Are these the ten best political speeches?

Read, watch, listen, agree, disagree.

Political speeches make news, for their content, for their delivery, and for their significance. (Did you notice my rhetorical trio there? Tony Blair would be proud.)

The art of rhetoric -- the use of language as a means to persuade -- has been studied and prized for over 2,000 years. A talent for oration can be the key to political success (Barack Obama): a lack of the skill of public communication could spell disaster (Gordon Brown?).

This week's New Statesman features an essay on the art of political speechwriting in modern times on both sides of the Atlantic. What does the process entail, and how has it survived in the era of spin?

To complement that magazine treat, we've put together a special online package of our favourite political speeches made by British politicians since 1945. Wherever possible, we've included audio and video clips, or links to recordings.

These are our choices:

1. Aneurin Bevan, anti-Suez speech, Trafalgar Square rally, November 1956

2. Enoch Powell, speech on the Hola Camp in Kenya, House of Commons, July 1959

3. Harold Macmillan, speech to the South African parliament, Cape Town, February 1960

4. Hugh Gaitskell, speech on nuclear disarmament, Labour party conference, 1960

5. Margaret Thatcher, Brighton bomb speech, Conservative party conference, October 1984

6. Neil Kinnock, Militant speech, Labour party conference, October 1985

7. Sir Geoffrey Howe, resignation speech, House of Commons, November 1990

8. Robin Cook, resignation speech, House of Commons, March 2003

9. David Cameron, leadership bid, Conservative party conference, October 2005

10. Tony Blair, last conference speech, Labour party conference, September 2006

11. Three more that didn't quite make the cut

 

But what have we left out? Aneurin Bevan on the NHS? Margaret Thatcher proclaiming "No, no, no"? Keith Joseph on inflation in 1974? (NB: That was another rhetorical trio, with some casual rhetorical questions thrown in. Watch and learn.) You tell us. And enjoy.

 

Follow the New Statesman team on Twitter.

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

Steve Garry
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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism