Bulletin Vol IX Pdf : simplebooklet.com

4 Contents Notes on Contributors 5 Introduction 6 by Hywel Williams Reports from Corresponding Fellows Dispatch from Madrid: On the Manipulation of History in Spanish Politics 9 by Julio Crespo Maclennan Dispatch from Malaysia: The Global South and Russia-Ukraine 13 by Sholto Byrnes Articles Alliance Possible, Entente Difficile 16 by John Rogister The Changing Character of Military Honours in Britain 32 by Zeb Micic New Perspectives on the Role of the Taula de Canvì of Barcelona 45 in the Reign of Charles V by Jacopo Sartori Reviews Travels with Tocqueville (Harvard University Press), Jeremy Jennings 57 by Julian Jackson Justinian: Emperor, Soldier, Saint (Hachette), Peter Sarris 63 by Matthew Thal But Will It Get a Laugh? The Life of Doris Hare in Three Acts 69 (Society of Theatre Research), Kate Crehan by Amelia Butler Gallie Addendum Excerpts from Government in Wales 75 chaired by Rowan Williams and Laura McAllister

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5 Notes on Contributors Julio Crespo Maclennan Julio Crespo Maclennan is Director of the Hispanic Observatory think tank and Associate Professor of International Relations at IE University, Madrid. Sholto Byrnes Sholto Byrnes is a Senior Fellow at the Institute of Strategic and International Studies, Malaysia and is the lead coordinator of the ASEAN network of national think tanks. He is a weekly international affairs columnist for The National, Abu Dhabi. John Rogister The late John Rogister was Senior Lecturer in Modern History at the University of Durham and was invested as a Grand Officer of the National Order of Merit of France for his work on the ancien regime. Rowan Williams Rowan Williams was the Master of Magdalene College, Cambridge and is a former Archbishop of Canterbury. A fellow of the Erasmus Forum, he is now chair of the independent Commission into the Constitutional Future of Wales. Matthew Thal Matthew Thal has recently completed studies in Classics and History at Peterhouse, Cambridge Zeb Micic Zeb Micic is in his final year at the University of St Andrews. A trustee of the Society for Army Historical Research, he is particularly interested in the history of honours and dignities, especially those for military service, and the wider relationship between monarch, state and the armed forces. He is a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Jacopo Sartori Jacopo Sartori completed his doctoral studies in economic history at Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. He is now a Tatti Fellow at The Harvard Centre for Italian Renaissance Studies in Florence and a Research Specialist a the Ufficio Studi in Milan. Julian Jackson Julian Jackson is Professor of History at Queen Mary, University of London and is a Fellow of the British Academy and of the Royal Historical Society. Amelia Butler Gallie Amelia Butler Gallie completed MA and MSt Studies in English Language and Literature at Lincoln College, Oxford. She is a researcher and writer for The Week Magazine in London and a reviewer for The Spectator and The Oldie.

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6 Introduction by Hywel Williams The contributors to Governing Passions, volume IX of the Erasmus Forum Bulletin, find themselves attracted to the question of government- the means by which it is attained and retained, the circumstances that lead to administrative decline or reform, and its relation to both cultural context and economic activity. Julio Crespo Maclennan’s critique of contemporary Spanish politics shows how a partisan view of the country’s history is being used to entrench governmental power. From his vantage point in Kuala Lumpur Sholto Byrnes reveals the distance between competing perspectives in today’s international arena. The ‘Third World’ has morphed into another portmanteau term, the ‘Global South’ whose leaders are swift to detect hypocrisy when cajoled by the elected representatives of ‘the West’. Another kind of fracture is investigated by John Rogister in his survey of Franco-British relations, a theme that extends far beyond current day difficulties. Governing passions from the days of Capetians and Plantagenets, through Bourbons and Stuarts to Gaullists and Heathites provide material for both disenchanted realism and a modest idealism: Alliance Possible,Entente Difficile. Alexis de Tocqueville, a scion of the Norman nobility, was drawn to the study of the relations between government and people in the febrile circumstances of mid nineteenth century Europe and of the emergent great power across the Atlantic. History records the pioneering sociological thrust of De la Democratie en Amerique and historians remain indebted to the depth of archival research in L’Ancien Regime et la Revolution Francaise. In Journeys with Tocqueville Jeremy Jennings takes us beyond that familiar Franco-American milieu to the other countries visited by this indefatigable observer. Julian Jackson’s review of this most original volume explains why Tocqueviile’s approach makes him our contemporary, his puzzled fascination with the democratic experiment echoing our own concerns in fractured times. The quest for honour and the desire to show one’s worth and ability in the sight of others is an impulse that links the Ancients with the Moderns. Homeric battles supply western literature with its earliest examples of warrior glory and the chivalric impulse, recognized and rewarded in courtly palaces, secured positions of influence in the governments of medieval Europe. Zeb Micic concentrates on the nineteenth century scene in his discussion of the role played by

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7 military honors in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars and during the period that followed the Crimean War. Micic casts a new light on the relation between the military and the civilian governments and the importance of new honours, introduced to instill loyalty and engender camaraderie. The high Victorian period was one of consistent reformism in the civilian sphere, both politically and administratively, and the expansion of military honors was part of the same process. Imperial decline and fall is a familiar theme in the annals of historiography. Gibbon ensured the theme’s canonic status. The game of detecting decline’s origins- moral decadence, financial turpitude, bureaucratic lassitude being among the many candidates for a sound drubbing by posterity- has rarely ceased from the moment when Gibbon laid down his pen and at a time when Britain was beginning to march to the sound of an imperial ascent. Empires, having fallen, are supposed to fade away. Some empires however get a second bite at the cherry. Spain seemed out for the count when the Treaty of Utrecht (1713-4) ended the War of the Spanish Succession. The treaty however affirmed that an imported Bourbon, Philip V, could keep his Spanish throne and the story of Spanish recovery domestically and, even more so, in the colonies, owed much to the French administrative influence. The Eastern Roman Empire’s sixth century recovery was a remarkable, and long lived, recovery of imperial outreach. Large areas of the empire in the west were reconquered and a series of victories on land and at sea made the notion of a reunited imperial, Roman, dominion appear realistic. At the heart of this remarkable exercise in reculer pour mieux sauter was the good judgement, administrative capacity and high ambition of the emperor Justinian, the subject of Peter Sarris’s ground breaking biography. Matthew Thal, a classicist as well as an historian, is well placed to craft a discriminating judgement on Justinian’s accomplishments. The codification of Roman law was the work of many scholarly hands but it was Justinian who presided over this enterprise and who lent his imperial name to a codex whose influence on the history of jurisprudence is second to none. Jacopo Sartori is no stranger to the Bulletin’s pages and his latest contribution sheds more light on the structures of banking in Catalonia and especially Barcelona during the age of Charles V. Crowned Holy Roman Emperor in 1517, Charles’s enduring, governmental, passion was the maintenance of Christendom at a time when it was imperiled from within by the advance of a fissiparous Protestantism and externally by the Ottoman Turks. Raising money was always a problem for this greatest of the Habsburgs. During the Sack of Rome (1527), the event that marked the city’s fall as a centre of the High Renaissance, Charles’s mercenaries went on the rampage because he had no money to pay them. The role played by northern European bankers, such as the Fuggers of Augsburg, in advancing lines of credit and underwriting public debt has been extensively studied. But the importance of Mediterranean banking is less appreciated and Sartori’s extensive researches in the relevant archives brings that world out of the historical shadows. Kate Crehan casts the eye of a social anthropologist over a major cultural phenomenon in But Will it Get a Laugh. Our reviewer Amelia Butler Gallie’s skillful literary scholarship conveys the range and depth of the author’s achievement. The ‘travelling players’ of Elizabethan and

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8 Jacobean England were the lineal descendants of the actors who performed the medieval ‘Mystery Plays’. These later performers were however true full time professionals and the need to find an audience kept them on the move. The players who arrive to perform ‘The Murder of Gonzago’, the play within a play, in Hamlet evoke the ready wit and on stage resilience with which Shakespeare may have been familiar in his Stratford on Avon youth when the players arrived in town. In ‘Gonzago’ the burlesque treatment of a king overcome by two passions, the one governmental and the other sexual, mirrors the more expansive treatment of the same theme in Shakespeare’s play. In the early twentieth century, before they were killed off by wireless and cinema, the travelling players were still at work. They were the background to Crehan’s mother’s development as an actor and this entertaining account shows some of the ways in which ‘light entertainment’ seeps into the resources of ‘high culture’. The Addendum to this volume of the Bulletin provides readers with a fragment from work in progress and will be supplemented by two future research essays: ‘The Real Revolution in Tudor Government’ by David Starkey and ‘Twenty Five Years On’, a retrospective account of Philip Bobbitt’s analysis of international relations in his Shield of Achilles. This scholarly triptych aims to provide the reader with a comparative account of the 'governing passion' and its influence within a geographical area, amidst the confines of courtly 'high politics' and among competitive displays of power in inter-governmental relations. Hywel Williams Director, Erasmus Forum Editor, Erasmus Forum Bulletin 29th February 2024

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10 Spain is one of the oldest nations in Europe, it built an empire that has left one of the great cultural communities of the twenty-first century, and it has an extraordinary cultural legacy. This is the reason why Hispanism as an academic discipline is present in most major universities. It is the duty of the Spanish government to promote hispanism as a factor unifying the Spanish-speaking people. Nevertheless at present the history of Spain is either forgotten or used to confront its people. In 2007 the Historic Memory Law was published by the Socialist government in Spain with the aim of compensating those affected by persecution or violence for political, ideological or religious reasons during the Spanish Civil War and the subsequent dictatorship. This law was mainly motivated by the work of non-government organisations like the Association for the Recovery of Historic Memory, with the aim of finding the remains of victims of the civil war and Francoism. The law also aimed at giving Spanish citizenship to the children and grandchildren of those who were exiled as a result of the civil war. Both of these are noble aims to heal wounds in a society that is still traumatised by the legacy of this conflict. In fact Spain is one of the countries in the world with the largest number of mass graves. The corpses of many of those who were killed during the civil war were never found. This includes that of the poet Federico Garcia Lorca, the most famous victim of Francoist repression during the civil war. But it is the manipulation of history associated with this law that has provoked most controversy. The term historic memory was subject to much criticism as history is meant to be objective whereas memory is subjective, and the imposition of a collective memory or a one-sided view of history is very much in line with what totalitarian regimes have done. The ultimate aim of the Historic Memory Law was to seek revenge on the Franco regime on behalf of those who lost the war in 1939 by presenting an official history, eradicate Francoist Spain from history and demonize all those associated with it. Another law the Democratic Memory Law passed in 2022 went further by declaring the Franco regime illegal. Streets names have been changed with the aim of not only eliminating prominent official representatives of the Franco regime, but even writers and artists who were known for their conservative or monarchist views. Expressing support for the Franco regime or Francoist figures has been outlawed. all of which has ignited a debate on freedom of expression. Another way in which the current Spanish government has manipulated history over the last years has been by burying it and imposing collective amnesia or ignorance, enthusiastically endorsing some of the key ideas behind the woke movement: empires, particularly Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera (1903-36), Founder of the Falangist Movement Source: Wikimedia Commons

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11 European empires are bad, all those associated with it are evil and on the whole Western civilisation should feel ashamed itself. 2018 was a special year for Spain and the Hispanic world from the historical perspective. It marked the four hundredth anniversary of the conquest of Mexico by Hernan Cortes. This is one of the most significant chapters in the history of the Spanish empire and it also laid the foundations of the Mexican nation. The Spanish government should have commemorated this sponsoring academic and cultural events, ideally in association with the Mexican government. But instead it decided to ignore it in accordance with the official policy of forgetting about anything associated with the Spanish empire. As a result the feats of Hernan Cortes went unnoticed. This attitude also explains the recent changes in the national curriculum implemented by the Spanish government, by which school children are only taught Spanish history from the nineteenth century onwards. All that made Spain great in the distant past from the Roman Hispania to Spain in the Golden Age is no longer taught to the new generation of Spaniards. In 2017 the Catalan regional government called a referendum on the independence of Catalonia, defying its prohibition by the Spanish constitution, and it unilaterally declared independence. Such bold act of subversion would not have been possible without an ambitious campaign to convince people both nationally and internationally that Catalonia has solid historical antecedents to be a nation, and that Catalans have been oppressed. A new historical narrative was required. The kingdom of Spain, just like the United Kingdom was formed by merging three ancient kingdoms in the Iberian peninsula: Castile, Aragon and Navarre. Catalonia belonged to the Kingdom of Aragon and never existed as a separate state. But since being subjects of the kingdom of Aragon did not satisfy the aspirations of Catalan nationalists, historians subsidised by the Catalan regional government began to refer to Aragon as the Catalan-Aragonese Kingdom. They particularly extol the Revolt of the Catalans, in 1640 when a Catalan republic was briefly declared with the support of the French. The attempts to impose centralisation in Spain from the early 18th century when the Bourbon dynasty is established, is presented as an attempt to eradicate Catalan identity, but this victimisation seems incompatible with the fact that Barcelona has been Spain’s financial capital, even during the Franco regime, which was supported by many Catalan industrialists. Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936), poet, playwright and socialist. Pictured here (R) with Salvador Dali in 1925. Murdered at the start of the Spanish Civil War, his body remains undiscovered. Source: Ajuntament de Barcelona

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14 Many have wondered why the Global South has not been a firmer ally of the US-led coalition backing Ukraine against Russia. Why, in general, are they advocates of a swift peace, rather than fighting as long as it takes for Ukraine to regain all its territories? Further, why do some consider it to be an American “forever war”, or an essentially European dispute that has little to do with them? Several events during and around the week of the UN General Assembly have provided clarity, as the myths of the black and white narrative that casts Kyiv as a democratic David against Moscow’s neo-imperialist Goliath begin to evaporate. Firstly, there are many overwhelming challenges facing developing countries, not least climate change. But as the UK Foreign Secretary James Cleverly admitted while in New York for UNGA, his counterparts in the Global South often feel that all they hear from G7 leaders is “Ukraine, Ukraine, Ukraine”. Colombia’s president Gustav Petro made the point in a blistering speech to the assembly. “They have called us to war,” he said, referring to US president Biden’s maximalist allies in Europe and North America. “They call for men to go to battlefields. They are forgetting that our countries were invaded several times by the very same people who are now talking about fighting invasions. They forgot that to achieve the Sustainable Development Goals all wars must be brought to an end.” Mr Petro then turned to the unfulfilled pledge made at Cop15 in 2009. “They broke their own promises to finance adaptation to climate change. They don’t have $100 billion to give to countries to defend themselves from floods, storms and hurricanes. But they do have that money, in a single day, so that Russians and Ukrainians kill each other.” Second, the “Russia must be defeated” party has told us again and again that the invasion of Ukraine was “unprovoked” and that it had nothing to do with Nato’s expansion eastwards. But speaking to the EU parliament just before the UNGA, Nato Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg “committed a Washington gaffe”, as Columbia professor Jeffrey Sachs put it – “meaning that he accidentally blurted out the truth”. Russian president Vladimir Putin wanted the treaty organisation to sign a promise “never to enlarge Nato”, said Mr Stoltenberg. “That… was a pre-condition to not invade Ukraine. Of course, we didn’t sign that…. So he went to war to prevent Nato, more Nato, close to his borders.” Ah, so it turns out that this war may have been avoidable after all. That isn’t surprising. As far back as 1997 the fabled US geo-strategist George Kennan warned that “expanding Nato would be the most fateful error of American policy in the entire post-cold-war era”. Third, the war has been described as democracy facing “a test for the ages”, as Mr Biden put it on September 15. But Republican Senator Rand Paul undermined that notion in a speech to his colleagues last week. “Ukraine is one of the most corrupt countries on the planet, maybe second only to Russia,” he said. “Some say the war in Ukraine is a fight to save democracy. But those who say that need to be honest with themselves.” The country has cancelled its next presidential election, whereas America still held one during its civil war, he pointed out. “We’re going to send $100 billion to a country that now has what, a president for life? This is not the only concerning development. He has banned the political opposition.” (Eleven

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15 parties were suspended just after the invasion for alleged links with Russia.) “How do you have a democracy if you’re not going to have elections and you ban the opposition?” Indeed, if it really is about democracy, why isn’t Mr Biden more concerned about Georgia? Two years in a row I have seen the country’s prime minister, Irakli Garibashvili, dolefully remind delegates at Qatar Economic Forum that, just as in Ukraine, Russia occupies 20 per cent of his country. Freedom House actually rates Georgia as freer than Ukraine. But the fate of its democracy is evidently less pressing. In fact, the more that emerges about Ukraine – from the admission that Nazi imagery is more commonplace than previously admitted, to the revelation that a force of far-right Russians is fighting on their side – the less of a paragon of liberal democracy the country appears to be. This is in no way to condone the invasion. It was unequivocally wrong, and it seems certain that appalling war crimes have been committed. But Global South countries can see the double standards. They can also see what US defence secretary Lloyd Austin stated as far back as April 2022 – that the Biden administration’s real aim is to “weaken Russia”. To that end, conflict in Ukraine can apparently go on and on. According to the historian Niall Ferguson, the director of planning and command at the German defence ministry, General Christian Freuding, told a conference in Kyiv earlier this month, “No one expects the war to be over within six months.” His government was planning with a “time horizon of 2032”. Calling for an early resolution to the war, by means of a ceasefire or whatever else, can lead to accusations of cynicism and amorality. Mr Putin would be rewarded for his aggression, would be the charge. But what I find far more cynical and amoral is allowing hundreds of thousands of Russians and Ukrainians to die in what everyone thinks is now going to be a long war of attrition. All for what? To bring to its knees Russia, a country that many in the Global South regard as an old friend in the anti-colonial struggle and which may be America’s enemy – but is in no way theirs. Why should they back the US in the latest edition of what Democratic presidential candidate Robert Kennedy Jr calls the “forever wars” to which it is still addicted? No wonder they want no part in it. Colombia’s president Petro spoke for many in his speech, when he asked if it wasn’t time to end all wars, “and take advantage of this short time to build paths to save life on the planet”. Excerpts from Countries of the Global North and Global South Source: UN Conference on Trade and Development

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17 L’année dernière, lorsque le Président m’a proposé de parler sur ce sujet, je lui avais dit que je préférais ne pas le faire sous l’aspect exclusivement du Brexit. Ni lui, ni moi ne pensions sans doute que le Brexit prendrait si longtemps à s’accomplir au point qu’il faudra quand même que je l’évoque. Je craignais que, s’il entrait trop dans mon propos aujourd’hui, nous risquions peut-être de répéter la scène de ce dîner de famille représenté par Caran d’Ache au moment de l’affaire Dreyfus : « Et surtout, ne parlons pas de l’Affaire », dit le père de famille. La caricature suivante s’intitule : « Ils en ont parlé ». On assiste à une scène de carnage familial, où l’on voit un homme qui étrangle une femme sur la table ; même le chien de la maison a reçu une fourchette dans le postérieur. Rassurez-vous, mes propos seront, je l’espère, modérés. Pour envisager le sujet sous l’angle historique qui sera le mien, il faut avoir recours à une chronologie réaliste. Il n’est sans doute pas inutile de remonter à Jeanne d’Arc, à Louis XIV ou à Napoléon Ier pour trouver des précédents ou bien des préjugés, mais je pense que la période d’un peu plus d’un siècle, circonscrite par l’Entente cordiale de 1904 en passant par le Traité de Lisbonne de 2009 pour se terminer avec le retrait du Royaume-Uni de l’Union européenne en 2020, serait celle qui nous permettrait de rester dans l’actuel tout en y associant le passé proche. Du moins, ce serait matière à réflexion. Signe d’âge sans doute, j’ai participé à trois commémorations de l’Entente cordiale, en 1994, en 2004 et la dernière en 2014 (qui coïncidait aussi avec le 60e anniversaire du Débarquement des troupes anglo-américaines en Normandie). Verrai-je celle de 2024, ou même celle de 2034 ? D’ailleurs, continueront-elles sur leur lancée ? Les célébrations précédentes donnèrent lieu à des publications ainsi qu’à des déclarations officielles. En 1994, dans une introduction conjointe à une brochure de trente-deux pages publiée par leurs deux ministères, Alain Juppé et Douglas Hurd annonçaient d’emblée que : « la France et la Grande-Bretagne ont été des amies, des alliées naturelles – et des concurrentes saines (‘healthy competitors’) depuis plus de 150 ans ». La datation manquait de précision, mais elle semblait s’appliquer à 1844 et à la première Entente cordiale portant ce nom, celle de Louis-Philippe et de la Reine Victoria, tout en évitant de mentionner Napoléon Ier. La difficulté était vite contournée dans la section « Un peu d’Histoire », où l’auteur nous apprenait que : « les guerres napoléoniennes furent la dernière fois que les deux pays se sont battus de côtés opposés ». Comme vous voyez, cela ne nous concernait pas ! Le même auteur ajoutait : Indifférent ne sera jamais le mot pour décrire notre rapport. L’un peut toujours rendre l’autre perplexe, souvent par inadvertance. Nous sommes distinctement et fièrement divers, tant à l’intérieur de nos propres frontières qu’en comparaison avec l’un l’autre. Mais nous avons plus en commun que nous ne le pensons habituellement. Ce petit livre nous l’expliquera.

