by David Long
Involving sex and a spy, the resulting scandal holed the Macmillan Government below the waterline and it sank a few months later. Profumo wisely withdrew from public life and stayed hidden.
David Blunkett
Blunkett quit the Labour Cabinet in late 2004 following allegations that, as Home Secretary, he had fast-tracked a visa application for his lover’s nanny. Worse still, besides being married to someone else, the lover in question was the publisher of the traditionally Tory-supporting Spectator, effectively the house journal of the British political right.
Any hopes in the Blair camp that further embarrassing revelations might die a death quickly evaporated; Blunkett, it seemed, was mounting a legal challenge. He did so to gain access to one of Kimberley Quinn’s children on the grounds that he, rather than Mr Quinn, had fathered the two-year-old boy.
John Prescott
In April 2006, Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott (sixty-seven) admitted he had been having an extramarital affair with Tracey Temple (forty-three) who, at the time, worked for him as a secretary. The Member for Hull East said that the affair had ended ‘some time ago’ and that, of course, he regretted it.
Telling journalists, ‘I have discussed this fully with my wife Pauline who is devastated,’ he went on to say, ‘I would be grateful if [we] can get on with our lives.’ Mrs Prescott stood by him, only publishing her version of events a few years later in a book mawkishly entitled Smile Though Your Heart Is Breaking.
Jeremy Thorpe
The leader of the Liberal Party was driven out of office in 1976 after being forced to deny a homosexual relationship with sometime male model Norman Scott. Subsequently embroiled in an alleged conspiracy to kill Scott – the bungling hitman reportedly mistook Dunstable for Barnstaple – Thorpe was acquitted of all charges, but by that time his political career lay in ruins.
The dapper, Oxford-educated Old Etonian was a popular figure around Westminster and, by all accounts, a skilled politician. More than thirty years after the trial he has said little, beyond telling one reporter, ‘If it happened now, I think the public would be kinder. Back then, they were very troubled by it.’
Robin Cook
Labour’s Foreign Secretary from 1997 to 2001, Cook left his wife shortly after his appointment and following a telephone call from Tony Blair’s Director of Communi cations. During the course of their conversation, Alastair Campbell warned Cook that the press had somehow got wind of his affair with Gaynor Regan, a member of his staff.
The two subsequently married, but not before Margaret Cook had gone on the record accusing Cook of being an insensitive husband and a secret alcoholic. She further alleged that the affair with Ms Regan was by no means his first but admitted after his death halfway up a mountain in 2005 that he had been an ‘exemplary’ father.
Paddy Ashdown
Politicians like to think they can keep a lid on things and, until the headlines started screaming ‘PADDY PANTS-DOWN’, the Lib-Dem leader might have assumed an affair with his secretary was nicely under wraps. But in 1992, Tricia Howard telephoned to warn him that one of the tabloids – the now defunct News of the World – had been in touch. By then the affair was over, but Ashdown admits that, on hearing this, ‘I felt my stomach sink into a black pit’. Briefly, he considered taking out an injunction against the paper but, realising this would not work, he telephoned his wife before calling a press conference to confess to everything.
Anthony Lambton
Disclaiming the Earldom of Durham in order to remain in politics (but arrogantly insisting that he still be called ‘Lord Lambton’), the MP for Berwick-upon-Tweed resigned in 1973 after his ignoble private life hit the headlines. In particular, the News of the World had evidence of numerous liaisons with prostitutes.
After the husband of one of the women had attempted to sell photographs of the member in action, the police swooped on Lambton’s house and found a quantity of cannabis in the bedroom. With characteristic hauteur, Lambton claimed his debauchery was an attempt to soothe an aristocratic obsession, saying a previous attempt to cure himself by gardening had failed.
Iris Robinson
In late 2009 came news that the wife of the First Minister of the Northern Ireland Assembly – and a high-profile Democratic Unionist Party member herself – was withdrawing from public life. In the way of these things, the announcement came immediately after she’d been warned that a BBC documentary was due to broadcast details of her personal and financial affairs.
