But those lukewarm supporters were turning the heat up on Rosevear. This might have been all part of Curtain’s plan, having set the man up as Speaker partly with this sort of situation in mind. However, it had the Speaker in a lather; both physically and politically. He was having to strike down a growing number of interjections from his own side of the Labor Party in addition to the Opposition, many of which were points he agreed with and would have been making himself.
Like any Parliament worth its salt, information traveled around the chamber almost by osmosis. Early doubts hardened into ironclad conclusions long before Curtain reached the end of his document. The bill may have been a little rough about the edges, but it was no work of hours. Depending on one’s point of view, this was either proof positive of the new leadership’s depth and insight, or the depths of their conspiracy and treachery. All felt a growing sense of urgency as the details slotted into place.
The interpretation of Daventry lay at the heart of things, Labor took it as permission to wrest the nation free of its links to Home and Empire and were taking this opportunity with both hands to set some cherished planks of party policy into law. In sum, this bill was paving the way to a republic. That notion was as controversial on the Labor side of the house as it was unthinkable among the Opposition. Torn between the duties of his office, his own inclinations, and the hard lines of party allegiance, Rosevear grew increasingly angry and in dire need of a stiff drink. His rage might have been expressed in his language and temper towards towards objectors, but inwardly it focused exclusively on his party leader and Prime Minister.
As Curtin concluded his reading of the bill, he tabled the bill for immediate debate. His well oiled machine kicked into top gear. Having pushed proper procedure somewhat beyond its limits already that morning, gagging debate might have out of the question. But that didn’t imply he had to play fair. If anything, the first hour of debate was even more disorderly than all that had passed before. A solid stream of well primed Labor MP’s stood to ramble on, asking back-handed questions their own front bench could answer with long winded positive replies in favor of the Government’s case. Occasionally, Rosevear let one of the Opposition get a few words in edgewise, but each was snowed under in a blizzard of interjections and objections. It was an old game, familiar to all on both sides of Parliament. But it was not one used lightly for matters of such weight that verged on constitutional reform. The fury this provoked exceeded anything seen before in the Australian Parliament, and Rosevare verged on losing control utterly.
Around that whole room of angry, shouting, screaming men, the Speaker could only see one island of support. Ironically it was the man he had replaced less than a week before. George Bell, DSO, MP and senior of the two Deputy Speakers, knew exactly what Rosevear was going through. He had spent the past six years in the chair himself. While not unmoved by the politics, he sat there smiling up at Rosevear and offering what encouraging nods he could.
Bell’s was more than a professional sympathy; he actually thought the fellow was making a dreadful fist of it. The Speaker’s face was flushing deep purple when it wasn’t pasty white and Bell could see he was perspiring like a fountain from 20 feet away. The Tasmanian MP thought it best to do what he could, lest Rosevear collapse and leave him with the job of presiding over this shambles of a travesty.
Just after 3 PM, and with no end in sight, the Sargent-at-Arms crossed the floor to deliver a note to the PM. The Minister for Transport, who had been using two hundred and fifty words to say ‘yes’ in reply to a yet another prearranged question, paused as Curtin read the message. The Prime Minster looked up and waved the Minister back in action, stuffing the note into his pocket before leaning back with a casual smile. If Curtin had hoped to down play this new piece of information, the parliamentary grape vine had other ideas. The news raced around the chamber, leaving something approaching silence in its wake.
Rosevear, sitting in splendid isolation, was the only man excluded from the bush telegraph, although he certainly noticed something was happening. For the first time in what seemed like hours, and probably was, he was not beating down waves of protest, or even facing angry glares. It was almost uncanny how quiet the Chamber had become. Every MP in the House was whispering to each other instead of shouting at him. Given a chance to draw breath, he waited for the Minister to finish and resume his seat. As if wired to some trigger, the ministerial backside meeting leather saw almost half the house spring to its feet in a jabbing roar of “Mister Speaker, Mister Speaker!” They all clamored to gain Rosevear’s ‘eye’ and be called up to speak.
Scanning the crowd judiciously, and with his own eye on trying to reinject some calm and normality to the proceedings, he chose one of the steadier heads off the Opposition backbench and the fringe of the United Australia Party.
“The House recognizes the Member for Lara.”
Under other circumstances, the Labour front bench would have
nodded appreciatively at this. If not quite an Independent, the MP for Lara was well known for taking a casual view of party allegiance and speaking his rather liberal mind on occasion. If anyone on that side of the House might support the Government he was as likely a candidate as existed. Even if he didn’t — well the seat of Lara was a marginal and Labor had high hopes for it. If the sitting member cared to put a foot or two in his own mouth, the Government would thank him for the ammunition.
Rosevear saw he had made a mistake immediately. It was hard not to with his whole front bench staring daggers at him. Bugger ’erm, he thought. Let the lazy sods deal with their own bloody problems; I’ve done more than my share today.
Gregory Locock remained standing as the other aspirants sunk back into their seats. “Mister Speaker, thank you. I was going to ask the Honorable Attorney General to expand on clause 12, but instead might I ask the Prime Minister, if in light of this recent naval action in the Indian Ocean, might not this whole bill be reexamined? Again I refer in particular to clause 12, but also several others…”
The rest was drowned out under a barrage of sound.
Curtin rose to his feet as the Speaker hammered the Chamber into silence. “Mister Speaker. I’d like to thank the honorable member for his question,” he said with great confidence “And reassure him, and any others who may be concerned, that while events remain unclear, the Government has things well in hand. In any case, it is hard to see how such matters might have any bearing on business presently before the House. There’s nothing that can’t be smoothed over and we should not be distracted from more important things…”
As soon as the words passed from his lips, Curtin realized he had made a grave mistake. It wasn’t just the deafening silence, but the low grumble that replaced it. The sound, not of anger, but of men quietly saying hard words in serious tones.
Locock remained standing for the next ten minutes as the Prime Minister tried to unsay what he had just said. A fine job Curtin did too. Slathering on the butter of reason and jam of promise with a lavish trowel to the hearty Hear Hear’s of his increasingly vocal supporters, once the Whips and Ministers had recovered their poise and got to stirring up his defense. But it was a hollow noise, and few in the chamber bought the line he was selling, no matter how hard they stamped their feet after Curtin made each point.