Graham Harry
The Mother of Parliaments
Women have taken a strong interest in political matters in England from very early days.425 We even find them giving occasional expression to their views upon some Government measure with a violence which did not at all commend itself to the authorities. In the Journals of the House for March 5, 1606, is the following entry: "A Clamour of Women against Sir Robert Johnson, for speaking against a Bill touching Wherry-men; upon complaint of which the Commons ordered, that Notice should be given to the Justices of the Peace, to prevent and suppress such disorders."426 What steps the Justices of the Peace took to quell this feminine clamour history does not relate. In 1675 some confusion was caused by the Speaker observing ladies in the gallery, and though a member suggested that they were not ladies at all, but merely men in fine clothes, the Speaker insisted that he had caught sight of petticoats.
In the time of Queen Anne ladies were strongly infected with the spirit of party. Addison declares that even the patches they wore on their faces were so situated that the political views of the wearer could be recognised at a glance. Friends might be distinguished from foes in this delightful fashion, Tory ladies wearing their patches on the left, Whigs on the right side of the face. An old number of the "Spectator"427 contains the sad story of one Rosalinda, a famous Whig partisan who suffered much annoyance on this account. The fact that Rosalinda had a beautiful mole on the Tory part of her forehead gave her enemies the chance of misrepresenting her face as having revolted against the Whig interest – an accusation which naturally depressed the poor lady considerably.
The House of Lords has always been more hospitable than the Commons in its treatment of women. The two side galleries are reserved for peeresses – though a certain portion is kept for members of the corps diplomatique, and for the Commons – and there is a large box on the floor of the House where the wives of peers' eldest sons sit, and a number of seats below the bar to which Black Rod may introduce ladies.
The peers have not, however, been exempt from the occasional inconveniences attaching to the presence of women. Lord Shaftesbury, during the term of his Lord Chancellorship, complained bitterly of the "droves of ladies that attended all causes," and said that things had reached such a pass that men "borrowed or hired of their friends, handsome sisters or daughters to deliver their petitions."428 And in 1739, the fair Kitty, Duchess of Queensberry, headed a storming party and successfully besieged a gallery in the House of Lords from which ladies had been excluded in order to make room for members of the Commons.429 Grenville declares that the steps of the Throne were inconveniently thronged with women in 1829. "Every fool in London thinks it necessary to be there," he says. "They fill the whole space, and put themselves in front, with their large bonnets, without either fear or shame."430
In 1775, women were allowed to be present in Parliament to listen to election petitions, and continued to be admitted to the body of the House of Commons until 1778.431 In this year a member named Captain Johnstone insisted that strangers should withdraw, and the female section of the audience absolutely declined to do so. Threats, entreaties, all were useless. With the charming obstinacy of their sex, the fair visitors clung to their seats, and refused to budge an inch. Among the ladies who led this revolt was the Duchess of Devonshire, and a celebrated beauty of the name of Musters. They were assisted by a certain number of male admirers, and, so successful were their efforts, that two long hours elapsed before the galleries could be cleared. This incident caused the Speaker to forbid the future admittance of women, and until after the fire of 1834, ladies could only listen to debates clandestinely, and in a manner which entailed the maximum of personal discomfort. Their absence does not seem to have had any effect upon the length of the debates. "I was in hopes that long speeches would have been knocked on the head when the ladies were excluded from the galleries," said the doorkeeper; "they often used to keep the members up."432
When the Commons sat in the old St Stephen's Chapel, that chamber was divided into two parts by a false roof. The upper half consisted of a big empty room like a barn, with unglazed windows. In the centre of the floor of this apartment was the ventilating shaft of the House, a rough casement with eight small openings, situated exactly above the chandelier in the ceiling of the chamber below. To this room were conducted the lady friends of members desirous of catching a glimpse of the Commons at work. The door was locked upon them, and they were permitted to sit on a circular bench which surrounded the ventilator, and peer down through the openings, while every now and then their imprisonment would be lightened by a visit from some kindly attendant, who would tell them the name of the member addressing the House. The only light was provided by a farthing dip stuck in a tin candlestick, and the room was gloomy and depressing. It is an ill wind, however, that blows nobody any good, and once when O'Connell went up there expecting to find his wife, he kissed the Dowager Duchess of Richmond by mistake.433
Maria Edgeworth has left a description of a visit she paid to this melancholy spot in 1822. "In the middle of the garret," she says, "is what seemed like a sentry box of deal boards, and old chairs placed round it; on these we got, and stood and peeped over the top of the boards."434 From this vantage-point she could see the chandelier blazing just beneath her, and below it again the Table, with the mace resting upon it, and the Speaker's polished boots – nothing more.