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18 Alors, tout y passe : les racines culturelles dans le Moyen Âge avec la féodalité chrétienne et l’enrichissement architectural et artistique, l’Humanisme de la Renaissance, les Lumières, le progrès scientifique. On nous dit que des parties de la Normandie ressemblent au Val d’Evesham, la côte Bretonne à celle de la Cornouaille. Ensuite, on passe à la gastronomie, pour s’attarder sur la vie en Provence ou en Dordogne, appréciée par les « expatriates » anglais, et enfin, il y a les exploits du joueur de football Éric Cantona. Telle était l’Entente cordiale en 1994, année aussi de l’inauguration du tunnel sous la Manche. Lors de son voyage officiel en 1972, la Reine Elizabeth II avait déclaré : « Il est vrai que nous ne conduisons pas du même côté de la route, mais nous allons dans la même direction ». On peut parfois se le demander. Revenons en arrière. Mon point de départ sera la guerre de 1914-1918. Par un curieux paradoxe, l’Entente cordiale de 1904, qui ne visait que la résolution de certains problèmes coloniaux, s’était muée en des conversations militaires secrètes et à haut niveau entre nos deux pays, et ensuite en une alliance en temps de guerre. Mais cette évolution n’a pas été sans heurts. Ces conversations secrètes militaires avec la France, commencées sous le gouvernement d’Asquith, avaient été inspirées par la crainte qu’avait une partie de ce gouvernement de la menace navale et commerciale posée par l’Allemagne de Guillaume II. Mais seuls quelques ministres du gouvernement étaient au courant de ces conversations, car les autres ne partageaient pas les vues de leurs collègues au sujet de l’Allemagne et n’auraient pas envisagé une action militaire aux côtés de la France. Certains, comme Lord Haldane, par exemple, pensaient qu’il était préférable de rechercher plutôt une entente avec les Allemands. Ces ministres avaient été tenus à l’écart des conciliabules secrets. La division au cœur du cabinet Asquith éclata au moment de la crise de juillet 1914. Même une lettre au Premier ministre adressée par les chefs de l’opposition conservatrice rappelant que le pays avait contracté une obligation morale envers la France, n’avait pas refait l’union à l’intérieur du gouvernement. Il avait fallu l’invasion allemande de la Belgique et la violation de sa neutralité, garantie par les grandes puissances dans le Traité de Londres de 1839, pour décider le Royaume-Uni à entrer Plaque in the Hotel de Palais, Biarritz marking Edward VII’s naming of Asquith as Prime Minister whilst on French soil Source: Bas Kulture

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19 en guerre aux côtés de la France (non sans les hésitations à la dernière minute d’un ministre, Lloyd George). Certains ministres donnèrent leur démission. Mais l’entrée en guerre des Britanniques se faisait sur des bases peu rassurantes pour son allié français. Sa participation se ferait surtout au niveau de sa puissante flotte, avec une petite armée seulement envoyée en France, les Français se battant sur terre et les Britanniques sur mer. Or, les choses se passèrent d’une tout autre manière. La bataille de Jutland en 1916 fut le seul grand engagement naval, et la guerre sur mer fut surtout l’action des sous-marins allemands qui constituèrent un grand danger pour le ravitaillement des Alliés. En même temps, la guerre d’usure des tranchées nécessita une plus grande participation militaire de la Grande-Bretagne en France et ailleurs, entraînant l’introduction de la conscription, ainsi que l’emploi de troupes coloniales. L’entrée en guerre du Royaume-Uni aux côtés de la France avait déjà montré que l’entente avait des buts limités : rétablir l’indépendance de la Belgique, freiner l’expansion allemande, sans pour autant adopter les buts de guerre français et russes. Nous avons déjà mentionné ceux qui, parmi les libéraux au pouvoir, auraient préféré avant la guerre chercher un terrain d’accommodement avec les Allemands. Chez ces hommes, il y avait, en plus du coût présumé astronomique de la guerre, la crainte des pertes financières et économiques qu’aurait à subir le pays. Certains avaient aussi un préjugé en faveur des Allemands : préjugé de race – et je reviendrai par la suite sur cela –, admiration pour la science, la philosophie et la musique allemandes. La France, par contre, avait un côté « belliqueux » qui inspirait méfiance et crainte ; et puis, il y avait sa « frivolité » que l’on comparait au « sérieux » des Allemands. En 1915, afin de renforcer l’entente militaire entre la Grande-Bretagne, la France et la Russie tsariste, et leurs nouveaux alliés, on se livra sur le papier, dans des traités secrets, à de vastes partages de territoire en Europe, en Asie et en Afrique, qui se feraient aux dépens des Empires centraux et de la Turquie. La France récupérerait l’Alsace-Lorraine, des colonies allemandes, la Syrie. Il fallut pourtant attendre le 12 octobre 1917 pour que la Grande-Bretagne s’engage formellement à ne pas déposer les armes avant que l’Alsace-Lorraine ne fût redevenue française et cela dans le contexte, évoqué par le Premier ministre Lloyd George et le Président du Conseil Painlevé, que les Allemands pourraient toujours trouver, dans une éventuelle paix négociée, une compensation aux dépens de la Russie bolchévique. Le Traité de Versailles fut décevant pour la France qui aurait voulu obtenir la rive gauche du Rhin en plus de l’Alsace-Lorraine. À partir de 1919, la politique étrangère de la Grande-Bretagne s’écarta sensiblement de celle de la France. Elle visait à éliminer les aspects du Traité de Versailles qu’elle jugeait intenables et indéfendables. Elle donna la priorité au rétablissement des relations économiques d’avant-guerre avec la nouvelle République allemande. Comme on l’a vu, l’intérêt de la Grande-Bretagne était le maintien d’un équilibre européen. La menace de l’impérialisme militaire allemand avait disparu, la flotte allemande sabordée, la Belgique indépendante rétablie, et la France devrait se contenter du retour de

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21 commune de la Grande Guerre et par une méfiance envers l’Allemagne. À moins que l’Europe ne soit menacée d’une nouvelle hégémonie allemande, une alliance entre nos deux pays restait possible, mais une entente serait difficile. En effet, la France envisageait de parer au danger allemand par un réseau d’alliances défensives avec les nouveaux États de l’Europe centrale, tandis que les Britanniques mettaient leurs espoirs dans la Société des Nations et s’efforçaient plutôt d’apaiser les Allemands par une politique conciliatrice. En attendant, les préjugés anti-français revenaient à la surface. Ce fut donc sans l’appui des Britanniques que les Français et les Belges occupèrent la Ruhr en 1923, afin d’obliger les Allemands à se mettre à jour pour les paiements des réparations qui leur étaient dues. L’échec de l’occupation mena aux négociations de Locarno deux ans plus tard. Conclu entre la France, la Grande-Bretagne, la Belgique, l’Allemagne, et l’Italie, le traité avait comme effet que ces puissances garantissaient mutuellement leurs nouvelles frontières en Europe de l’ouest. En ce qui concerne nos deux pays, ce qui les unit semble toujours plus grand que ce qui les divise ; ils sont unis pour affronter le problème de l’Allemagne et des frontières, mais seulement à l’ouest ; il n’est pas question des alliés de la France à l’est, de son « cordon sanitaire ». Mais leurs solutions sur le problème de l’Allemagne s’écartent toujours l’une de l’autre, et dans les moments de crise aiguë, ils n’arriveront pas à se concerter autour d’une action efficace commune, d’abord au sujet de l’action italienne en Abyssinie à partir de 1935, et surtout suite à la remilitarisation de la Rhénanie par Hitler en mars 1936. La raison est facile à déceler. La France et la Grande-Bretagne ont toutes les deux la crainte de l’Allemagne redevenue menaçante, mais ils ne sont pas d’accord, on l’a vu, sur les moyens à employer pour parer au danger. Mais une crainte encore plus grande que celle de l’Allemagne les hante : la crainte de la guerre. C’est comme si, à tout prix, il fallait éviter l’hécatombe de 1914-1918. La France y a perdu 1,3 million d’hommes, la Grande-Bretagne 700 000. Le premier référendum tenu en Grande-Bretagne fut en fait, et cela est révélateur, le « Peace Ballot » de novembre 1934 à juin 1935. Sur une population de 38 millions, 11 640 006 adultes de plus de 18 ans y prirent part, c’est-à-dire 38 % de la population, et plus de la moitié des 21 % qui voteront quelques mois plus tard lors des élections de 1935. Il fallait répondre à plusieurs questions par une seule réponse. Était-on en faveur de la guerre ou de la paix ? Était-on en faveur de la Société des Nations et pour ou contre le désarmement international ? Les résultats étaient prévisibles : 11 millions contre 350 000 en faveur de la paix et de la Société des Nations. À la question « Que faudrait-il faire pour empêcher l’agression d’un pays ? », une majorité de 10 millions (contre 635 000) privilégiait le recours aux sanctions économiques, tandis que, si cela était nécessaire, 6,7 millions se disaient favorables à une action militaire contre 2,35 millions. On ne ferait plus de nos jours de référendum sur des bases pareilles. À l’époque, les résultats furent interprétés différemment, sinon que, dans le cas d’une agression commise par un pays, on privilégiait le recours aux sanctions économiques, avec un éventuel emploi de la force armée. Heureusement pour nous qu’après sa victoire aux élections de 1935 grâce à son programme de désarmement, le Premier ministre Baldwin annonça à la radio, et d’une manière magistrale, en mettant le public dans le secret et en lui parlant « with appalling candour » (avec une candeur épouvantable), que la Grande-Bretagne allait en fait reprendre

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22 les armes. Mais elle ne fit pas la guerre au sujet de l’Abyssinie et savait qu’elle n’y entraînerait pas la France, non seulement parce qu’en France un « Peace Ballot » y aurait obtenu les mêmes résultats, mais parce que son gouvernement voulait empêcher l’Italie fasciste de Mussolini d’évoluer vers une alliance avec Hitler. De la même manière, lors de la remilitarisation de la Rhénanie par Hitler en mars 1936, qui violait les Traités de Versailles et de Locarno, les Britanniques n’étaient pas favorables à une intervention militaire, comme l’avaient proposé, assez mollement d’ailleurs, les Français dont le système de défense militaire était pourtant remis en cause. Pour comprendre ces réticences de part et d’autre, il faut aussi faire la part des difficultés pratiques qu’il y avait à prendre d’importantes décisions bilatérales alors qu’il fallait tenir compte de la situation parlementaire dans nos deux pays, des changements de gouvernement, des rivalités ministérielles, des idéologies contestataires, de l’arc-en-ciel de l’opinion et d’une presse active et puissante (comme celle de Lord Rothermere, par exemple). Face aux dictatures grandissantes et promptes à la décision, soutenues par les presses d’un parti unique, les démocraties parlementaires étaient souvent tatillonnes et hésitantes, sinon indécises. Dans ses Notes pour un homme d’État français qui traverse pour la première fois la Manche (1938), André Maurois écrivait : Les différences de culture et de tempérament, les souvenirs lointains […]. Le réveil sous des formes neuves et diverses, des préjuges puritains, rendront longtemps encore, entre nos deux peuples la coopération un peu difficile. Mais le possible est toujours près du nécessaire et cette coopération est assez utile pour qu’elle devienne chaque jour plus confiante. Tel était du moins l’espoir, qui ne fut pas toujours comblé, d’un homme qui fut officier de liaison entre nos deux armées pendant les deux guerres mondiales. Austen Chamberlain, un des artisans de Locarno et grand francophile, avouait dans ses mémoires en 1935 : « qu’il y avait beaucoup qui rendait la compréhension mutuelle entre Anglais et Français difficile ». Il y avait aussi un grand mépris outre-Manche pour les hommes politiques français. Barthou était « a nasty old man at heart » (Sir George Clerk, 15 janvier 1935), Laval surtout était « a crook » (Sir George Clerk, ibid). Beaucoup ne faisaient qu’englober les Français dans une méfiance hostile qu’ils étendaient à tous les étrangers. Lord Cranborne, au Foreign Office, n’aimait pas « those frightful foreigners ». Baldwin était plus sélectif, réservant sa détestation pour les dictatures de droite et de gauche, voyant le continent divisé, selon un raccourci amusant, « between the Nasties and the Bolshies », qu’on ferait mieux de laisser se battre entre eux. Pourtant, un grand nombre d’hommes politiques français ne nourrissaient aucun sentiment d’hostilité envers la Grande-Bretagne et ses politiciens. C’était le cas de Blum, Flandin, Reynaud, Mandel, et même de Laval. Les diplomates se montraient plus critiques à l’égard des Britanniques, tel André François-Poncet, qui s’attaquait aux « clergymen, aux vieilles dames, aux organisations pacifistes, aux intellectuels et aux électeurs du parti travailliste, coupables d’une germanophilie latente, pendant que la France serait là pour régler la note ». Il visait le cercle de Lady Astor qui se réunissait dans sa superbe propriété de Cliveden, le magnat de la presse Lord Rothermere, admirateur d’Hitler, ou des organisations

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23 d’anciens combattants comme The Link. Pourtant, en dépit de ces éléments, une majorité voulait une entente avec la France. Quand vint la guerre en 1939 et après la défaite de 1940, les récriminations ne manquèrent pas de part et d’autre. Cette période de 1940 à 1944 est bien connue et je n’en évoquerai que quelques aspects. D’abord, les Gaullistes de la première heure, ceux de Londres, conservèrent de l’accueil britannique un excellent souvenir, quels que soient les rapports difficiles du général de Gaulle sur le terrain politique. Churchill disait que la croix la plus lourde qu’il avait eue à porter pendant ces années-là était la croix de Lorraine, mais il devait ménager les Américains, hostiles à de Gaulle, et le gouvernement de Vichy, reconnu officiellement par les États-Unis et avec lequel Churchill avait certains engagements tacites. À la fin de la guerre, les autorités anglaises avaient aussi senti la nécessité de faire mieux connaître la France, sa langue et sa culture dans les écoles et les universités. La guerre entraîna de même la faillite de certaines vieilles idées et préjugés. Dans La France Libre de janvier 1944, le journaliste Pierre Maillaud – plus connu sous son pseudonyme de Pierre Bourdan des émissions gaullistes à la BBC – écrivait : La Grande-Bretagne, à travers son histoire, n’a cessé de servir la cause de la diversité européenne, avec des motifs et des objectifs variables. C’est pour cette raison, au-dessus de toutes les autres, qu’elle est, aujourd’hui encore, sur le plan moral, l’ennemi « Numéro 1 » de l’Allemagne hitlérienne. Mais tout en rendant au monde ce service, elle a souvent commis l’erreur d’étudier superficiellement la nature interne de ce continent où elle intervenait : la longue illusion de la parenté avec l’Allemagne, renouvelée après 1919, en est un signe. Cette parenté n’existe dans aucun des ordres profonds de la conscience qui font la nature morale d’un peuple. Aucune des convictions secrètes et publiques pour lesquelles un Anglais, un Français, un Norvégien, un Polonais ou un Hollandais pourrait donner sa vie, ne ferait risquer Poster from Vichy France Source: The Imperial War Museum

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24 une goutte de sang à un Allemand qui, en revanche, acceptera sans murmurer un sacrifice total en vertu d’injonctions qui feraient sourire un citoyen d’un autre pays. Cette erreur d’affinité qui, dans le passé, faisait retenir à l’Angleterre quelques signes superficiels de parenté avec l’Allemagne, et ignorer, en fonction de différences frappantes mais également superficielles, des connexions plus profondes avec d’autres nations, c’est une faute qu’on ne peut manquer de faire en considérant la carte d’Europe de l’extérieur. Ce texte est à méditer et reste d’actualité. À la fin de la Seconde Guerre mondiale, la Grande-Bretagne avait appris cette leçon, du moins en partie, et le développement de l’étude des langues européennes, ainsi que de l’histoire et de la géographie du continent prit son essor. Après 1945, le Foreign Office fut également modifié et se vit rattacher le service consulaire ainsi que les missions des attachés commerciaux et des instances culturelles. Cela dit, il ne faut pas oublier qu’entre 1940 et 1945, tous les pays européens, sauf ceux de la péninsule ibérique, la Suède et la Suisse, furent occupés par les Allemands. Entre 1940 et 1941, la Grande-Bretagne lutta seule contre l’Allemagne et ses alliés. Il ne faut pas l’oublier car ce fait influence toujours fortement la perception que la majorité des Britanniques ont de l’Europe et de la France. La Grande-Bretagne a contribué à les libérer. Les commémorations de l’anniversaire du Débarquement de Normandie en présence des derniers combattants arborant tous, parmi leurs décorations, la légion d’honneur que la France a tenu à leur décerner, en sont un émouvant témoignage. La Grande-Bretagne et la France renaissante de la IVe République s’intégrèrent rapidement dans la nouvelle perspective « atlantiste » de l’après-guerre grâce à l’OTAN, à la Guerre froide et à la défense de ce qu’il restait de leurs empires coloniaux. Une partie de ce système devait s’effondrer après l’affaire de Suez en 1956 et son échec. Si, en France, les documents montrent que le gouvernement avait envisagé de reprendre l’opération seul l’année suivante, en Grande-Bretagne, l’affaire de Suez entraîna une grave division dans le pays et dans les familles. D’une manière assez surprenante, Suez fut considéré comme une honte par une grande partie de l’opinion publique. Une forte et nouvelle tendance libérale et progressiste rejetait aussi le colonialisme, car partout, en Afrique, en Asie, et même à Chypre, la Grande-Bretagne combattait le « terrorisme », nom que l’on donnait aux « mouvements de libération ». Après le départ d’Anthony Eden et la victoire assez surprenante des conservateurs aux élections de 1959, la crise fut gérée assez adroitement par son successeur Harold Macmillan, qui poursuivit une politique de décolonisation définie plus tard par son célèbre discours à propos des « Winds of change », qui soufflaient sur l’Afrique du Sud ; Macmillan renforça les liens avec les États-Unis et avec le président Kennedy : cela devint la “relation spéciale” (Special Relationship ). En France, la crise engendrée par la décolonisation débuta avec la perte de l’Indochine et la guerre d’Algérie, et fut à l’origine d’un changement de régime et de l’arrivée au pouvoir du général de Gaulle. En 1959, lors d’un entretien d’admission à un collège d’Oxford, il me fut

