The Hansard Men

Thirty years ago a bluff Irish newshawk, covering the Home Rule issue and Dublin riots for an Irish paper, got himself reprimanded by both the British and the Irish patriots in the same week. He took it as a compliment to his fairness. Last week, still an impartial reporter, white-haired Tom O'Donoghue, now 61, became boss of Britain's most impartial daily, Hansard's official record of Parliamentary Debates.

Press & public are used to regarding Parliament's business as their own, but Parliament took its time in letting them in on it. For centuries it published no journal; coffee-house gossip spread the news of its debates. When a newsletter writer "presumed ... to take notice of the proceedings of the House" in 1694, he was summoned to the bar, forced to kneel and admit his offense. Not until 1803, in Luke Hansard's day, were reporters given seats of their own in the gallery, instead of having to rub elbows with other "strangers."

In 1909 Parliament itself took over Hansard. Until then Hansard printed only ministers and front-bench opposition verbatim; backbenchers were quoted in the third person, inadequately and often inaccurately.

No Secrets. In World War I, Hansard staffers showed up at every secret session, were invariably excluded, locked their notebooks in the editor's cupboard at night with the pages blank. They did not even try to cover the secret debates of World War II. Hansard's familiar blue-book (white since 1943) was often delayed a day by bombings, but never missed an issue. Today Hansard sells (at 6d.) or gives away 9,876 copies an issue, the biggest circulation in its history.

As successor to veteran Editor Percy Cole, another onetime newsman, Tom O'Donoghue will boss a staff of 18 crack (180 words per min. or better) shorthand reporters. They work in pairs--15 minutes at a stretch--in the curtained press gallery above the Speaker's chair. Sometimes Hansard gets things wrong, but it's official, even so, and its bound volumes can be quoted in a court of law. Hansard never identifies a man's party, only his district: he is supposedly representing his entire constituency. When Emanuel Shinwell slapped Commander Bower in 1938 for saying "go back to Poland," Hansard reported it this way: "At this juncture the Honorable Member for Seaham crossed the floor of the House and struck the Honorable and Gallant Member for Cleveland a blow on the face."/-

Like the Congressional Record, Hansard can be fascinating reading--or unbearably dull--depending on who says what. Its reporters either euphemize or ignore profanity (Hansard tactfully fails to hear Ernie Bevin when he says, as he often does, in debate, "By God"). They will take down cries of "Hear! Hear!" but do not record laughter, cheers or jeers unless the context of speeches requires it. Unlike the Record, it is uncluttered with Members' undelivered speeches. The editors will let an M.P. replace only such Parliamentary divots as split infinitives and wrong dates.

/-An ordinary M.P. is always called Honorable; if he is in the armed forces, he is Honorable and Gallant; if he is also a lawyer, he is Honorable, Gallant and Learned.

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