The twenty-five tickets issued nightly by the Sergeant-at-Arms for admission to this dungeon were much sought after, a fact which testifies eloquently to the political enthusiasm of our great-grandmothers.
In spite of the Speaker's order, ladies still continued occasionally to find their way into more comfortable parts of the House. Wraxall declares that he saw the famous Duchess of Gordon sitting in the Strangers' Gallery dressed as a man.435 And in 1834, a sister of some member entered one of the side galleries, and sat there undisturbed for a long time, the gallantry of the officials forbidding them to turn her out.436
When the new Houses of Parliament were built, slightly better accommodation was provided for the fair sex. It was at first proposed that they should be seated in the open galleries of the Commons, but this suggestion met with little support. Miss Harriet Martineau, writing somewhere about 1876, prophesied pessimistically that if such a proposition were carried out, the galleries would be occupied by giddy and frivolous women, lovers of sensation, with plenty of time upon their hands; "a nuisance to the Legislature and a serious disadvantage to the wiser of their own sex."437 This idea seems to have been the popular one, and it was resolved to keep the ladies who attended debates as much in the background as possible.
The present gallery has many disadvantages. Its occupants are enclosed in a cage which prevents them from obtaining a good view of the proceedings, and altogether conceals them from the gaze of the members. Repeated attempts have been made to secure better accommodation, notably by Mr. Grantley Berkeley, to whom a number of ladies in 1841 presented a piece of plate in recognition of his services on their behalf. The House is determined, however, that its deliberations shall not be affected by the presence of any disturbing element, agreeing apparently with that member who assured the Speaker that if ladies were permitted to sit undisguised in the gallery, "the feelings of the gallant old soldiers and gentlemen would be so excited and turned from political affairs, that they would not be able to do their duty to their country."438
The suggestion has often been made that the grille should be taken away from the front of the Ladies' Gallery, but it is doubtful whether the removal of this screen would commend itself to the visitors. Its retention bestows one undoubted benefit upon them; it allows ladies to steal away unnoticed during the speech of some bore, with whom they may be personally acquainted, or whose feelings they would not like to hurt. This is an advantage which cannot be esteemed too highly.
The Ladies' Gallery, which, as has often been said, might be called, but for its occupants, a veritable "chamber of horrors," is not considered to be within the House. Consequently, when strangers are forced to withdraw, ladies may still remain. They are even allowed to be present during prayers. The feminine privilege of not being excluded with other strangers is shared by the peers, who, since 1698, have always (with the exception of a few years) had a gallery reserved for them.
Up to a short time ago members of the House of Commons were allowed to introduce ladies to the inner lobby, whence they could obtain a fragmentary glimpse of the proceedings through a small window. This privilege was withdrawn in 1908, when a lady who was the guest of a member sought to make some return for his hospitality by rushing on to the floor of the House and shouting, "Votes for Women!" Shortly before this two other ladies in the gallery, also the guests of members, had attempted to prove the fitness of their sex for the franchise by chaining themselves to the grille and screaming. This was the first instance of unruly behaviour in the Ladies' Gallery since June of the year 1888, when some women applauded a speech, much to the indignation of Speaker Peel. It resulted in the closing of the gallery, and the exclusion of all but the Speaker's own personal guests, on whose sense of honour and decency he could rely. In 1909, however, the Ladies' Gallery was once more thrown open to members of the fair sex, tickets of admission being confined to the relatives of members, who balloted for them a week in advance. The ladies were required to sign an undertaking to behave decorously while they occupied seats in the gallery, and their exact relationship to members was not inquired into too closely.