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25 demandé si je pensais que le Général serait un dictateur. J’ai oublié quelle fut ma réponse, sauf qu’elle n’eut pas l’heur de convaincre mon auditoire. Je n’avais pu bénéficier de la réponse que de Gaulle avait lui-même donnée à la même question : « Regardez-moi ! Je suis trop vieux pour être un dictateur ! ». Cela dit, Franco et Salazar l’étaient encore à l’époque. Macmillan avait eu des rapports cordiaux avec lui pendant la guerre. Toujours est-il que le Général modifia radicalement la politique étrangère de la France, avec son retrait de l’OTAN et avec une politique différente au sujet de la guerre froide et de ce qu’il appelait la Russie. Cet abandon de l’« atlantisme » ne pouvait qu’inquiéter les Anglo-Américains et les incliner à resserrer le « Special Relationship ». Pour les Anglais, le problème avec de Gaulle se posa aussi au sujet de l’Europe. Macmillan pensait qu’avec la décolonisation et ses conséquences, la Grande-Bretagne se trouverait obligée de rejoindre le marché commun pour conserver son influence et sa position commerciale. Là, comme on le sait, il se heurta, lui et ses successeurs Hume, Wilson et Heath, au veto du général de Gaulle, qui avait bien senti que la Grande-Bretagne faisait partie de l’Europe géographiquement sans être sensiblement européenne. Les Britanniques n’entrèrent finalement dans le marché commun qu’avec l’appui du président Pompidou en 1973, du temps de Heath. Déjà, il y avait eu une forte opposition à cette idée, surtout de la part du parti travailliste, et il y eut un premier référendum en 1975 voulu par Harold Wilson. Les résultats donnèrent une majorité pour rester dans le marché commun. En votant ainsi, les Britanniques ne pensaient pas qu’ils votaient pour une Europe unie qui rognerait peu à peu le pouvoir des gouvernements et parlements nationaux. En 1986, Madame Thatcher signa l’Acte unique sous la même impression, ou illusion. La réunification de l’Allemagne Cartoon by Cummings of The Daily Express, featuring Macmillan and De Gaulle, November 1962 Source : Centre Virtuel de la connaissance sur l’Europe

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26 l’inquiéta beaucoup en 1989, à la veille de son départ forcé des affaires. Elle n’avait pas convaincu François Mitterrand de l’aider à l’en empêcher. De même, elle avait participé sans enthousiasme aux fêtes du Bicentenaire de la Révolution française, ne perdant aucune occasion de proclamer les mérites supérieurs de l’œuvre contre-révolutionnaire d’Edmund Burke. Par les relations qu’elle entretenait avec le Président Reagan, elle tenait aussi à rappeler l’importance du « Special Relationship » et de nos racines constitutionnelles communes avec les États-Unis. John Major, le successeur immédiat de Madame Thatcher, partageait lui aussi le sentiment que nous n’allions pas vers l’Europe unie et centralisée lorsqu’il apposa sa signature au Traité de Maastricht en 1992, obtenant la possibilité de ne pas adopter une monnaie unique. Mais la vision qu’avaient les Britanniques de la France, en cette fin de siècle, était quand même qu’elle construisait activement l’Union européenne. Ils craignaient qu’elle ait le soutien d’une Allemagne forte et réunifiée dans cette entreprise inquiétante pour un pays aux fortes traditions différentes. Pensant au « Special Relationship », Major aurait refusé une invitation à participer à une troïka qui aurait piloté l’Europe nouvelle. Les choses allaient se préciser assez rapidement. Les conservateurs de John Major étaient à présent divisés au sujet de l’Europe et ils furent battus aux élections de 1997. L’arrivée de Tony Blair au pouvoir laissait penser que le New Labour allait donner l’inflexion pour faire entrer la Grande-Bretagne dans le grand projet européen. En 1998, la déclaration franco-anglaise de Saint-Malo sur la défense sembla être un premier pas vers une politique de défense européenne commune, idée que la Grande-Bretagne avait combattue pendant des décennies, mais à part certaines opérations conjointes en Afrique, le projet n’alla pas plus loin. La Grande-Bretagne resta résolument « atlantiste » – on l’a vu au sujet de l’Irak – et le fait que Blair, tout « européen » qu’il fût, veuille rester proche des États-Unis et du « Special Relationship », lui fit refuser l’Europe de la Défense de Jacques Chirac et de Gerhard Schröder en avril 2003. Blair était partisan d’entrer dans l’euro, mais il n’opposa qu’une faible résistance à l’opposition de son ministre des Finances et éventuel successeur Gordon Brown, et à son propre parti. La livre était forte à l’époque et elle l’est restée, et la décision britannique lui a épargné certains des pires effets des crises financières de 2008-2009 et de 2012. Le moment approchait de décider la ratification du traité autorisant une constitution pour l’Europe. Les électeurs britanniques, qui ne furent pas consultés par leur gouvernement au sujet du projet de constitution, assistèrent à son rejet par référendum en France par 54 % des votants en mai 2005, et par 61 % des Néerlandais en juin. La suite des événements donna aux Britanniques l’impression d’une énorme “magouille”, qui prit la forme d’une refonte de la constitution sous la forme d’un traité, dont la signature en 2008 fut retardée par son rejet une première fois par les Irlandais, quitte à être finalement ratifiée par eux dans un second référendum en 2009. Gordon Brown signa le traité de Lisbonne en catimini la nuit, son ministre des Affaires étrangères David Milliband l’ayant signé pendant la journée avec les autres signataires. Il fut alors prestement adopté par la Chambre des communes par 332 voix contre 221 avec de vives

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27 protestations de David Cameron, nouveau chef du Parti conservateur. C’est le seul vote qu’il y ait eu en Grande-Bretagne au sujet de la création de l’Union européenne et l’adoption de sa constitution avant le référendum populaire de 2016. Les Travaillistes perdirent les élections en 2010, mais les Conservateurs ne revinrent au pouvoir qu’après avoir conclu une alliance avec les libéraux, qui ne voulaient pas qu’on touche au projet Europe. Les Conservateurs étaient déjà menacés par le parti UKIP anti-européen, et Cameron promit un référendum afin de capter leur électorat aux élections de 2015. Il gagna les élections de justesse mais perdit le référendum en 2016. David Cameron donna sa démission, et le parti choisit Theresa May pour lui succéder. Voulant limiter ce qu’elle tenait pour les dégâts du résultat du référendum, elle engagea la Grande-Bretagne dans une négociation avec l’Union européenne qui permettrait le retrait de son pays de l’Union tout en gardant des rapports privilégiés avec elle. Entreprise sans enthousiasme, et surtout sans espoir, la négociation avec Michel Barnier n’aboutissait pas. Avec son slogan sibyllin, « Brexit means Brexit », Theresa May avait ajouté à l’ambiguïté, créée de part et d’autre de la Manche ainsi que dans les partis politiques britanniques, sur le sens que l’on pourrait donner aux résultats du référendum. Afin de renforcer sa position, elle décida de dissoudre le Parlement en 2017. Avec un programme électoral faible, où le Brexit figurait à peine, son parti n’obtint qu’une très légère majorité aux élections à la Chambre des Communes. Les tendances opposées au Brexit s’affirmaient ouvertement au cœur du parti conservateur. Le gouvernement dépendait dorénavant pour sa survie des voix du parti Démocratique unioniste de l’Irlande du Nord (DUP). Les élections avaient renforcé les indépendantistes écossais hostiles, comme les libéraux, au Brexit. Le parti travailliste avait gagné quelques sièges mais camouflait ses divisions profondes au sujet du Brexit. Sans que sa position fût renforcée dans les négociations avec l’incontournable Barnier, Madame May dut faire face à une menace potentielle plus grave : une crise constitutionnelle. L’Union européenne et l’un de ses membres, le gouvernement irlandais, allaient pouvoir semer la discorde entre les deux parties de l’Irlande et empiéter sur la souveraineté territoriale britannique lors des arrangements frontaliers proposés pour le départ de la Grande-Bretagne de l’Union. Les nationalistes écossais demandèrent de nouveau un référendum sur l’indépendance. Tout en ne se manifestant pas ouvertement, la sympathie instinctive des Français pour les Écossais et les Irlandais du sud planaient sur les futures négociations. Comme si les problèmes de Madame May n’étaient pas déjà assez compliqués, en faisant des élections anticipées et avec une majorité réduite, elle tombait sous le coup d’une loi des cinq ans, qui l’empêchait de dissoudre le Parlement de nouveau avant 2022. Cette loi avait été concoctée par Cameron à la demande de Clegg et des députés libéraux après les élections de 2010, afin de bien verrouiller leur gouvernement de coalition. Seule une majorité, que Madame May ne possédait plus, lui aurait permis, comme en 2017, d’échapper à l’application de cette loi. Theresa May réussit à conclure, enfin, un accord boiteux avec l’Union européenne, mais lorsque le texte, sous la forme du Withdrawal Bill, fut présenté aux Communes, il fut rejeté à trois reprises. La dernière fois par 432 voix contre 202. May avait déjà perdu trente-cinq ministres par démission et se retira elle-même en juillet 2019 après la plus grande défaite

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28 d’un gouvernement dans l’histoire parlementaire britannique. Son parti lui choisit alors pour successeur son rival politique et ancien ministre des Affaires étrangères Boris Johnson, détesté par les « Remainers » de tous les partis, y compris le sien. Sorti d’Eton et d’Oxford, il était traité de « privilégié » par les socialistes et marxistes du parti travailliste, mais il restait une figure charismatique, un peu churchillienne, tout en inspirant aussi la méfiance et le mépris de certains (dont la BBC). On assista alors jusqu’à la fin de 2019 à un scénario assez extraordinaire dans la vie politique anglaise. La situation parlementaire avait empiré au point que les « Remainers » de tout poil et de tous les partis s’étaient saisi de l’ordre du jour des Communes avec la complicité du Speaker, ou président, et ils étaient arrivés à faire passer une loi (le Benn Act) empêchant tout retrait britannique de l’Union européenne sans un accord préliminaire conclu avec l’Union concernant les bases de leurs relations futures. C’était une manière d’entraver le Brexit et de lier à l’avance les mains des négociateurs britanniques. Le gouvernement avait perdu le contrôle des Communes et voulait dissoudre le Parlement. Pour le faire, il eut recours dans un premier temps à une prorogation de quinze jours de ses séances qui lui permettrait de présenter son programme dans un discours du Trône. Les « Remainers » eurent recours à une procédure judiciaire afin d’aboutir en appel à la Cour Suprême de Justice (créée par Tony Blair) pour prétendre que le gouvernement se servait d’une prérogative royale pour entraver les débats du Parlement. Ils obtinrent même gain de cause, la Cour Suprême ayant prétendu, sans preuves d’ailleurs, que le Premier ministre avait « menti à la Reine » pour obtenir cette prorogation L’opinion de quelques juristes avisés en a conclu depuis que la Cour Suprême avait eu tort de s’immiscer dans les rapports constitutionnels et politiques, établis depuis longtemps, entre les pouvoirs du Souverain (exercés par le gouvernement) et les privilèges du Lady May and President Macron hold talks in August 2018 Source: Reuters

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29 Parlement. Toujours est-il que Boris Johnson fut de nouveau traité de menteur et accusé de bafouer les droits du Parlement, qui se réunit sans convocation dès la décision de la Cour Suprême. Pendant cette période incertaine, les instances du parti conservateur avaient expulsé du parti certains de ses députés hostiles au Brexit, et choisissant bien son moment, Boris Johnson obtint enfin une majorité hétéroclite aux Communes lui permettant de dissoudre le Parlement. Le parti travailliste demandait constamment des élections mais refusait de faire tomber le gouvernement afin de les obtenir, les libéraux et les nationalistes écossais voulaient éliminer le Brexit, mais les conservateurs pensaient avec raison que beaucoup de travaillistes restaient partisans du Brexit. Dans le désarroi général, le gouvernement obtint ainsi la majorité nécessaire pour faire les élections du 12 décembre. Le programme électoral de Boris Johnson avait comme but de faire disparaître toutes les ambiguïtés au sujet du Brexit, car son programme était fort simple : « Get Brexit done ». Les résultats dépassèrent ses espérances. Avec une majorité de 80 sièges, dont beaucoup gagnés aux dépens des travaillistes et des libéraux, et sans les députés conservateurs expulsés, dont la plupart avaient perdu leurs sièges ou ne s’étaient pas représentés, Johnson était le maître des Communes. « Get Brexit done » était devenu le mot d’ordre. L’électorat avait soit déserté le parti travailliste, surtout dans ses fiefs traditionnels du nord de l’Angleterre, soit rejeté les libéraux avec leur opposition continue et vulgaire au Brexit (« Bollocks to Brexit ») qui révélait ouvertement leur mépris pour le référendum. Le respect du résultat du référendum avait remporté la victoire aux élections. Connaissant un peu d’histoire et le prix de leur liberté, beaucoup de Britanniques sentent qu’ils ont comblé leur propre « déficit démocratique ». Le gouvernement Johnson remit sur le tapis la négociation avec l’Union européenne sans les entraves parlementaires. L’obligation de ne pas quitter l’Union européenne sans un accord commercial ne faisant plus partie du nouveau Withdrawal Act, la Grande-Bretagne quitta enfin l’Union le 31 janvier 2020. C’est le moment de conclure cet exposé, car l’arrivée de la pandémie globale du Covid-19 a bouleversé tous les pays, leurs sociétés, et leur économie. En dépit de ce fléau dont la durée se prolonge, la question des rapports futurs de la Grande-Bretagne et ses anciens partenaires européens reste à déterminer. La position négociatrice de la Commission européenne ne semble pas avoir beaucoup évolué. De même, le gouvernement britannique ne veut pas prolonger les discussions au-delà d’une période de transition se terminant à la fin de l’année. L’évolution et surtout les conséquences de la pandémie peuvent amener un assouplissement des positions de part et d’autre. Mais l’Union européenne doit maintenant compter sur le fait que le Royaume-Uni est redevenu une nation souveraine et indépendante avec un gouvernement possédant la confiance du pays ainsi qu’une forte majorité à la Chambre des Communes. Il faudra une vraie négociation et non un diktat.

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30 Au terme de cet exposé, quelques conclusions plus générales concernant la vision britannique de la France s’imposent. Lorsqu’il était encore ministre des Affaires étrangères sous Theresa May, Boris Johnson avait fait un discours, lors de la réception du 14 juillet 2017 à la Résidence de France à Londres. S’adressant spontanément en français, il avait déclaré que la Grande-Bretagne, « était liée géographiquement, historiquement, gastronomiquement, œnologiquement à la France ». C’est un bon point de départ pour évoquer les relations sociales entre nos deux pays pendant les quarante ans que nous avons passé dans la Communauté, puis dans l’Union européenne. D’abord, on doit mesurer l’impact du tourisme de masse. En 1929, la France accueillait environ 880 000 touristes venus de Grande-Bretagne ; en sens inverse, seuls 55 000 Français avaient fait le déplacement. En 1995, 10 millions de Britanniques sont venus en France, contre 3 millions de Français qui ont traversé la Manche. Selon un sondage du Mail on Sunday de septembre 1995, 15 % des 2 000 personnes interrogées, soit un échantillon assez important, citaient l’Espagne comme première destination de vacances contre 5 % seulement qui donnaient la France, juste avant les États-Unis, la Grèce et la Belgique (chacune à 4 % d’intentions). Mais 50 % de l’échantillon déclaraient s’être rendus en France au moins une fois au cours de leur vie. Les chiffres fluctuent évidemment avec les années, mais environ 100 000 Britanniques possèdent une résidence principale ou secondaire en France et 3 % de la campagne leur appartient. Il s’agit surtout de retraités. Environ 250 000 Français sont installés en Angleterre, et près de 1 300 sociétés françaises y sont établies contre 1 800 sociétés implantées en France. Les Français sont souvent de jeunes entrepreneurs. Dans tous ces chiffres, il y a aussi naturellement beaucoup d’étudiants. Dans le domaine de la mode, des Britanniques ont été à la tête de maisons de couture parisiennes, un Anglais a dirigé l’Oréal, plus de 110 restaurants britanniques se sont vu décerner des rosettes au Michelin[23]. Quarante ans d’interpénétration de nos peuples ont dû laisser des marques profondes ou superficielles. Les Britanniques écrivent des romans au sujet de la France. L’humoriste Posy Simmons a même adapté Madame Bovary en un roman moderne en bande dessinée où « Gemma Bovery » se fait séduire en Normandie par un Français au charme fou qui l’abandonne pour épouser Delphine, une fille BCBG. Il n’en demeure pas moins que les Britanniques, même s’ils voyagent beaucoup ou résident en France, sont conscients de ce qu’ils considèrent comme un déficit démocratique dans la construction européenne. Ils ne sont pas le seul peuple à en être conscient, mais ils restent attachés à leurs propres institutions parlementaires, qui n’ont finalement pas une grande affinité avec les institutions représentatives européennes et que les « continentaux » ont de la peine à décrypter ou à comprendre. Pour beaucoup d’Anglais, la France représente maintenant une vision, si l’on peut dire, de l’Europe. À cette vision en est liée une autre, celle du couple franco-allemand comme force motrice exclusive poussant en faveur d’une plus grande intégration européenne, surtout depuis l’arrivée au pouvoir du président Macron, et ce en dépit de réticences allemandes de plus en plus prononcées. Face à un certain déterminisme, qui a déjà heurté la Grèce et l’Italie, face aussi à la montée de ce que certains appellent le populisme, face hier à une immigration mal contrôlée, et aujourd’hui à la grave crise sociale, économique et financière qui va suivre les ravages de la pandémie du virus Covid-19, les institutions européennes ne semblent pas vouloir ou pouvoir se réformer en

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31 profondeur. Sous le poids des circonstances, surtout financières, le changement va peut-être se faire. Qu’est-ce que le populisme ? Sous sa forme électorale, c’est le rejet par un nombre grandissant d’électeurs de la manipulation pratiquée par des élites politiques, manipulations au niveau de promesses non tenues ou qui n’engagent que ceux qui y croient, tant en France qu’en Grande-Bretagne, ou ailleurs[24]. Au sujet du Brexit, la Grande-Bretagne a finalement réagi contre cette manipulation, à laquelle avaient pris part même des associations ou organisations vénérables ou paraétatiques, comme la Franco-British Society ou le Franco-British Council, lui-même assez moribond. Cela dit, le pays reste quand même attaché à de vieilles racines européennes, à l’Entente cordiale, à la France, où sont enterrés tant de ses soldats des deux guerres et où il fait bon vivre et bien manger, et à regarder le rugby et le football ensemble. Il y a aussi ceux qui préfèrent tout simplement pouvoir voyager librement d’un pays à l’autre. Mais ces sentiments n’empêchent pas le Royaume-Uni de réaffirmer son indépendance et de faire cavalier seul comme il l’a déjà fait au cours de son histoire. On peut sans doute s’entendre avec lui et même, qui sait, s’allier aussi comme dans le passé. Le Brexit n’est pas une impasse mais peut-être une voie d’avenir.

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33 The origin of military and civilian honours in England can be traced to the dubbing of the future Henry I at Whitsun 1806, when it was necessary to distinguish young men eligible for knighthood, and special service, from ordinary soldiers and camp followers. Inevitably there is much that is not known about the very early origins of knighthood, but it is clear that by the late twelfth century when a class of ‘soldier-knight’ was established.1 The ceremony of dubbing, that which is the preserve of kinghood in Britain, was noted by Tacitus,2 and Sayer traces its development through European history.3 Equally important is the reflection of this practice in the Coronation service. Most recently, The King was presented with the jewelled sword of offering by the Archbishop of Canterbury who said: Receive this kingly Sword: may it to be to you and all who witness these things, a sign and symbol not of judgement, but of justice; not of might, but of mercy.4 1 M. J. Sayer, Nobles and Nobilies of Europe, 4 vols (London, 2020), vol. 1, pp. 433-4. 2 Tacitus, Germania, 13. 3 Sayer, Nobles and Nobilies, vol. 1, ch. 4. 4 The Coronaon of Their Majeses King Charles III and Queen Camilla (London, 2023), p. 33. Spurs photographed for the Coronaon of George VI (1937) Source: © Crown copyright.

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34 This act is reflected in the statutes of the Order of the Bath, revived in 1725 and quickly Britain’s premier military order of knighthood, which required knights to honour God, love the sovereign and defend maidens, widows and orphans, and which too involved the presentation of a sword at the altar in the Order’s chapel of Henry VIII at Westminster Abbey.5 Why, then, are these acts important? Clearly, the outward manifestation of an honour, here by the act of investiture and dubbing, brings with it the expectation of service, marked by reward of valuable past service. It is why, for example, all honours are subject to forfeiture if the recipient is convicted of criminal activity or other discreditable service. Early history of military honours Before we look at Europe and Britain, specifically, let us consider the types of honour available to ancient soldiers, the topic of a study by Valerie Maxfield.6 The first recorded examples of a decoration in the Roman army date to the early years of the Republic, the middle of the fifth century BC, but it was not until the third century AD when evidence emerges of a regular system of granting of awards. Clearly, this was a response to the exigencies of empire building: leaders needed to motivated soldiers, and recognition among their peers and at home mattered. This, I argue, has been the fundamental purpose of military honours in Europe and Britain, and their development is a direct reflection of the changing character of warfare. These were not, however, individual honours but were bloc awards to the units in which soldiers served. It is reminiscent of the award of battle honours today to individual regiments to be emblazoned on regimental colours. Similarly, citizenship was a valued individual or collective award, and this, too, we can compare to the freedom of cities today. The Freedom of the City of London, for example, is awarded on an honorary basis to leading men and women, and its numbers include most of Britain’s greatest soldiers.7 So too, can the City grant privileged statue to special regiments; some local authorities go further and grant freedom to battalions and regiments. Early modern European practices of honour Before we look in depth at the British honours system, it is important to consider practices of honour against the background of the changing character of warfare and armies across Europe during the early modern era. Recent work on this subject by Ilya Berkovich and Christy Pichichero enables us to draw patterns across Early Modern armies.8 Early Modern Europe was a period in which the development of a standing army accelerated. Work by Christopher Duffy, Michel Howard, Hew Strachan, David Chandler and Tim Blanning, for 5 Anss, Observaons introductory to an Historical Essay upon the Knigthood of the Bath (London, 1725). See also J. C. Risk, The History of the Order of the Bath and its Insignia (London, 1972), chs 2-3; P. J. Galloway, The Most Honourable Order of the Bath (Chichester, 2006), ch. 1, for the early history of the Order. 6 V. A. Maxeld, Military Decoraons of the Roman Army (California, 1981). 7 W. Clark, The Loves of the Great and Good: honorary freedom of the City of London (Chichester, n.d.). 8 I. Berkovich, Movaon in War: the experience of common soldiers in old-regime Europe (Cambridge, 2017); C. Pichichero, The Military Enlightenment: war and culture in the French empire from Louis XIV to Napoleon (Cornell, 2017).

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35 example, has shown that the rapid expansion of battlefield success was hampered by poor administration and, indeed, the high losses experienced by the field army meant it was often shaken as badly as its defeated opponent.9 Evidently, as Berokvich demonstrates, new methods of motivating soldiers would have to be found but these were financial and, in some cases, religious; fundamentally, ‘despite widespread recognition that motivation … was radically different to anything that preceded it, the bravery of the soldier continued to be taken more or less for granted’.10 This refers to Napoleon’s soldiers, but we must remember that it was that commander who said of the Legion d’Honneur, ‘you call these baubles, but it is with such baubles that men are led’. Schalk highlighted the ‘special sort of valour and superiority in arms that placed [the nobility and, in Louis XIV’s army, therefore officers] above the ordinary soldier’,11 and this was ingrained in the army of old-regime France and, indeed, early modern Europe more generally.12 This, Pichichero argues, changed with the War of the Spanish Succession on Louis XIV’s death in 1714. Money dominated recruitment, retention and promotion, and the venal officers who controlled recruitment determined that commissions could be purchased by anyone who could afford the hefty price.13 I have referred above to the importance of honour to the nobility; Guy Rowlands has shown that ‘the acquisition of perpetuation of title, dignities and honours’ was a means to an end, and ‘there was no better route to achieve this than military service’. Louis XIV had an active interest in the Order of Saint-Michel, setting up a commission of inquiry in the early 1660s and expelling 90 per cent of claimants as knights. The Order of Saint-Espirt enjoyed a renaissance under the Sun King, and was utilised by Lynes and Richelieu for their own interests. Clearly, honours were useful to the king and court, but equally the blue riband and insignia of the Holy Dove was prized by its recipients.14 These grand orders of knighthood, which can be compared to papal orders of chivalry and the Orders of the Garter, Thistle and, from 1725, the Bath, were of interest to great men, but they too needed motivation; and clearly there was more here at stake for a sovereign. But, how were more junior officers and even soldiers recognised in Early Modern Europe? Montesquieu felt honour animated monarchy as well as the officer corps and the rank and file, and had become deeply engrained France’s national culture and identity.15 Military leadership took honour seriously, and so did the king. The chevalier de Montaut proposed a system of rewards for common soldiers, suggesting that awards should be presented with grand ceremony and, as such, the symbolic value of such awards would be high even if the objects were themselves of little value.16 He felt such a system of awards would motivate individual soldiers, as well as their regiments as a whole. His system was not taken up but 9 Berkovich, ch. 1, n. 1. 10 Ibid, p. 21. 11 E. Schalk, From Valor to Pedigree: ideas of nobility in France in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Princeton, 1986), p. 6. 12 Pichichero, p. 70. 13 Ibid, pp. 70-71. 14 G. R. Rowlands, The Dynasc State and the Army under Louis XIV: royal service and private interest 1661-1701 (Cambridge, 2002), p. 322. 15 Pichichero, p. 113. 16 Ibid, p. 136.

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36 that does not mean common soldiers went through Early Modern conflicts without a system of honours. Honour comes to Britain This, however, is too simplistic an argument to be applied to the British system. There are parallels, certainly, in the democratisation of the officer corps and the influx of ‘temporary gentlemen during the First World War which was matched by the creation of new decorations available to a new breed of officer. But, first, we must look at the beginning of military honours in Britain. To an officer or soldier in the eighteenth-century army, the system of military honours was in three parts: generals and particularly distinguished field officers received appointment to the revived Order of the Bath, ‘gold medals’,17 and, perhaps, the thanks of Parliament; subalterns and captains might receive a sword of brevet promotion, and soldiers a supplement of pay or pension. I have referred already to the revival of the Order of the Bath in 1725; it swiftly became the principal order of military knighthood, but as early as 1792, Prince George, as Prince Regent, recognised the need for a further decoration: Art. 8th. No officer under the degree of a Field Officer in the Land Service ... or by Master and Commander in the Navy shall be allowed to wear this Order... [awarded for] 1st. 20 years actual service at least. 2nd. Severe wounds or the loss of limbs in action. 3rd The performance of gallant exploits before an enemy; or 4th Instances of great & essential services done to their country by dint of their own skill or personal bravery.18 The decoration did not materialise, but it shows at least the lack of tangible recognition for gallantry or great campaign service. Equally, it shows a lack of willingness to reward junior 17 J. Lawson Whalley, Gold War Medals awarded to Brish Military and Naval Ocers from Elizabeth to Victoria (Lancaster, 1888), J. H. Mayo, Medals and Decoraons of the Brish Army and Navy (London, 1897), vol I. 18 ‘Proposed regulaons for the instuon of a military order’, n.d. [c. 1792], GEO/MAIN/388660-62, Royal Archives, published in A. Aspinall, Correspondence of George, Prince of Wales 1770-1812, vol II (London 1964), pp. 322-25 (document 717). The Colours of the Welsh Guards being ‘trooped’ past The Prince of Wales (2015) Source: © Crown copyright.

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37 officers – or the rank and file, a view which was shared by the Duke of York but not the Duke of Wellington half a century later. His views are discussed below. We have looked already at Europe, but it was from Europe that the first true-gallantry award to British officers emanated. The Crown was, of course, ‘the font of honour,’ but granted the eight officers of the 15th Light Dragoons permission to accept and wear a gold medal from the Holy Roman Emperor. The Ehrenmedaille fr Englische Kavalleristen (Gold Medal of Honour for English Cavalrymen) was issued by Francis II (r. 1792-1806) to mark his personal rescue at the engagement at Villers-en-Cauchies on 24 April 1794. Given the restrictive nature of the Military Order of Maria Theresa, Europe’s pre-eminent military honour, he had large gold medals struck which the British officers wore on huge chains over their uniforms. They were later awarded the Austrian Order, and granted the style of an English knighthood.19 The decoration demonstrated the lack of similar rewards for English officers. Other magnificent awards, again open only to officers, were the Peninsular Gold Crosses and Medals. Lawson Whalley traced this practice to the Elizabethan era, but the practice gained traction under George III with formalised naval gold medals (1794) and similar army awards (1806), the latter being formalised with a Cross, Large and Small Gold Medals in 1813 and 10.20 Like the revived Order of the Bath and the proposed 1792 Order, it was available only to officers. Wellington, who received the Gold Cross with nine battle clasps and a magnificent enamelled collar made by the Crown jewellers, was not in favour of this practice: My opinion has always been that the grant of a Medal to an individual officer ought to have been founded originally, partly on the importance of the occasion or action which it was intended to commemorate, and partly on the share which the individual officer had in the action to be commemorated; and that Medals should be granted for important actions only, and to those engaged in them in a conspicuous manner, whatever might be their rank in the service.21 It was the Waterloo Medal (1815), indeed, that was the first Crown-issued campaign medal awarded to all ranks, 19 There is no sasfactory account of the acon and the medal yet in print, but I am preparing an arcle for the Journal of the Society for Army Historical Research on this interesng incident. 20 London Gazee, 5 October 1813, p. 1985; J. B. Hayward et al, Brish Bales and Medals (London, 2006), p. 33. 21 Wellington to Lord Liverpool, 18 July 1811, in J. Gurwood, Wellington’s Despatches, vol. VIII (London, 1837), pp. 89-91. Insignia of a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath Source: Wikimedia Commons

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38 but what was the policy surrounding the other Peninsular and Napoloenic battles? The East India Company had issued campaign medals and made provision for British participants to receive Company medals for the First Afghan War. This brought the issue to mind in Britain and medals were belatedly granted for the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars through the Military General Service Medal (1847) and the Army of India Medal (1841). Ian Beckett refers to this as an example of the improvement of conditions for the rank of file under the 3rd Earl Grey (Secretary-at-War 1835-9 and Secretary of State for War and the Colonies 1846-52).22 Certainly, the great Duke of Wellington was opposed to the issue of campaign medals generally. He proposed the institution of a campaign medal for Waterloo, but the circumstances were exceptional.23 The issue of campaign medals was raised by the 5th Duke of Richmond in the House of Lords in July 1845 which led to Wellington taking the position that officers had received the Army Gold Cross or Medal and that was recognition enough.24 Colonel Sir Lacy Evans raised the motion again in 1847 in the House of Commons but it was withdrawn before serious discussion.25 It was, however, the personal intervention of Queen Victoria herself which led to the introduction of the Military General Service Medal: The Queen has learned from various quarters that there still exists a great anxiety amongst the officers and men who served under the Duke of Wellington’s orders in the Peninsula to receive and wear a medal as a testimony that they assisted the Duke in his undertaking. The Queen not only thinks this wish very reasonable, considering that for recent exploits of infinitely inferior importance such distinctions have been granted by her, but she would feel personally a great satisfaction in being enabled publicly to mark in this way her sense of the great services the Duke of Wellington has rendered to his country, and to empower many a brave soldier to wear this token in remembrance of the Duke.26 This covers campaign service, but gallantry is the perhaps more important; in 1830 a system of ‘parish’ notices was introduced by article 70 of the Army Mutiny Act of that year: And be it enacted, That the Churchwardens of every Parish in England and Ireland, and the Constables of other Officers of every Parish or Place in Scotland, on receiving 22 I. W. F. Becke, The Brish Army: a new short history (Oxford, 2023), p. 76. 23 Z. Micic, ‘The Duke of Wellington’s Waterloo Medals’, Journal of the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment, forthcoming (2024). 24 Z. Micic, ‘Wellington’s Honours’, Journal of the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment, forthcoming (2023). 25 These two eorts are discussed by Captain K. J. Douglas-Morris RN, The Naval General Setrvice Medal Roll 1793-1840 (London, 1982), introducon. 26 Queen Victoria to Wellington, 25 November 1856, in A. C. Benson & Viscount Esher, Queen Victoria’s Leers, vol II (London, 1908), pp. 130-2.

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39 a Notification from the Secretary at War of the names of any soldiers belonging to the said Parish who have, for meritorious Conduct in the Army, recieved His Majesty's approbation, or who, in consequence of Misconduct, has been dismissed with Disgrace, shall affix such notification on the outside of the door of the Church or Chapel belonging to such Parish or Place on the SUNDAY next succeeding the Receipt of the said Notification.27 This was the background to long service awards and is a precursor to the ‘mention in despatches’ (which carried with it no tangible reward – an oak leaf on the campaign medal ribbon – until the end of the First World War).28 It shows, however, that a medal was not suitable to reward gallantry among other ranks, and that notice among their peers, in the army and at home, was deemed satisfactory. It was, of course, the introduction of the Victoria Cross in 1856 which marked a change in Britain’s approach to gallantry awards. George Scobell, a retired Captain R.N. who was a member of parliament, moved on 19 December 1854: That an humble address be presented to Her Majesty praying that she would be graciously pleased to institute an ‘Order of Merit’, to be bestowed upon persons 27 II. Geo. IV c. 7. 28 S. G. P. Ward and A. S. White, ‘Menons in Despatches’, Journal for the Society for Army Historical Research, 25 (1947), p. 44, 93, 187. Army Gold Cross and Maida Gold Medal awarded to General Sir Gailbraith Lowry Cole. Source: © Naonal Army Museum.

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40 serving in the Army or Navy for distinguished and prominent personal gallantry during the present war, and to which every grade and individual, from the highest to the lowest, in the United Services, may be admissible.29 Scobell referred to the French Legion of Honour which was indeed open to all ranks, and idea which was central to the Duke of Newcastle’s letter to the Prince Consort in January 1855. That the ‘cross … [should] be within reach of every private soldier and yet… coveted by any general’ was important and, equally, that ‘there some orders which even crowned heads cannot year’.30 The Prince referred to the problems of the present system of the Order of the Bath, mentions and campaign medals, and suggested a ‘small cross of merit for personal deeds of valour’, ‘open to all ranks’, ‘unlimited in number’, with an annuity and ‘claimable’ (i.e. a recipient could be recommended by his officers).31 The new decoration was deliberately the opposite of an order of knighthood, which was open to few ranks, very limited in numbers, awarded at the Crown’s discretion and certainly not for valour. He warned against comparison to the Legion of Honour: I would advise no reference to the Legion of Honour, the distribution of which is entirely arbitrary … [and] is given indiscriminately to soldiers and civilians, and has long been a tool for corruption at the hands of the French government the number of whose members extends to 40,000 and which has almost become a necessary appendage to the French [official] dress.32 With the introduction of the Victoria Cross in 1857 ordinary soldiers at once had a decoration prized by the entire army and navy, and indeed, then as now, the envy of the world. Queen Victoria made further changes to the honours system, principally the Indian Orders, the Distinguished Service Order and the Royal Victorian Order, but these are beyond the scope of our study. 29 HC Deb, vol 136, cols 505, 19 December 1854. 30 Newcastle to Prince Consort, 20 January 18555, Newcaslte papers, Univ. of Nongham, NeC 9786, p. 33 quoted in M. J. Crook, Evoluon of the Victoria Cross (London, 1975), p. 13. 31 Prince Consort’s memorandum, 22 January 1855, NeC 9701b, in ibid, pp. 275-77. 32 Ibid. General Robert Thomas Wilson wearing the Cavalry Medal of Honour on its gold chain Source: Wikimedia Commons

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41 George V’s interest A regular officer, or soldier, in 1914 would have had much in common with his predecessor of 1857, and so too were the rewards available to him. The army very swiftly became very different, and similarly mechanisms of honour changed. George V inherited his father’s interest in decorations, uniform and pageantry – befitting, indeed, of a naval officer – which found a practical outlet during the First World War. It is unnecessary, here, to examine the changing character of conflict during that war, but clearly ‘war’ and, indeed, the British Army was very different in 1918 to what it was in 1914. Closer to home, the king tried, and failed, to encourage a similar interest in his son, who was awarded a Military Cross in 1916. As much as his father’s view was that of a different generation, Edward’s view was typical of an army officer: ‘you know,’ he wrote to the king, ‘how distasteful it is to me to wear these war decorations having never done any fighting and having always been kept well out of danger’.33 To Lady Cooke, he said ‘There are so many gallant yet undecorated officers who should have MCs long before me’.34 Whatever Captain The Prince of Wales’s discomfort, he revealed a deficiency in the new decoration which followed in so many ways the statutes of the higher Distinguished Service Order. It was not simply an award for gallantry, but for distinguished and meritorious service, and a great many staff officers ended the war with ribands for the DSO and MC.35 The vast majority of MCs were awarded to temporary gentlemen for gallantry, but the dichotomy of gallantry and distinguished service remained and was, indeed, unsatisfactory. Cannadine has argued that the climax of the creation of new honours was reached in 1917 and is tied to attempts by people throughout Britain and the empire to assert their position in the changing social hierarchies of the day.36 Very many new honours had indeed been created in the final decades of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, most notably the single-class Order of Merit, of which Stanley Martin draws comparisons to much older European orders, in 1902.37 Even before the outbreak of war courtiers and officials recognised the deficiency of the British honours system in recognising voluntary service, especially in comparison to continental systems. Efforts to introduce a new order of knighthood were led by Sir Henry Ponsonby, a courtier from 1894 and in 1894 keeper of the Privy Purse, with significant contributions from Whitehall. Strachan highlights the shift to warfare on all fronts and, especially, the Home Front; Cohen, for example, notes that the care of the wounded was often the job of the public, a stark contrast to continental models. To the largely volunteer network of nurses can be added munitions workers, canteens and a plethora of committees. For the first time in Britain these were staffed by upper, middle and working class men and women, 33 Edward to George V, 22 September 1915, GV/EE/9, Royal Archives, quoted in P. Ziegler, p. 67. 34 Edward to Lady Cooke, 16 June 1916, Coke papers, quoted in ibid. 35 It was, and is, the pracce of the Sovereign to invest such awards, but the riband may be worn from the announcement of the award. Field Marshal Montgomery was a master at presenng the riband in the eld, ensuring the presence of a photographer to capture the newly decorated soldier or ocer and the Field Marshal. Most of these photographs have been signed by the great man. 36 D. Cannadine, Ornamentalism: how the Brish saw their empire (Oxford, 2001), p. 85. 37 S. W. F. Marn, The Order of Merit: one hundred years of matchless honour (London, 2006).

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42 and the state recognised this. A committee was formed in 1916 to consider these problems and they recommended, what Harper has termed, ‘a middle-class order of chivalry’.38 Clearly women were at central to Ponsonby’s plan. Officials rejected the Order of St Margaret as a separate order to women and Ponsonby quickly settled on ‘Dame’ as a suitable title for those women honoured.39 He referred to its medieval heritage, and the imagery of medieval warfare was not lost on his contemporaries; one Home Office official suggested the Order of Mars as a possible title.40 Evidently the new order was to be one for those involved in the war effort and it was quickly recognised that men and women, at home and abroad, were united in the common cause. The first example of a British decoration, or provision made within one, for women was the Royal Red Cross (instituted in 1883) awarded to women for service, in war or peace, in military hospitals.41 There were clearly challenges. An order of one rank (the ‘Georgian Order’ or the ‘Imperial Citizens Order) were quickly challenged by Ponsonby who wrote ‘If we gave the General commanding the Garrison at some port the same Decoration as the head of a boot factory, or the Locomotive Superintendent at the Railway Station, the former would hardly be likely to appreciate the honour’.42 Indeed, the credibility of the new honour rested on its hierarchy, but Harper’s argument that ‘hierarchy had precedence over mere merit’ is simplistic.43 The new order was to recognise gallantry – which is itself unusual in an order of knighthood – and Harper’s argument rests upon the idea that ‘an Admiral of the Fleet jumps overboard and saves the King’s life, he gets a Grand Cross; if a Midshipman rescued the Monarch from the deep, he receives the lowest class’.44 The difficulty of class within an Order itself composed of several classes and a related medal was not solved until the British Empire Medal (BEM) was abolished as part of John Major’s reforms to the honours system in 1992.45 Major’s reforms, though well-intentioned, were clearly unsatisfactory as it was the lower ranks of the Armed Forces, as well as manual and administrative workers, who lost out on recognition. The BEM was the perfect decoration to reward a long-serving corporal who distinguished himself in his duties, but, now, he would need to be rewarded with an MBE which is the same decoration his regimental sergeant major or commanding officer might receive for work, no less distinguished perhaps, with significantly greater responsibility. The civil BEM was reintroduced by David Cameron in 2012, but it appears to have been used as the ‘sixth class’ of the Order. 38 Harper, Servants, pp. 36-44. 39 P. J. Galloway, Order of the Brish Empire, pp. 4, 16-17. 40 Memorandum by Mr Bruce, HO 45/22799, TNA. Harper, Servants, p. 37. 41 J., H. Mayo, Medals and Decoraons of the Brish Army (London, 1897), pp. 501-2. 42 Ponsonby to Troup, 12 May 1916. 43 Harper, Servants, p. 38. 44 Ponsonby to Troup, 20 May 1916. 45 Hansard, House of Commons debates, 4 March 1993, vol. 220, cols 453-63.

