To Harrogate for the Conference of the Liberal Democrats. Many questions crowd upon me as I speed north from Peterborough station. How will we get on in the Wigan by-election? What effect will Wallace's pact with the New Party have on our showing at Hamilton South? Why didn't I catch the train rather than attempt to balance a horse on these narrow rails? Above all, how what sort of fist will our new leader Kennedy make of the week? The other day I was attempting to explain Prime Minster's Questions to him. "Don't tell me," he chirped, "if the Prime Minster can't answer, it goes over to the Leader of the Opposition for a bonus." I fear he has a lot to learn.
A dreadful storm this evening. The sky is the colour of Messrs Postlethwaite's Blue Black India Ink (with which, as it happens, I am writing these very words), and it is only because of the distant beam of Knaresborough lighthouse that I am able to find my way back to the hotel. Later, after a stiffener of Auld Johnston, I walk by the shore - the locals have long since barred their shutters and bolted their doors - and watch as the Harrogate lifeboat is launched. There is a crash of thunder and a cry of "God save any soul on The Stray tonight" goes up. Then, as if by a miracle, a familiar figure in sou'wester and oilskins rows into sight. It is, of course, my old friend David Rendel, the finest oar in the House. Better still, he has with him two picnickers who were cut off by the tide. "You look just like Grace Darling," I call across to him. "Nonsense," he shouts back, "Grace had a bushy black beard. And don't call me 'darling'."
Today we have the bittersweet occasion of Paddy Ashcan's farewell. Say what you will about the man - and I have said more than most in my time - he knows how to please an audience. After saying some jolly nice things about us (well deserved, I think), he finishes with an old Irish folk-song which he learned at the knee of his grandmother, Bridey O'Ashplant:
May the road rise to meet you,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others,
Before others do for you.
We'll keep a welcome in the hillside,
We'll keep a welcome in the vales.
How are things in Glocca Morra?
It's much nicer there than Wales.
The pale moon was rising above the green mountains,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea.
Despite what was said in the Dublin newspapers
'Twas there I first met my sweet Mother Machree.
I am not ashamed to say I blubbed.
Those frightfully amusing young people at Liberator magazine are never short of ideas for raising money, whether it is running a sweepstake on the length of the leader's ovation (Lloyd George's was simply enormous, as I recall) or selling the National Liberal Club to gullible American tourists. In the past they have raffled a teddy bear or some such toy: this year they raffle tea with me at Betty's. (Do you know Betty? Lovely girl.) I deduce from this that they see me as the equivalent of a stuffed animal. After some thought I decided to take this as a compliment. Fate proves kind and I am granted a delightful companion.
This morning, after supervising the packing of my things, I hurry down to the Conference to hear Kennedy's speech. I find it a little low key, the only highlight being when he summons Susan J. Kramer and Whittington on to the stage with him. Whittington, naturally, milks the applause for all he is worth. At the station I ask him whether he fears that Glenda Jackson's fame as a film star will make her a dangerous opponent. "Darling," he drawls, "it's simply years since she appeared naked in Women in Love and everyone admired her Ursula." "Didn't she play Gudrun?" I ask. "Never let the truth spoil a good line," returns the worldly feline.
At home in my library I consider the results of yesterday's by-elections. We appear to have put up a brave fight in Wigan, but at Hamilton we came in several lengths adrift of the Scottish Socialist Party, Hamilton Academicals footer club and the Miss Peggy Inverarity Pipe Majorettes. I telephone Westminster in an attempt to offer James Wallace some candid advice, but am only able to raise David Rendel. I am able to clear up our little misunderstanding of the other evening, and then go on to admit to my guilt at not having been to at least the English contest. "I would have taken you there by water," says the generous Rendel, "the Leeds and Liverpool Canal is really very pleasant at this time of year." "Ha!," I return, "You mean I should have been the rowed to Wigan peer." Strangely, the line goes dead at this point and I am unable to continue our conversation.
Every summer Cowley Street sends the Bird of Liberty to stay at the Hall so that it may get some fresh air into its lungs. It is an evil-smelling beast of uncertain temper, but I have never been one to shirk my duty when party calls. Unfortunately, this year things did not go well. One morning I found the blessed fowl missing from its accustomed perch in the arboretum and went to search for it. Hearing shouts and squawks coming from the kitchen garden I hurried there. What should I see but Meadowcroft belabouring the bird with his rake. "Yon varmint were a poking my turmits for pollywogs," he complained in his rich rural dialect. Indeed we do seem to have fed the thing rather well this summer. When I saw it back in Westminster the other day it had a definite tummy on it.
Talking of Meadowcroft, he has been spending a lot of time abroad of late. Recently he returned from the Dutch East Indies with an enormous plant with gaudy red flowers. I had doubts about it from the start, which were in no measure assuaged when one of the Well-Behaved Orphans disappeared without trace whilst on weeding duties. Today I show a party from the village Women's Institute around the grounds. After they have left (muttering something about "where Muriel has got to") the plant gives a loud belch and a floral hat and pair of sensible shoes fly out. When I look the thing up in the library after dinner, it turns out to be a sabre-toothed lily. I shall have him cut it down first thing in the morning.
Lord Bonkers was Liberal MP for Rutland South-West 1906-10