13 minutes of Aldermen, archives and anecdotes

It takes approximately 13 minutes for the Aldermen to complete the process of voting for the new Lord Mayor of London. How is that time filled?

Since 1976 it has been filled by a speech from the Deputy Town Clerk. This year, Greg Moore did a great job.

For some people in this room, this may be your first Common Hall.

Those of you more familiar with proceedings will recall that this is the part of the election where the Deputy Town Clerk – that’s me – essentially, fills time.

The Aldermen, at this very moment, will be shuffling into the Print Room down the corridor, getting ready to cast their votes to pick which of the two candidates will be the next Lord Mayor.

Once they’ve determined the lucky winner, they march back here to announce the result.

And that process all takes about 13 minutes.

So – what to do in the meantime? It used to be that you would all wait here, silently and – usually – patiently, awaiting the result. But, in their wisdom, the Livery Committee in 1976 decided that they would ask the Deputy Town Clerk of the day to give a speech instead. The idea being, to fill the time with something of interest to the Livery.

Now, as I always say, I’m not entirely sure whether listening to me for all that time is actually preferable to 13 minutes of silence…

But the Livery Committee has not – yet – reversed its decision, and so I am afraid you are stuck with me today.

I am, effectively, the human equivalent of “on hold” music.

Now, I should explain that my role as Deputy Town Clerk means I spend much of my time immersed in:

• governance,
• constitutional questions,
• ancient customs,
• committee reports,
• standing orders,
• elections,
• charters,
• and other subjects guaranteed to empty a room more quickly than a fire alarm.

On which note, one of my other areas of responsibility is corporate health and safety: and I am able to confirm that there is no fire alarm scheduled today. So, please do take it seriously if one goes off.

For some reason, I tend to find fire alarms often get set off whenever I’m giving speeches..

I am actually very pleased to have the opportunity to speak to you all, each Common Hall. Mainly because this is precisely the sort of thing that allows me to justify the amount of time I spend reading records that are several hundred years old.

Indeed, I have now reached the stage where discovering a reference in a sixteenth-century minute book genuinely counts as excitement.

Most people have hobbies. I have archives.

Those of you who’ve endured – sorry, enjoyed – my speeches before, will know that I often use the opportunity to talk about some of the history of the Livery and the Corporation.

To help explain why we’re here today and the reason why things are – well, the way they are.

So – as we’re here in Common Hall, let’s start there.

The origins of Common Hall can be traced back to at least to the 13th century, and probably earlier, developing from the Anglo-Saxon folkmoot tradition.

Folkmoots, otherwise known as Things, were governing assemblies in early Germanic societies which provided some basic legislative functions.

The free people of the community gathered together periodically, and they were presided over by a lawspeaker.

The parallels with you today, as Freemen, and the role of the Sheriffs and Mayor as law enforcement officials overseeing proceedings, are plain to see.

Common Hall remains one of the three executive bodies of the City Corporation, alongside the Court of Aldermen and the Common Council.

Although its roots are medieval, the institution we would recognise today emerged only gradually.

When King John gave the right to Londoners to elect the Mayor, citizens assumed a part in that process. And what later became today’s Common Hall began to emerge.

But it wasn’t until 1406 that this role was formalised. And it wasn’t officially called Common Hall until 1738.

The respective roles and origins of the Common Council and Common Hall intertwined over the period, as they began to settle into their current formats.

Meanwhile, the Court of Aldermen very much took charge of running the City in those early days. And it’s fair to say that they were active.

I happened to be looking at the records for 1596 the other day – what better way to spend a Saturday night – and I was surprised to see that the Court was still meeting 120 times a year even then.

As a clerk myself, my sympathies go to the minute-takers of the day. Particularly as they would have been using quills.

As any former Sheriff will tell you, the most daunting part of their entire year of office is their Admission ceremony, when they have to attempt to scrawl their name in the Oath book with quill and ink. It’s fair to say that we have a decent number of Sheriffs identifiable only as “indecipherable ink blots” in the records!

In support of the Aldermen, selected Commoners of the City would also gather together. Records from 1322 onwards refer to these meetings as a “great” or immense commonalty, or congregation. And the functions began to divide into what we know today as the Common Council and Common Hall.

Originally, all Freemen were able to participate and each Ward would put people forward. But the Guilds were not quite so keen on that. So, they saw to it that participation was limited to those early Livery Companies, who agreed that things would be much better if they sent a representative sample of their number to do things properly instead.

From 1376, this elected executive arm of the great congregation became known as Common Council. Thereafter, there was a bit of a battle between the Livery and the Wards as to who got to control that body, with the Wards eventually winning.

The element of the great congregation which became Common Hall, however, moved in the opposite direction. With the Wards gradually losing out to the Livery, until it settled in 1475 – and remains so today.

Its role and responsibilities have evolved over the years.

There were other things Common Hall used to do, and other roles to which it used to appoint. For example, the Chamberlain was elected annually by Common Hall until as recently as 1983. And Common Hall was significantly more active with regard to wider national – and international – politics. 250 years ago, special Common Halls were summoned specifically to put forward the Livery’s views on the American colonies, supporting their position around taxation and representation, and fearing Government policy would result in irreversible damage to the relationship. So strong was the sentiment, that Common Hall resolved to petition the King. And the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, Aldermen, and a large host of Livery representatives went to present their Address to George III in person, shortly after.

Sadly, the King was none too impressed.