Earlier in the year, the couple, nicknamed ‘the Swish Family Robinson’, had been caught up in the MPs’ expenses scandal following claims they were receiving £571,000 a year in salaries and expenses. It later emerged that Mrs Robinson, a controversially vocal, born-again Christian, had been having an affair with a teenager.
Cecil Parkinson
On the verge of being appointed to the post of Foreign Secretary, Parkinson was instead forced to resign from office in October 1983 when it became known that his former secretary, Sara Keays, was carrying his child. In 1987, he was politically rehabilitated by Lady Thatcher and made Secretary of State for Energy.
At the time of his disgrace, Parkinson claimed to have received many letters of support from the public. When Flora Keays turned eighteen, however, he took another pasting in the press when it was noted that he had never met his daughter and seemed to have no intention of doing so.
Jeffrey Archer
Britain’s longest-running political sex scandal saw the fabled ‘millionaire novelist’ successfully suing a tabloid for saying he had paid for sex but then finding himself in the dock twelve years later accused of perverting the course of justice. Found guilty and forced to repay £500,000 damages, Archer was sentenced to four years in gaol.
As well as being expelled from the Conservative Party for five years (and the MCC for seven), the cricket-loving Archer had to stump up nearly £2 million once legal fees and interest were taken into account. Many of his friends stayed loyal, however, and his three volumes of prison diaries reportedly sold very well.
Parliamentary Figures of Speech
‘It’s in the bag’
Behind the Speaker’s Chair is a large bag into which Members of Parliament drop petitions from constituents in the hope that these will be considered by the House. Obviously, MPs could still decide either way, or even ignore it, but the expression has come to mean that something is, wink-wink, sorted.
‘Toeing the line’
Meaning to require someone to follow a certain course, this is popularly supposed to be a reference to a pair of parallel lines woven into the carpet of the debating chamber of the House of Commons. Opposing members must remain on their side of the relevant line, the two being positioned approximately two sword-lengths apart – plus an additional 6 in. to ensure nobody gets hurt in the cut and thrust. (In fact, members have always been forbidden to attend a session wearing a sword, and the hooks in the cloakrooms still include little ribbon loops designed to hold the swords of Members entering the Chamber.)
‘Three-line whip’
Derived from eighteenth-century hunting practice when the whipper-in was responsible for driving stray hounds back into the pack. In political circles, ‘taking the whip’ implies membership of a party, and a commitment to adhere to its rules. To this end, voting instructions are issued to Members by the Whips’ Office on slips of paper. A single underlining means attendance at a division is optional; a double underlining means it is compulsory unless the Member can pair off with a member of the Opposition (meaning neither will vote, thereby negating any advantage); and three underlinings means the member must vote and vote with his or her party – no matter what.
‘Take a back seat’
Suggesting an individual will observe rather than taking an active role, the expression sounds like an automotive one but actually refers to his or her relocation from the front benches to the back ones.
‘Economical with the actualité’
Just as MPs are forb
idden to describe each other as liars, they have shown themselves, as a species, to be constitutionally unable to admit they have themselves uttered an untruth. In 1992, Alan Clark MP used this particular circumlocution to admit that he had actually done exactly that (when the veracity of some of his answers was more closely questioned) and his sly phrase has since entered the language.
‘Tired and emotional’
Parliamentary rules also forbid one member from accusing another of being drunk, but it is considered acceptable to use one of several well-understood euphemisms. This one had its origins in the satirical weekly Private Eye, initially as reference to an apparently well-lubricated Labour Foreign Secretary of the 1960s. It has since caught on to such an extent that, in the opinion of many lawyers, it is itself now to be considered equally defamatory.
Please Don’t Quote Me!
‘It’s nice to be in Cornwall again . . .’
