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Tributes: Lord Mackay of Clashfern

My Lords, I thank the Lord Privy Seal for her warm tribute to our late beloved friend and colleague, Lord Mackay of Clashfern. When I say “our” beloved colleague, I mean all of us—all here who knew him and heard him for over 40 years as a Member of this House. I can think of few, if any, Peers who were so sincerely liked and admired on all sides as was James Mackay.

The noble Baroness set out some of his extraordinary achievements: dean of the Faculty of Advocates, Lord Advocate, a Scottish Law Lord, Lord of Appeal in Ordinary, Lord Chancellor for 10 years, a Knight of the Thistle and latterly honoured by his Queen as Lord Clerk Register of Scotland. Never were such a string of great garlands laid on the brow of a more humble man—not only humble in origin, though he was that, but a man of abiding humility, as our Leader said. Pomposity and pride were utterly alien to him, in the being or seeing of them.

The core of Lord Mackay’s life was the Bible and that higher power on which he long and regularly reflected. He observed the Lord’s day. When I was new in No. 10, I remember Switch explaining to me not only that you should not ring the Lord Chancellor on a Sunday but that you could not—the line would stay dead. His deep Christian faith moulded a bedrock of principle. As our Leader said, he never sought conflict, but he did not flinch from difficulties if the cause was just. As she said, as the first member of the Scottish Bar ever to sit on the Woolsack he set out to break restrictive practices in the law and open access to justice to more people. It did not make him popular, but he saw it through. Among his many legislative achievements were not only the Children Act, to which the noble Baroness rightly referred, but the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act, which brought clarity—like the Children Act—in difficult fields of morality and law.

Lord Mackay never intended to be a lawyer. He had the rare distinction of first class degrees in maths from both Edinburgh and Cambridge, where he was the senior wrangler—which was an achievement—and he taught maths before reading for the Bar. This was testament to the extraordinary clarity and precision of James Mackay’s mind, and his unerring ability to discern the truth of arguments and determine solutions: the very essence of a good judge. Yet how lightly he carried his great wisdom and learning, always expressed in the simplest language, spoken softly, as the noble

Baroness said, and with the most beguiling humour. He had unimpeachable integrity and a fierce independence of mind which, perhaps, was his highland character. He graced that great office of Lord Chancellor, speaking truth and justice to power in the Cabinet, defending the rule of law and presiding in this House.

Lord Mackay was a kindly man, generous in his advice to others, courteous to a fault, with a twinkle in his eye and a quizzical air that made you feel, perhaps, that he was puzzled that others could not see the solutions as swiftly as he did. After he went to the Back Benches, he used to sit on the second row, behind the Minister. When you were at the Dispatch Box and you saw by your shoulder that hand creeping over the back of the Bench to haul himself to his feet, you knew you were in for either the most testing challenge to your arguments from one of your friends, or else the most simple and compelling exposition of the case that you had been floundering for an hour to try to explain to the House.

James Mackay was a great parliamentarian, a lover of this place and loved by it. Let us remember our brother as a righteous man. He was never judgmental, but nor was he afraid to judge between good and evil. He was a great reformer and a loving family man, buoyed for 68 years by his remarkable wife and three children, to whom our prayers and sympathy go out. This polity, this House, this United Kingdom will never see the like of Lord Chancellor Mackay again.

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