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43 Envoi It is difficult to categorise mechanisms of honour in the British Army into any set periods. Queen Elizabeth I and Charles I were behind some of the earliest medals struck for army officers, and the 1725 revival of the Order of the Bath brought with it magnificent insignia marking its status as Britain’s military order of knighthood; such imagery continues to be used on medals and decorations today. Yet, all soldiers are eligible for gallantry, service and campaign awards which is a relatively recent phenomenon. While it was possible, but rare, to be recognised for gallantry in Britain’s early modern army, tangible rewards were limited to senior officers who received the Bath or gold crosses and medals. The rank and file were brought to the notice of their communities through ‘parish notices’ by 1830 and, shortly later, through a mention in a general’s despatch. These were published in the London Gazette, but were primarily for military consumption and noted on service records – and, therefore, usual when it came to promotion or the calculation of a pension. Wellington pushed forward the first universal campaign medal in 1815, but this did not alter the lack of recognition for gallantry or distinguished service among the majority of the army. Clearly, unit cohesion – and, therefore, recognition with a battle honour – was more important. Warfare changed over the next decades, bringing with it greater scope for individual gallantry and, with the rise of war correspondents and photographers, greater exposure of this at home. The Crimean War saw the introduction of the egalitarian Victoria Cross as an exclusive military distinction, and one out of scope of the Sovereign. It was not a Military Order but a valueless piece of recycled metal, but one coveted by soldiers and generals alike. The army at the outbreak of the First World War was fundamentally a Victorian Army and, although the Distinguished Conduct Medal for other ranks was introduced shortly before the Victoria Cross, officers could only look to the Distinguished Service Order for reward, and this was generally the preserve of field officers. Temporary gentlemen, for they populated the subaltern ranks during the war, and wartime-enlistments looked to the 1916 Military Cross and Medal. Yet, as we saw with The Prince of Wales’s correspondence, the Cross was The Duke of Windsor (formerly Edward VIII), as a Major General on the General Sta during the Second World War, wearing ribbon of the Military Cross and campaign awards for the First World War. Source: Wikimedia Commons

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44 equally a reward for meritorious service as gallantry. In a non-professional army, this mattered, and was behind further reform towards the end of the war. The First World War was fought at home, as well as on the fronts, and a new egalitarian order was necessary. Encompassing dukes and duchesses, to dustmen and munition women, as well as staff and non-operational officers and men, the Order of the British Empire was introduced as Britain’s ‘national’ order. It reflected the unity of the nation among its recipients, as it does to the present day. The military honours system remained relatively static through another world war – the George Cross was introduced in 1940 as a non-operational version of the Victoria Cross, with the George Medal inviting parallels to the Distinguished Conduct Medal – but the greatest changes to the army in this period, and beyond, reflected Britain’s great social changes. These were manifested in John Major’s 1993 reforms to military, and civil, honours. Different honours for officers and soldiers could not exist in the ‘classless society’ and the Distinguished Conduct Medal and Military Medal (and naval and air force equivalents) were abolished in favour of a new Conspicuous Gallantry Cross (leaving the Distinguished Service Order as a leadership award) and expanded Military Cross. The merits of this system may still be debated, but the jettisoning of the British Empire Medal in favour of further appointments as MBEs cannot be deemed satisfactory. Although re-instated in 2012 for civilians, their remains a clear gap for an award for distinguished service among enlisted ranks. Although eligible for appointment as MBEs, there are rather fewer of these awarded to soldiers than were awarded a BEM before 1993. In Major’s classless society, those at the foot of the ladder lost out. ‘A medal glitters, but it also casts a shadow’, as Churchill said in 1944,46 and it also casts light on the changing nature of warfare, armies, and society. 46 HC Deb, vol. 398, col 872, 22 March 1944. Insignia of a Commander, Ocer and Member of the Order of the Brish Empire (Military Division). Typically, a Brigadier/Colonel might receive a CBE, Colonel/Lieutenant Colonel an OBE, and Major and below an MBE. The Knight Grand Cross (GBE) and Knight Commander (KBE) are rarely awarded to military ocers Source: Wikimedia Commons

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46 1. A historiographical gap The Taula de Canvì of Barcelona, founded in 1401, is largely recognized as the first public bank in Europe. However, this statement has been repeatedly contested by a strain of Italian historiography supporting either the claim to primacy of the Banco della Casa di S. Giorgio of Genoa (1408) or the recognition of deposit-banking activities by fourteenth-century public institutions such as hospitals. As a matter of fact, there is in no univocal definition in historiography of what a public bank was, whereas only a common understanding exists. The formula public bank identifies a macro-group of diverse ledger-based deposit- and transfer-banks that appeared since the fifteenth century, being: 1) an institution licensed or sponsored by a public authority, and often subject to its supervision, as well as ownership and management; 2) a solution to market failures. While a wide range of juridical and organizational arrangements could be employed, there were two main technical aspects that a public bank could intervene on. On one hand, it could provide a safe cashless payment and deposit system, untainted by the inherent risks of profit-seeking, lending and speculative investments that characterized private bankers’ activities and, often, led to bankruptcies and liquidity crises. On the other, it could provide zero- or low-cost public credit, as well as a plethora of other corollary issues such as safekeeping, acting as banking agent to a treasury, and introducing a stable currency of account. Such practices were intended as necessary for the common (or public) good, another inherently ambiguous formula which assumed different degrees of pragmatism and rhetoric in different regions, yet, by and large, it identified what benefitted the financial system, public finances and the economic agents operating in such a system. However this common understanding does not represent a univocal definition, nor will the space of this chapter be devoted to an attempt to untangle the nature of that «inherent element [...] never sufficiently clarified [behind] very different institutions» called by Muto the «common matrix» of early modern public banks. I shall instead turn the spotlight on the institution in question, the Taula de Canvì of Barcelona. A well-known petition issued by a group of citizens to the city council in April 1400 identified the two main financial main problems experienced by Barcelona in the late fourteenth century. On one hand, the increasing cost of debt, whose global figure had become irredeemable by 1371. On the other, the loss of trust in private banking that followed the banking crisis of 1381-1383 and led citizens to keep their money at home rather than with private agents. The idea was to implement a Taula assegurada, a municipal deposit bank guaranteed through the wealth of the city in which they could gather their savings. The capital could then be used to benefit the «welfare of the City» by providing zero-cost public credit to the government through fractional reserve, to be used to redeem annuities and reduce the cost of public debt. The origins of the Taulas how that it was not solely a publicly sponsored solution to market failures, but, also, a rationalization of and an alternative to private banking practices – this being a potential definition of what a public bank was. Despite troubled beginnings and frauds connected to the standing prohibition to extend overdrafts or loans to privates, by 1449 the plan had proven successful. The Taula’s credit amounted to 35.6 percent of the total, accounting for a net saving of 78.76 percent thus complying to its original systemic function, that of amortization of the burden of public debt.

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47 However, the Civil War of 1462-1472 strained the bank reserves to the point that in 1468 it went bankrupt. This event was followed by a fundamental restructuring (a redreç). It revolved around three core issues. First, an assurance of protection of deposits against any external claim, whether on royal, public, or religious grounds. In the following century, both monarchs and the Inquisition tried to access funds but faced a stone-wall from the administrators, with only a handful of unclear episodes. The second was the conversion of outstanding liabilities (known as old accounts) into annuities at 5 percent, a rather onerous rate which put added burden over the municipal finances. New deposits would fall instead into a new account in a corresponding book. The third and foremost true divide with the past was however represented by the municipal government renunciation to draw money from the Taula’s reserve, called common funds. These measures were seen by the committees that drafted and evaluated the plan as the only way to regain trust and capital. By ceasing its original role of zero-cost lender to the municipal government, the Taula was to enter a new dimension, for it theoretically turning the Taula into a guaranteed full-reserve deposit- and giro-bank, as well as being the banking agent to the government. In this new era, the fact that deposits were protected against external claims and that payments made in the bank were ratified by notaries and held judicial value became inextricably tied to the Taula’s reputation. It gained praise for being safe by king John II in 1472 and, in 1503, king Ferdinand II re-confirmed these privileges and desired it to be known that the bank was «fruitful» to all kind of people in his domains. This led historians such as Feliu and Adroer [1989] to deem the bank a virtually well-organized firm in its golden age, despite its reduced role and significance for the financial system of Barcelona. However, such a judgement rests solely on the study of the ordinances of the bank, which portrayed an ideal – yet not necessarily truthful – version of its operations. As lamented by Dantí I Riu, «no thorough study of the Taula de Canvi [in the sixteenth century] is available yet», neither in connection to public finance nor to the services it provided to citizens, merchants, foreigners, or any kind of customers. However, this is hardly any historian’s fault – but instead due to catastrophic archival losses that occurred in 1842, when General Baldomero Espartero, ordered an indiscriminate naval shelling of the centre of Barcelona, resulting in the destruction of most of the older sections of the bank’s archive. Representaon of Catalan Bankers in the 14th Century Source: Encyclopaedia Britannica

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48 This chapter intends to shed light on this largely uncharted part of the Taula’s history by wedding a reconsideration of municipal deliberation with the analysis of surviving fragments of quantitative sources regarding money mobilization. The Taula would eventually show two faces: behind the rigorous prohibitions to engage in public lending to sustain the welfare of the city, it did so by performing unwarranted operations hidden behind bookkeeping confusion. 2. Between pragmatism and laxity of standards The Taula can be considered an ever-evolving solution. After the restructuring in the immediate aftermath of the Civil War, new ordinances were issued in 1476, 1499, 1527, 1535 and 1553 – whose study by Usher [1943] still to this day constitutes an essential starting point for every further analysis of the bank in the sixteenth century. Such dates encompassed a distinctive reactive attitude by the municipal government, based on the notion that «experience [is] the mother of all things». In the first half of the sixteenth century, while the city struggled with public debt, the foremost problem for the bank appeared to be bookkeeping and frauds. The ways in which the municipal government and the administrators tackled such issues reflected the overall attitude towards public banking matters, which swayed between overt laxity of standards and hidden pragmatic decisions. Since its establishment, the nucleus of the bank’s personnel was formed by two taulers responsible for its administration. They were elected for a biennium by the city council, one each from the ruling oligarchy – the ciutadans, honrats and cavallers – and the merchants. They would have sworn allegiance in front of God to uphold the interests of the res publica, which, since the inception of the proposal for the bank in 1400, appears to have identified the idea of public good. This public religious dimension of the Taula’s ceremony reflects not only the absence of any perceived usury, but also a general acceptance of financial instruments and borrowing in Catalonia. The social extraction and the financial knowledge of the taulers have not yet been object of a thorough study. This can be largely deemed a consequence of the introduction by Ferdinand II in 1498 of the practice of the insaculaciò, namely, a ballot for public offices from a pool of eligible candidates. As a result, Usher [1943] and Adroer and Feliu [1989] regarded the position as honorific after this point, whereas the bank growingly relied on the professionality of minor officers, such as the regents of the book of deposit and the journal, a notary, a coin-weigher, an archivist and, since 1476, a caixer in charge of safeguarding the coffins where the coins were held, as well as a smaller one which contained an estimated 300 ll. used for daily transactions in specie. Yet the appointments seemed at times far from random, but rather deliberate. The first observation concerns the biennium 1500-150122. The city council had been urged by the king to end the term of elected officers early and proceed to the extraction. Yet, when two names were extracted, these were those of the previously elected taulers, Stelrich Bastida and Anthoni Salvador. Interestingly, this was the third mandate for the latter – a merchant and a banker –, as would then be for the successor of Bastida, Joan Lull. It appears that the ballot could be piloted when financial expertise was required due to a particularly dire socio-economic conjunction, thus showing a peculiarly pragmatical approach to the king’s edict. This practice had precedents. Two members of the influential Gualbes banking family, Jaume de Gualbes and Baltasar de Gualbes served between 1475-1479, around the time of the redreç

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49 of 1476. In 1489 another canviador was elected, Johan Ros, and when he untimely died in 1490 – precisely at the time of the implementation of a municipal redreç – he was replaced with yet another canviador, Ramon Merquet, who served with Nanthoni Rovirola, another private banker. The decades before and after saw instead no election of finance-savvy professionals, named «experts in [financial] matters» in any committee appointed to explore financial problems from 1400 to 1600. The intent to keep the Taula manned by experts in banking practices at times that required navigating through the technicalities of restructurings becomes even more evident after the years 1499-1505, which featured a conversion of public debt aimed at cutting its cost through a transition to lower-yield annuities and redemptions was implemented. At the time of the redreç of 1527 – which reformed existing accounting malpractices –, a canviador,Joan Bolet, was elected without a ballot by explicit urge of the Council. Similarly, another private banker was purportedly extracted, Joan Arles. This newly identified pattern clashes sharply with Bruniquer’s claims that limitations to the access to the office by private bankers were enforced and further canviadors were extracted in 1535, 1537, 1547, 1551, 1553, 1557. However, it must be noted that the election of Bernat Tauerner as caixer in 1564 was reversed, for he had an open «banch», suggesting that no active banker was allowed to access the Taula’s highest offices, not even in times of need. The case of Joan Bolet seems to confirm this – for notarial records show he was active between 1533-1548, thus only after he had held the post of administrator. Such data is even more compelling if we consider that between 1443 and 1602, after a series of frauds, private bankers were at times banned from keeping personal accounts in the bank and could never hold multiple accounts. Bookkeeping and auditing constituted the true sore spot of the Taula in the eyes of the municipal government. According to Dantí I Riu, the public administration at large suffered from a lack of standards of practice, the two issues came together in the form of auditing accounting practices in the Taula. Already in 1412, the connivance between the Taula and the treasury had resulted in an unwarranted direct use of the reserves of the Taula that required the issuance of a new budget, as well as a requirement from increased sureties on part of these officials. As seen, unregulated access to the bank’s funds would then lead to the suspension of payments of 1468 and the consequent restructuring, without, however, enhancing bookkeeping practices. The Taula’s accounting practices resembled those of private bankers and merchants, with a few fundamental deposit books (and ledgers with very limited instances of double-entry bookkeeping) surrounded by a plethora of orthodox and unorthodox accounting materials, especially journals recording everyday transactions. Notably, bookkeepers assisted each other, and some form of specialization became necessary (and customary) only after irregularitieswere discovered in the 1490s, amidst the municipal redreç of public finance. A new set of ledgers was to be implemented at the start of every biennium by the new administrators, and balances needed to be presented and cross-examined before outgoing taulers could be discharged of their liabilities. Unfortunately, none of the former or the latter survive for the period, yet a few observations can be made.In the aftermath of the Civil War, the city required a precise recollection of credit liabilities to rectify its financial statements, but an examination of the bank statements conducted in 1476 showed such discrepancies that the Consellers insisted on a physical examination of the bank’s chests, cross-referenced with the banks’ books. The account of Joyes – containing foreign specie or jewels – alone showed an unexplained deficit of 2,200 ll.

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50 Pressed by the Consellers, Pere Morer, coin-weigher, finally confessed to subtracting the sum for a personal business. The sum reflected serious malpractice and the redreç of 1476 established the first of several committees was set up to investigate irregular accounting through semestral inspections. In the advent of the reign of Charles V, in 1513, however, the Taula acquired supervising powers over the clavari’s (the treasurer) accounts in it. However, by that year the bank’s books and balances produced in the previous fifteen years were still awaiting an audit. It is unclear why the city failed to do so, or if the bank’s officers had not yet deposited the necessary balances. By 1527 the situation was unchanged, so yet another set of reforms was issued. It further re-instated the need for newly appointed administrators to produce a thorough balance of the bank’s assets and liabilities. It also stressed once again the obligation to maintain full reserves, to comply with the redreç of 146837. In theory, were either of these conditions not met, the bank would remain closed. Yet, in practice, the former task was impossible, even though, as seen, from the ballot for the taulers of the biennium 1527-1529 emerged the names of two private bankers. Again, Usher [1943] analysed the unfolding of audit matters closely through the examination of municipal records. A committee was therefore appointed to audit any available book for the prior twenty-year period and draw the first of such new balances. They would work six hours a day every day in the bank’s archive, under the threat of fines. By January 1532 the auditors had not yet finished and a new committee of twelve, six notaries and six merchants – to be interpreted as an upgrade in expertise – was selected, although changes had to be made for the task was so gargantuan that some refused it. Further frauds occurred in the period. In 1534, a letter by Charles V commanded the rectification «necessary by conscience» of the accounting irregularities caused by the «Fluvians, father and son», caixer and assistant in the Taula, which resulted in yet another redreç in 1535 re-instating that of 152739. Ten years later the work was still in progress and results were disappointing and in 1542 the bastaix working in the bank was convicted under charges of theft from the bank. This feat, accomplished by the least important labourer in the bank, raises doubts over the attention placed on safeguarding and bookkeeping. Ultimately, in 1553 the city realized that no final audit existed for the accounts of the bank from 1511. Therefore, yet another redreç was attempted to clarify the bank’s position. This time, a platoon of eight merchants, each assigned an assistant, was appointed to auditing a single term each, projecting an estimated completion time of one year, under the supervision of four councilmen. This reform was met with mild success and the merchants went allegedly above and beyond their projected functions, for they also reviewed the personnel’s conduct, identified adequate punishments and rewards, and raised the issue of the salary of bookkeepers, which had been lowered in 1491 with the wish that «this decision should not affect his diligence on serving the city», as it probably did. This committee was eventually made permanent and in July 1556 recorded outstanding unaccounted deposits for 4,595 ll. 14 s 1 d, blamed on a lack of adequate personnel, thus contradicting the Feliu and Adroer [1989] view of a well-organized firm. In a report of July 3, 1583, it is stated that there were errors in the records of past terms amounting in all to about 30,000 ll, allegedly unknowingly counting money provided to the city. Errors were carried in the books for more than a generation, with an attempt at correcting them occurring only in 1603. In sum, the municipal government spent more than half a century attempting to untangle the truth behind the bank’s current position, almost all of which were frustrated by lack of

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51 material or reluctance to produce it. I argue that such a perfect storm of laxity of accounting standards was in some regards a façade, for the bank had reverted to a small extent to fractional reserve, thus resuming his original role. 3. Covert mechanisms of mobilization of money for public purposes The financial situation of the city of Barcelona in the period 1490s-1550s is yet to be fully numerically understood. Some studies exist for the period 1491-1505, when the city managed to reduce the overall figure of debt by 50 percent, and its cost by 15 percent. By 1476 all the voices within the fiscal accounting system converged into one single account held by the treasurer in the Taula and the lack of funds had forced the city to delay interest payments by six months. In 1491, the councilman Jaume Destorrent initiated a plan for a municipal redreç, under the aegis of the reformist policies of Ferdinand II. Although the Taula was originally designed to reduce the burden of the cost of debt and redeem annuities, he thus seemed to have respected the full-reserve requirement. Instead, he suggested a policy of austerity involving a limitation of expenses and tax increases, but, especially, a conversion of public debt to lower-yield annuities. Deducing from interest charges, global debt peaked at around 800,000 ll in mid-1491 – although recurring delays in interest payments make that figure questionable –, then halved to 438,000 ll in less than fifteen years. Feliu and Adroer [1989] wrote that by the year 1500 pensions’ interests were finally reduced a 15 percent, the debt interest rates were effectively lowered to 4% and the treasury showed a surplus by 1500. Interior of the Taula Source: Wikimedia Commons

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52 Usher, however, argued that «no adequate explanation of the really extraordinary achievement in the interval between 1491-1500» can be provided. The records of the Clavaria for the following decades are still an almost virgin territory, which will require several years to fully study and understand, but which already hatched interesting data to intertwine with surviving financial fragments from the bank. One certain mechanism of money mobilization (and one hypothesis) has emerged. As said, in 1513 the accounts of the municipal treasurer in the Taula were subject to the bank’s supervision. Throughout a year fiscal, records were sub-divided into two semestral ledgers, running from February to July and to August to January. Each ledger recorded both the revenues (rebudes) and payments (dates), performed through the bank. By and large, the first was the extraordinary account, which showed the annuities issued because of unforeseen financial circumstances – including the old accounts, annuities issued to fund the Civil War’s effort, and the debt of the compte de la farina (wheat office) – as well as any redemptions made. The ordinary account instead showed revenues from impositions on consumer goods and jurisdictional taxes such as tolls, while the main dates were the costs of upkeeping of infrastructures, salaries and, especially, of debt interest payments. In essence, if the ordinary account shows the cost of debt, the extraordinary account shows how the debt was managed because of a long-term plan. I here shall focus on the ordinary account.