Liberal Democrat Paddy Ashdown MP arriving in
Devon for the 1992 General Election.
‘How nice to see you all here!’
Roy Jenkins MP addressing a group of prisoners.
‘Suicide is a real threat to health in this country.’
Conservative Minister Virginia Bottomley MP
‘Headmasters of schools tend to be male.’
Labour MP Clare Short
‘I am a working politician, not a thinker.’
Labour Home Secretary Jack Straw
‘Everyone ought to be arrested at least once. It’s an education.’
Conservative Alan Clark MP
after attempting to drive his Land Rover
through a police cordon.
‘One reason I changed the Labour Party is so that we could remain true to our principles.’
Prime Minister Tony Blair
‘Nobody would go to Hitler’s funeral if he was alive today.’
Labour’s Ron Brown MP
‘The past is gone and is not coming back.’
Nick Clegg, Liberal Democrat Leader
‘Clearly, the future is still to come.’
Peter Brooke MP
____________
1 There’s a much bigger bell in the Kremlin, weighing more than 200 tons, but it cracked before the Russians could use it and it has never been hung or sounded.
21
Ceremonial London
‘Come with me, ladies and gentlemen, who are in any wise weary of London: come with me: and those that tire at all of the world we know: for we have new worlds here.’
Lord Dunsany (1905)
From Barnet to Whitehall, and from Beating Retreat to the Widow’s Bun, London boasts scores of arcane customs and colourful ceremonies. Many date back hundreds of years but, as the following selection shows, they are still celebrated throughout in an annual calendar that is unmatched for symbolism, strangeness and variety by any city anywhere else in the world.
January
Royal Epiphany Gifts Ceremony
At St James’s Palace on 6 January, a gift of gold, frankincense and myrrh is carried into the Chapel Royal by two Gentleman Ushers of the Royal Household while the scarlet-clad Gentlemen and Children of the Chapel Royal sing a Communion service. The valuable gifts (the gold is in the form of twenty-five sovereigns) are received by the Bishop of London in his role as Dean of the Chapel Royal, who bows three times in honour of the three wise men of the Nativity.
Charles I Commemoration
Marking the anniversary of the murder by execution of Charles I on 30 January 1649, members of the Royal Stuart Society hold services in several London churches on the last Sunday of the month. This is followed by a march by the King’s Army – Royalist supporters in full Civil War regalia – to the place of his death, outside the Banqueting House on Whitehall.
February
Clown Service
In memory of clown prince Joseph Grimaldi (who lived at 56 Exmouth Market, Clerkenwell, from 1818 to 1828) a service is held on the last Sunday of February – or occasionally the first in March. The service takes place at Holy Trinity, Dalston, the official church of the International Clowns’ Club, and costume and make-up are considered mandatory for those attending.
Farthing Bundles
Commemorating the Fern Street Settlement, an Edwardian charitable endeavour to alleviate poverty in the East End, the expression refers to parcels of newspaper containing small toys and oddments, which were given away to poor children small enough to pass under a ceremonial arch. Sadly, the practice has not been held regularly since the 1980s but the name of the instigator, Clara Grant, is commemorated in a building in Mellish Street, E14, and a little oak arch is occasionally erected in her memory.
Shrove Tuesday
Marked in Lincoln’s Inn Fields by an annual pancake race, and at Westminster School with the celebrated Pancake Greaze. The latter sees a verger from the adjacent Abbey leading a procession of eager boys (and, since 1973, girls, too) out of the school where the cook tosses a huge pancake over a high bar. The competitors then race to grab a portion of the pancake; whoever secures the largest fragment receives a cash bonus from the Dean.
Blessing the Throats
On 3 February each year, at the pre-Reformation St Etheldreda’s in Ely Place – London’s oldest Catholic church – those stricken with illnesses of the throat seek a cure during a special service. Two long altar candles are blessed and crossed with ribbons, and, as supplicants kneel before the priest, he holds the Cross beneath their chins while intoning, ‘May the Lord deliver you from the evil of the throat, and from every other evil.’ The service commemorates the fourth-century St Blaise, an Armenian said to have saved a child from choking to death on the bone of a fish.
