What there will be, however, is some investigation into what failings he may have had – notably the ‘collapse of compromise’ that took place at the end of the 1920s and nearly sent the Union into a spiraling nosedive to anarchy. So here, in the spirit of this volume, is a picture of John Maclean – warts and all.

John Maclean was born in 1879 to Calvinist parents in Pollokshaws on the outskirts of Glasgow. A bright boy, he trained as a teacher under the Free Church and gained a Master of Arts degree in 1904 from the University of Glasgow. It was here that he met James Maxton, forging a friendship and partnership that would last until Maclean’s death. Both were fiery orators who engaged heavily with University politics, but Maclean’s background in politics had come about through his involvement in the Pollokshaws Progressive Union and the local co-operative movement. His experiences there led him to conclusion that the conditions of the working classes would only be improved by social revolution, and this in turn led him to Marxism. He joined the Social Democratic Federation, which then became part of the British Socialist Party.

As the First Great War broke out across Europe, Maclean found himself utterly at odds with the imperialist conflict that was separating workers from one another because of ‘dented reactionary pride’. Fuelled by a revolutionary spirit, he worked with his comrade Maxton to agitate against the war. His fiery speeches attracted great attention among the dockers of Clydeside, and he along with Maxton is credited with radicalising that generation of workers who became known as the ‘Red Clydeside’ movement. In 1915, however, he was arrested under the hated Defence of the Realm Act and sacked from his teaching post. Though not imprisoned, he was stripped of official standing within ‘society’ and consequently turned to Marxist lectures and organization, continuing his hard work as an educator of the workers in Glasgow, eventually founding the Scottish Labour College, which survives to this day as the Maclean Institute. In 1916 he was arrested once again and imprisoned – but released in 1917 following agitation by loyal socialists inspired by the ultimately doomed rebellion underway in Russia. This freedom was shortlived, however, for upon continuing his anti-war organising and speeches he found himself arrested for ‘sedition’. On 9 May, he conducted his own defence when his trial began. He refused to plead and, in a confrontational style typical of his early career, replied ‘I object to the whole lot of them’ when asked if he objected to any members of the jury. The trial was a sham, with sections of speeches and notes being quoted completely out of context to make it seem like Maclean wanted to bring some bloody harm upon the British people, when his quarrel had always been with ‘the trickery of the British government’.

As the trial drew to a close, Maclean addressed the jury in an impassioned speech lasting 75 minutes, which he used to attack the capitalist system:

‘I had a lecture, the principal heading of which was “Thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not kill", and I pointed out that as a consequence of the robbery that goes on in all civilised countries today, our respective countries have had to keep armies, and that inevitably our armies must clash together. On that and on other grounds, I consider capitalism the most infamous, bloody and evil system that mankind has ever witnessed. My language is regarded as extravagant language, but the events of the past four years have proved my contention! I wish no harm to any human being, but I, as one man, am going to exercise my freedom of speech. No human being on the face of the earth, no government is going to take from me my right to speak, my right to protest against wrong, my right to do everything that is for the benefit of mankind. I am not here, then, as the accused; I am here as the accuser of capitalism dripping with blood from head to foot.’ [1]​

He was sentenced to five years penal servitude, and imprisoned in Peterhead prison near Aberdeen. However, a militant campaign was launched for his release:

‘The call “Release John Maclean” was never silent. Every week the socialist papers kept up the barrage and reminded their readers that in Germany Karl Liebknecht was already free, while in 'democratic' Britain John Maclean was lying in a prison cell being forcibly fed twice a day by an India rubber tube forced down his gullet or up his nose. “Is the Scottish Office” asked Forward, “to be stained with a crime in some respects even more horrible and revolting, more callous and cruel, than that which the Governors of Ireland perpetrated on the shattered body of James Connolly?”’
[2]​
The call, surprisingly, was heeded. After being told that continued force-feeding would result in ‘irreparable damage to the prisoner’s health’ the authorities presented Maclean with a bargain that he initially refused: leave prison without charge but on the understanding that no further agitation will be made against the war. This changed, however, when news of the French capitulation reached Britain. The authorities, terrified that the mobs gathering around the prison would resort to violence to free their hero, freed Maclean that same day.

