When does a commoner become a nobleman? Michael Gove entered the House of Lords, bedecked in ermin, just after 11 this morning as an ex-MP, two-time (failed) leadership candidate, and lately editor of the Spectator magazine. He emerged less than five minutes later as all of those things still, but as first and foremost Baron Gove of Torry, in the city of Aberdeen.
The Lords does pageantry in a way the Commons can only dream of, a wonderous juxtaposition of mundanity and tradition. The gold mace reclining behind the Speaker as he listed on the red velvet Woolsack, iPad in hand, like a student on a beanbag in the college library; sword-wielding officials next to peers in trainers; candles blazing with energy-efficient lightbulbs (we don’t want a repeat of 1834 now do we); the adult children of the nobility jostling together on the steps of the glittering throne like fans on the football terraces keen to get the best view..
Surprisingly full of both peers and guests given recess is about to begin, Gove’s ennoblement was top of the day’s agenda in the Chamber. Known for his colourful expressions, the former education secretary, environment secretary and housing secretary, once decried by a furious teacher as a “demented Dalek on speed”, kept a straight face for his latest regeneration into one of the Lords Temporal. Or, if you will, a Time Lord.
To begin his new era as one of over 800 members of the House of Lords, Gove was led up the aisle by two familiar faces from his past life in government. Ed Vaizey (Baron Vaizey of Didcot) was culture minister under David Cameron back when Gove was Dalek of Education, while his other chaperone, Simone Finn, was a government adviser. Baroness Finn briefly returned to frontline politics as de facto Downing Street chief of staff in 2022 when Boris Johnson, having just sacked Gove for suggesting his boss should resign as Prime Minister, found himself unable to field a cabinet. Time works differently in the House of Lords. The past that was the future once (as Cameron so pointedly put it) comes back as the ermin-clad present.
Gove, of course, owes his ennoblement not to Johnson or Cameron (relations with both of whom remain cryogenic after small matters like hastening to their exits from Downing Street), but to Rishi Sunak, who put him top of his resignation honours list. Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton, another Sunak appointee, seemingly had a prior appointment – although Baron (Michael) Elliott of Mickle Fell, an ally from Gove’s Vote Leave days, elevated by Liz Truss, was there on the Conservative benches.
“For us our heirs and successors, do appoint, give and grant unto him the said name, state, degree, style, dignity, title and honour of Baron Gove, to have and to hold unto him for his life,” Gove was told by the Lord Clerk. With all the solemnity of a marriage vow (albeit one to 832 other people – or, perhaps more accurately, the King), he replied: “I, Michael, Lord Gove, do swear by almighty God that I will be faithful” – breathe – “and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King Charles, his heirs and successors according to law, so help me God.” Amen.
All that remained was to sign the Lords’ Code of Conduct and, just like that, it was over. A flick of a gold baton, a handshake with the (still-lounging) Speaker, a chorus of laughter and hear-hears. Lord Gove of Torry (a nod to his adoptive father, who was born there) was barely out of the Chamber before the real business began: the Lord Bishop of St Albans asking his final question before retirement on the government’s efforts regarding the Hong Kong activist and British citizen Jimmy Lai, imprisoned by the Chinese government.
Five minutes only – but what minutes! One of the most significant politicians of the 2010-2024 Conservative era, the prime minister who never was, who shaped British politics in ways the residents of the Commons, just across the lobby, will be grappling with for decades to come, while he gets to watch from his lofty abode. Will such an esteemed political machinator miss the psychodrama of the Commons? At least the good Lord has a newsroom to run.
[See also: Will Labour’s winter fuel U-turn work?]
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