Parliamentary oath-taking rarely causes excitement. MPs swearing the oath of allegiance to the Crown after an election is an archaic yet prosaic sight: line up, shuffle in, say the words, shuffle off. Repeat 600-odd times.
It’s a bit different this time, because so many of the MPs are first-timers. Nonetheless most of their swearing-in moments go unnoticed to all but friends and family.
Yet one swearing-in has caused a minor ripple, because it wasn’t in English. Torcuil Crichton, newly-elected MP for the constituency of Na h-Eileanan an Iar, formerly the Western Isles, swore his oath in Scots Gaelic and in the Scottish manner – right hand raised, not resting on a holy book.
‘S e urram a th’ ann mo bhòidean a ghabhail agus Na h-Eileanan an Iar a riochdachadh sa phàrlamaid. An obair a-nis air tòiseachadh. pic.twitter.com/Fn8AgrLKiy
— Torcuil Crichton for Na h-Eileanan an Iar (@Torcuil) July 11, 2024
‘Se urram a th’ ann mo bhòidean a ghabhail agus Na h-Eileanan an Iar a riochdachadh sa phàrlamaid,’ he said. ‘It’s an honour to take this oath and represent the Western Isles in parliament.’
He’s not the first to do something like this: others have sworn in Gaelic, Scots, Welsh and Cornish. But he’s probably the coolest.
The clip of Crichton swearing has done the rounds on social media not because of what he did but the way he did it – coolly self-assured, yet entirely modest.
That is how Torcuil Crichton does most things. I know this because I used to work with him, or rather, alongside him. Almost 20 years ago, we were – along with this magazine’s editor – members of a very select journalistic tribe: the Scottish Lobby.
That’s the Westminster correspondents of Scottish newspapers and broadcasters, who have the slightly strange task of reporting UK politics to Scottish audiences, something that involves navigating constitutional and sometimes cultural sensitivities, since some of those audiences don’t think ‘Westminster’ should have any relevance to Scotland at all.
It also involves spending a lot of time with Scottish MPs, which has its own delights and challenges.
And having worked alongside the new member for the Western Isles, I’m not at all surprised that Torcuil Crichton’s coolness is delighting the internet. He’s just like that.
When I saw that clip, I was reminded of a moment that first showed me just how damn cool my old colleague is.
In December 2009, we went to Copenhagen with a Scottish MP called Gordon Brown, because he was the Prime Minister and there was a big international climate summit.
Like most international summits, this meant a great deal of hanging around in an anonymous conference centre with thousands of other journalists, waiting for politicians to emerge from a room and say something.
That meant finding ways to kill time. I recall the British press pack playing cricket in the media centre, until some German correspondents got very cross and shouted at us – very politely – about not taking things seriously.
Sometime on maybe the third day of the endless wait, Torcuil and I went for a walk around the summit complex. As we strolled down a long, bland corridor, a hubbub was audible up ahead.
Around the corner emerged the moving pack of security staff, aides and hangers-on that surrounds major world leaders at these events. And this was the biggest: Barack Obama.
Remember, this was 2009. Obama was less than a year in office. He was new and shiny, hugely charismatic and yet to succumb to the overlong eloquence that defined his later appearances. He was cool, cooler than anyone else, and he was heading our way.
Here, I should note that Torcuil was wearing a suit. So was I, but mine was unremarkable. Torcuil’s, not so much. It was yellow, almost golden, and made of Harris Tweed. Most people would look slightly silly in a suit like that, but Torcuil was literally born to wear it, and it showed.
So much so that as the Obama bubble neared us, the entourage slowed, because the principal himself was slowing. The 44th President of the United States checked his regal stride to catch Torcuil Crighton’s eye and declare with a million-watt smile: ‘Hey man, great suit.’
I’m sure he meant it too: game recognises game, as the young folk used to say.
And what did Torcuil Crighton do as the leader of the free world, the most famous, the most powerful, the coolest man on the planet broke stride to pay him homage?
He smiled, nodded ‘aye’ in polite acknowledgment, and kept walking.
Now, just in case you think that makes Torcuil sound rude or affected, I should say his response to Obama was nothing of the sort. It was simply the exact same polite and reserved way he’d have responded to any other passing stranger on the road, in Copenhagen, London or Stornaway. The fact that this passing stranger was the POTUS didn’t come into the equation for my old colleague. He’s just like that.
Which is why I’m sure he’ll regard the buzz over his swearing in – and this column – as just a wee daft bit of fuss. He’s cool like that, you see.
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