The Tempest & the Tossed

A century ago conservative Britons comforted themselves that their House of Lords was an anchor against the tempest of public opinion. A lord became a lord by appointment of the King, or by the happy chance of having a titled father. He owed nothing to any voter, and could afford (if he chose) to base his approach to any public matter on the dictum: "The public be damned."

But the damned public was not so easily ignored; through the years it had whittled the Lords' powers until the House had become little more than a debating society filled with crotchety, beef-pink, ultraconservative old men. Nobody but the Lords themselves paid much attention to the House of Lords--and that could sometimes lead to error, as Britain's Labor government found out last week. In fact, the error blew into a tempest in which the government, to its acute embarrassment, got a severe tossing.

Conscience v. Party Line. The immediate issue was capital punishment for murder. But to the House of Lords, and to Prime Minister Clement Attlee's government, there was a larger stake. It was the dramatic recurrence of the old feud between the hereditary Lords and the elected Commons.

Clement Attlee's cabinet had been against abolishing capital punishment, but when the subject came up in the House of Commons (TIME, April 22), the government adopted a hands-off policy and permitted Labor members to vote according to conscience, and not according to party line.

They voted for abolition. Under British procedure the bill could not become law until approved by the House of Lords, or if they chose not to approve, Commons could, at the end of two years, reaffirm its vote and make it law anyway. But, with four murderers under death sentence, impulsive, humanitarian Home Secretary Chuter Ede did not even wait for the bill to reach debate in the House of Lords. He reprieved them.

"That Makes It Worse." What, thundered the noble lords last week, was the government thinking of? Was there a British constitution or wasn't there? The government's Herbert Morrison came over to the House of Lords for the debate. He sat on a step with his elbow on the throne seat, passing a fretful hand through his thinning hair. Lord Chief Justice Goddard declared Mr. Ede's action unconstitutional. Viscount Cecil of Chelwood leveled a stern, accusing finger at Lord Jowitt who, as Lord Chancellor, was Prime Minister Attlee's nominee in the House of Lords, and thundered:

"This comes near to complete dictatorship by the cabinet." Responded Jowitt: "Oh, no. The cabinet had nothing to do with it. It was the Home Secretary entirely." The Lords audibly drew a sharp breath, spent it in cheers when Viscount Cecil said: "That makes it worse."

In the end, the Lords rejected the abolition bill, 181 to 28, sent it back to Commons for reconsideration. For once, the Lords and public opinion were in line. A public-opinion poll showed a large majority of Britons in favor of keeping capital punishment.

The poll only complicated the Labor government's dilemma. To uphold the House of Commons, it might have to adopt a bill it had not really wanted. On the other hand, if it followed public opinion, it would be upholding the almost, but not quite, forgotten Lords.

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