Flashback, May 1926: General Strike Paralyzes Great Britain

A century ago this month, more than two million British workers walked off their jobs, either miners or unions in solidarity with them, over conditions already desperate and dangerous underground and only worsened by mine owners and the Conservative government. 

After nine days, the Trades Union Congress (TUC) was forced to call off the General Strike, yielding their demands but not bitterness over what one striker called “the boil that needed lancing.”

I first became aware of this tumultuous event in British labor history while reading the first volume of William Manchester’s biography of Winston Churchill, The Last Lion.

As Chancellor of the Exchequer, often considered the second most powerful figure in His Majesty’s government, Churchill was heavily responsible for hardening opposition to the TUC in the Cabinet of Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin and, once the work stoppage began, mounting the government’s propaganda effort against it.

For the rest of his career, union workers and their sympathizers did not regard this as Churchill’s finest hour, to say the least. In the immediate aftermath, for instance, an editorial in the progressive political and cultural magazine The New Statesman was titled, “Should We Hang Mr. Churchill or Not?”

What animated Churchill and other Conservatives in Baldwin’s Cabinet was a British equivalent of the Russian Revolution of nine years before. They feared the tumult similar to that resulting from the Bolshevik takeover: property owners dispossessed, churches closed, the royal family executed, and even the overthrow of the new, more liberal government of Alexander Kerensky.

Britain represented an even more tempting target for Communists bent on international expansion. Churchill had engaged in a poorly planned, unsuccessful 1919 Allied effort to invade Russia to, as he put it, “strangle Bolshevism at its birth," but he was determined not to allow chaos to metastasize at home.

Mining was a particular pressure point for British employment and the economy. With coal required to fuel the ships, power stations, coke ovens, home use and industry to make munitions, the government nationalized the industry during World War I. After the armistice, the Mine workers union wanted to keep the 18.5% wage increase they won during the conflict.

But in March 1921, Prime Minister David Lloyd George returned the mines to private owners. By spring 1926, they had locked one million of their employees—a tenth of the British male workforce—out of their workplaces, demanding longer hours but less money.

Even many of the Conservatives in Parliament and Baldwin’s Cabinet felt that the mine owners dealt unjustly with the workers; it’s just that they feared the Marxist bogeyman more.

In the latest issue of the British publication The Literary Review, Richard Vinen explained why another issue—safety—only added to workers’ grievances:

“About a thousand a year died in accidents. Of the three most important leaders of the miners in 1926, two had lost their fathers in accidents underground. There were many injuries. [Historian Jonathan] Schneer cites the case of Thomas Baker of Sheffield, who received ten shillings a week as compensation for having lost a leg at the age of seventeen….The life of a miner was unimaginable to most people. Driving trains or buses might, for a time, seem amusing – which is why so many young men volunteered to do it in 1926. No one would have volunteered to be a miner, which is why men had to be conscripted to dig coal during the Second World War.”

Altogether it was, according to the late Welsh actor and film producer Stanley Baker, whose father lost a leg in a cave-in, “a place where death and poverty are daily threats.”

In back of it all was the restoration of the gold standard that Churchill pushed through in 1925. The result, explains Lawrence Reed, writing for the Foundation for Economic Education, in June 2023, was “a series of destructive results. British export industries suffered hugely, especially coal, leading to strikes and slowdowns.” John Maynard Keynes’ prediction of just this eventuality, in The Economic Consequences of Mr. Churchill, went unheeded.

As the miners union felt increasingly pushed towards striking, they were joined by workers from other sectors walking out in sympathy, including transport and dock employees, as well as those employed in gas and electricity, printing, iron, steel and chemical jobs.

But the owners and the government were making their own preparations months in advance to stave off what Baldwin called “the road to anarchy and ruin.” A nine-month subsidy to owners to keep wages stable gave him time to:

* coordinate food and fuel availability through the Organisation for the Maintenance of Supplies;

* use the Emergency Powers Act of 1920 to issue regulations maintaining order; and

* establish a commission headed by Sir Herbert Samuel, which issued a report that, though critical of the mine owners, also recommended the reduction of miners’ wages.

Central to the effort, exactly where he wanted to be, was Churchill, who throughout the strike edited a four-page daily newspaper, the British Gazette. A blatant tool of government propaganda, it falsely assailed the TUC for attacking the constitution and threatening order while simultaneously jeering that the effort was for nought.

More crucial, Baldwin had also mobilized the army and volunteers to protect transportation services. Many volunteers who assumed the strikers’ roles may have felt they were engaging in what the American philosopher William James called “the moral equivalent of war”—the discipline engendered by armed conflict. Keeping Britain functioning called for reserves of idealism that the past brutal conflict had vastly reduced.

Considering the bitter emotions involved, it was surprising that casualties were comparatively limited during the strike: 41 people treated for injuries at the hands of baton-wielding mounted police. But it would be a mistake to say there was no damage.

Several train crashes occurred, with nonprofessional drivers—volunteers to fill vacancies left by those out in sympathy with the strikers—at the helm. One such accident at the Edinburgh Waverley station—a train hitting wagons in the tunnel—left three people dead.

Though Baldwin called for no reprisals—and the General Strike was over in little more than a week, with no concessions won by the strikers—the miners whose desperate plight sparked this epic owner-union capitalist tried to tough it out for another half year, when they were forced to yield to their bosses’ implacable demand: longer hours, less pay.

The hard heel on their necks was reinforced by government action in 1927 in the form of the Trade Disputes and Trade Unions Act, which outlawed sympathy strikes—legislation so seemingly successful that to this day, Britain has experienced no other general strike. 

By 1928, TUC membership had plummeted to half a million, and to maintain future electoral viability, the Labour Party felt forced—at least for a while—to moderate its more militant elements.

It took more than a decade, but British sympathy for the strikers increased markedly by the end of World War II, as reflected in the books (and film adaptations) The Stars Look Down by A.J. Cronin and How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn.