John Bercow began his military manoeuvre to save himself as soon as the Commons sat, at 2.33pm. This was, appropriately, before the prime minister’s statement on Ukraine and Syria. For no war fought in this summer of blood has been as intense, at least for the armchair generals of Westminster, as the Battle of Bercow. It was right that he went first.
Mr Bercow arose, never a long affair for he is famously short or, as he puts it, in Bercow-speak, vertically challenged. It is one of his favourite jokes that he is not technically the shortest Speaker because three of his predecessors, after they were beheaded, were indeed shorter. Yesterday, I could not help but notice that his old enemy Simon Burns, who called him a “sanctimonious dwarf”, from the front bench, was on the back benches, watching the show.
There is no shortage of candidates now who would like to behead Bercow. This year’s summer skirmish has been over his appointment of an Australian (enough said) named Carol Mills to be the clerk of the House, a portmanteau job that entails wearing a wig, being the master of all parliamentary goings-on as well as chief executive of parliament. Critics say that Ms Mills has no grip on procedure and, under her, Erskine May could become Erskine May Not.
In front of Mr Bercow, in his huge Alice in Wonderland chair, sat three bewigged clerks, sitting at their oak desk with its worn leather blotter. Sadly, they were using iPads and not quills. One of them, the deputy clerk, David Natzler, would have liked the job. Still, his wig was giving nothing away.
Mr Speaker began by explaining that, actually, he always wanted to split the job but his wish had been thwarted (in other words, it’s not his fault). He explained who was on the panel (it’s really not his fault) who had made the decision to appoint Ms Mills at the end of July.
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“RIGGED!” heckled an MP.
Mr Speaker’s words flowed on mellifluously. “However a number of colleagues have since expressed disquiet . . .” he noted.
“Ha!” shouted show-pony Michael Fabricant, resplendent in his summer wig.
Mr Speaker kept speaking (you try to stop him). “I believe that a modest pause in the recruitment process is desirable,” he said, adding, hilariously, that the matter should be resolved with “goodwill”.
A modest pause. Hmm. I must say that I would have preferred an immodest pause. Much more fun. We then had a very immodest, indeed almost endless pause, as MPs debated Syria and Ukraine (yawn) before getting back to the Battle of Bercow.
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Finally, at 5.36, we had the badly named “points of order”. Everyone was positively gushing, which just goes to show how much they all hate each other. Mr Speaker was unctuous in his belief that everything in the world must now be decided by MPs who were, in return, unctuous over his unctuousness.
Tory Crispin Blunt gave his military assessment. “In the generally successful history of the British Army, some of the most celebrated actions from Corunna to Gallipoli to Dunkirk have evolved evacuations from hopeless positions,” he noted. “Can I congratulate you on successful disengagement.”
Mr Bercow announced that he had known Mr Blunt for 25 years and two months and that he had the greatest respect for him. The Speaker beamed. Isn’t the Battle of Bercow the most marvellous fun?