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53 As seen, the auditing committee established at the time of the redreç of 1553 had found outstanding alleged mistakes for 4,595 ll 14s 1d, raised to 30,000 ll by 3 July 1583 after further auditing. Such discrepancies did not figure in the book of corrections drafted in 1603-160450. However, two seventeenth century ledgers collecting the balances of the account of the clavari in the Llibre Mayor for the years 1611-1612 and 1623-1624 incidentally report summaries of the «debts made in the books of deposits of the Taula of the specific quantities of which the clavaris made use» in the years 1513-1546. A total of twelve different treasurers accessed a total of 6,137 ll 6s 5d – which appears as an instance of overdraft, and an open betrayal of the prohibition to access the Taula’s funds contained in the privilege of 1472, which did not occur either in 1479 nor in 1491. After 1513, however, a bridge between the bank and the treasury by giving the bank overseeing powers over the treasurer accounts, yet the decision to do so itself is puzzling. In fact, before the discovery of the Taula’s own accounting discrepancies around 1527, substantial errors in the treasurer’s account had already been found in 1512. Debts reported as paid in full on fiscal records did not have a corresponding transaction in the Taula, and active and passive operations in double-entry complementary materials were inconsistent. However, after 1513, the people in charge of addressing such inconsistencies were the bank’s administrators and bookkeepers – by then required to provide comparative checks of the treasurer’s records, under threat of a loss of the salary. It is therefore quite extraordinary to observe than rather than resolving a problem, the council’s deliberation forced two disruptively creative administrative forces to collaborate. However, it was within this perfect confusion that the two did indeed collaborate. Figure 2 shows that, when a deficit of the ordinary account occurred, a specific quantity had been given by the Taula to the clavari in the form of an overdraft (1531, 1521, 1529, 1539). When the ordinary account presented a

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54 surplus, no such overdraft was accessed (1527, 1528). By 1624 such sums had still not been repaid, nor were referred to as accounting mistakes or fraud, rather as a consolidated mechanism. However, the audits of 1556 and 1583 regarded any imbalance in the Taula’s records as either a fraud or a mistake, including the outstanding sum of 4,595 ll. Detected in 1553, which is very close to the funds accessed by the treasurers (6,137 ll). This leads us to assume that, quite simply, no balances were ever produced in that period. The overall absence of surviving books or ledgers precludes any chance to understand the size of the bank’s assets and liabilities, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle to any further observation. However, one evidence-based hypothesis can be advanced as to how the bank managed to find a form of limited, inconspicuous, and sustainable fractional reserve. By 1553, when yet another auditing committee was established, the Taula had initiated a new accounting practice outside its original statutes, that is, the transfer of dormant accounts – deposits which had not been accessed over a period of ten years – to a book called Llibre de l’Hospitalet. The earlier entries in the surviving sixteenth century copy date to 1551, but the existence of the book itself was not acknowledged and regulated until 1587. For the years 1551-1553, the book contains funds in excess of 20,000 ll, and the first instance in which a depositor resurfaced after the transfer occurred in 1567. Paradoxically, it can be argued that it was the very privilege that protected all deposits from external seizure that ensured that such funds would have remained in the bank unclaimed. When the struggle of the compte de la farina, which had operated at a deficit since 1545 while importing food from Sicily, and of the Meat Office in 1553 resulted in a total net deficit of 38,486, new annuities were issued, but a credit of 30,000 ll was also required from the Taula, in light of a plan for redemption (with total new debt amounting to 150,000 ll). The money, placed in an account at the disposal of the clavari, held no yield, and thus represented yet another zero-cost loan. The decision was not taken lightly and only after long consultations in the municipal and executive councils as well as the making of provisions for its repayment, thus suggesting an unwillingness to repeat the exploits of the past. The treasurer was Emperor Charles V (1500-1558), a portrait aributed to Tian, 1548 Source: The Bavarian State Painng Collecon

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55 required to repay the Taula at a rate of 1,200 ll per year from the surplus of the ordinary account, with priority over any other payment. No record of the clavaria for corresponding years (from 1553 to 1600) could be accessed, due to the bad state of preservation. However, the disappearance of the clavari’s overdrafts after the 1540s can be explained through the process of institutionalization of the loans to the Grain Office. While revenues from the wine imposition as well as any premium on grain sales were deposited on the special account opened for the zero-cost loan of 1553, the loan was repaid only in 1578, therefore without any degree of priority assigned to it, which was instead given to annuities’ redemption. In 1553, the funds on the Llibre de l’Hospitalet amounted to 41,000 ll, which could therefore explain why this loan was authorized, for it was virtually risk-free. As per other practices in early modern Barcelona, these were later normalized. Two deliberations of the municipal council, dated 8 May 1579 and 14 July 1581, report that the councilmen had been authorized to «freely dispose of» the funds in the Taula, although exclusively for wheat purchases, with loans being authorized in 1586 and 1590. The inclusion of the adverb freely – after seven decades of accounting and auditing struggles, and in contempt of standing prohibitions – would prompt to think that, by then, even the councilmen had a basic understanding of this mechanism hidden within the bank’s accounting book, allowing for overdrafts on the treasurer’s accounts, as well as further fractional-reserve. A new redreç issued in 1593 suggested limitation be placed upon such credit «unless funds for such credit are available to be placed in the account from which the payments are to be made», which ought to be interpreted as one of those pertaining to the treasury. The lack of explicit mentions in municipal records, the loss of the Llibre de l’Hospitalet of 1593 and of all accounting books prevents any further consideration on the nature of such activities, namely, to what extent they were truly performed under the aegis of the Council of the city. 4. Conclusion The Taula de Canvì was explicitly established at the beginning of the fifteenth century to ensure the welfare of the city by performing basic deposit banking and providing zero-cost funds to redeem annuities and lower the cost of debt. By the end of the century, its role was reduced solely to that of a deposit- and giro-bank (where deposits were protected against external claims), ceasing however any engagement in public lending. The existence between 1513 and 1546 of overdrafts on the treasurer’s account decisively shows that it had reverted in part to its original role, to meet the most immediate necessities of the city’s upkeeping costs. Furthermore, it had devised a new accounting method, the Llibre de l’Hospitalet, which could show at any time the reserves which could be accessed risk-free. Despite the study of the municipal finances of Barcelona in the period remains a vastly uncharted territory, and, although a true redreç leading to prosperity in the first half of the sixteenth century remained a mirage, the Taula contributed to stabilizing the budget and keeping the spectre of default at bay. Indeed, the bank experienced a golden age, further testified by the adoption and adaptation of this well-organized model by twelve other Catalan cities in the sixteenth century. Yet, this golden age was a two-sided coin, of which the bank mostly showed only

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56 one, to either government, citizens or, even, Emperor Charles V. The limits of the king’s knowledge – unlike Ferdinand II, who had an intimate knowledge of the concept of Catalan public banking – are crystallized in a letter written to the council of Barcelona on December 16, 1525. Upon receiving a plea from the city of Zaragoza to concede a privilege to establish a Taula á là Barcelona, he understood that it would bring «good to the said city», but required a full report on the Taula of Barcelona’s founders, privileges, prerogatives and operations. No official response was ever issued, only a highly redacted unsent working draft of a letter survives: they either turned a deaf ear, or, perhaps, the answer was unclear and debatable even among those in Barcelona. Gold half Reale of Phillip II of Spain Source Numista

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58 Jeremy Jennings, one of the leading British historians of French political thought, made his reputation writing on Georges Sorel and other French syndicalists before moving to write, inter alia, about Benjamin Constant and French liberalism – and then the towering figure of Alexis de Tocqueville. This intellectual journey from syndicalism to liberalism is not as surprising as it seems: what all these thinkers shared was an uneasiness with the centralising impulses of Jacobin republicanism. Having already co-edited a collection of de Tocqueville ’s continuing reflections on America after this publication of his two famous volumes on democracy in America, in this new book Jennings turns his attention to de Tocqueville’s travels. Every schoolboy used to know that de Tocqueville travelled to America, but Jennings has had the excellent idea of looking at all his other journeys as well. Although de Tocqueville never returned to America, he continued to travel extensively throughout his life: to Italy, England, Ireland, Algeria, Germany, Switzerland. Although travel was important, even necessary, to him, Tocqueville was not animated by some kind of wanderlust. He also enjoyed spending months of semi-isolation cultivating his estates in Normandy. Nor was he what might today be called a ‘travel writer’. While not indifferent to the wonders of nature – his friend Jean-Jacques Ampère claimed that he had a ‘lively and poetic sense of nature’ – he was not in search of romantic sensation or exploring his soul in the manner of Chateaubriand. The purpose of de Tocqueville’s travels was to broaden his experience of different varieties of political institutions and social organisation as a way of better understanding France. He wrote: ‘Whoever has studied and seen only France will never understand anything about the French Revolution’. For that reason, this book is, as Jennings writes, a journey through de Tocqueville’s mind. Like all travellers, Tocqueville carried his own stock of cultural prejudices and assumptions, as he himself recognised. What is most striking about him, however, is his insatiable curiosity and open-mindedness, As he wrote on one occasion, encountering such a ‘prodigious diversity’ of social and political organizations, he realised more and more that ‘what are called necessary institutions are often only institutions to which we are

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60 Tocqueville may have been a privileged and well-connected French aristocrat, but his journeys were often arduous and intrepid. He had a delicate constitution and there is a lot about seasickness and stomach upsets in this book. But discomfort never deterred him. In America he headed far west to get a sense of the American wilderness; his two visits to Algeria occurred while the country was still at war and some of the time he was journeying with the French army into enemy territory. Tocqueville rubbed shoulders mainly with the elites but Jennings is amusing on the details of his travel arrangement which often went wrong. On a visit to London in 1857 the hotel he had booked was full because of a music festival taking pace at Crystal Palace. In the end he had to fall back on a ‘beautiful but horribly expensive apartment’ in Piccadilly. On the first night he was awoken by water pouring through the ceiling because the occupant of the apartment above had forgotten to close the windows during a massive storm. De Tocqueville rarely travelled alone and on his first travels – to America, England, Ireland and Algeria – he was accompanied by his friend Etienne de Beaumont who also published his own books. Relations between the two men cooled for some years after that, but Beaumont was at de Tocqueville’s side on his last journey – this time inside France – to Cannes where he died in 1859. One subtext of this book is the story of this remarkable friendship. In his later travels de Tocqueville was often accompanied by his English wife who seems to have had even more health problems than he did. One would have liked to know a bit more about her. Before setting off on any journey, de Tocqueville prepared himself by reading extensively – he annotated a large part of the Koran before visiting Algeria – and preparing long questionnaires for his interlocutors. He was seeking answers to the questions that preoccupied him all his life. How was it possible to reconcile liberty and democracy? Why had the French revolution failed to create durable political institutions that guaranteed personal liberty (a burning question after Louis Napoleon seized power in 1951)? Why had aristocratic society survived in England and not France? De Tocqueville’s ambition was to

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61 develop what he called a ‘new science of politics. He had a remarkable capacity for generalising from his experiences. When Tocqueville visited Germany - a country whose literature did not much interest him and who never mastered its ‘abominable and diabolical’ language – it was to as part of his research into the origins of the French Revolution. He wanted to study the workings of aristocratic princely states which seemed to him the place where ancien régime ideas and practices had most survived. When comparing British and French aristocracies during his visits to Britain, he was struck by the different nuances of the French words gentilhomme and the British word ‘Gentleman’. The former described a privileged caste that had separated itself from the Third Estate while the latter designated a set of social values that was not restricted to a caste. In England he observed a porosity between the aristocracy and the middle classes that had not existed in France before the Revolution. Also important, in his view, was the participation of the British aristocracy in institutions of local self- government whereas the French monarchy has established its power on ruins of local liberties. The case of Ireland was entirely different. He witnessed ‘scenes of misery the memory of which I will never forget, misery that I have only witnessed among the… half- destroyed tribes of the New World’. What the saw of the closed and parasitic aristocracy of Ireland also fed into his reading of France’s ancien regime. He believed that Ireland was poisoning British politics. One tendency of writers on de Tocqueville is to award him negative or positive points for what he had missed or what he had got wrong (as if there is ever a ‘right’ answer). Sensibly Jennings does not involve himself much in such debates. If few people question de Tocqueville’s insights regarding the importance of associations and of religion in American life, it has been alleged that he neglected the growing power of industry. Jennings shows that this is not entirely fair but the main point here is that de Tocqueville believed these issues had been covered by the writings of his contemporary Michel Chevalier. De Tocqueville was interested in different problems. Where Chevalier’s book opened with a map of canals and railways, de Tocqueville opened his with a map of slave and non-slave-

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62 owning states. He was rightly obsessed for the rest of his life by the threat that slavery posed to the future of the Union. And what he saw of slavery made him a committed proponent of the abolition of slavery in the French colonies ten years before that reform was effected by the Second Republic in 1848. Accusations about de Tocqueville’s shortcomings nowadays most often concentrate on his writing on Algeria which are seen as defence of unbridled colonialism. It seems, however, unhelpful and unhistorical to condemn him for not being a twenty first century post- colonialist. He was always perceptive, sometimes prophetic, but he was also a man of his time. Like all Frenchmen of his generation, he was humiliated by the humiliation of France after Waterloo, and saw France’s conquest of Algeria as vital to help rebuild French power and prestige. On his two visits to Algeria, the country was still in the process of being conquered and Tocqueville saw no middle way between complete domination and French defeat. In his view only a vigorous effort of French colonisation could ensure France’s position. But his position was more nuanced than it might seem. He was repelled by ‘coarseness and the violence natural to military power…the ardent and unintelligent hatred of the soldier for the civilian’. He also applauded that the ‘immense progress we have made in our understanding not only of the practice, laws and mores of the Arabs but also of their persons’ while deploring unwise closure of Muslim charitable institutions. How could the Muslim not feel a ‘deep contempt’ for the French ‘when they see us a destroy their paces of religious observance and allow their schools to decay’. He had no time for Gobineau’s views on the inequality of races. In the end one, comes away from Jennings’s book with increased admiration for de Tocqueville. He must have been a wonderfully stimulating travel companion. This entertaining book is the closest we will get to travelling with him and the journey is fun.

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64 Justinian was one of the greatest Roman princes of Late Antiquity. Under his auspices, the Eastern Roman Empire, often referred to popularly as the ‘Byzantine Empire’, reached what was to be its largest territorial extent, spanning from the Pillars of Hercules in the West to Syria and the Caucuses in the East. Not only did his reign witness military expansion but it also saw religious controversy, and grandiose legal reform. It was a world where definitions of orthodoxy, both in doctrine and even the very ideology of Christian Kingship were still malleable, a liminal moment between the old intellectual certainties of the Roman period and the new ones of the High Middle Ages. Very few men could be said to have moulded their own mind onto this ideological and political ferment more than Justinian. Indeed, his legacy remains even today, whether on the skyline of Istanbul or in the catechism of the Catholic and Orthodox churches. Peter Sarris is currently Professor of Late Antique, Medieval and Byzantine Studies at the University of Cambridge. This biography of Justinian marks his second foray into popular history, after Byzantium: A very Short Introduction for the Oxford University Press series. Yet it does not mark a departure from his academic interests. Sarris published the landmark Economy and Society in the Age of Justinian in 2006 and has since written dozens of books, articles and chapters which demonstrate an outstanding academic range across the history of the early medieval Mediterranean and Levant, from trading systems to plague studies, law to cults of saints. Justinian represents in many ways the culmination of his research and writing; a cursory glance at his bibliography reveals how many texts have here been re-written and reduced into chapters or subsections. Sarris begins with the ascension to imperial office of Justinian’s uncle, Justin I. Justin hailed from Illyria, the region which spanned the Dalmatian coast and had traditionally been a recruiting ground for the army. It was not without precedent for a common soldier to to climb the ranks, as Justin did, and claim the throne. However, Justin’s accession was an event of almost comical contingency. On the death of the Emperor, Anastasius, senators and senior members of the imperial bodyguards, Justin among them, gathered to choose a successor. Meanwhile, the people had marched into the Hippodrome and began to demand an emperor. As the pressure intensified, and the crowd grew increasingly violent, the senators chose Justin, perhaps because at sixty-eight years old it was presumed his reign would be a short one. It can read, in Sarris’s words, “like something from a fairy-tale”.

