A slammed door, a hostage, a search of the cellars and a speech its reader did not write: the constitution, performed once a session
Why the King Cannot Enter the House of Commons, and Other Truths of the State Opening
Once in each session of Parliament, a senior official in black walks the length of the Palace of Westminster to summon the House of Commons, and as he arrives the door is slammed in his face. He is obliged to knock three times with an ebony staff before he is let in. The door bears the dents. Everyone involved knows it is coming. It is done with great seriousness, and it is, when you think about it, one of the more pointed pieces of political theatre performed anywhere in the world.
The State Opening of Parliament is usually reported as pageantry: the coach, the crown, the robes, the trumpets. I want to make the case that it deserves reading more closely. Nearly every odd detail of the day is a small, deliberate reminder of who holds power in this country and who does not.
The Search of the Cellars
The day begins underground. Before the sovereign arrives, the Yeomen of the Guard carry out a ceremonial search of the cellars of the Palace of Westminster by lantern light. The custom recalls the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, when Guy Fawkes was found beneath the House of Lords with barrels of powder intended for James I. The real security sweep is of course carried out by other people with rather better equipment. The lanterns are the memory.
The Hostage
While the King travels to Westminster, a Member of Parliament is held at Buckingham Palace. By tradition it is a government whip who holds the post of Vice-Chamberlain of the Household. The MP remains there until the monarch has returned safely. The practice dates from a time when relations between Crown and Parliament were bad enough that a king might reasonably fear not coming back.
Those who have served as the hostage report that the captivity is comfortable. It is said to involve a drink and a television on which to watch the proceedings. Still, the principle stands: Parliament’s good behaviour is guaranteed with a body.
The Crown Arrives First
The Imperial State Crown does not travel with the King. It goes ahead in its own carriage, with the Sword of State and the Cap of Maintenance, and is received at Westminster with its own escort. There is a constitutional idea folded into this. The Crown, meaning the office and its authority, is distinct from the person who wears it. The regalia are, in a sense, more permanent than the monarch.
The Slammed Door
The sovereign delivers the speech from the throne in the House of Lords. The Commons must be sent for, and the messenger is the Gentleman or Lady Usher of the Black Rod. As Black Rod approaches the Commons chamber, the door is shut. Only after three knocks is it opened.
The gesture asserts the independence of the Commons from the Crown, and it is tied to a specific morning. In January 1642, Charles I entered the chamber with armed men to arrest five members he accused of treason. They had been warned and had gone. The Speaker, William Lenthall, asked where they were, replied that he had neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak except as the House directed. No monarch has set foot in the Commons since. The detailed history is set out by the UK Parliament, which tells it with understandable relish.
The Stroll
Having admitted Black Rod, MPs do not march to the Lords. They amble. They chat. The Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition walk side by side making conversation that neither appears to enjoy. For many years one veteran member made a habit of calling out a joke at Black Rod’s expense before the procession set off. The dawdling is its own small declaration that the Commons comes when it is ready.
The Speech He Did Not Write
Then comes the centrepiece, and its central irony. The King reads a speech setting out the laws that will be proposed in the coming session. He refers throughout to my government and my ministers. He did not write a word of it. The speech is drafted by the government of the day and approved by the Cabinet, and the sovereign reads it in a deliberately level tone that betrays no opinion on its contents.
This is the constitutional monarchy stated in a single act. The authority is the Crown’s. The decisions belong to elected ministers who command a majority in the Commons. The monarch gives the programme a voice and nothing else. The modern role is described on the Royal Family’s website in terms that would have astonished Charles I. The text is handed over printed on what is still called goatskin paper, though no goat has been involved for some time.
Is It Worth the Fuss
There is a fair objection to all this, which is that a modern legislature has no business dressing up to announce a list of bills. The ceremony closes roads, costs money and can look absurd in a year when the bills themselves are thin. Some reformers would prefer a plain statement to the Commons from the Prime Minister.
I am not persuaded, and not because I enjoy a carriage, although I do. Most countries write their constitution down. Britain, for better and worse, acts much of its out. The slammed door teaches in ten seconds what a civics textbook takes a chapter to explain: that the Commons is sovereign in its own house and the Crown enters only by invitation. A country that has no single founding document should be careful about throwing away its mnemonics.
The day also remains a useful measure. When a State Opening has been scaled back, delayed or used for a government’s convenience, it has told us something about the politics of the moment. Ceremony is a form of record.
The occasion is naturally a feast for humourists, and the desks that produce London satirical news and English satirical news have never let one pass, any more than NewsThump has. Anyone who reads an account of an MP being taken hostage and assumes it must be a joke should consult the UK satirical news checklist. On this occasion it is the plain truth. More of my reporting on the monarchy and the constitution is on my author page at The London Prat.
SOURCE: https://prat.uk/