Maclean immediately rejoined the anti-war movement and wreaked havoc for the government. In the final months of the war before the ‘Peace with honour’ he was pushing for a General Strike to cripple the economy – only loyalty to British workers who would face violence kept the TUC from complying. Maclean had established himself, through links with the leaders of dockworking Unions in Glasgow, as a respected figure among Trade Unions, while his friend James Maxton had begun a campaign to enter Parliament as a radical Labour MP. By 1923, Maclean was seen as the spiritual leader of workers across the country, offering lukewarm support for the Labour Party (except when introducing Maxton as a speaker) and appearing at rallies to encourage actual revolution. The security services, knowing that arrest would simply result in all-out rioting, plotted to kill him and on the 11 January 1924 an ‘unknown assailant’ fired a pistol at him from the window of a moving car as he left a working men’s club in Leeds. The bullet completely missed him, but struck a companion in the shoulder. Maclean, in a rage, wrote an open letter to The Times (a daily newspaper of the day) and challenged those who wanted him dead to explain why ‘in broad daylight, before their peers – the workers and poorest of this country – to see how their argument for my demise is received’. The Times published it, remonstrating quite how seriously the establishment was taking Maclean by this time. There were no more attempts on his life, but his wife Agnes wrote in her diary that since that day he had seemed ‘a little more worried, and, oddly enough, a little more interested in what other people had to say’[3]. It is likely that this assassination attempt is what made Maclean so suitable as the ‘champion of compromise’ that the Union needed in those early years.

My colleague John Durham has already enlightened readers of this book on the events of the Revolution and Maclean’s role in the Inaugural Congress, so I shall add no more on that subject. However, the real business of evaluation requires a careful inspection of Maclean’s actions as Chair at the end, not the beginning, of his tenure. It was in 1928 that the first cracks in the Union’s ‘utopian’ structure began to emerge. It started a minor disagreement between two Syndicates – those of Devon and Cornwall, to be precise. Devon was home to the thriving port of Plymouth, upon which Cornwall relied for much of its overseas tin sales – its main product. The Republic of the Sicilies and the Commune of France both had great need for cheap tin, but Cornish ports lacked the capacity to take the strain of large freighters moving freely day-by-day. The dispute emerged when Devon wanted to limit Cornish Mining Unions’ access to the port, saying that Devon, too, had goods to export. Cornwall, led by the charismatic John Spargo, respectfully stated that Devon was not a different country to Cornwall, and under the Constitution of the Union of Britain all resources were to be shared and provided where needed. Devon’s reply to Spargo was that a port was not a resource. Spargo’s reply was that actually, it was.

This argument over semantics was in danger of boiling over into something far more dangerous, thanks to Sunderland-based Unions in the Tyne and Wear Syndicate deciding to take umbrage with Newcastle’s dockers restricting their own access for similar reasons. The Federal Council watched with alarm, and John Maclean decided to exercise his impeccable compromising ability by calling a meeting between all the affected parties. The meeting was a disaster. Spargo accused Maclean of being ‘an irrelevant Scotsman’ who had no moral authority to ‘dictate on Cornish matters’[4]. The Sunderland Unions believed they were being underrepresented and patronised, comparing Maclean to ‘a nice man from the government’ that the old regime would have sent up to assuage their fears. To compound this, their leader Joseph Havelock Wilson threatened to strike indefinitely until access to Newcastle’s ports was completely open to them as well as any other Union in the country. Maclean was rapidly losing control, and by the time the Congress of 1929 came around, he was faced with the first seriously contested Chairman’s election of his political life[5].

Spargo-john-pc1917.jpg

John Spargo – would-be Chairman of the CTU, 1929

The candidate who challenged him, with real regional support, was none other than John Spargo. Highly popular in Cornwall and, ironically, Devon after his stance against the meddling of ‘an irrelevant Scotsman’ in local matters, he appealed to a great many Autonomists at the Congress and was privately endorsed by Arthur James Cook and Oswald Mosley as ‘the perfect ferret to get rid of that soft rabbit Maclean’, with the intention that Cook would easily take the Chair from Spargo at the 1930 Congress. Spargo gave a powerful speech before the election, promising to reform the ‘utterly non-regionally sensitive’ Federal Council and ‘never again permit spurious meddling’ into the affairs of local Syndicates and Unions. He was met with rapturous applause, with some Congress delegates rising to their feet. Maclean sat in his Chair, the blood draining from his face and looking like a broken man. Where was the fire of his youth now? Had he tried to compromise too much? James Maxton, sitting nearby, leant over to him and looked him straight in the face. Allegedly pausing to flick a strand of his unruly fringe out of his right eye, Maxton spoke a simple sentence to Maclean.

‘Are you going to let that Sassenach[6] do this to you?’