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65 Justinian was called a demon by Procopius in his famous polemic The Secret History (co-translated by Sarris for Penguin in 2007). In contrast, Sarris seeks to humanise his subject. He quotes from his letters to the then Pope, Hormisdas, dating to when Justinian himself was a mere officer in the imperial guard. These passages give an impression of Justinian as a man of endearing earnestness and amateur interest. At one stage, he informs Hormisdas of the theological rectitude of the Pope’s own doctrinal position. The second appealing story is that of his marriage to the notorious Theodora. The facts of her salacious origins, Sarris notes, are offered just as readily by those sources who favour Theodora for her theological sympathies. Justinian seems to have struggled unsuccessfully against his aunt to have the law changed to allow his marriage to someone as socially inferior as an actress and erotic dancer. Only on the death of his wife did Justin issue the necessary decree. Why would Justinian expend political capital to marry Theodora, when she was not of his own status nor even shared his own Chalcedonian theological sympathies? The best answer, as Sarris too concludes, is romantic love. Mosaic of the Emperor Jusnian, San Vitale, Ravenna Source: Wikimedia Commons

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66 Having navigated his uncle’s court, Justinian was made co-emperor, ensuring he succeeded without trouble in 527. However, five years into his reign, Justinian faced a serious threat to his rule when the Circus factions, orchestrated, Sarris argues, by Justinian’s political enemies, began a riot which escalated almost to a revolution. We are told the emperor considered fleeing the city to save himself. Yet in the end, encouraged possibly by Theodora, his resolution held, and sallies forth from the palace complex led by Belisarius and Narses (both later to lead reconquests in Italy and Africa) began a terrible slaughter of the rioters. Justinian survived; Hypatius and Pompey, the nephews of Anastasius, were executed. Beyond the events of the so-called ‘Nika Riots’, Sarris has ordered his book thematically around the main areas of Justinianic policy: compiling the law, rebuilding Constantinople, territorial re- conquests, and religious unity. In a traditional biography, particularly one aimed at a popular audience, a chronological approach might be expected. Indeed, there are moments when it can be challenging to trace contemporaneous events which are influencing each other, such as Justinian’s control over the papacy being made possible after the partial recapture of Italy described in a separate chapter. However, such disadvantages are outweighed by the additional force given to Sarris’ argument by an analytical structure. To construct his apologia, Sarris has particularly targeted Enlightenment critics like Gibbon and Montesquieu, who attacked Justinian for his superstitious religiosity, and modern historians who have seen his achievements as sandcastles, soon to be swept away by the tides of Arab and Lombard armies. In response to the latter of these interlocutors, Sarris argues that far too much emphasis has been placed on the defeat and destruction of the Vandal and Ostrogothic states in Africa and Italy, as well as the reclamation of southern Spain from the Visigoths. These were never Justinian’s priorities but rather the products of ‘opportunistic imperialism’, a fact reflected in the very minimal commitments to these campaigns in men and material, about which his generals continuously complained. Instead, these were often expeditionary forces responding to calls for assistance within the kingdoms themselves – not well-planned invasions. That these new territories were lost within a century does not condemn Justinian, therefore, to failure on his own terms. In their place, Sarris emphasises the scale of the emperor’s formidable legal and religious achievements. The three works of legal compilation and scholarship, the Codex, Digest and Institutes, laid the foundation for European legal systems which was to remain in place until

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67 the reforms of Napoleon in the nineteenth century and are still taught in universities today. The whole task was carried out under Justinian’s direction and led by an exceptional jurist named Tribonian. Remarkably, synthesising the totality of extant Roman law was achieved within three years. And on religion, far from having the ‘superstition of a monk’ as Gibbon declared, Sarris shows Justinian to have displayed considerable pragmatism in his attempts to re-unite the divided church. Much of the ecclesiastical establishment in the Levant and Egypt had rejected the determinations of the Council of Chalcedon in 451. But Justinian, despite occasional shows of strength, such as forcing with soldiers a conforming bishop onto the people of Alexandria, primarily sought a doctrinal compromise, tasking his court theologians with creating such a creed. Far from unreflective adhesion to the council, Justinian supported a novel ‘theopaschite’ theory, which would be accepted by Pope Gregory the Great later in the century and established as doctrine. Attempts at conciliation within the body of Christian believers must, however, be contrasted with his treatment of Jews and Samaritans, whose legal status was degraded to such a degree that they were unable, at one stage, even to pass on property to heirs. The greatest architectural victim of the rioting in Constantinople was the old church of Hagia Sophia. Justinian undertook to make his reconstruction the greatest church ever built. Sarris’s description of the building is evocative, particularly on those elements lost to us today. Following Procopius, who in another work praised the building works of Justinian, he imagines the dazzling sensory experience of the interior: mosaics and the candlelight, the sonorous dome and the music, all filled with the scent of incense, while the exterior gleamed with marbles. Although the Byzantines themselves were never to find the wealth or the will to build another church like it, the Ottomans would take Hagia Sophia as the pattern for monumental mosque building across their empire. Popular histories of Byzantium are not a regular occurrence. John Julius Norwich wrote his three-volume narrative history between 1988 and 1995. Since then, Judith Herrin has been the only other Byzantinist to achieve significant popular success, with her Byzantium: The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire (2007). The problem troubling would-be writers is the lack of any foundational knowledge of Byzantium, even amongst that mysterious body, ‘the reading public’. Accordingly, they are constrained to what is primarily introductory.

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68 However, Sarris has refused to accept this paradigm, producing a book detailing the life of a single emperor, without a substantial general prologue. The result is a work more suited to use by an academic, perhaps most of all, an undergraduate audience. It contains exceptional chapters on the historiography of the period, (‘Propaganda and Dissent’) and on the reception of Justinian and his deeds through later centuries. Sarris is clearly at his most confident on social and economic matters, utilising an astonishing range of sources (this reviewer noted one text was in Old Ethiopic). The least fluent chapters are those on Justinian’s wars of re-conquest – yet Sarris cannot be blamed for passing over these in relative haste. It is their centrality in the literature that he is trying to dislodge, and they have been treated in far greater detail by others elsewhere.French The Hagia Sophia, Istanbul Source: Wikimedia Commons

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71 Hers was one of those rare careers that truly spanned an entire lifetime. It is fair to say that this biography, But Will It Get a Laugh? by Hare’s own daughter, Kate Crehan, focuses more on Hare’s ‘career’ than her ‘life’. Although the two are evidently difficult to disentangle, Crehan deliberately keeps the ‘real’ Doris at a distance, warning readers that there will be no intimate revelations about her mother’s personal life. Any embarrassing skeletons are to be kept firmly in the family closet. From the outset Crehan is adamant that her book tells the story of “the Doris Hare her audiences knew, not the private Doris”. Doris Hare as Babee Biedermann in Max Frisch's The Fire Raisers, at the Royal Court theatre, 1961 Source: The Royal Court

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72 As such, the biographical gems in the book almost always relate to Hare’s professional experiences. This by no means robs the book of enjoyable anecdotes; those on offer more than exhibit Hare’s unique, rambunctious spirit, no-nonsense work ethic and all-round good humour. To take just one example, the most delightfully droll anecdote of the entire book sees Hare attend the premiere of Confessions of a Pop Performer, the second instalment of the 1970s sex-farce series Confessions which promised viewers ‘titters and tits’. Hare had not bothered to watch the first film and since she was only ever in the family scenes, playing the mother of the randy libertine, Timmy Lea, she had no clue what the film was actually about. Showing up to the premiere “in her full finery” the sordid reality dawned on her and “sinking further and further into her mink coat” she was heard to cry out, “Gawd, I’m in a porn film”. Her mortification clearly passed since she went on to star in two more of its sequels. Such moments demonstrate how Hare approached her rather unpredictable working life: with warmth and a jocular open-mindedness. In lieu of details about Hare’s private life, the book takes a scholarly approach to the cultural context of her profession, tracing many epoch- forming changes to the world of theatre and entertainment over the course of the 20th century. Hare’s time as a child actor touring the Welsh mining towns with her family in the 1910s, for example, illuminates the peculiar bygone world of portable theatres during their last years of success and viability. These small acting troupes would travel by wagon to provincial towns, often performing ‘low’ comedies or morality-driven melodramas to working class folk. They offered a cheap form of amusement: sometimes “three hours of entertainment for as little as three-pence”. But for the performers, the lifestyle was financially volatile and the much- desired full house was never guaranteed. Crehan rightly stresses that many travelling or provincial theatre companies failed to anticipate that a new form of popular culture was on the horizon: one governed by the advent of new technologies such as the bioscope (an early cinema camera) and the golden age of radio.

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73 One of the book’s main merits is that it places due emphasis on the sheer impact these new gadgets had on older forms of show business. The rise of cinema during the 20s and 30s in particular signalled a wildly altered media landscape, one which presented live performance with a brutal choice: adapt or perish. As Crehan puts it, film was the savage “young cuckoo that heaves the competing fledglings out of the nest”. Threat of demise forced theatres to evolve, and variety shows which boasted non-stop entertainment—cabaret, jazz music, comedy, songs, and dance—became their lifeline. Hare spent much of the pre-war period submerged in this sphere, often starring in comical revues. Here, Crehan’s archival work pulls out many intriguing tidbits such as the idea that theatre saw itself as embodying an English inheritance under direct threat from the glamour of Hollywood. The public’s love of variety shows was thus posited, in a rather idiosyncratically British way, by one contemporary article as “evidence of [their] unfailing patriotism” because “what used to fill the coffers of American film magnates” was now being redirected to their own people. Travelling players: the Arts League operated from 1919-1937 providing portable theatres of a more sophiscated type than those of Hare’s youth. Source: Brish Art Studies

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74 By 1939, however, the outbreak of war often forced both theatres and cinemas to close. Radio meanwhile became indispensable as 80% of British households now boasted access to one. Hare herself found great success as the radio host of Shipmates Ashore, a show intended to provide comfort and light-hearted entertainment to the Merchant Navy but whose audience far exceeded this narrow purview. Hare would sign off in her “earthy” voice: “Love from Doris and smooth sailing”, much to the pleasure of the lower decks. Throughout the biography, Crehan adeptly highlights the fraught issue of class in show business, a topic that can too often be bungled. It hardly mattered that the snobbish BBC execs preferred RP and that some stuffy Navy officers complained that the show was low brow. It was far too popular, and Hare was immortalised as the ‘sweetheart’ of the M. N. Even King George VI and Queen Elizabeth regularly tuned in. Hare’s best-known performance as the matriarch of ITV’s On the Buses (1969-73) has arguably eclipsed some of these more interesting roles and experiences. This biography does well to excavate them. Although she may have been pigeonholed as a ‘low’ comedienne, Crehan demonstrates that her mother was in fact extremely versatile. Despite experiencing periods of infrequent work (as most actors do), she managed to surf these shifting cultural sands. By the 1960s this versatility would see her transfer from ‘low’ to ‘high’ culture, as she was cast in plays by Harold Pinter and Max Frisch. As Crehan is keen to point out, however, for both Hare and for this experimental period in British theatre was not so stiff in its distinctions. She cites Samuel Beckett as one playwright who melded ‘low’ comedy with ‘high’ philosophy. This is where the most charming portrait of Hare surfaces. Despite finding “a welcoming home amongst the intellectuals” in this later period of her life, her love of performance remained unpretentious. Crehan recalls attending a 1964 production of Waiting for Godot with her mother: “like many people, she did not know what exactly the play was about, but this did not bother her”. She simply responded to the depth of the acting and the script’s humour. James W. Chippereld's 'Electric Theatre', from 1909, included a bioscope aracon Source: Lacy Sco & Knight

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77 This chapter sets out ten immediate pressure points arising from the evidence we have heard in the first phase of our inquiry. We will continue to explore these in the next phase of our work and make recommendations in our final report. These pressures relate mainly to relations between the UK and Welsh governments. This is a critical dimension of Welsh governance and the one on which we have received most evidence. It is not the only focus of our inquiry, and we set out in the next chapter the full range of issues we will pursue in the second phase of our work.These issues are not always evident to the public, although several respondents to our Dweud eich Dweud: Have your Say consultation mentioned the importance of relations between governments. The list below reflects this evidence, the views of civic society and those of political leaders experienced in trying to make the current arrangements work. Why these issues matter These issues matter because devolution represents a major step forward in Welsh democracy. The Welsh Government implements policies based on a manifesto endorsed in a Welsh election, and the Senedd holds the Welsh Government to account for its delivery and stewardship of public funds, including through detailed scrutiny by cross-party committees. Devolution has enabled policies and laws designed to respond to the needs of Wales, and implemented through the partnership model of government described in Chapter 4. The growing Welsh statute book is summarised in Appendix 10. This includes initiatives which could be useful to other countries, including the Well-being of Future Generations Act and social partnership arrangements (comprising Welsh Government, local government, the third sector, business and trade unions). The way social partnership worked in Wales during the covid pandemic was highly valued by stakeholders. Devolution is a substantial improvement on what went before in relation to the values we identify in Chapter 2. For this reason, it is vital to identify and address problems that undermine the effectiveness of the devolved institutions in serving the people of Wales.

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78 Impact of inter-governmental tensions on citizens The problems outlined below have direct real world impacts. Where relations between the UK and Welsh Governments do not work well, this affects citizens in three main ways: Policy and delivery: the ability of the Welsh Government to implement policies that respond to the needs of citizens, at the interface with reserved services, can be undermined by an inflexible approach by UK Government agencies. Examples include the Thomas Commission evidence, and the barriers experienced by third sector groups seeking to support refugees and asylum seekers in Wales. Efficiency and value for money: there is a high cost from wasteful public spending or reduced value for money when UK Government projects do not acknowledge devolution and are planned and funded in isolation from those of partners. For example: ‘Cambria Typus’: Humphrey Llwyd's map, the earliest printed map specically of Wales Source: Llfrygell Genedlaethol Cymru

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79 • The UK Government’s operation of the Shared Prosperity Fund excluded the Welsh Government, leading to confusion for local government and other partners and missing the opportunity to coordinate with other programmes operating in Wales. This departed from the UK Government’s previous Growth Deals model which was a partnership with the Welsh Government • The UK Government’s (adult education) Multiply Programme, top-sliced from the Shared Prosperity Fund, was designed to operate across the UK, although education is a devolved matter. There was limited engagement with the Welsh Government. This undermined the effectiveness of the scheme for Welsh learners, as it did not coordinate with devolved programmes. • The constraints applied by the UK Treasury to the Welsh Government’s management of its budget, including its borrowing powers, undermine its ability to plan for the long term. Trust: disagreement and conflict between governments undermines trust at all levels of governance, as well as trust in the health and viability of the Union. Ten pressure points 1. The instability of the settlement The working of the settlement relies on the sovereignty of the UK Parliament and the power that hands to the UK Government. Recent UK Governments and the devolved governments appear to have had different perceptions of devolution and of how Wales and the United Kingdom should be governed. The UK Government has shown its willingness to override convention and process to assert its will. The Welsh Government’s view is that devolution has given formal political and institutional recognition to the four-nation, voluntary nature of the Union, with four governments and legislatures, each with distinct mandates rooted in popular sovereignty. The UK Government’s approach has been inconsistent and opaque. At times, it has seemed to view devolution as a form of delegation of specific subjects, akin to the arrangements for Mayors and joint authorities in England, within a unitary state. It does not seem to recognise devolution as having changed fundamentally the governance of the UK, although the recent rapid changes at the top of the UK Government make it difficult to discern a consistent view.

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80 The most recent formal statement by a UK Prime Minister on the Union came from Theresa May, speaking in Scotland at the end of her premiership in 2019. She spoke of the UK as a family of four nations, resting on the consent of its constituent parts. The actions of the government led by Boris Johnson, particularly as it dealt with the outcomes of Brexit, did not reflect his predecessor’s conception of the Union. Prime Minister Liz Truss made no contact with the First Ministers of Wales or Scotland during her time in office. Her successor Prime Minister Rishi Sunak made early contact with both First Ministers, and in November 2022, chaired a meeting of the British-Irish Council, the first Prime Minister to do so for fifteen years. It remains to be seen what strategic approach his government will take to the intergovernmental challenges set out below. Impact of EU Exit As discussed in Chapter 2, the UK’s departure from the EU meant that it was necessary to put in place new arrangements for a single market in the UK, and to replace the EU structural funds. The Expert Panel paper: Implications of EU exit for devolution at Appendix 7 discusses this in more detail. It would have been consistent with the devolution legislation and inter-governmental conventions for these new arrangements to be negotiated between the UK and devolved governments. In an early response to Brexit, the four governments agreed a system of Common Frameworks for managing the interface between a UK internal market and devolved competencies. The joint working between governments on Common Frameworks demonstrated how this negotiation could have been done. Citing exceptional circumstances, the UK Government acted unilaterally through the United Kingdom Internal Market Act 2020 (UK IMA). It determined that powers previously exercised by the EU should be retained by Westminster, and that the requirements of a UK single market should override the devolved institutions’ legislative powers. To ensure the passage of the UK IMA, the UK Government set aside the provisions of the Sewel convention (see Glossary in Chapter 8), arguing that the circumstances of EU exit were not ‘normal’ (see Chapter 4). The Act included provisions for the UK Government to incur expenditure on devolved matters in the devolved territories, which seemed to signal an intent to undermine devolved competence. This issue remains contested between the two governments. It can be argued that EU exit was a once in a generation event, and that the UK Government was entitled to deliver its interpretation of the referendum outcome. But there are worrying

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81 signs that this way of working is becoming normalised, for example: the operation of the Shared Prosperity Fund mentioned above; the UK Government’s plans to repeal the Trade Union Wales Act passed by the Senedd in 2017 announced in June 2022; and the top slicing of the Welsh Government budget to fund military support for Ukraine. These developments illustrate the vulnerability of the devolved institutions to unilateral decisions by the UK Government, to which they have no meaningful redress. This undermines public confidence in the UK Government’s approach to Wales and works against constructive relations with the devolved governments. 2. Fragility of inter-governmental relations For many years, the Welsh Government has protested about the informality and unpredictability of the UK Government’s approach to inter-governmental relations (IGR), calling for a business-like timetable, agendas and papers. In practice, whether meetings happen at all is at the discretion of the UK Government, and the diminution of engagement in recent years has coincided with the willingness to override conventions discussed above. This enables unilateral decision-making which does not contribute to the best outcomes for citizens. The reliance on personalities at the top of government adds to instability. We were told in evidence sessions that, under Prime Minister David Cameron, relations with the devolved governments were respectful of the devolved governments’ powers and mandates. For example, in 2011, the UK Government responded to the Holtham Commission’s final report published in 2010, by establishing the Silk Commission to review the then Assembly’s legislative and financial powers. In 2018, the Joint Ministerial Committee, chaired by Prime Minister Theresa May, initiated a joint review of the IGR machinery. The outcome, published in spring 2022, was agreed by all four governments as heralding a new approach. The review committed to more formality of process, including an independent secretariat, but did not resolve all points of tension, including the role of the Treasury as arbiter of decisions on financial matters. Despite these good intentions, the developments associated with the UK IMA, and the Shared Prosperity Fund described above, suggest that the ‘respect agenda’ no longer prevails. We will continue to take evidence on the progress of IGR, including: • evaluating recent practice against the intentions set out in the IGR review;

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82 • considering whether the new IGR machinery is being used to operate the partnership approach promised in the UK Government’s Levelling Up White Paper 3. Absence of Leadership on the Union Strong and consistent inter-governmental relations require leadership and commitment from the constituent governments. The UK Government’s interest in the territorial constitution of the UK and its governance structures has appeared very limited in recent years. Its assumption seems to be that the interests of the Union, particularly after Brexit, require devolution to be kept in check, and even (from the viewpoint of many commentators) rolled back. In this perspective, any demands from the devolved institutions for broader powers will be regarded negatively, whatever the strength of the evidence. In January 2022 the House of Lords Constitution Committee published its report: Respect and Co-operation: Building a stronger Union for the 21st Century, drawing on an extensive body of written and oral evidence. The UK Government’s response, published in August 2022, barely engages with the Committee’s analysis. In July 2022, the House of Lords Common Frameworks Scrutiny Committee report endorsed the Constitution Committee’s recommended consensual approach to inter-governmental relations. The UK Government’s response published in November 2022 was more positive than the August response, reaffirming the merits of the common frameworks approach in facilitating inter-governmental issues on a range of policy areas. In the new UK Government, oversight of common frameworks has transferred to Michael Gove as Secretary of State for Levelling Up, Housing and Communities and Minister for Intergovernmental Relations. The new Cabinet Committee structure includes the Prime Minister chairing a Cabinet Committee for Union Affairs. This structure and Mr Gove’s appointment may restore a degree of continuity and experience, but the extent of change in structures and personnel at the top of the UK Government in recent years has not provided the consistent leadership needed for effective collaboration with the devolved governments. 4. Constraints on policy and delivery at the boundaries of the settlement The development of Welsh devolution since 1999 has generally been one of ‘deepening’ rather than ‘broadening’. Apart from the tax-raising powers conferred by the Wales Act 2014, the legislative powers the Senedd now has reflect to a significant degree the set of executive functions the Secretary of State transferred to the Assembly in 1999. Those powers have been

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83 deepened by enabling the Assembly, and now the Senedd, to make primary legislation on these matters, but not broadened into new areas of public policy. During this period, consideration of the case for a broader settlement has focused on the following areas: • Justice and Policing: reviewed by the Commission on Justice in Wales (the Thomas Commission) which reported in October 2019 • Employment – under review by the TUC Wales Commission chaired by Professor Jean Jenkins • Welfare – reviewed by the Wales Centre for Public Policy • Broadcasting – under review by an Expert Panel launched June 2022 • Energy and the Crown Estate • Equalities • Rail transport In the next phase of our work, we will consider these areas in the round, from the perspective of strengthening Welsh democracy and the implications for the Union. Of the reviews mentioned above, the most comprehensive evidence has been that of the Thomas Commission which unanimously concluded that the present system is detrimental to justice for the people of Wales. The UK Government has not provided a substantive response to this evidence from those with extensive experience of operating the current system. Given the importance of the issues raised by the Thomas Commission and its expertise, this refusal to engage is hard to understand. We will continue our efforts to hear from witnesses who support current arrangements, so that we are able to consider a balanced body of evidence. 5. Problems with the system for financing devolution. The financial arrangements underpinning devolution were examined in detail in the reports of the Holtham (2009 and 2010) and Silk Commissions (2012 and 2014). The Wales Governance Centre report60 on Wales’ Fiscal Future, March 2020, placed these arrangements in the wider context of the Welsh economy and tax base. We discussed the financial and fiscal position in an Expert Workshop led by the Wales Fiscal Analysis team in the Wales Governance Centre and involving experts from Scotland and England (see Appendix 5 and chapter 4).We have received no evidence that the Welsh Government’s share of the resources provided by the UK Government for the relevant services is unfair at the present time,

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84 relative to England. But the size of devolved budget will continue to be determined by the UK Government’s priorities, based on its austerity strategy in place since 2010. The Welsh tax powers give the Welsh Government some flexibility but in practice this is limited in current circumstances by the low tax capacity of the Welsh economy. The lack of an objective process to determine the block grant to the devolved governments has been apparent since the adoption of the Barnett formula in the late 1970s. At that time, it was an administratively convenient basis for setting the budgets for the Welsh, Scottish and Northern Ireland Offices, which were departments of the UK Government. It does not provide the objectivity and transparency required for a transfer between governments and scrutiny by elected representatives in a devolved United Kingdom. Without an objective UK-wide process, it is not possible to determine the adequacy of the Welsh block grant relative to other parts of the UK. While resisting the case for such a process, the UK Government responded to the evidence presented by the first Holtham Commission report, by making a Barnett adjustment to mitigate the relative under-funding of Wales identified by that Commission. We do not propose to revisit the comprehensive exercise completed by Holtham. But it is vital not to lose sight of the principle that the devolved budgets should reflect the governments’ relative need to spend, and Holtham proposed a transparent and workable process for achieving this. No progress has been made due to the political obstacles to implementation. We recognise these but note that the disruption from adjusting expenditure to align with relative need, which invariably creates winners and losers, could be addressed by phasing over a long period of time. The objective of achieving an evidence-based, independently verified and transparent process for allocating resources between the nations and regions of the UK, remains essential and should underpin any proposals for constitutional change. 6. Restrictive budget management The most immediate practical financial issue arises from the restrictions applied by HM Treasury to the Welsh Government’s management of its budget. In many ways this treats the Welsh Government as if it were a department of the UK Government. The Welsh Government’s ability to borrow for capital investment, and to carry over capital spending between financial years, is constrained by limits set in 2016-17, and any requests for flexibility are required to be put to the Treasury on a case-by-case basis which is time-consuming and resource intensive.