He rebuffed their entreaties, expressing every faith in his Government’s policy. And he sent the Lord Chamberlain to have a quiet word with the Lord Mayor, to inform him that he would no longer receive Common Hall’s Addresses to the throne.

Of course, events subsequently demonstrated that Common Hall’s reading of the situation was perhaps rather better than the King’s.

Going back further in time, the history of Common Hall and the Livery in the early days is certainly an excitable one. Guilds or trading fraternities had existed in London from at least the Anglo-Saxon times. The Weavers were the first to gain formal sanction from the Crown – indeed, they’re coming up to their 900^th anniversary. But it was under King Edward III, in the 1300s, that these Guilds really took off.

Spying an opportunity to boost the nation’s mercantile efforts – and the tax income for his coffers that came with it – Edward’s reign saw a reconstruction of those trading fraternities.

Evolving from Gilds, into Crafts and Mysteries, which became the Livery Companies we recognise today. Up to that point, the head of each Guild was called an “Alderman”, rather than “Master”.

As all the Aldermen have left the room, and so can’t hear what I’m saying, may I say – I’m relieved this change took place:  25 Aldermen is quite enough, I’m not sure we have the capacity for another 114!

Edward began to issue Charters to these early bodies, which is why so many – the Skinners, Merchant Taylors, Goldsmiths, Girdlers – are looking forward to celebrating their 700^th anniversaries next year. He also put in place the rules which meant that each Company could specialise only in their trade.

Until that point, while each Company generally focused on the trades from which they took their names, it wasn’t actually prohibited to dabble in other professions. And I’m afraid it was the Grocers that took the proverbial biscuit. Not only did they start to muscle in on other Companies’ business, but they also started hoarding and fixing the price of goods, to artificially inflate prices – and their own profits.

Aggrieved, the Commoners put forward a petition, urging this be addressed. And the King duly legislated, to require that each Guild confine themselves to their specific trade thereafter – Hence, the arrangement we all know today.

All this, of course, was before the order of precedence of Livery Companies was fixed. These days, the order relates to the time at which the Company is created. But there was no fixed order until 1515 and so, before that, the Companies used to jostle for position.

Everyone here will have heard of the long-running battles – quite literally – between the Skinners and Merchant Taylors, which resulted in the famous “sixes and sevens” settlement. But the history of bloody conflict over precedence goes back even further. Every Company wanted to be highest in precedence, so as to be closest to the front – most visible – in the Coronation and Lord Mayor’s Day processions.

As early as 1226, there are records of fights between the Goldsmiths and the Tailors, resulting in deaths, and the execution of the ringleaders. And in 1340, records show another huge brawl on Cheapside, between the Fishmongers and the Skinners. That escalated to such a degree that one of the Lord Mayor’s serjeants was killed, and one Fishmonger grabbed the Lord Mayor himself by the throat – only just being stopped from killing him.

The two chief offenders were dragged here, to Guildhall, for a quick trial, then beheaded outside St Mary-Le-Bow – and the King wrote to the Lord Mayor to congratulate him on this robust action. But the Fishmongers don’t seem to have fared too badly from it – they kept their place at fourth.

Meanwhile, the Skinners were demoted!

The final order was fixed by the Court of Aldermen in 1515. And here we are today, with new companies joining the back of the orderly queue.

So, when the Masters process out of Great Hall later on, you will appreciate that there is a very good reason why we keep them all in strict precedence order: It’s to stop them from descending into violent brawls.

Now, much like Common Hall, the role and remit of the Court of Aldermen has also waned over time. To the relief of the Aldermen today, they only meet 7 times a year, rather than 120. And, just like Common Hall and the Chamberlain, there are a number of posts and roles for which the Aldermen have ceded their appointment rights over the years.

In my trawl of the records from 1596, I discovered that – in those days – they had a much more active role in appointing the many members of the Lord Mayor’s household. Although, the records would seem to suggest that Corporation staff were somewhat more…unruly then, than they are today.

There is an interesting tale of a young gentleman in the Lord Mayor’s service, a George Foster. He is recorded as being dismissed from his duties and committed to Newgate Prison for “contemptuously refusing to obey the Lord Mayor”. His colleague and fellow officer John Goodwyn was tasked with taking Foster to the prison. Some time later, it emerged that neither man had reached Newgate.

They were eventually traced through the hostelries of the City, and discovered in a tavern near the gaol – having apparently turned the prisoner transfer into a leisurely pub crawl.

As I think back to the last Christmas party season, it strikes me that, perhaps, Corporation staff haven’t changed as much as I thought.

Mr Goodwyn was committed alongside Mr Foster for a spell at Newgate, for his troubles. But it was obviously not enough to merit dismissal. A scant six months later, he’s in the records again, being dismissed for stabbing a fellow officer in an office-based altercation.

I am pleased to report that these days we expect a much higher standard of conduct from our officers. And, fortunately, the Corporation’s HR processes no longer involve Newgate Prison. But, whoever the Aldermen have chosen over the last thirteen minutes, I shall endeavour to remain on my best behaviour in the year ahead – just to be safe. Or at the very least, not get caught on any unauthorised visits to Wetherspoons.

Now, having covered Anglo-Saxon folkmoots, medieval guild rivalries, constitutional evolution, American independence, Newgate Prison, taverns, and attempted murder on Cheapside, I think we can safely conclude that I have extracted every possible minute from the Aldermen’s absence. In more ordinary language, I have talked for quite long enough.

Thank you.