My Life

My Life - Oswald Mosleyhe died in 1915. My father then inherited, and we spent a short time there togetherafter the war. I persuaded him to sell the house and the estate, foreseeing the ruin ofagriculture which politics were bringing and feeling that I could best serve the countryin a political life at Westminster based on my constituency at Harrow. Happily, it waseasy to obtain good positions for our highly skilled staff, but it was a terribleuprooting, causing me much sorrow at the time, and I have sometimes regretted itsince. I would certainly never have done it if the original Tudor house had not beenburnt before I was born, but it appeared then a mistake to maintain in post-warcircumstances an unmanageable pile of a Victorian house together with a way of lifewhich seemed gone for ever. Survival of the Tudor house for better or worse mighthave changed the course of my life.My relationship with my father remained good until I joined the Labour Party in 1924.It was assisted perhaps by my complete independence of him, because my grandfatherhad left me some free money and in negotiation with my father had so managed theentail that I should never be completely in his hands. This arrangement probablyrankled with him, but he never referred to it except at necessary business meetingswith the Public Trustee. Our tranquil relations exploded when in his view I enteredthe devil's service by becoming a socialist. He knew no more about politics thanhigher mathematics, but he had the strongest Tory sentiment and prejudices. He atonce published an attack upon me to the effect that I was born with a gold spoon inmy mouth and had never done a day's work in my life. He meant, of course, manualwork, for like many peasants he felt that only labour with the hands could bedescribed as work. It was true that I had never done manual labour, beyond my earlyfarm work under my grandfather's direction, and the later necessity sometimes to digtrenches under fire, but my young reaction was that in other ways I had workedthroughout my adult life at high pressure. I also felt these were no terms in which anolder generation should address someone who had fought in the war.I was hurt and angry; but said little. The gold-spoon jibe was constantly used by myenemies and gave to the adroit cartoonist of the Conservative papers in Birminghaman opportunity to depict me reclining in a large gold spoon which was hoisted on theshoulders of the enthusiastic workers. I felt that men should not be assailed by theirfamily in this fashion, and it led to an estrangement which lasted during the shortremaining period of my father's life. The final explosion was probably due in part tohis constantly increasing drinking. He died of sclerosis of the liver at La Baule inFrance in 1928, at the early age of fifty-four. I was still fond of him, for he had manygood and endearing qualities.Lord Horder was doctor to three generations of our family, which he told me had thestrongest natural constitution he had ever come across; adding that my father'sexcesses were enough to have killed several men. I can claim no virtue for notfollowing the same path, for drink has never been the least temptation to me. Norcould my two brothers or any other members of the family I have known possibly bedescribed as alcoholics. The only other addict was apparently a great-great-uncle, alsonamed Oswald, elder brother of great-grandfather Tonman, who had something of myfather's disposition and also died young. For my part, I was to drink water most of mylife, varied once or twice a week with wine or beer. Then I went to live in France andthe agreeable continental habit developed in our house of drinking light wine. Inrecent times I have modified this by mixing an Alsatian wine with Perrier water; the17 of 424