 The NBC University of the Air, a public service of the National Broadcasting Company, and its affiliated independent stations, presents another chapter in the historical series, We Came This Way. Tonight's story, John Bright. John Bright, for the most part, has been forgotten. It seems to be one of our human failings to bury the names of men who have done our race the most good in a deep and dark well. John Bright, dead less than 50 years, is betwixt in between the depths and top of that well, and yet what he did in his lifetime affects the lives of practically everyone in the English-speaking world. He was an Englishman who loved England, but who loved his fellow man even more. What he will tell you tonight is the story of one man's fight against the rulers of a nation but for that nation's people. Remember, it's the story of a man. A man called John Bright, who as we open the chapter, is sitting before an open fireplace with his friend Richard Cobbden. The year is 1839. Richard, good to have you back from America. Tell me, what's it like, this America? They're no longer Englishmen, they're Americans, for even their language is different. I'd say that in a hundred years it would be hard put to understand them. Did you see any Indians? Few, none of the warring tribes. John, those Americans are hewing a new land out of a wilderness, a new empire. They're fighters and they're free men and they'll progress beyond our wildest dreams. It'll take them a million years to get where we are. I'd say less than a hundred. Cobbden, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were well on your way to an asylum. But they're progressive and we're studgy. They've got vision and we've got the corn laws. Oh, I knew there was something behind your speechmaking, Richard. You weren't going to drag me into politics. My father and I have got the mill running smoothly. I'm marrying Helen in two weeks. I'm a thoroughly happy and contented man. While all England is on the verge of disaster, there's a press of corn laws, John. They're making beggars and slaves of free Englishmen. To hear you talk, we'd better call out the Grenadiers immediately. Richard, why don't you forget about politics? I want to hear about America. How are the girls? They really are. But what do you care? You're going to be married. I know, but not for two weeks. Two weeks later, he was married. He had everything the man could ask for. One year fathered another. He had a good home, a pretty wife, a young daughter, a good friend in Richard Cobden and a fairly nice income. John Bright was content to stay in the sleepy town of Leamington and lead the quiet and simple life. He meddled a bit in the local affairs and lived quietly according to his Quaker background. Serenity was the word for his existence until... Typical English weather. Dank, gloomy, befitting my mood. I find it difficult to remember things. I have lost part of myself. My wife, Helen, died this morning. Well, John? Well, what, Richard? Did it work? No. It's been over six months since Helen died. I took the doctor's advice and traveled, but she was with me all the time. It didn't work, Richard. It didn't work. I didn't think it would. And what am I to do? Where am I to turn? You rarely want to know? I can't go on like this. I just can't find my old life. Then, John, start a new one. As simple as that. You accept it like tea at four. I do. John, what I'm going to say to you may sound cruel, but it's true. You aren't the only one in England that's suffering. I don't say that you're pampering yourself. But if you want to see what real suffering is, get out of Levington. Get out into England and find out for yourself what I've been talking about. See with your own eyes the slow death by starvation that's in store for our countrymen. More speechmaking, Richard? Not this time, John. I want you to find out for yourself. Sitting around an empty country house full of nothing but memories was more than John Bright could take. And so, as a last resort, he acted on Richard Cobden's suggestion and traveled, not to foreign countries in search of something new, but in his own country, to meet his own people. Warm out, isn't it? You know me not, I'd say. Catch any fish yet? Not a word. My name's Bright. John Bright. My name's Hutchinson. My friends call me Hutch. The worker around here? Work right over there in there, there aren't many. Been working there often on all my life. I work in a mill. I used to fish on Saturday, too. I like fishing. Shouldn't have to do it. Let me know when this has got to eat. I thought you men got good wages. Oh, I don't mean nothing. Sure, I'm making good wages. But the doctor says there's stuff in fishes what's almost as good as what you can get from corn. Only you can't get corn. So, I fish it. No corn at all. Only for the rich, mister. Only for the rich. You know, I wish I was rich. You do? Why? Because I yikes fishing. From Bristol to Plymouth to Dover to Southampton, John Bright traveled from town to town listening and talking to anyone who would strike up a conversation. Liverpool to Leeds to Hull to Norwich, Gloucester, Bedford, Colchester, and London. The things he saw seemed unbelievable. Famine in the times of planting. And everyone's eyes had a haunted look of hunger. They're hungry, Richard. They're starving. There simply isn't any bread. I know. It