CHAPTER XVI
PARLIAMENTARY REPORTING
Of all the strangers who honour the Palace of Westminster with their presence none are treated with greater consideration than the reporters. This touching regard shown for the comfort of the Press is a flower of modern growth. It has blossomed forth within the last fifty years, watered by that love of publicity which is nowadays as common in St. Stephen's as elsewhere. Journalists are in the habit of complaining that the public no longer requires those full reports of parliamentary utterances which a few years ago were considered a very necessary part of the day's news. Short political sketches have taken the place of full verbatim reports, and very few papers give anything but a rough outline of the daily parliamentary proceedings. Politicians themselves, however, do not appear to share the general aversion to reading their speeches in print, and it is strange to contrast the warm welcome accorded by Parliament to modern journalism with the cold reception met with by reporters in the days of our ancestors.
In the Order Book of the House of Commons there still exists a Standing Order which, though long in disuse, has never been repealed, declaring it a gross breach of privilege to print or publish anything relating to the proceedings of either House. This is but a relic of those distant days when the perpetual conflicts between the Commons and the Crown made secrecy a necessity of debate.
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Parliament was anything but anxious that the result of its deliberations should be made public, except in such a form as it considered desirable. The Commons especially feared that information as to their intentions should reach the King's ears, and took every possible precaution to avert such a calamity. In this they were not altogether successful. During the debates on the proposed impeachment of the Duke of Buckingham, in 1626, members were very busy with their pencils. The King himself had as many as four or five amateur note-takers present to supply him with reports, and among the private members were many other unofficial reporters. Of these, perhaps, the most famous was Sir Symonds D'Ewes, the member for Sudbury, a lawyer with only one eye, devout, ambitious, conceited, and something of a snob.439 Records were, to his way of thinking, the most ravishing and satisfying part of human knowledge. His historical researches had given him an acquaintance with precedents which was long the envy of his colleagues in Parliament. In 1629 he transcribed the Journals of both Houses from the original Journal books, adding comments of his own, and inserting various interesting speeches which he obtained from private manuscripts and diaries. When objections were raised to his incorrigible cacoethes scribendi, "If you will not permit us to write," he observed pathetically, "we must go to sleep, as some among us do, or go to plays, as others have done."440 The contemplation of such tragic alternatives did not, however, shake the resolution of the Commons, and the practice of note-taking was put a stop to by a peremptory order of the House.
Sir Symonds' peculiar knowledge of parliamentary precedents resulted in his perpetual interference with the procedure of the House. His frequent attempts to set the Speaker right upon various points of order at length irritated the Commons to the verge of madness, and it was with a sigh of relief that his colleagues bade him farewell when he reluctantly retired into private life to continue uninterrupted his antiquarian pursuits.
Rushworth, who was Assistant Clerk of the Commons at the time of the Long Parliament, proved almost as energetic a reporter as D'Ewes, and thereby repeatedly got himself into trouble. In 1642, he was forbidden to take any notes without the sanction of the House, and a Committee was appointed to look through his manuscripts and settle how much of them was worthy of preservation. The result of Rushworth's passion for reporting is the "Historical Collections," which Carlyle has called a "rag-fair of a book; the mournfullest torpedo rubbish-heap of jewels buried under sordid wreck and dust and dead ashes, one jewel to the waggon-load."441 One of the undoubted gems from this dust-heap is a full account of the proceedings in Parliament on the famous occasion of Charles I.'s violent attempt to arrest the five members. This dramatic incident does not appear to have deprived Rushworth of his presence of mind. While the Commons sat openmouthed and aghast, the Assistant Clerk calmly continued to take notes of every word that fell from the royal lips. For this posterity owes him a debt of the deepest gratitude.
The right of Parliament to deliberate in secret was long jealously guarded, any breach of that privilege being punished with extreme severity. In 1641, an oration delivered by Lord Digby on the Bill for Strafford's attainder, and circulated on his own initiative, was ordered to be burnt by the common hangman. At the same time it was formally resolved that no member should publish any speech without the express permission of the House.
