Today, it’s hard to believe that there was ever a time when fascism was accepted in England. It’s even harder to imagine a massive British Union of Fascists rally on Southampton Common or the infamous BUF leader, Oswald Mosley, standing on top of a van giving a speech. This is exactly what happened on Sunday, 18 July 1937, but I’m pleased to say things didn’t go quite the way Oswald Mosley expected. Read on to find out more . . .
The fascist leader had every reason to believe he’d be welcome in Southampton. The town boasted its own BUF headquarters, a rather pleasant Italianate villa on the western side of the Avenue near the Stag Gates, where the Travelodge stands today. Mosley had been well received in 1934 when he visited Southampton and spoke at the Coliseum. A police constable lost his helmet in the excitement, but there was no real trouble.
The Coliseum was the largest meeting hall and indoor sports venue in town. Situated on Portland Terrace between Portland Street and Spa Road, it opened in 1880 as a skating rink. In 1910, a new brick building replaced the original corrugated iron shed, and it became a music hall. Like the villa on the Avenue, it is long gone, demolished in 1965 to make way for the Inner Ring Road and an extension to the Echo offices. WestQuay now stands on the spot. The fact that Mosley filled it tells of his popularity at the time. The lack of trouble may also explain why the police weren’t overly concerned when he wanted to come back and address a rally on the Common in 1937.
The BUF was founded in 1932 and was popular at first. Mosley was a handsome, charismatic man and a captivating orator. Nicknamed the Blackshirts because of their uniform, they’d reached the pinnacle of their popularity by 1934. By 1937, Mosley had become more radical and embraced anti-semitism. People were now worried about Hitler and rumours of Jews being sent off to camps in Germany. Fascism was slowly becoming a dirty word in Britain.
On 9 July 1937, Mosley gave a speech in Exeter Civic Hall. He said, “We say that Jews may not stay in this country organising as a State within the State, setting the interest of their own race above the interest of the nation as a whole. Therefore such Jews will have to leave Great Britain, and I do not disguise the opinion that the only final solution for the Jewish problem of the world is for the Jews to go together to another land in one of the many unpopulated areas of the world and become themselves a nation.” The mention of a ‘final solution’ was a chilling prediction for what later happened in Europe. Whether this speech influenced what happened in Southampton isn’t clear, but it couldn’t have helped.
When Mosley came to Southampton on Sunday, 18 July, the Southampton police didn’t expect trouble to erupt. There were no organised anti-fascist groups in Southampton, and the trade unions and local Communist Party had planned no resistance to the rally. The Chief Constable issued an optimistic internal memorandum asking officers to ‘please report by Monday morning if any untoward incidents take place.’ He had seriously underestimated the strength of feeling against the fascists by the ordinary working-class people in the town.
A crowd of between 15,000 and 20,000 assembled on the Common, where regular political meetings were held on Sundays. These events routinely attracted thousands of spectators. Add an infamous speaker like Oswald Mosley, and the crowd was bound to be sizeable. Mosley climbed onto the top of his black loudspeaker van, surrounded by his thuggish black-shirted bodyguards. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, he was drowned out by boos, catcalls and chants of, ‘We don’t want Mosley!’ He battled to be heard for about three-quarters of an hour, but the jeers continued, and soon missiles joined them. Things had turned decidedly ugly. The crowd encircled the van and tried to pull Mosley down. One young man attempted to climb onto the van roof. A concerned bodyguard grabbed him but only succeeded in pulling down the lad’s trousers. Unfortunately, he wore no underwear and revealed more than he’d intended. It was a small moment of humour in what was fast becoming a dangerous situation.
The police realised things were getting out of hand and called for reinforcements. They didn’t take long to arrive and had soon formed a cordon around the van. The crowd surged forward as Mosley climbed down. More missiles were thrown, and one hit Mosley in the head. The police ushered the bleeding BUF leader towards the Avenue. The exact details of what happened next are unclear. There are several different stories. One claims police tried to get him to a waiting car, but the crowd overturned it, and he was taken to a nearby tramcar. Some say the tram was overturned. The Echo reported that crowd members pulled the tram electrics apart, and Mosley fled the scene.
The most believable account comes from the Southampton Times, which mentions half a dozen police officers standing on the tram platforms and barricading the lower windows with seat cushions. Southampton trams had slatted wooden seats in 1937, so this doesn’t quite ring true. There is a mention of one man climbing onto the tram’s front buffer to block the driver’s view as it moved away, and one of the tram windows was reported broken by a brick or a stone. The poor tram driver and conductor must have been terrified, but they appear to have taken Mosley to the South Western Hotel, where he was staying.
Five people were arrested – Richard Ball, a plumber from Knighton Road; Ernest Emery, a seaman from Pansy Road; Walter Gorse, a joiner’s mate from Palmerston Road; Alfred Pallett, a lorry driver’s mate from Wharf Street, and Gordon Pearce a toolmaker from Winchester Road. They were charged with threatening and insulting behaviour, and Pallett, who had a pocket filled with stones, was also charged with discharging missiles to the danger of the public. Gorse was fined twenty shillings for breaking the tram window and ordered to pay fifteen shillings for the repairs. Pallett was fined twenty shillings for breaching the peace. The cases against Ball Emery and Pearce were dismissed, although Pearce had climbed onto the tram buffers and Ball had lost his trousers while attempting to climb onto the van roof. No doubt the quintet dined out on their notoriety for some time, although it probably took Ball a while to live down his debagging.
This strong anti-fascist feeling in Southampton seems to have been a disorganised and spontaneous affair. The trade unions and the local communist party may have tried to claim it as their victory, but the men involved were ordinary Sotonians who didn’t like the fascists and were willing to confront them. Mosley did not return to the town, and that November, the BUF polled just 29 votes in the municipal elections. It was the beginning of the end of the British Union of Fascists, and I’m proud that Southampton played a part in it.
If you’ve enjoyed reading this little snippet of local history, you might like my latest book, A Dish Best Served Cold. It is the final instalment in my five book, Between The Wars Saga, and the first chapter is inspired by the story of Mosley’s escape as seen through the eyes of tram driver Walter Moody and his conductor, Sam Cahill.
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It takes a real gift to do historical fiction–I read this and then excerpts from some of your books, and look forward to reading more. The use of photos is terrific, too.
Thank you so much. I appreciate it.
What an interesting account of Mosley’s visit to Southampton. I’m very thankful that fascism didn’t last long in Britain.
Me too. I’m also proud that the people of Southampton saw through his nonsense and were having none of it.