I SAY, OLD BOY, CAN I HAVE YOUR VOTE?
Edward Heathcoat Amory on the humiliating intrusion of democracy into the Upper House
THE Third Way bypass is about to destroy another slice of the constitutional green belt. The House of Lords, long protected from reform by its status as a site of spe- cial scientific interest, is bracing itself for the imminent arrival of the Blairite bull- dozers. A few ermine-clad Swampies may chain themselves to the parliamentary rail- ings but there is little doubt that one of the few remaining 'dignified' parts of our con- stitution is about to suffer the ultimate indignity: an election. The 751 hereditary peers must choose from among themselves 92 representatives to survive the New Labour earth-moving. These brave survivors will continue to sit in the chamber until Tony Blair or his suc- cessors move on to the next stage of their reform programme for the Upper House. This Cranborne compromise was a thor- oughly contemptible deal from the start, a figleaf behind which is concealed a rubber- stamp chamber of Tony's cronies. But it has become the best available option for a Tory party unable to agree its own position on the future of the Lords.
First of all, next week, there are elec- tions for 15 'office holders', who will help the Lord Chancellor to manage the reformed House. This is the duller elec- tion. According to Lord Strathclyde, the leader of the Tories in the Lords, those chosen will 'understand the procedures of the House, and its traditions'. The inter- esting elections come the following week, when the peers will divide up into parties to choose their partisans. The 300 or so Tory hereditary peers must choose 42 representatives, the independent cross- benchers 28, the Liberals three and Labour two. For one week only, the Lords will become the ultimate rotten borough, handing out seats in Britain's Parliament in exchange for the endorse- ment of a handful of friends and col- leagues. Like any rotten borough, the election is wide open to the worst kinds of flagrant manipulation.
For many hereditaries, this will be their first encounter with the ballot box. They don't vote in elections and have previously been able to sidestep the onerous duty of standing in them. Some have found the experience so traumatic that they have sim- ply withdrawn. As Lord Strathclyde explained, they 'won't stand because they can't stand the thought of not being elect- ed'. Others have stood down on principle, believing that all hereditaries should stand or fall together. As the Earl of Devon put it: 'I'm totally averse to the business of choosing 92 peers. It's an appalling way to treat the country's constitution.' He has binned the papers inviting him to submit a 75-word manifesto and will not be putting his name forward.
But, according to Lord Strathclyde, around 180 of the 300 Tories are expected to stand, which means there will have been a rush of applications this week. The dead- line was Thursday. By last weekend, only 75 applications from peers of all parties had been submitted, with only one from the Labour group. On Monday morning, Lord Willoughby de Broke told me, 'I've just realised that I haven't put in my regis- tration paper. I've got to send it off first- class post. But I won't be submitting a manifesto. I'm just going to slap my name down. Those who believe in the same things that I do will vote for me.'
Not every peer is taking such a relaxed approach. They have all received a list of rules which warns, 'Candidates may not offer hospitality, entertainment or financial inducement that is intended to influence the vote.' But few are paying any attention. One confided, 'It's just like a Pop Election at Eton. I've been lobbied to stand, lobbied not to stand, lobbied to vote for some peo- ple, lobbied not to vote for others. Someone will say, "Old so-and-so's rather a decent chap, he can be trusted to do the right thing."' Another peer explained, 'The genuine backwoodsmen will vote for the person most likely to invite them shooting, the people they were at school with, someone else whose name they recognise, their father-in-law, and so on.' The serpent of ambition, he warns, has entered this other Eden on the banks of the Thames: 'I've been in the Lords for ten years, it's a civilised place, but in the last few months it has become much more politi- cal. People are asking who their real friends are.'
The old atmosphere of tolerance is breaking down. There has always been a core of hereditary peers who were com- pletely useless but turned up every day for their attendance allowance. Until recently, they were treated with amusement and compassion, but with only 42 Tory slots to go round, the knives are being sharpened. One hereditary complained, 'A lot of these people haven't got anything else to do. They need the pocket money. Of course they're all standing. There's going to be such an ugly rush, they'll be stuck in the door.' Another went further, arguing, 'It's the Bishops' Bar set. They haven't got any- thing better to do because they're not capable of doing anything very much.' Even Lord Strathclyde believes that 'Some will retire who shouldn't, and then there are those who probably ought to retire, and haven't even considered it.' He argues '0.k sign in.'
that 'The worst thing people could do is to choose those with the top 50 attendance records.'
The Tory leader is far too gentlemanly to name names, but The Spectator need not be bound by the same restraint. Lord Gainford's manifesto reads, 'Since taking my Seat I have had a good record of attendance ... living in Marlow ... it is my hope to be relied on for regular attendance, especially when it is particu- larly required.' Lord Vivian promises, 'Will attend House of Lords on a daily basis.' Others rely on more quixotic tal- ents. Lord Geddes promises: 'Brains: Breadth: Brevity'. The Earl of Onslow argues that it would be 'vainglorious to proclaim a personal manifesto'. Vis- count St Davids is 'the only hereditary peer with full knowledge of the Welsh Political Settlement'. Viscount Torring- ton offers the 'modest wisdom and insight' which comes from 35 years of experience as 'member (and sometime chairman of sub-committee B) of your Lordships' House'. But perhaps Vis- count Mountgarret, a crossbencher, sums up the views of his fellow candi- dates, when he says, 'There is no reason for me to attend the House other than to try and bring some meaning and logic to government'.
As the Lords make their choice from this rich selection, they will face more organised lobbying. The Eurosceptics will all vote for each other. So will the smaller number of Europhiles. The agricultural interest has put together a loose slate of candidates. There is even a snobbery lobby, voting for the peers with the oldest peerages. By far the most influential string-pullers, however, will be the Tory party hierarchy in the Lords. Each peer must submit a completed ballot paper with 42 choices, or have their vote declared void. Few know the names of more than a tight group of cronies, so they will turn to the party for advice.
Lord Strathclyde insists that he is remaining neutral, but promises, 'I and my colleagues are on hand to offer any help and advice on the generality of the kind of people we want to see in the House. Any- one in doubt can always start with voting for the opposition front bench.'
Finally, for those not elected, all is not lost. Persistent rumours abound that key Tory hereditaries have been 'bought off' by the government, with the promise of a life peerage should they fail to be chosen, in exchange for their support for the reform deal. Labour has not denied offering such inducements. Once Britain's strangest ever election is over, the sky over Westminster may be filled with unsuccessful candidates, floating back to power on Millbank-issue pink parachutes.
The author is a political columnist on the Daily MaiL
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