March
Widow’s Bun
As described in Chapter 14 – Boozy London – this practice dates back at least two centuries and involves a sailor adding a hot cross bun every year to the collection hanging over the bar at the Widow’s Son pub, Bromley-by Bow.
Graveside Dole
On Good Friday at Smithfield’s St Bartholomew-the-Great, London’s oldest church, it has long been the tradition to place twenty-one coins on a tomb in the church to be collected by a similar number of poor widows of the parish. In what is now a sparsely populated parish, and a relatively desirable and expensive place to live, poor widows are somewhat thinner on the ground. The service is still held, however, and the money used to buy hot cross buns for those children attending the service.
Sir John Cass Commemoration
Around the first week in March, staff, pupils and governors from the City’s Sir John Cass Foundation schools mark their founder’s life with a service at the church of St Botolph-without-Aldgate. A successful seventeenth-century merchant, alderman and MP, in 1710 Sir John established a school in the churchyard for the education of 50 boys and 40 girls, and 300 years later his foundation still supports an impressive variety of educational establishments in London. These include the Sir John Cass School of Art, London Metropolitan University, City University’s Cass Business School, the University of East London and the Sir John Cass Redcoat School.
Oranges & Lemons Service
At the church of St Clement Danes in the Strand, one of the capital’s newer traditions (it dates from the 1920s) sees children from local schools reading the lesson and, after reciting the famous rhyme – the tune of which is played on the church bells – receiving a gift of fruit from a pile outside the church door. It takes place on a weekday towards the end of March.
April
John Stow Commemoration
The life of the great historian and chronicler of the City of London is celebrated as near as possible to the anniversary of his death on 5 April 1605. Each year, the Lord Mayor of London replaces a quill in the stone hand of Stow’s memorial in the church of St Andrew Undershaft in Leadenhall Street.
May
Oak Apple Day
In 1660, on 29 May, Charles II returned in triumph to London to the acclamation of his people and
the sound of church bells ringing throughout the City. The Restoration of the Monarchy is marked on the anniversary each year, for example by Chelsea Pensioners who honour their founder by parading with oak sprigs recalling their sovereign’s happy escape after hiding in an oak tree after his defeat at Worcester.
Florence Nightingale Commemoration
On or near the great lady’s birthday (12 May), another, smaller group of Chelsea Pensioners, representing the wounded and dying of the Crimea, place a lamp on the High Altar of Westminster Abbey.
Swearing on the Horns
An oath to confirm the supplicant’s commitment to drunkenness and debauchery, this Highgate peculiarity is of long standing but was clearly never more than a lively attempt to fleece eighteenth-century travellers making their way through the village en route to London. Twice a year, the tradition is celebrated at The Wrestlers in North Road, with monies extracted from the participants being used to benefit local charities.
Samuel Pepys Commemoration
At his parish church and burial place – St Olave’s, Hart Street – the life of London’s celebrated diarist is marked each year, on a date as close as possible to the anniversary of his death on 26 May 1703. A wreath is laid on his tomb by the Lord Mayor, accompanied by music and songs that Pepys would have known.
June
Beating the Bounds
Walking and beating parish boundaries dates back at least as far as the eighth century, a ceremony intended to seek God’s protection for crops, livestock and people. At All Hallows-by-the-Tower, the beating party comprises students of St Dunstan’s College, Catford, who, with clergy and Liverymen, travel by boat each Ascension Day out to the middle of the Thames to mark the parish’s southern boundary. Every three years, they stage a formal confrontation with the neighbouring parish (the Tower of London Liberty) as the two share a disputed boundary marker. In 1698, the participants actually rioted, but in modern times the Lord Mayor of London merely challenges the authority of the Resident Governor of the Tower.