In the reign of Charles II. such men as Shaftesbury, Halifax, Hampden, and Hyde were not reported, though the first would occasionally issue his speeches in pamphlet form. Towards the middle of the seventeenth century, however, the House ordered utterances of exceptional importance to be printed. During the Long Parliament licensed reports appeared under the title of "Diurnal Occurrences of Parliament," and later on a meagre outline of the daily proceedings of Parliament began to be published. But when Locke, in 1675, printed a report of a House of Lords' debate, calling it "A letter from a Person of Quality to His Friend," it was ordered by the Privy Council to be burnt.
The Licensing Act of 1662 confined printing to London, York, Oxford, and Cambridge, and did not permit the number of master printers to exceed twenty. The Commons' refusal in 1695 to renew the censorship marks the commencement of the emancipation of the Press.
A system of newsletters had been started with the Restoration, whereby the outside world could learn something of the doings of Parliament. This no doubt whetted the public appetite, and increased the popular interest in political affairs. In 1694, however, it was resolved in Parliament that "no newsletter writers do in their letters or other papers that they disperse presume to intermeddle with the debates or any other proceedings of the House."
Newsletters were rapidly followed by regular newspapers, which supplied their readers with somewhat imaginative accounts of the debates. The periodicals of William III.'s day sometimes reported the speeches of particular speakers, who contributed their manuscripts to the papers. During the factious years that followed, the debates were officially distributed in monthly parts, but at the beginning of the eighteenth century the publication of newspaper reports was again declared a breach of parliamentary privilege, and a stamp duty was imposed with a view to arresting the circulation of the Opposition Press.
A regular party organ first appeared in Queen Anne's reign. This was "The Examiner," subsidised by Harley's Ministry, and conducted by Swift. It was answered by "The Whig Examiner," edited by Addison, which was followed by "Manwaring's Medley," a paper which soon became the recognised journal of the Opposition.442 Towards the close of Anne's reign Boyer began to publish "The Political State of Great Britain" in which he included accounts of all the important parliamentary debates.443 This was succeeded in 1716 by "The Historical Register," which purported to describe the proceedings in both Houses. In the reports of the Commons' debates the names of the speakers were published without concealment, but the Lords were treated more cautiously. Thus, in an account of the Septennial Bill, we find such sentences as, "a noble Duke stood up and said," or "this was answered by a northern peer," no further clue being given as to the identity of the several speakers.444
"The Historical Register" was superseded twenty years later by the "Gentleman's Magazine," a monthly periodical founded by the bookseller Cave and edited by Guthrie. Cave used to obtain admission to the House of Commons for himself and a few friends, and would there take surreptitious notes of the proceedings. These he subsequently elaborated in some adjoining coffee-house, evolving lengthy and vivid descriptions of the debates from his inner consciousness. His editor was the first journalist to obtain access to the official parliamentary Journals. The Government had apparently by this time begun to regard the Press as a more or less necessary evil, and thought it worth while to pay Guthrie a small sum for his services, even providing him with a pension when he retired.
The parliamentary articles in the "Gentleman's Magazine" were published under the title of the "Senate of Lilliput," the real names of the various debaters being replaced by pseudonyms which deceived nobody.445 This periodical is famous as being the medium through which Dr. Johnson originally published his political views. When he was first employed by Cave upon the staff of his paper Johnson was still struggling, not for fame, but for existence, and had no objection to any form of literary labour so long as it provided him with a means of livelihood. His original duties consisted in revising the rough notes made by Guthrie, but by 1740 he had become entirely responsible for the parliamentary articles, and five years later succeeded Guthrie in the editorial chair.
The reports of the proceedings were often written under great difficulties. Dr. Johnson would at times be compelled to invent the whole debate, depending solely upon his imagination, and being provided with nothing more inspiring than a list of the speakers and of the subjects under discussion. "I wrote that in a garret!" he is always supposed to have said of a much admired speech of Pitt's, and perhaps the oratorical fame of many a statesman of that day is due to Dr. Johnson's literary skill. His style was as a rule far too perfect to pass for that of an ordinary member of Parliament, and in his reports he is often accused of giving not so much what the speakers said as what they ought to have said. Nor was his pen an entirely impartial one, for he always took care, as he explained to Boswell, that the "Whig dogs" should not have the best of it in debate. Writing as he did, very hurriedly and from scanty materials, the compilation of parliamentary reports gave him little satisfaction. As soon as he found that his debates were thought to be genuine, he determined to cease their composition, and in the later years of his life often expressed regret at having been engaged in work of this kind.
