Sketch: Bercow begins
Parliament adjusts to life with a new man in the Speaker's chair
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Tuesday, 23, Jun 2009 12:00
By Alex Stevenson
The central lobby was abuzz with the air of tourists getting an extra-special freebie for nothing. A new caped crusader was in town to save the Commons, those not in the know were told excitedly. What thrills!
The group I was with had a view straight down the corridor as the fabled procession emerged. There was the doorkeeper, and the serjeant-at-arms with her mugger-proof mace. But where was Bercow? Where was the big man?
Anyone who's seen the Speaker in the flesh knows that description is grievously inaccurate. His lack of height meant he was not visible until the last possible moment, disappointing those around me. They didn't realise Bercow, eyes quickly up and down from the floor like a nervous undertaker, was making a fashion statement.
His decision to scrap the Victorian dress and wear a simple business suit represents another blow to parliamentary traditionalists. "What a smirk," one of them seethed as I trotted off to the press gallery.
At least yesterday his enemies had, at the very least, hoped to be spared his horrendous taste in ties. The blue and yellow stripy horror on show today bore witness to the fact that, in a cruel twist of fate, that hope had been miserably dashed.
In the Commons, the scene was one of utter division. Conservative MPs looked about as sullen as ever as Bercow, clearing his throat nervously, sought to gently tread (rather than stamp) his authority on the chamber. "I am determined that we make good progress through the order paper," he said meekly, prompting titters of derision.
They might pour scorn on him, but Bercow had a pre-prepared ace up his sleeve. After health minister Ann Keen and Labour backbencher John Robertson prefaced their remarks with congratulations he stopped proceedings briefly before calling Tory MP Sir Nicholas Winterton. "It might be a bit presumptuous of me," he explained, but he would rather the love-in ceased to allow more time for questions. Very neat; the Tories huffed and puffed.
On the other side of the House the love-in continued. Graceful loser Parmjit Dhanda came up and shook his hand. Alan Johnson, coming in a little later for Gordon Brown's statement, mouthed his congratulations. Bercow mouthed back.
One female Labour MP gave him a letter, which was gratefully stuffed into his pocket. Goodness knows where he would have closeted it if he was wearing the old-school garb. It was all very pretty, if a little disturbing: the Speaker's mouthed 'thank-you' involved him opening his mouth and lunging forward, eyes bulging. It didn't bear viewing repetitively.
An ex-rival, Sir Patrick Cormack, showed his disapproval by exposing a ghastly lemon-yellow sock-shirt combo. Things can always get worse, we must remember.
Despite these distractions Bercow managed to cope with the Speaker's onerous duties easily enough. There was one slip, when he failed to call Graham Allen for his follow-up to a numbered question, but he covered it with a quick "I beg your pardon". Very deferential; he needs to change the default settings for his reflex attitude to Labour backbenchers.
Then during Brown's statement the Tories, angered by something or other, began shouting the PM down. This was his first test against his former party colleagues. "Order, order!" he bleated, failing to stand up properly. "The prime minister must be heard!" he demanded with crooked back.
They didn't listen, of course, and his further shouts of "order!" were even ignored as his microphone wasn't switched on. Never mind – after his two hours in the chair were up he strode out of the chamber, his "simple" gown flowing behind him. "Speeeea-ker!" the doorkeeper cried.
The Conservative benches issued one final collective shudder, and the sitting continued without him.