The House of Lords also paid tribute to Jim Wallace yesterday.

Our leader in the House of Lords, Jeremy Purvis led the speeches. You can watch here.

My Lords, many of us aspire to be a good politician, to do good and to be a good person. More times than not, we fall short. Jim Wallace was a good man who saw it as his role in life to do good things. He did, and they will last. With great sorrow, we have been denied the opportunity of hearing a valedictory speech in this House from Jim. He would have been characteristically modest. We can perhaps be a little immodest on his behalf for a now profoundly missed absent friend.

After his early political days in the lowlands of Scotland, he triumphed in its most northerly part. When he was elected, many said he was the MP for Jo Grimond’s seat, but in short order we referred to it as Jim Wallace’s Orkney and Shetland. As MP, MSP and Peer, he saw serving in Parliament as the means by which good things can be done, not the end in itself. He was what a parliamentarian should be.

When speaking in Parliament Hall on the day of the opening of the Scottish Parliament in 1999, Jim was achieving his ambition and the dreams of many in delivering what Gladstone could not a century before. He said to all those newly elected MSPs:

“As the people’s representatives we should never forget the hopes kindled by this historic opportunity”.

He approached his role to meet those hopes as the first Liberal in office since the Second World War with zeal: land reform, law reform, social reform, education reform, prison reform—radical but workable—and all have endured, none reversed. Jim was a reformer, but he knew that for reform to last, it had to be done well. He said of the new Holyrood:

“Our Parliament must be open and inclusive—willing to consult and willing to listen”.

That sentiment embodied his own approach to politics.

Jim could be exceptionally partisan, though, but only with football. A determined Blue Nose—supporter of Glasgow Rangers—he was dutifully, but distractedly, carrying out one of his last duties as Deputy First Minister before being succeeded by my noble friend Lord Stephen in May 2005 at the launch of the Promoting Unst Renewable Energy project, on a day ironically too windy for anything to work. He was distracted, as it was unknown to him who was winning the Scottish league. But as his then private secretary subtly gave the thumbs up during the non-switching-on event, Jim then became, in the words of his private secretary, “the happiest I’ve ever seen him”.

Jim was a very confident Liberal, but very comfortable with others who were not. He felt that co-operating with others did not diminish his position or dilute his beliefs. Rather, it allowed progress to be made for the better end. Agreement with others, for Jim, was to get traction and longevity. We all knew that reaching agreement was Jim’s strength, but he approached it always from a granite set of principles. I once discussed a tricky time in the Scottish Parliament on a controversial law reform measure, and he said to me, “The test is when you defend the human rights of the people you hate”. Although that word was never associated with Jim, his words have become my test.

When he gave the first Charles Kennedy Memorial Lecture, he mourned the loss of a great friend prematurely. In the lecture, he remarked on their close friendship that

“there was much camaraderie, much political discussion and analysis, even intrigue—and much fun”.

The same for us with you, Jim.

Jim was literally admirable, with a political determination tempered by real kindness, and a seriousness of purpose sweetened by wry humour. Jim would tell of his period as Justice Minister in 2002, when Nelson Mandela visited the Lockerbie bomber in jail and, at a global press conference, criticised the way he was being kept, and by extension Jim himself. On hearing the rather worrying condemnation of Jim by the world’s most venerated man, his teenage daughter said, “Did Nelson Mandela just attack Dad? That’s cool!”

Engaging in a policy discussion with Jim was a thrilling and quite often intimidating experience. He had a prodigious intellect, phenomenal memory, confidence of argument and the ability to deploy cutting wit,a sharpened sgian dubh. You needed to be on your game or your game was lost, as I learned on too many an occasion. I would start off fully confident with my argument and not long after accepting an early defeat, I would just pour us lots more whisky, enjoy the man and admire his abilities so comfortably worn. Those in law, civil service and politics would see the same. He excelled in company, while never dominating it. For those of us who knew him well, his ability to doze off mid-discussion, awaken and display his remarkable acuity as before was a skill to behold.

Jim loved serving as Moderator and said that he was more in awe in addressing the Kirk’s General Assembly than any of the three parliamentary Chambers he had mastered. On taking office as Moderator, he said:

“At all levels, and not least in our upper echelons, we should be ready to take risks to do what is right”.

For Jim, the risk would be calculated, prepared for, researched and tested, but that preparation did not dent the determination for boldness of thought and action. He led my Scottish party; he led government, he led the Kirk and in law. He also led these Benches, not by diktat—Jim knew this to be a futile exercise for a group of Liberals—but through intellect, argument, respect and a reasoned, methodical approach. We were lucky to have a colleague we admired, but one who made it easy to love him too.

John Buchan wrote of another great Scot words which are also appropriate for Jim:

“perfectly honest, perfectly fearless, and perfectly true”.

I grieve for Rosie, Clare and Helen and the grandchildren, who will have so many years ahead without Jim, but I say with love that we are ever so grateful that you allowed us to share Jim in our lives. Jim was a good politician and a good person who strove for and did good. The country is better, and lives are improved as a result of what he did. He was the best of examples of how politics can and should be the most honourable of callings. His faith was deep and he knew that, when his time had come, he would be going to a good place. That time is the wrong time—far too soon a time—but that place is now extremely lucky to have him.

* Caron Lindsay is Editor of Liberal Democrat Voice and blogs at Caron's Musings. You can find her on Bluesky at caronmlindsay.bsky.social