The "London Magazine" was the next journal to publish debates, imitating the methods of the "Gentleman's Magazine," by pretending to report the proceedings of an imaginary Roman Senate, and alluding to the speakers by more or less appropriate Latin names.
In spite of these various efforts to establish the liberty of the Press, the attitude of Parliament long remained antagonistic. In 1728 a fresh resolution was passed in the House declaring it to be a breach of privilege for any one to print any account of the debates, and in the following year a printer of Gloucester was summoned to the bar of the Lords and severely reprimanded for publishing a report of their proceedings.446 In 1738 Speaker Onslow brought up the subject of parliamentary reporting in the Commons, and a debate ensued. "If we do not put a speedy stop to this practice," said Winnington, "you will have the speeches of this House every day printed, even during your session, and we shall be looked upon as the most contemptible assembly on the face of the earth." Pelham, however, was inclined to deal lightly with the Press. "Let them alone," he said once, "they make better speeches for us than we can make for ourselves."447 But it was a long time before this sensible view became general.
The struggle between Press and Parliament reached a climax in 1771, when Wilkes's paper, the "North Briton," was publishing the much discussed "Junius letters." Public opinion was by this time becoming gradually alive to the necessity for granting freedom to the Press, and needed but the opportunity to express itself openly upon the subject. The occasion had at length arrived. The Commons in this year were much incensed at the behaviour of some wretched City printers who had offended against the privileges of the House, and despatched the Sergeant-at-Arms to arrest them. After much difficulty two of the culprits were apprehended, but on being taken before the City Aldermen the latter at once ordered their release. When a messenger from the House of Commons attempted to arrest another printer, he was himself seized and carried before the civic authorities, charged with assault. The House was furious at this treatment of their officer, and committed the Lord Mayor and one of the offending aldermen – both members of Parliament – to the Tower.
The Press on this occasion found a worthy champion in Edmund Burke. On the 2nd of March, in a debate which lasted twenty-two hours, Burke effectually held his own, and so bullied and ridiculed the House that he brought the whole business to a standstill. By continually forcing divisions and making use of other obstructive tactics, he managed to delay the parliamentary attempt to muzzle the Press, and gained a great victory for the cause of freedom.
From being actively disliked the Reporters gradually grew to be tolerated, and finally courted and cultivated. Members who had formerly objected to the publication of their speeches soon began to complain with equal bitterness that they were not reported at all. Others, again, grumbled at being misreported, words being attributed to them for which they altogether declined to be responsible. Wedderburn, afterwards Lord Loughborough, complained, in 1771, that the reporting in the Commons was shocking. Of the report of one speech which he was supposed to have delivered he said that "to be sure, there are in that report a few things which I did say, but many things which I am glad I did not say, and some things which I wish I could have said."448 Burke's famous sentiment that "Virtue does not depend on climates or degrees" was first printed as "on climaxes and trees." When Sheridan made his great speech at the trial of Warren Hastings, the "Morning Chronicle" reported him as having said that "nothing equal in criminality was to be traced either in ancient or modern history, in the correct periods of Tacitus, or the luminous page of Gibbon."449 The historian was delighted at being mentioned in so flattering a fashion; "I could not hear without emotion the personal compliment," he says in his autobiography. But when Sheridan was asked how he came to apply the epithet "luminous" to Gibbon, "I said Vo-luminous!" he replied shortly.450
Cobbett, too, suffered much from bad reporting, and when he ventured to find fault, the Press retaliated by ceasing to report him at all. Spring-Rice (afterwards Lord Monteagle) was punished in a similar fashion for two years, because he had said something deprecatory of journalism. Another member complained that his speeches had been published in the papers with certain of the sentences printed in italics. "I never spoke in italics in my life!" he exclaimed indignantly.
O'Connell in 1833 accused a reporter of wilfully perverting one of his speeches. By way of excuse the Pressman stated that on his way home from the House he had been caught in a shower of rain, which had washed out many of his notes. This explanation did not satisfy the Liberator, who justly remarked that it must surely have been an extraordinary shower which could not only wash out one speech, but actually wash in another!451 He was never a favourite of the Press, and they finally decided to discontinue the report of his speeches. As a means of revenge, he determined to prevent all newspaper reporting, and for some time succeeded in doing so. With this end in view, he made a practice of "espying strangers" on every opportunity, and each time he did so the galleries had to be cleared. The withdrawal of the reporters had a natural but most depressing effect upon the oratory of Parliament. "For the first time within my recollection," says Grant, "members kept their word when, on commencing their orations, they promised not to trespass at any length on the patience of the House."452
The "Diary," published in 1769, and edited by William Woodfall, was the first paper to give accounts of the parliamentary debates on the day after they had taken place. Woodfall had a marvellous memory, and would sit in the gallery or stand at the bar of either House for hours, without taking a note of any kind, and afterwards reproduce the speeches verbatim. He seemed not to require rest or refreshment, but occasionally fortified himself with a hard-boiled egg. His efforts were, however, spasmodic and irregular, and it was not until 1802, when William Cobbett started the "Weekly Political Register," which afterwards published the debates as supplements under the title of "Cobbett's Parliamentary Debates," that the system of providing regular reports of the proceedings was inaugurated. In 1809 the publication of the "Weekly Political Register" was transferred to T. C. Hansard, whose name has been so long and honourably connected with parliamentary reporting that it is still used colloquially to describe the official volumes.
For over fifty years Hansard carried on the publication of debates as a private speculation, by which time the Government had realised the useful nature of his labours, and assisted him by subscribing for a certain number of sets of the reports for public distribution. In 1877 a Treasury grant was made to enable him to continue the good work with greater fullness and facility, and twelve years later he sold his rights to a syndicate. This new venture proved anything but a financial success, and the publication of the "Parliamentary Debates," as they are now called, was then undertaken by the official Government printers, the reports being composed from notes furnished by the staff of the "Times."
It was not until 1909 that the present system was instituted, and both Houses, while leaving the printing of debates in the hands of the King's Printer, provided themselves with a regular staff of reporters, who were their own officials and unconnected with any company or newspaper.
Up to the time of the Fire, reporters in the Commons always sat in the back row of the Strangers' Gallery, to which they obtained admission by a sessional payment of three guineas. In 1831, the House of Lords provided separate accommodation for the Press, and in the temporary House which was constructed in 1834 a special gallery was reserved for their use.
The Press Gallery in the present House of Commons holds about sixty persons, and is situated exactly behind and above the Speaker's chair. Reporters of the newspapers in the Lords occupy a similar position, but as the acoustic properties of the Upper Chamber are notoriously bad, a special arrangement has existed for some years, whereby the official reporter of the "Parliamentary Debates" is given a seat on the floor of the House immediately behind the Clerks at the Table.
A hundred years ago the path of the Pressman was not so smooth as it is to-day. Up to 1840 the publication of debates was undertaken at the risk of the printer. In that year Hansard published the report of a Select Committee of the House of Commons, in which a certain book was referred to as "disgusting and obscene." Stockdale, the publisher of the book in question, took the matter into Court and obtained £600 damages for libel. The House retorted by summoning to the bar the Sheriffs of Middlesex who had tried the case, and reprimanded them for their contempt of its privileges. After this Lord John Russell took the first opportunity of introducing a Bill rendering all publication of speeches and documents, if by the authority of Parliament, matters of privilege not amenable to ordinary law. A member of Parliament cannot, however, claim privilege for publishing or circulating the report of any libellous speech made in the House, though he is, of course, protected there for anything he may say. The suggestion that privilege of Parliament should protect members from being proceeded against for writing and publishing libellous articles was discussed in November, 1763, and finally relinquished by a large majority.453