was like that all over England. Richard, those corn laws are iniquitous. A blasphemy against the well-being of free men. They've got to go. I've been waiting a long time to hear that. This time we'll travel together. You have a gift of oratory, John, that moves men's hearts. Once you get them to a boiling point, I'll throw facts at them that they can't deny. I can't understand the blind stupidity of Parliament. At least we'll make a good try at having the corn laws repealed. We will try, Richard. We'll do it. A team of Bright and Cobblin traveled throughout England to convince people the corn laws should be abolished. The corn laws, high duties on food, were vicious because in a country like England which never grew enough food for all its factory working people, high food tariffs meant high food prices. Benefits and special privilege for the rich landowners, hunger for the poor. The most vicious sort of rationing, for those who needed most, got least. Hungry men said Bright are not free men. That, in a nutshell, was the essence of their fight. A fight for freedom in the free England that could come only when corn laws and hunger went. And yet, they had to convince even the poor whom the corn laws injured most that the laws were vicious. For corn laws there have been in one form or another for centuries. They were the habit. And few things are harder to drop than old habits even when they hurt. So the famous team of Bright and Cobblin talked and debated, debated and talked. Do you expect sympathy? You don't deserve it until you vote in the men who will repeal the corn laws. There's plenty to eat in the world. Just walk over to the docks and watch it being turned away from England because of the high duty. Yes, and take your children too. The least you can do is to let them see what food looks like. Gentlemen, you have heard the opposition and you have heard my colleague, Mr. Don Bright. If what he said wasn't enough to convince you that the corn laws must go, I have a few facts that I dare anyone to deny. Together, Cobblin and Bright debated wherever they could find an audience and a speaker to oppose them. Cobblin was already a member of the House of Commons. And that, together with his travel, was costing him the fortune that he had accumulated from the business he now chose to neglect. Bright, too, was rapidly going through his money. But since his father was still active in the mill, he had no worries on that account. Bright's activities were causing worry in other quarters, however. In fact, as they went agitating the lengths and breadth of England, their reputation became such that finally they could no longer get anyone to oppose them in debate. They had every manufacturing town southerly behind them. It was then that John Bright decided upon the advice of his friend Richard Cobblin to stand for the House of Commons, to join Cobblin in the battle against the corn laws on the floor of Parliament itself. So he stood for a seat, and at last, the votes were counted. I don't know what to think, Richard. I can't believe it. We haven't decided to quit, have you? No. I've made up my mind that I'll have a vote I've made up my mind that I'll fight this battle until the day I die. But of this election, Richard, when I chose this district, I was sure of winning. I counted on the people. I thought they believed in us. Come in. Well, gentlemen, good evening. I've never seen two longer faces, nor my days. This isn't exactly a moment of celebration, Rogers, and stop looking so cheerful. Can't understand you two. Indeed I can't. Richard, shall I throw him out, or shall we share the pleasure? Throw me out, indeed. Make it a point to come to congratulate a fellow. Look at the treatment I get. You're slightly behind the times, Rogers. I lost the election. Lost, you say? Lost the election? Seems to me you're the one that's behind the times. What do you mean? Don't tell me you haven't heard. Oh, my word, this is splendid. What an opportunity. What do you know? Yes, let's have it, men, before we do throw you out. It seems it was a little matter of a mistake. Mistake? What kind of a mistake? Well, they gave him your votes, vice versa. Oh, was it the other way around? Uh, anyway, whatever it was, he's disqualified. Disqualified, you sure? Official, old boy. Just posted on the board at the flying hair. John, do you hear that? I've won. Precisely, you've won. That's wonderful. Congratulations, John. Can't understand you two. First, you want to throw me out? Now, you'll just ignore me. Richard, they didn't let us down. Find us after all. I guess I'll just go down and get a drink and charge it to you. Yes, do, Rogers, do. How'd you like it? I don't know yet. After all, this is my first day. There's no better place to meet your colleagues than in the vestibules. I'll introduce you around. I feel as though it were my first day in school. Mr. Pearson. Oh, Captain, good day, good day. I want you to meet a new member, Pearson, Mr. Bright. How do you do, Mr. Pearson? Bright, oh, you're the fellow that's making all that bother about the car laws, aren't you? Don't like it. Don't like it one bit. Good day, sir. I gather he didn't like it. Oh, don't mind him. Here's Old Dixon. He's been here a long time. Oh, I see you, Captain. Did you see what happened to my umbrella? You can't seem to find it anywhere. Oh, sorry, I didn't see you. I'm busy. Oh, I'm not busy. I'd like you to meet Mr. Bright, a new member. Thank you. I knew you by reputation, sir. I don't think you're going to enjoy your brief stay in Parliament. Oh, forgive me. I've got to find that umbrella. Richard, I've got a fight on my hands and they've got a surprise on theirs. Because I'm not here for a brief stay, I'm here until those corn laws go. People in Parliament began. John Bright entered the House of Commons to face suspicion and hostility. Among his few friends, Cobden was the staunchest, but Bright had the eloquence, the voice. And it was a lone voice crying out against the lawmakers of an empire, the voice and the wilderness that demanded to be heard. Yes, the fight was on, the fight that would persist for five long years. Gentlemen, gentlemen, I would like to speak to you about the repeal of the nefarious corn laws. Walk again. This is not the first time I have spoken against these vile and selfish laws, and it shall not be the last, but I shall be heard. The people of England are dying a slow death. Our empire is likely to wither away because of legislation that is starving the people at the root. I know of what I speak, because I have met those people, met them face to face, and they have very pinched faces, gentlemen, very pinched faces. There were men in the government, important men who represented powerful interests, and John Bright and his speechmaking had grown from a petty annoyance to a threat that could overthrow them. For the first time, they began to doubt their power. They threatened, but Bright refused to be frightened. He refused to listen. He went out into the farm desplex and continued his talks. Are you going to have a good harvest, my friend? Not if we have the kind of rain we've been getting. Well, you've a tidy sum saved up to tide you over, no doubt. Oh, I wish I did have. You know, stranger, I've gotten good prices the last couple of years for my corn. At least it seemed a good price, yet I never seem to be ahead. Do you think the corn laws could be at fault? I always thought those were farmers' laws for my protection. But you know something? A friend of mine heard his speech the other night and he told me about it. And maybe I've been fooled all these years. Maybe the corn laws aren't doing what they're supposed to. A friend of yours heard his speech? That's right. A smart speech without any of the trimmings given by a man who's for the people, the little people. A man named John Bright. I see. So John Bright battled on against odds which seemed impossible, but he convinced the farmers that corn laws worked against their interests. Convinced them they should join in the demand for appeal. Eager as a schoolboy, he rushed off to Cobden with the news. So that's how it went, Richard. Even the farmers are with us now. There's only Parliament left and Parliament can't resist the country. Sounds splendid, John. Of course it will be a battle. We'll still need our every bit of strength, John. Yes, Richard? I can't begin to say how painful this is to me, but what's wrong? I'm... at the end of my rope. Richard, you don't... you can't mean... Yes, John. I'm through. I'm finished. I'm dropping out. You're resigning from Parliament? I have no choice. No, no, you mustn't. I'm forced to, John. But with victory within our grasp, with a battle as good as one, we need you, Richard. Can't be helped, John. That would say as... That could say. As bad as that? The last shiny farthing. I see. I'm sorry. This is a blow. I know. I dread the penury, but I... I think I regret far more giving up the fight. Richard, without you, it isn't a fight. We're lost. Oh, no. No, yes. There must be something. Believe me. Richard. Richard, listen to me. That's no use. Listen, we can't let this happen. Well, it has happened. Then we'll repeal it. Exactly as we're going to repeal those corn laws. For repeal them, we must. We've gone too far to lose you now. With you, the result is certain. You're genius for organizing. Your quiet logic and your sanity. They're the real persuasion. I supply the rhetoric, but you batten down the hatches and you get the results. We're not losing you now, Richard. I'm going to see some people. So John Bright Orator became John Bright man of action. Faced with the bankruptcy of his friend incurred in devotion to their mutual fight at the very climax of that fight, Bright left the platform to pound vigorously on polished, open panels of a number of important doors. And some that weren't so polished, nor so important. But, son... I know, Father, and I was certain you'd be reasonable. A draw for 500 pounds is modest, but it will do. 500 pounds, Father? Thank you. Very well, Ed. And since you've been active in our society from the start, sir Cecil... Excuse me, Bright. What is this, a request for money? Not as a contribution, sir Cecil. An investment. An investment in victory. How much? A mere bagatelle, sir Cecil. 