It may be noted that one skull, and the one skull only that was found in Sussex, was that of the prime minister. Archeologists and anthropologists are wearing their fingernails to the quick trying to discover the skull of a bureaucrat. I can assure them that they never will find one, because an autopsy performed upon the skull of this deputy minister of taxation, following his untimely demise, revealed the startling fact that it was extremely thin and was so chuck full of brains that it is a wonder it had not exploded. The pressure from within it was so great that it is no wonder these bureaucrats have swelled heads. They think they know it all. But the upper half of his skull was preserved for many years, for it was handed down by word of mouth it was used as a very lowly vessel placed on the floor under the desk of a common member of parliament, another custom followed even unto this day, and when I accidentally kick mine it reminds me of the significance of its origin.
But let us get back to this fabulous parliament. There is a moral in all this. The prime minister has his dander up now; for placing himself behind his official altar and facing
those bureaucrats he must have jumped fully eighteen inches off the ground, and brought his stone hammer down on that altar with such terrific force it broke the handle, the rock flew off, struck the deputy minister of national revenue in the pit of the stomach and knocked him cold. Revived, he again took his place, when the prime minister told him in perfectly plain English: "You know what the people want; now get going." And they went. Rather than lose their jobs and the pay that goes with them, they left no stone unturned in an effort to get back to their desks to devise ways and means of producing the results that the people wanted, and when the dust finally settled what a sight there was to behold! There were the prime minister's pet page girls lying about in a coma-comma, put a comma there-the doors were seen to have been wrenched off their hinges, and the policeman outside, that noble upholder of law and order, who knew his duty and did his duty on all occasions, was observed thirty yards away, sitting in the middle of the road in a dazed condition but clutching in each hand the breeches of a bureaucrat. The dogs of the neighbourhood could be heard1 in full cry as they rounded the corner into Main street, followed by the populace, whose "views halloo" would have awakened the dead and caused old John Peel to thrust his skull up through the turf and shout "whoopee".
The necessary acts were brought forth in rapid time and passed by all members of parliament, for at the bottom of each of these acts was the signature of the sponsor and individual responsible for drawing up that act, and beneath it was clearly shown this memorandum: "A penalty of ten years' hard labour will be imposed upon these individuals if these acts fail to produce the results which the citizens want." That, I believe, is the solution, and one which will put a crimp into all this law-making.
I have here a booklet entitled "Living Casualties", which was sent to me from England. It is published by the Farmers' Rights Association, 4 Shrewsbury Road, Church Stretton, Salop. It is dedicated to the memory of George Raymond Walden, aged sixty-five years, of Borough Farm, Itchen Stoke, Hampshire, who was dispossessed by the Hampshire war agricultural executive committee, a socialist committee. While defending his home, where he had lived all his life, and his father before him, he was gassed and shot to death.
They thought it could not happen in England. It is happening in England and it is beginning to happen right here. In this booklet is a photograph of a field of Timothy hay which this committee claimed was couch
Introduction of Bills
grass. You can see the farmer standing there, the hay well above his waist, about six inches below his shoulders. This book gives dozens of illustrations, one or two of which I should like to read. Here is a man who for twenty-one years managed the Duke of Westminster's home farm of 1,500 acres in Cheshire. This man founded the Shire-horse stud and pedigree herds of Shorthorn cattle, of pigs and flocks of sheep, winning many leading championships and prizes. He then took a farm of his own of 400 acres in 1926. It was in a very poor state and could not carry more than a few head of cattle. In five years it had seventy cows, 100 sheep and fifty pigs, all pedigreed, and won first and champion prizes at leading shows. The socialists said, "Out you go", giving him three weeks' notice to quit. The rent of the farm was raised after they got him out and it has since been sold for three times what it cost. Since that time this individual has been asked by the Basingstoke root and crop society to judge for them the very crops on the farm from which he was evicted.
Here is another farm carried on by Mr. Bell's father before him. The son was called into the army to serve overseas. Bell was aged sixty-seven and was ordered to quit. In despair Mr. Bell shot himself. That was on October 17, 1943.
Topic: GOVERNOR GENERAL'S SPEECH
Subtopic: CONTINUATION OF DEBATE ON ADDRESS IN REPLY