Maclean’s response is famous. Saying nothing to Maxton, he rose to his feet and clapped Spargo himself, before striding to the podium to make his own speech. Clearing his throat with a characteristic return to form, he raised his hands to the Congress. ‘Comrades,’ he began, ‘my Comrade here makes a number of very good points.’ The rest of the speech was not quite so pleasant to Spargo. Maclean highlighted the problems with what Spargo proposed, and viciously attacked what he perceived as the man’s hypocrisy – he had wanted to force a deal through with Devon yet objected to the elected mediators on the Federal Council helping him do so. Maclean pointed out Spargo’s other faults – his lack of real Union credentials, and how he had allegedly been elected as Chair of the Cornwall Syndicate because each Union leader voted for themselves with Spargo as a second choice. True or not, the comment led to a ripple of laughter around the room, which was said to create a glint in Maclean’s eye as he continued to lambast the man while playing up his own successes and plans for the future. ‘As we approach a new decade, Comrades, now is not the time for a novice!’ he cried, banging his fist into the lectern. ‘I may have faltered, but I put to you that I have not failed – if re-elected, my first action will be to meet with Comrade Wilson and thrash out an agreement that is suitable for all – and I promise you now that I will not sleep until it is written in the law of this Union that ports are open to all, and no longer under the direct jurisdiction of whichever Syndicate they happen to be in!’[7]. The Congress Hall erupted – for the most part. The election was still closer than it could have been, with Maclean winning by just 13% of the votes cast,[8] a far cry from his 97% of the previous year.

Nevertheless, evaluating Maclean requires not only a report of his actions, but an analysis of them. His true motivation for that powerful speech is called into question by Maxton’s words just before it – was it heartfelt, or brought on by a genuine Scottish dislike for this arrogant Cornish man who threatened Maclean’s personal popularity? We cannot know for sure, but it does not bode well for the picture of Maclean as a constant unwavering and committed socialist who always put the Union before his own ambitions. Similarly, the whole affair damages Maclean’s credibility as a great compromiser, for it was here that compromise failed. The Sunderland strikes were averted, yes, but through luck rather than Maclean’s work – Joseph Havelock Wilson died in April 1929, and the movement for striking fell apart without his leadership. Maclean also did not put in as much work as he said he would on introducing greater legislation to free ports from local authority, instead passing this duty to Jimmy Thomas and Arthur Horner, the latter of which added ‘Commissary for the Independent Port Authority’ to his ever-expanding list of titles when the work was completed. Maclean was, above all, a tired man. He was elected unopposed one final time in 1930, and appeared ‘visibly older’ to all present. The strain of the Ports Crisis has taken its toll on him, and he fell sick with influenza at the end of 1930, with most work now being done behind the scenes by the triumvirate of Maxton, Snowden and Horner. On 15 January 1931, aged 51 years, John Maclean took to his bed somehow knowing it would be for the last time. It is said that he turned to Agnes before he closed his eyes and muttered ‘Don’t you dare let them put me in Westminster Abbey.’

John_Maclean%27s_casket_being_removed_from_his_Pollokshaws_home.jpg

John Maclean’s casket passing through his home town of Pollokshaws

True to her word, Agnes ensured that his instructions were followed to the letter. Tom Mann (taking over as interim Chair until the Congress the following month) and Maxton agreed to have a State Memorial Service rather than a State Funeral, and the casket itself traveled by train overnight to Scotland, where it was eventually carried through Pollokshaw to the graveyard Maclean’s home had overlooked as a child. He is buried there to this day, although a plaque commemorating him also sits in Chairs’ Corner in Westminster Abbey.

In conclusion, then, John Maclean is in many ways an enigma to evaluate. A decisive, defiant agitator in his youth, and apparently morally upright for his entire life. But a closer look at his actions in his final years tells a different story – a story of a man potentially more motivated by personal ambition and pride, a man whose complacency with his abilities as a compromiser nearly wrecked the fabric of the Union during the Ports Crisis of 1928-29. However, it would be all too easy to reach the incorrect conclusion that his zeal for socialism disappeared during this time – it did not. Even when suffering in his final months, he would answer letters and attend factory openings as much as he could, always seeming genuine and full of pride with what the workers of this country had and would continue to accomplish. Flawed? Yes. Disingenuous? Perhaps. A failure? Never.

[1] Max Hastings, The Long Walk to Revolution: John Maclean’s Story (London: Penguin Publishing Cpv., 1994) p.89.

[2] James G. Brown, Maxton: A Biography(Edinburgh: October Books, 2002) p.153.

[3] Agnes Maclean, John (Glasgow: Red Flag Publishing, 1945) p.231.

[4] This quotation made it into The Chartist, further embarrassing Maclean and calling into question his very authority outside of Scotland to some more prejudiced Autonomists.

[5] The Maximists, Autonomists and Congregationists had all declined to back candidates against Maclean in the previous two years, in light of his enduring popularity and success.

[6] Pejorative term for Englishman in Scottish slang.

[7] Margaret Cole, Living for Britain: My Diaries (London: Penguin Publishing Cpv., 1945) p.73.

[8] Eric Hobsbawm, The Ports Crisis (London: Forward Books, 1967) p.432.

 
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Another beautifully written piece. I daresay it might be worthy of poking the KR bois out of their slumber and getting them to put you on the wiki as the Canon history of the UoB ;)

Hell, I like all of this so much (I'll say it) that I don't care if we never see a bullet fired!