This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(113)
Although gaps on the red benches appeared between the hours of seven and nine, Emma and Giles knew the stalls would fill up long before the second-act curtain was due to rise. Only John Gielgud making his last West End appearance in Best of Friends could take such a packed house for granted.
By the time the final speaker rose to make his contribution from the back benches, the only empty seat was on the throne, which was only ever occupied by the monarch when she delivered the Queen’s speech at the opening of Parliament. The steps below the throne and in the aisles between the red benches were packed with noble lords who had been unable to secure a seat. Behind the bar of the House, at the far end of the chamber, stood several members of the House of Commons, including the Secretary of State, who had promised the Prime Minister that everything had been done to ensure that the bill would be passed so the government could make progress with its heavy legislative programme, for which time was fast running out. But from the looks on the faces of those attendees from the Lower House, they were equally unsure of the outcome.
Emma glanced up at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery to see members of her family seated in the front row, but they were also members of Giles’s family, and she suspected that they were equally divided. Harry, Sebastian and Samantha unquestionably supported her, while Karin, Grace and Freddie would back Giles, leaving Jessica to hold the casting vote. Emma felt they only mirrored the feelings of her fellow peers.
When Lord Samuels, an eminent former president of the Royal College of Physicians, sat down having delivered the last speech from the cross benches, a buzz of expectation went up around the chamber.
If Giles was nervous when he got to his feet, there was no sign of it. He gripped the sides of the despatch box firmly and waited for silence before delivering his opening line.
‘My lords, I stand before you this evening painfully aware that the fate of the National Health Service rests in our hands. I wish I was exaggerating, but I fear I am not. Because tonight, my lords, you, and you alone, will decide if this dreadful bill’ – he waved the order paper high above his head – ‘will become law, or simply a collector’s item for those interested in the footnotes of history.
‘I do not have to remind your lordships, that it was the Labour Party, under Clem Attlee, which not only founded the NHS, but has been defending its very existence ever since. Whenever this country has had to suffer the travails of a Conservative administration, it has been Labour’s responsibility to ensure that the NHS survives attack after attack from the infidels storming its hallowed gates.’
Loud cheers erupted from behind him, which allowed Giles to turn a page of his script and check the next sentence.
‘My lords, I am ashamed to admit,’ he continued, with an exaggerated sigh, ‘that the latest of these infidels is my own kith and kin, the Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna.’
Both sides of the House joined in the laughter, while Emma wished she had been bestowed with the gift to switch from grave pronouncement to light humour in a moment, and at the same time to carry the House with her.
Giles spent the next twenty minutes dismantling the bill line by line, concentrating particularly on those clauses about which Tory waverers had expressed concerns. Emma could only admire the skill with which her brother heaped praise on the statesmanlike contributions of the few Tories who remained undecided, before adding, ‘We can only hope that those men and women of conscience display the same courage and independence of mind when the time comes to enter the division lobby, and do not at the last moment cast their true beliefs aside, hiding behind the false mask of party loyalty.’
Even by Giles’s standards, it was a formidable performance. Colleagues and opponents alike were on the edge of their seats as he continued, like Merlin, to cast his spell over a mesmerized House. Emma knew she would have to break that spell and drag her colleagues back to the real world if she hoped to win the vote.
‘Let me end, my lords,’ said Giles, almost in a whisper, ‘by reminding you of the power you hold in your hands tonight. You have been granted the one opportunity to throw out this flawed and counterfeit bill, which, were it to become law, would spell the end of the National Health Service as we know it, and stain the memory of its glorious past, and of those good old days.’
He leant across the despatch box and looked slowly up and down the government front bench before saying, ‘This bill proves only one thing, my lords: dinosaurs are not only to be found in the Natural History Museum.’ He waited for the laughter to die down before he lowered his voice and continued, ‘Those of you who, like myself, have studied this bill word for word, will have noticed that one word is conspicuously absent. Search as I might, my lords, nowhere could I find the word “compassion”. But why should that come as a surprise, when the minister opposite, who will shortly present this bill, has herself personally denied hard-working nurses a living wage?’
Cries of ‘Shame!’ came from the opposition benches, as Giles stared across at his sister. ‘And you don’t have to read between the lines to understand that the government’s real purpose in this bill is to replace the word “National” with “Private”, because its first priority is to serve those who can afford to be sick, while leaving on the scrap heap those of our citizens who are unable to bear the cost. That is, and always has been, the overriding philosophy of this government.
‘My lords,’ said Giles, his voice rising in a crescendo, ‘I invite you to vote decisively against this iniquitous bill, so those same citizens can continue to enjoy the security of a truly national health service, because I believe that when it comes to our health, all men –’ he paused and stared across the despatch box at his sister – ‘and women, are born equal.