UNDERGRADUATE PAGE
Confessions of a Candidate
By ALAN E. THOMPSON (Edinburgh University) "Whom will ;on send to London Town, To Parliament and a' that ?
Or wha in a' the country round The best deserves to fa' that ?
For a' that an' a' that, Thro' Galloway an' a' that ! • Where is the laird or belted knight That best deserves to fa' that ? "
ROBERT BURNS.
But the scenery of Galloway, so intoxicating to the artist and the wanderer, presents a different aspect to the parliamentary candidate. Not for him those leisurely afternoons by the Cree, or expeditions through the abbeys and castles. His only guide-books are the Official Electoral Rolls of Wigtownshire and Kircud- brightshire (in triplicate, and several months out of date). Not for him those discussions with the locals on Galloway folk-lore and on the misdeeds of the early Douglases. Conversations inevitably came round to Mr. Strachey and groundnuts ; to the price of Argentine beef ; to the removal of the subsidy on oats. Or one would be harangued by an ardent supporter, who would remove his pipe tong enough to give a vivid comparison between the old days and the new prosperity and status of the farm-worker. On the whole, however, Gallovidians are not talkative. They are as loth to disclose their political beliefs as to show you their bank balances.
It is nearly six months since I appeared before the divisional party committee to be considered as prospective candidate for Galloway. The aommittee had started off with four possible names ; on the appointed day I addressed the committee at a meeting in the lounge of a famous local hotel. I spoke on party policy, and was questioned closely. What were my views on home and foreign policy ? Was I a pacifist ? What did I know of local affairs and industries ? I was then asked to wait outside. After nearly twenty minutes had ticked away on the hall clock, I was asked to rejoin the meeting. The recommendation for my adoption had been unanimous.
The real campaign lasted some four weeks. Every day of that time was needed to cover an area of some fifteen hundred square miles, with an electorate of forty-six thousand-. There were times, on long journeys by car, late at night, when I envied colleagues who were contesting snug, compact city constituencies. But if my task were more arduous, it offered greater variety. Every meeting, whether in village schoolroom, hall, market or street, provided its quota of hecklers. Sometimes the heckling was boisterous and amusing ; at other times malicious. There were occasions when I was not sure either way. "Why is it," asked one man near Castle Douglas, "that since the National Health Service nine out of every ten people who have been operated upon have had to return to hospital to have their wounds reopened ? " The indigna-
tion in his voice sounded genuine enough. There was the farm- worker who said: "I'm fed up with the Government. We want a change. I shall vote Labour next time, and give them a chance." Or there were encounters with sympathetic opponents, like the old lady who kept the sweet-shop. "I shan't vote for you, but you're a nice young man, and I hope you get yourself a good wife. They're hard to come by these days."
My opposite number was a local landowner, whose family had represented the constituency since the eighteenth century. This claim provided the main theme of his speeches. A pleasant, likable man ; I could have wished that some of his supporters were as amiable. They ranged from elegant young men in hacking jackets, straight from the pages of a multiple tailors' catalogue, to buxom village housewives. Class differences are still very much in evidence. The usual village meeting consisted in the main of farm-workers and families who remained inarticulate, neither applauding nor dissenting. At question time the local gentry took complete charge of the meeting. The laird and his entourage would be sitting exclusively at one side of the schoolroom. They would listen with ill-concealed impatience to my address ; an occasional " Nonsense " or "It's a lie" would splutter forth. The workers would shuffle uneasily ; a bolder spirit would conceal a grin. The employer- - worker relationship would cast a gloom over the meeting and dampen all spontaneity.
In the townships—however small—we came nearer to the real spirit of the hustings. Here the voter can better preserve his anonymity in the crowd. The townsman is less likely to occupy a tied cottage, from which he can be evicted at a few hours' notice with no right of appeal. He probably occupies a new local authority house, and he no longer touches his cap to the laird. At Stranraer the General Election fever was really aroused ; a packed town hall provided vigorous interjections and thunderous applause. The nature of the constituency required some four meetings a night, covering an area of perhaps forty miles between seven o'clock and midnight. Almost invariably one arrived at the fourth meeting long after schedule, to be greeted by cheers from supporters and ironical applause from the opposition.
The attitude of the local Press ranged from laborious neutrality maintained by one newspaper to frank hostility by another. When a Saturday-afternoon meeting at a small village drew forth an audience of one (the women having gone shopping in the nearest town, and the men to see a soccer match), the reporter could scarce conceal his impatience to reach a telephone. Sure enough the follow- ing day I received my first headline in the national Press. "Lone- some Candidate" was the description. When I later returned to the same village, this time to address an evening meeting, over two hundred people attended. I searched the columns of the national Press the following day, but in vain!
What was the worst part of the election ? Without doubt the slow torture of the count. A Member of Parliament earns his salary many times over on this one day. The brisk, indifferent efficiency of the clerks as the rival piles of ballot papers mount ; the nervous grin of one's opponent as he strolls up and dOwn between the tables, nodding slightly with apprehension—or is it satisfaction ? In the background there is the hum of voices of the crowd gathering outside the town hall.
And what is the most pleasing memory ? It is, I think, meeting the hundreds of voluntary workers of all ages, who, without any ambition or personal gain, loyally work for their beliefs. Politics is sometimes considered to be a dubious game, with few rules and sordid ends. Yet there can be no doubt that political ideals inspire unselfish devotion and energy among thousands of people in all walks of life ; people who would feel embarrassed and self-conscious if you were to apply such lofty praise to the work they do for their party. Many of them have given a lifetime of work to the move- ment, and beside their efforts and experiences one feels immature and inadequate.
I have tried to give you some impressions of a novice in the political arena. There is no need for me to compose a graceful, well-turned conclusion. The final paragraph was written by the electors of Galloway, who returned my opponent to Westminster.
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