Former pit-worker turned trade union activist, Lanarkshire-born Keir Hardie formed the first party dedicated to workers’ rights. He stood unsuccessfully as Labour candidate for Mid-Lanark, but was luckier when, standing for West Ham, South he benefited from the death of the Liberal candidate, and thus became the first Labour MP. His inauguration at Westminster was greeted with derision by some of the press, who used as much imagination in disparaging this working-class Scot as Hardie had used in founding this historic party. In a letter to the Guardian some years later, Hardie dispelled some of the myths surrounding that day.
The ‘brass band’ of which so much has been heard in connection with my first entry to the House of Commons in 1892, and of which I have seen pictorial illustrations including the big drum, consisted of one solitary cornet. The facts are these. The dockers of West Ham had decided that I should go to Parliament in a ‘coach’ like other MPs, and had actually raised money for the purpose. When, however, I declined their offer they resolved to have a ‘beano’ on their own. Whereupon they hired a large-sized waggonette to drive to Westminster in, from which to give me a cheer as I entered the gates, and, good honest souls, invited me to a seat therein. Only a churl could have said them nay. The cornet-player ‘did himself proud’ on the way up from Canning Town, and the occupants of the brake cheered lustily as I was crossing Palace Yard. The cornet may also have been used, though I cannot now for certain recall. The incident was no scheme of mine – in fact, I knew nothing about the arrangements till asked to occupy a seat. It was the outcome of the enthusiasm, and warm-hearted enthusiasm, of my supporters, for which I honoured them then, even as I do now.
So much for the ‘brass band.’
The statement that I perambulated the floor of the House in my offensive cap until recalled to orderliness by the ‘awful tones’ of Mr Speaker Peel is without any foundation in fact. I was walking up the floor to take the oath in conversation with Sir Charles Cameron, then one of the members for the city of Glasgow, who, with hands plunged deep in his trousers pockets, was wearing his hat. He did not realize that it was against him that the Speaker’s call was directed until I called his attention to the fact that he was wearing his hat, which he at once removed. It sufficed for some of the more imaginative gentlemen in the Press Gallery that I was there, and next day there were long descriptions of the ‘truculent’ way in which I had defied the conventions and of the stern rebuke which Mr Speaker administered. All pure fiction! In fact, Mr Speaker Peel himself, in his own room next day, expressed to me personally his surprise and regret at the injustice which the press had done.