vital – so that PMs can feel free to say what they like, and even make disobliging remarks about colleagues. As a weekly event, it takes up a significant amount of the PM’s working life. Allowing for summer breaks, an average four-year term would contain at least seventy meetings. Seventy hours! I dare say there are happy friendships, even marriages, where partners don’t sit opposite one another and talk openly, in a spirit of trust and mutual confidence, for an hour a week. Indeed, the very nature of the meeting (one-on-one, confidential , one-sided) reflects another relationship: therapy. And James Callaghan did say it was like talking to one’s psychiatrist.
In which case, should we not be entitled to know more about it? How has the meeting worked over the years? What form does it take? Which PMs liked to talk? Who liked to listen? Who was HM’s favourite? With whom was there chemistry, laughter, silence? What did they discuss? How many secrets were shared? What advice was given? What influence did it have? The Queen is known to have struggled to stay awake with Heath and Macmillan (both famous bores), actively disliked Blair and Thatcher (though the Palace dutifully denies this), and had a soft spot for losers (two of her favourites, Major and Wilson, regularly come bottom in rankings for most effective PMs of the twentieth century).
One popular misconception might be that it’s a polite chat, over scones or sherry, with the PM checking his or her watch, wanting to get on with more important business . But as Margaret Thatcher said: ‘Anyone who imagines that they are a mere formality, or confined to social niceties, is quite wrong; they are quietly businesslike, and Her Majesty brings to bear a formidable grasp of current issues and breadth of experience.’
The Queen reads each one of her red ministerial boxes every day, is privy to the minutes from every cabinet meeting, has a generous staff to keep her informed, and is scrupulously prepared for every meeting. In civil service circles, she is known as ‘Reader Number 1’. A meeting with Her Majesty, therefore, is like a meeting with a well-briefed civil servant. If transcripts of the audience were to exist, I’m confident she would emerge with some credit.
It struck me that by being denied the minutes of these conversations, we were being denied a significant part of British history: an insight into the workings of government and state, and the way power – real and symbolic – functions in our name. In the nineteenth century, the essayist Walter Bagehot argued that the Queen has three constitutional rights: the right to be consulted, the right to advise, and the right to warn. No more. But bear in mind she spends an hour every week sitting one-on-one with the most impor tant politician in Britain. How much has she known over the years that has been denied us? How much has she known that we haven’t?
The longer she remains on the throne, the greater her standing on the world stage and the greater the respect for her – and, therefore, the greater her potential surreptitious influence. Imagine you’re Ed Miliband: you’ve narrowly won the election, and you go to the Queen to ask her permission to form a government. The idea that the most instantly recognisable woman in the world – who has sat opposite Churchill, Eden, Macmillan, Douglas-Home, Wilson, Heath, Callaghan, Thatcher, Major, Blair, Brown, Cameron, presided over a Commonwealth and had a ringside seat at the great political events of the second half of the twentieth century – would not have influence on you is laughable, simply by virtue of your anxiety at least to leave an impression. You don’t want to be the one she forgets.
That gives her influence, if not power. And any influence over our PM needs to be examined closely. So I set about writing a series of what must strictly be called ‘imagined’ audiences (although no shortage of anecdotal information has leaked out over the
In which case, should we not be entitled to know more about it? How has the meeting worked over the years? What form does it take? Which PMs liked to talk? Who liked to listen? Who was HM’s favourite? With whom was there chemistry, laughter, silence? What did they discuss? How many secrets were shared? What advice was given? What influence did it have? The Queen is known to have struggled to stay awake with Heath and Macmillan (both famous bores), actively disliked Blair and Thatcher (though the Palace dutifully denies this), and had a soft spot for losers (two of her favourites, Major and Wilson, regularly come bottom in rankings for most effective PMs of the twentieth century).
One popular misconception might be that it’s a polite chat, over scones or sherry, with the PM checking his or her watch, wanting to get on with more important business . But as Margaret Thatcher said: ‘Anyone who imagines that they are a mere formality, or confined to social niceties, is quite wrong; they are quietly businesslike, and Her Majesty brings to bear a formidable grasp of current issues and breadth of experience.’
The Queen reads each one of her red ministerial boxes every day, is privy to the minutes from every cabinet meeting, has a generous staff to keep her informed, and is scrupulously prepared for every meeting. In civil service circles, she is known as ‘Reader Number 1’. A meeting with Her Majesty, therefore, is like a meeting with a well-briefed civil servant. If transcripts of the audience were to exist, I’m confident she would emerge with some credit.
It struck me that by being denied the minutes of these conversations, we were being denied a significant part of British history: an insight into the workings of government and state, and the way power – real and symbolic – functions in our name. In the nineteenth century, the essayist Walter Bagehot argued that the Queen has three constitutional rights: the right to be consulted, the right to advise, and the right to warn. No more. But bear in mind she spends an hour every week sitting one-on-one with the most impor tant politician in Britain. How much has she known over the years that has been denied us? How much has she known that we haven’t?
The longer she remains on the throne, the greater her standing on the world stage and the greater the respect for her – and, therefore, the greater her potential surreptitious influence. Imagine you’re Ed Miliband: you’ve narrowly won the election, and you go to the Queen to ask her permission to form a government. The idea that the most instantly recognisable woman in the world – who has sat opposite Churchill, Eden, Macmillan, Douglas-Home, Wilson, Heath, Callaghan, Thatcher, Major, Blair, Brown, Cameron, presided over a Commonwealth and had a ringside seat at the great political events of the second half of the twentieth century – would not have influence on you is laughable, simply by virtue of your anxiety at least to leave an impression. You don’t want to be the one she forgets.
That gives her influence, if not power. And any influence over our PM needs to be examined closely. So I set about writing a series of what must strictly be called ‘imagined’ audiences (although no shortage of anecdotal information has leaked out over the
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