I recently took a tour around Leinster House, the Dublin home of Ireland’s
Parliament. It seemed to have many features that echoed its historic links with
the Palace of Westminster but none of Westminster’s idiosyncrasies. Then I
discovered that since 1998, when modernisation fever struck, even Westminster
has been purged of much of its quirkiness.
But not entirely.
First the casualties.
The opera hats have gone. Before
1998 if a Member of Parliament wished to raise a point of order during a
division he had to do so ‘seated and covered’.
At all other times an MP must stand to speak. That’s why, if you watch a
televised debate, they’re up and down like meerkats with haemorrhoids trying to
catch the Speaker’s eye. ‘Covered’ meant wearing a hat, and for that purpose
two collapsible top hats were kept in the Commons’ chamber, to be passed
hastily along the benches to whichever MP required ‘covering’ before he could
raise a point of order.
I’ve searched in vain for a photograph. I wonder what
happened to those redundant opera hats. I did enquire at the Commons' Information Office but they didn’t get back
to me. I guess it wasn’t the most urgent enquiry of the week.
Eating is now prohibited in the Chamber though this wasn't always the case. In the 18th century MPs would
crack nuts and suck oranges and leave the debris behind them, much appreciated
by the resident vermin (of which, more anon). Nowadays the problem must be
getting MPs to turn their phones and pagers to Vibrate.
‘I spy Strangers’ has been hollered for the last time. The
public gallery is now rarely closed. And what used to be the Strangers’
Cafeteria is now called The Terrace Café, which sounds much more appealing.
Espresso macchiato instead of tea and buns? The Strangers’ Bar lives on, and the Strangers' Dining Room, and why not? Parliament can
do its business efficiently without rearranging all the furniture.
An MP’s coat hanger still has a loop of pink ribbon from
which he can suspend his sword before entering the Chamber. It is sometimes
alleged that the expression ‘toe the line’ originated in the Commons, referring
to the lines - two precautionary sword lengths apart - which MP must not cross no matter how
heated the debate. In fact swords were never worn in the Chamber even in the
days when no gentleman would leave home without one, so the derivation is
bogus.
So no swords, not now, not ever, and there is still a non-negotiable proscription against wearing armour. Just so you know.
Smoking in the
Commons’ Chamber has been prohibited since the 17th century but not
the taking of snuff. In fact snuff is
still freely available to MPs. It was traditionally English Rose mixture,
available from a box kept by the Doorkeeper and paid for out of petty cash.
When the House rises, often at an ungodly hour, the
Doorkeeper still calls, ‘Who goes home?’ though it apparently sounds more like
‘Hooooome?’ This is a revealing relic.
It dates from a time when Westminster was a dangerous place, the haunt of cut-throats
and footpads. It was safer for MPs to leave the building in groups, and for
those who lived on the Surrey side of the river, there was also the possibility
of splitting the cost of a ferryman. Rather like sharing a taxi today.
Finally, no account of the oddities of Parliament would be
complete without mentioning its non-human members. The story that Charles II
obtained an exemption from the general ban on dogs so his beloved spaniels
could accompany him to Parliament is apocryphal. Blind MP David Blunkett’s
succession of guide dogs have had the place to themselves.
The Palace of Westminster used to have a falconer on the
payroll but that work is now put out to tender. A self-employed falconer brings
in his Harris hawk on an As Required basis. His mission: to encourage the
pestilential pigeons to... relocate.
Vermin - no jokes, please - have
always been a problem in the Palace of Westminster, as in any old, riverside
building. The Parliamentary Estates Directorate keeps a monthly record of Mouse
Sightings. Moth Sightings are also recorded. Somewhat surprisingly there is no
register of Rat Sightings. Perhaps the humans aren’t expected to distinguish
a small rat from a big mouse. You’d think they’d employ a cat but whenever the
matter has been raised - ‘given full and proper consideration’ is the
actual phrase, it has been rejected on the grounds of ‘clear practical and technical difficulties’.
Perhaps the cat food bill would have
implications for the snuff budget.
I have discovered plenty of new information here, Laurie, thank you. I love the idea that barrels of gunpowder are still searched for.What costumes those Yeoman Guards have. Splendid.
ReplyDeleteWhat an entertaining post Laurie! An usher of the House of Lords is one of my readers and he invited me and my agent to a private tour of the House of Commons and the House of Lords. In the Lords there is a balcony round the top of the chamber its base is frocked with a red velvet curtain. This was put up to prevent the lords form being distracted by the sight of women's legs once skirt hems started to rise!
ReplyDeleteThanks for that, Elizabeth. I guess it obviated the need for a new cry, 'I spy knees!'
ReplyDeleteI once knew someone who took snuff. I tried a pinch, and I seem to remember it was very good for clearing the tubes... could do with a bit at the moment!
ReplyDeleteHow wonderful. I wonder what the practical objections to a cat are?
ReplyDeleteGreat fun. Although I love this history, sometimes I do wonder whether the whole place should be relocated to a transparent glass building in Birmingham, and the old palace be turned into a museum...
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