About
Talking poetry, the Commonwealth and a cat called Attlee with The Speaker of the House of Commons.
In a special episode of the Commonwealth Poetry Podcast, Gyles and Aphra Brandreth meet Sir Lindsay Hoyle MP, Speaker of the British House of Commons. Recorded from the Palace of Westminster, Sir Lindsay discusses his commitment to strengthen and renew the UK’s ties with the Commonwealth and British Overseas Territories. With a guest appearance from his cat, named Attlee after former Labour Prime Minister Clement Attlee, Mr Speaker shares his love of animals.
Poems this episode include: Macavity: The Mystery Cat by T. S. Eliot; and A Song of Hope by Oodgeroo Noonuccal (also known as Kath Walker)
Episode guests
The Rt Hon Sir Lindsay Hoyle MP
Speaker of the House of Commons
Sir Lindsay is the Member of Parliament for the constituency of Chorley, Lancashire, and has held the office of Speaker of the House of Commons since 4 November 2019.
The role of Speaker of the House of Commons
The speaker presides over the House’s debates, determining which members may speak and which amendments are selected for consideration. The speaker is also responsible for maintaining order during debate, and may punish members who break the rules of the House. According to parliamentary rules, the speaker is the highest authority of the House of Commons and has final say over how its business is conducted.
The Speakership under its present title dates back to 1377 when Sir Thomas Hungerford was appointed.
A Song of Hope
Look up, my people,
The dawn is breaking
The world is waking
To a bright new day
When none defame us
No restriction tame us
Nor colour shame us
Nor sneer dismay.
Now brood no more
On the years behind you
The hope assigned you
Shall the past replace
When a juster justice
Grown wise and stronger
Points the bone no longer
At a darker race.
So long we waited
Bound and frustrated
Till hate be hated
And caste deposed
Now light shall guide us
No goal denied us
And all doors open
That long were closed.
See plain the promise
Dark freedom-lover!
Night’s nearly over
And though long the climb
New rights will greet us
New mateship meet us
And joy complete us
In our new Dream Time.
To our fathers’ fathers
The pain, the sorrow;
To our children’s children
the glad tomorrow.
Macavity: The Mystery Cat
Credit: From Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. Copyright © 1939 by T. S. Eliot, renewed © 1967 by Esme Valerie Eliot. Used with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair: For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there! You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air— But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square— But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s. And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair— Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair— But it’s useless to investigate—Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: ‘It must have been Macavity!’—but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs; Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
