At the end of my first day at the House of Lords, I staggered out with so many books and leaflets and three-ring binders I could barely see over the top. These were the official rules, what Walter Bagehot would have called the ‘dignified’ part of the constitution. But on top of these are the unwritten rules, which are twice as voluminous. Some people compare parliament to Hogwarts, and it’s true that there’s a ‘secret’ entrance in Westminster tube station. But Harry Potter didn’t get as many things wrong as me in his first term.
Admittedly, some of the rules I’ve had difficulty mastering are pretty basic. When you enter the debating chamber, you’re supposed to bow to the throne, something I usually remember to do, but finding somewhere to sit, and doing so without too much of a fuss, is far from easy. The other day, I was congratulating myself on having pulled it off, when I got a message on my phone from Lord Effingham, one of the Tory whips. ‘Lord Young,’ it said. ‘On the basis you have taken the Conservative whip, may I please suggest that you sit on the Conservative benches.’ It was only then that I noticed I was surrounded by Labour peers.
That one isn’t written down because it’s so bleedin’ obvious, but others are less so. For instance, peers are not supposed to shake hands with each other. Even though this was pointed out to me, I spent the first week unthinkingly thrusting out my hand whenever I was introduced to anyone. This proved to be a useful way of distinguishing between the hereditaries and the life peers. The former would always take my hand, sparing me any embarrassment, whereas the latter would give my outstretched paw a withering look and say: ‘We don’t do that here.’
It’s generally true that those who are here on ‘merit’, particularly the old Labour union barons, take the ancient rules and customs more seriously. Which makes it all the more odd that they’re also the most enthusiastic supporters of the Hereditary Peers Bill, which seeks to kick out the few nobles that remain. You can’t help thinking: ‘Why do you want to get rid of the last remnants of the British aristocracy when it’s their association with this place that enables you to take on so many airs and graces?’ One mischievous hereditary has proposed an amendment whereby the second chamber will have to drop the word ‘Lords’ from its name once he and his comrades have gone. I don’t suppose a single socialist will vote for that.
Those who are there on merit, like the old Labour union barons, take the ancient rules and customs more seriously
I’m due to make my maiden speech this week and one of the unwritten rules is you’re not supposed to say anything too controversial. No one is allowed to interrupt you, it was explained, so you shouldn’t take advantage of that by trying to score political points. Fair enough, I thought, but having read dozens of maiden speeches in preparation, I realise it’s the same definition of ‘too controversial’ that applies to civil servants and BBC presenters. What it means is: don’t say anything too right-wing. If you’re a leftie, you can be as controversial as you like. My favourite example is a Labour baroness who virtually sang ‘The Red Flag’ in her maiden speech. ‘If we want to see a fairer society, Budgets must reduce inequalities and not exacerbate them,’ she thundered. ‘I look forward to seeing one day – I hope not too far in the future – an intersectional and feminist approach to the Budget.’
Another convention is to speak for no longer than six minutes. But I looked up my father’s maiden speech in Hansard, delivered on 5 April 1978, and discovered it was 18 minutes long. When I first wrote about being ennobled, I made the mistake of saying it was only the second time the son of a life peer had been made a peer, the other being Baron Brooke of Sutton Mandeville, now deceased. Since then, numerous people have come up to me to point out that they, too, are the children of life peers, including Ed Vaizey, whom I really should have known about since his father was one of two peers to introduce my father to the House.
When you make your maiden, you get to nominate the person to speak after you and it’s their job to rattle off the achievements you were far too modest to boast about yourself. I’ve saddled Dan Hannan with that task. He did the same for Andrew Roberts and the list of the historian’s accomplishments went on for so long – ‘His books have been translated into 28 languages. They have won 13 literary prizes. Every one of them involves original research from primary sources’ – that the Labour peers started barracking him, shouting: ‘Order, order.’ In my case, I can guarantee that won’t be a problem.
🎉 A proud day for the Free Speech Union!
— The Free Speech Union (@SpeechUnion) March 27, 2025
Our founder and General Secretary, Lord Young of Acton, delivered his maiden speech in the House of Lords today.
📺 Watch the full speech here: pic.twitter.com/tS2NNtBLC0
Comments