750 should do very nicely. Well, John, I... I don't know what to say. We agreed a long time ago, Richard. I make the speeches, but it's so much. Will it tide you over? That's the point. Tide me over? It will save me. And you can save the cause. Why, it restores me to the point where I can even... even think of salvaging the wreck and repaying all those good people. That's fortunate, because that's the basis that I've got the money. John, you're incorrigible. At least our Mr. Pearson and his friends in Parliament concur in that. Oh, which reminds me... Yes. We have an appointment with them in Commons. You on the floor. I behind the scenes in caucus and in vestibules. A crucial appointment, Richard. The last, you think? I hope so. So do I. Then, if this is it, if this is victory, John, I'll be with you all the way. That's all the encouragement I need, Richard. This time, we tip the scales, make it the greatest speech of your career. Gentlemen, as I believe I have said to you before, I would like to speak to you about the repealed bill of the nefarious corn laws. What again? I just heard a gentleman on the other side of the house ask... What again? I say to that gentleman which word I use advisedly. Yes. Again. I have recently returned from a trip which took me into the far corners of England. I talked to the farmers and I can fairly report that I found them full of discontent. They were content enough until you met them? Not content. Merely deluded. But they can be deluded no longer. Because free Englishmen everywhere, in cities and towns, on farm and countryside, at last see the corn laws for what they are. Economic bondage and a political iniquity. Of course, I realize that the things of which I am about to talk cannot be seen from Lloyd's coffee house, nor from the windows of your private clubs. But believe me they can be seen from a furrow that has been washed away. They can be seen from the shabby walls of a tenement and from the rickety limbs of the children who live or should I say exist there. The facts are so simple that they are terrifying. Number one, there is a potato famine in Ireland. No dissenting view? Good. Number two, that potato famine has spread to England. Again, I find you in complete agreement. Number three, there have been torrential downpours which have ruined our domestic corn crop. Gentlemen, England verges on starvation. The England that you have sworn to protect is looking to you for that protection. Unless you act, unless you abrogate these laws, the people of this country are going to have to endure a famine for which history will hold you responsible. For which they, the people will hold you responsible. And I I say only this. As you go home to your well-filled ladders, remember as you bite into your evening bread and mutton, and that with every bite and with every second that passes, an Englishman holds you to account. Well, John, that does it. Do you think so? I'm sure of it. That speech did exactly what you predicted. It tipped the scales. But they're still the vote. Exactly the vote. What do you think I've been doing? John, while you stir them in the limelight and while you listen to the cheers of the galleries, I've been sculpting in the likely corners five members here and a half a dozen there. I've sounded them, John. I've seen them all. There's no longer any question. The corn laws are as good as dead. Didn't I say we couldn't win without you? Excuse me, but... Oh, well, Miss Latham, how'd you do, my dear? Very well, thank you. Mr. Cobden, would you... Huh? Oh, of course, of course. My colleague, John Bright, Miss Latham, Miss Margaret Latham, how'd you do? How'd you do? Miss Latham is one of our new and enlightened ladies, John. Rage things, you know, takes a great interest in public matters. Oh, Mr. Bright, I do hope you won't think it impertinent of me, magnificent. Oh, well, really, I mean, not really. But you were, Mr. Bright, simply heroic. Everybody's saying so. Oh, such fire, such such passion, all England will ring with it, and all England's in your debt. Oh, how can you be so eloquent? Well, really, I... believe me, madam, that is to say that... The opposition didn't know this, thank heaven. What's that? I say, I'm glad the opposition didn't know this. Know what? It takes only a pretty woman to render England's greatest speaker speechless. And that's the story. One chapter from the long career of John Bright, champion of the oppressed. For 50 years, one of the giants in Victoria's England. Whether it was corn laws or parliamentary reform, free education or international arbitration, or whether Britain should interfere in America's war between the states, John Bright was ever an eloquent pleader for moderation, for human dignity, for goodwill. A strong voice and a clear one along the way we came. And, incidentally, he did eventually marry Margaret Latham and found in her a devoted helpmate for more than a quarter of a century. The NBC University of the Air has brought you chapter 16 of the new historical series, We Came This Way. Episodes on the high roads to human freedom. We feel that you will enhance your pleasure and profit from this series if you make use of the special handbook which we have prepared to accompany it. You can obtain this handbook by sending 25 cents in cash to cover the cost of printing and mailing to We Came This Way, box 30, station J, New York 27, New York. The script was written by David Harmon and directed by Homer Heck. The original music is composed by Dr. Roy Shield. The orchestra was conducted by Joseph Gallicchio. The members of the cast were Clifton Utley as narrator, Sidney Brees as John Bright, Wilms Herbert as Richard Govden. Others were Sidney Elsman, Charles Eggleston, Philip Lord, Claire Baum, Sidney Gare and Tom Post.