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85 We have received evidence from the Welsh Government that these constraints undermine its ability to manage its budgets and plan for the long term. It is hard to see why they are needed given that the Welsh Government is accountable to the Public Accounts Committee of the Senedd for its stewardship of public expenditure. Where there are disputes about financial management, for example the decision that Wales should receive no share of the HS2 rail investment, the UK Treasury is in a powerful position, although the recent inter-governmental reforms have introduced an independent element to the arbitration process. We will explore these issues in more depth in the next phase of our work. 7. Strains on representative democracy The establishment of the Senedd and Welsh Government represented a major step forward in representative democracy in Wales, including the introduction of a degree of proportionality into the electoral system. Surveys suggest that levels of trust in the Senedd and Welsh Government to act in Welsh interests are strong. But the consistently low level of The Wales Millennium Centre, Cardi Bay Source: Wikimedia Commons

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86 participation in elections to the Senedd and local government evidenced in chapter 4 is a constraint on representative democracy. This message is borne out strongly by our Dweud eich Dweud: Have your Sayconsultation. Respondents felt that the current system relies too heavily on indirect mechanisms for the public to influence policy by voting on parties based on their manifestos and holding government to account through the ballot box.Some respondents who discussed proposals for Senedd reform were unconvinced by the Welsh Government’s plans for a closed list system of proportional representation, feeling that this would give too much power to political parties and make it harder for citizens to hold their representatives and the Welsh Government to account. As discussed in the next Chapter, in the next phase of our work we will consider how to strengthen representative democracy in Wales, including through deliberative mechanisms such as citizens’ assemblies, direct consultation mechanisms and enhanced civic education. The objective is to give citizens more opportunities to participate in informed debate and to give elected representatives better information about the views of the public. 8. Information and accountability deficit Our Dweud eich Dweud: Have your Say consultation suggests that there is a significant information and accountability deficit as regards the workings of devolved government. This concern was common ground across constitutional preferences and applied to all levels of government. Many of those who responded used Parliament/ Senedd and government interchangeably, either due to not understanding the distinct roles of these bodies or not seeing the distinction as important. Many lacked confidence in the mechanisms for holding government to account at each level of government, with some having no knowledge of the mechanisms currently in place. We received expert evidence that the lack of transparency of the justice system in Wales is a barrier to accountability and scrutiny. We also heard evidence that the weakness of the Welsh media means that where information is provided by public agencies it is often not publicised, scrutinised or widely understood, again undermining accountability and trust. 9. The economic conundrum The fiscal position of Wales, as outlined in Chapter 4, means that a more autonomous Wales would face difficult choices. If macroeconomic powers were devolved, without a substantial

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87 continuing transfer of resources, the Welsh Government would have no choice, in the short to medium term, but to introduce some combination of significant tax increases, substantial cuts in public spending and borrowing. The greater the autonomy available to Wales, the more it will need to rely on its own resources. This could involve enhancing its tax powers under the current model of devolution, as has happened in Scotland. Greater autonomy would enable economic policies tailored to Welsh needs and could grow the economy and tax base in the medium to long term. But in the short term, reliance on its own resources would sharply constrain the choices available to Wales. The dilemma facing Wales is that its economic prospects within a UK which is one of the most unequal in Europe are highly uncertain. But there is no certainty about the prospects for greater progress under a different constitutional model. We will consider this issue in detail in evaluating constitutional options as discussed in the next chapter. 10. The constitutional conundrum There is no mechanism for the people of Wales, or the Senedd, to initiate constitutional change or to determine Wales’s governance structures. The only exception is when there is a referendum on specific options as in 1979, 1997 and 2011.The supremacy of the Westminster Parliament (see Expert Panel paper at Appendix 8) means that any change to the current arrangements must be initiated by the UK Government and agreed by Westminster. Whatever case for change is made, it is open to the UK Government to ignore it. Provided it has a sufficient political majority, it is open to the UK Government to undermine and/or roll back the devolution settlement, with no reference to the Senedd or to the people of Wales. Conclusion This chapter sets out the immediate pressure points that are evident at this interim stage of our inquiry. The last two points: the relative weakness of the Welsh economy and the supremacy of the Westminster Parliament, are fundamental challenges that must be addressed in the debate on Wales’s constitutional future. The strong response to the first stage of our inquiry demonstrates the public appetite to engage in this debate. We believe that the views of the people of Wales should be decisive, and that no changes to the current settlement should be made without their consent. As things stand, the people of Wales and their elected representatives cannot have the final say on their country’s constitution and cannot even initiate the process of change. That power

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88 resides with the governing party in Westminster, and a referendum on options for the future could not take place unless agreed by the UK Government and approved by Parliament Welsh MPs may of course be part of the governing party, but the voice of Wales, as a national political entity, can never be decisive in the UK Parliament .In the next phase of our inquiry, we will explore how these pressures could be addressed, including through evaluation of the constitutional options, as set out in the next chapter. Constitutional Futures and Welsh Democracy This interim report concludes the first phase of our inquiry. It is an account of work in progress, but it is already clear from the evidence we have received that there are significant problems with the way Wales is currently governed. In the second phase of our inquiry, we will investigate these problems in more depth and continue the conversation with the people of Wales about how they might be overcome. This chapter sets out the priorities for the second phase of our work, based on the evidence received from members of the public, civic society and the political leaders, past and present, with experience of operating Wales’s current constitutional arrangements. The banner of Owain Glyndŵr, ying in Wales in 2014 Source: BBC

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89 In Chapter 1 we set out some of the challenges facing Wales and how governance and constitutional structures influence the way these challenges are met. In Chapter 7, we identified the pressure points in the current settlement which in our view make it an unstable basis for addressing these challenges.In our terms of reference, the Welsh Government asked us to ‘consider and develop options for fundamental reform of the constitutional structures of the United Kingdom’ and ‘to consider and develop all progressive principal options to strengthen Welsh democracy’. To fulfil this remit, we plan to focus the next stage of our work on three main areas: • Mechanisms for strengthening representative democracy at each level of government. • Options for reform of constitutional structures, including practical steps to protect Welsh democracy and the current devolution settlement. • Taking forward the national conversation to explore with the people of Wales how they believe their country should be governed in the future. In our view, getting these areas right is essential to provide a solid basis for social, economic, and environmental progress in Wales. Strengthening representative democracy Improving the workings of representative democracy is essential whatever constitutional path is chosen by the people of Wales. Our evidence demonstrates that this has many components, including the culture and practice of politics at each level of government. We will consider whether the current organisation of multi-level governance in Wales fully reflects the principle of subsidiarity, which seeks to ensure decisions are made as close to the ordinary citizen as possible, and that decisions are taken by a higher tier of government only where the matter concerned cannot be addressed effectively at a lower one. We will continue our discussions with the Welsh Local Government Association and other stakeholders on this point. We will consider options for engaging citizens in the work of representative democracy at all levels of governance, through deliberative mechanisms such as citizens’ assemblies, juries and panels, and other mechanisms such as surveys and referendums. We will examine further the operation of citizens’ assemblies, including in the Republic of Ireland, where there has

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90 been significant investment in the model, and there is a framework for their work to feed into the policy and decision-making process. Our engagement next year will include working with representative citizens’ panels as set out in Chapter 3. We will continue our focus on the accountability and scrutiny of government at every level, including discussions with the Senedd Interim Report Commission and local government about the work of Scrutiny Committees and ways of including citizens in the scrutiny process, with a view to improving the impact and visibility of democratic scrutiny.We have heard consistent evidence about the need to strengthen people’s understanding of how they are currently governed, including through civic education. This was a strong message from our Dweud eich Dweud: Have your Say consultation described in Chapter 5. We will consider the impact of the new Welsh curriculum, and other current and potential mechanisms for democratic and civic education after school age. Evaluating constitutional options As set out in previous chapters, our starting point is that the constitutional future of Wales should be decided by the people of Wales and their elected representatives. In respect of Scotland, the Westminster Parliament accepted the principle of popular consent to the Union, by authorising the Scottish Parliament to enact the necessary legislation for the 2014 independence referendum. The Northern Ireland Act 1998 provides for ‘border polls’ from time to time on the possible reunification of Ireland. The same fundamental principle of consent should extend to the people of Wales. During the first phase of our work, we have considered the whole spectrum of potential constitutional options for Wales, from independence without any residual political and constitutional ties to the rest of what is currently the UK, to the abolition of the Senedd (which the Westminster Parliament has accepted would require the consent of the people of Wales, as provided for in the Government of Wales Act 2006) and of any all-Wales governance structures. During the second phase we intend to focus the debate on options that seem viable to us, that fit with our values (Chapter 2) and that could enable better progress in promoting the well-being of people in Wales, than has been achieved under present arrangements. As we have said, priorities and outcomes are determined not by constitutional structures but by elected representatives and their political parties. But constitutional structures determine who holds the power to make change, and they can present significant obstacles to progress. In our view

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91 the evidence received so far, as summarised in Chapter 7, makes a compelling case that current arrangements are not working for Wales. Maintaining the status quo We recognise that maintaining the status quo may be supported by many people in Wales, but so far we have received little evidence to counter the concerns set out in Chapter 7. Maintaining the status quo is the stated policy of the Conservative Party and the UK Government, but the erosion of devolution outlined in the previous chapter suggest to us that the status quo is no longer a stable basis for the future. The settlement can readily be unpicked without any effective veto from the people of Wales, or their government and representatives. The legislative guarantee that the Senedd could only be abolished following a referendum in Wales could be unilaterally overturned by a simple majority at Westminster at the behest of the UK Government, just as the Fixed Term Parliaments Act was repealed. Unwinding devolution No political group has submitted evidence in support of reversing devolution, but this is an option that a significant minority raised in response to our consultation. It would mean that Wales would revert to being governed from Westminster and Whitehall. In a Parliament of 650 MPs, Wales would be represented by 40 MPs, falling to 32 once current legislation is implemented. If the pre-1999 governance arrangements were put in place, executive decisions for Wales, including budget allocations and public appointments, would be taken by a member of the UK Cabinet, accountable to Parliament, with scrutiny carried out by the single Select Committee dealing with Welsh Affairs. None of the main political parties advocate the abolition of the Senedd or a reduction in its role and powers. In the 2019 General Election, all the major parties at Westminster said that they supported devolution, with the Welsh Conservatives pledging ‘we are committed to devolution and guarantee that Wales will not lose any powers or funding as a result of our exit from the EU’. Parties opposed to devolution gained only 2.4% of the constituency vote and 5.3% of the regional list vote in the 2021 elections, winning no seats in the Senedd. We have received no response to our invitations to submit evidence from groups such as Abolish the Assembly or Reform UK. Unwinding devolution would be complex: it would not be straightforward (politically or administratively) to harmonise arrangements between England and Wales after 20 years of divergence in devolved policy making. But in our view, these complexities are far less important than the principles at stake.There is a strong

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92 democratic basis for devolution. The public voted in favour of Welsh devolution in 1997 (albeit by a narrow margin). After ten years’ experience of the new institutions, in the 2011 referendum the people of Wales gave strong backing to the creation of a Welsh legislature with primary legislative powers. This option would be a step backwards in terms of democracy, accountability and subsidiarity, and would be inconsistent with the values we set out in Chapter 2. It would leave the people of Wales with less agency to influence the decisions that affect them, and in our view, would weaken the governance of Wales. At the same time, we recognise the strength of feeling of those who feel that devolution has not improved their lives. We may disagree with their analysis and proposed solution, but we do not dismiss their concerns. We will continue to engage with those who hold these views to better understand their perspective and keep them involved in considering future options. Therefore, we conclude that neither the status quo nor unwinding devolution are viable options for further consideration. Based on our values, our engagement to date, and publicly available information about the views of the Welsh public and their elected representatives, we see three principal options for the way forward. To assist readers in considering these, a glossary is attached as an Annex to this chapter. Three principal options Based on this evidence, and having considered the broad spectrum of options in the light of our terms of reference, alongside our views of what might be practically achievable, we have decided to focus our consideration on three principal options, discussed below in order of least significant change to most significant change from the status quo: • entrenched devolution • federal structures • independence. Which option the people of Wales ultimately choose will be influenced by events and decisions elsewhere in the UK. For example, if UK governments persisted in seeking to undermine or erode the devolution settlement, that might persuade more people that the people of Wales need greater constitutional protection. If Scotland and Northern Ireland were to leave the UK, that too is likely to influence how people see the future of Wales.

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93 The three principal options are not static; each may be more or less viable or desirable depending on wider events. We will evaluate the options within this dynamic context and reach our own views on the way forward.Polling evidence suggests that the largest proportion of Welsh voters favour greater powers for the Senedd while remaining part of the UK. In this context, it is useful to distinguish between: • the constitutional status of the devolved institutions – as distinct from the scope of their responsibilities • the scope of the devolved powers, whether or not there is any change in the constitutional arrangements Our evaluation of the options will include both dimensions; polling data does not distinguish between them, and so further investigation is merited. Entrenched devolution This option would protect against unilateral changes by the UK Parliament and Government, promote more constructive inter-governmental relations, and provide a more stable foundation for Welsh governance in the future. This is perhaps the option closest to the policy of the UK Labour Party, as the Opposition in the Westminster Parliament. It would respond to the widespread concern from stakeholders about recent experience of a UK Government with a large majority at Westminster able to over-ride and in practice re-write parts of the current settlement. As part of our consideration of this option, we will review the case for expanding the devolved powers, including in respect of justice and policing. The Thomas Commission has made a strong case for the devolution of these powers to Wales, as is already the case in Scotland and Northern Ireland. We have yet to be presented with a coherent argument as to why this is not desirable: we will continue to seek a wide range of views before reaching a conclusion on this and other current proposals for a more coherent Welsh settlement. This option would require minimal change in terms of the rest of the United Kingdom, while providing greater stability. Again, it would seem to broadly consistent with polling suggesting the largest proportion of voters in Wales favour greater devolution. We believe the key questions on this option include: Entrenched devolution: key questions

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94 ⊲ Is it plausible that robust entrenchment of the powers of the Senedd and the Welsh Government could be achieved without a UK wide written constitution which introduced limitations to Parliamentary sovereignty? ⊲ Is it possible to restore confidence in the process of inter-governmental relations, given its vulnerability to changing priorities and personalities within the UK Government. ⊲ Would expanding the devolved powers into new areas solve the ‘jagged edges’ in the current settlement or would it just create different challenges? The evidence received so far does not provide fully compelling answers to these questions and we will pursue these in the second phase of our inquiry. Federal structures This option assumes UK wide reform with the following elements: • a statutory separation of powers between the UK Government and Westminster Parliament and the Senedd and Welsh Government, and the other devolved legislatures and executives, entrenched by a UK constitution which replaced the principle of unlimited Parliamentary sovereignty. • a separation between the role of the Westminster Parliament and Government in relation to their UK-wide responsibilities, and their role in governing England in respect of devolved matters • a reformed second legislative chamber at UK level, designed to provide territorial representation. This option reflects in broad terms the position of the current Welsh Labour Government, and the UK and Welsh Liberal Democrats, and the position of many stakeholders who see a need for significant reform to avoid the ‘jagged edge’ of the current settlement. We intend to explore two main variants of this option, either of which would be consistent with federal models elsewhere in the world: • financial responsibility for welfare (pensions, unemployment benefit, disability benefits) is transferred to the Senedd, with responsibility for taxation principally resting with the Senedd (and responsibilities are broadly consistent with those devolved to Scotland and Northern Ireland) and

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95 • welfare remains the responsibility of the United Kingdom Government and Parliament. We will consider the range of federal models that operate internationally as well as the work of the Constitution Reform Group (see Chapter 6) and other proposals for reform on federal principles generated within the UK.We believe the key questions on this option include: Federal structures: key questions ⊲ What evidence is there that the public in England, who make up the large majority of the UK population, would support far reaching constitutional change of the sort necessary for this option to be viable? ⊲ Given that there is little or no appetite for devolved regional government in England on the model of Welsh and Scottish legislative devolution, how would it be possible to design UK-wide structures that would not inevitably lead to domination by England? ⊲ What are the prospects of achieving a UK-wide consensus on reform of the current funding model, to replace the Barnett formula with an evidence-based and legally binding system that enables fiscal transfers between the economically stronger parts of the UK and less successful economies like that of Wales? As with the previous option, the evidence received so far does not provide convincing answers to these questions and we will pursue these in the second phase of our inquiry. Independence Under this option Wales would become a sovereign country, eligible for full membership of the United Nations and other international organisations. This option is currently the expressed wish of only a minority of respondents in public polling, but there is evidence that support is increasing, particularly amongst younger people, and it is an essential part of the political platform of one of Wales’s three main parties. Polling suggests that support for independence could increase if either Scotland or Northern Ireland leave the United Kingdom. It is therefore neither premature or inappropriate to try to understand, and to stimulate wider debate over, the advantages and disadvantages of such a change.

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97 ⊲ How would an independent Wales establish its fiscal stability and credibility, and what currency would it use? How would it maintain the confidence of the financial markets in the immediate aftermath of separation, and in the medium/longer term? ⊲ How would the Wales/England border operate and what would be the implications for businesses and citizens crossing it every day in both directions? ⊲ What would be the implications of the national border for trade with the rest of the UK, Europe and the world? ⊲ Would an independent Wales initiate the accession process to join the EU, bearing in mind that the arrangements negotiated by the UK before leaving the EU are unlikely to be available, and how long would this take? In the modern world, no nation exists in isolation, and it is highly likely that an independent Wales would seek to negotiate new arrangements to interact with its neighbours. It seems to us essential for any campaign for independence to set out the intended future relationships between an independent Wales and other nations. The importance of achieving clarity on this was underlined by the experience of Brexit and the challenges of agreeing the UK’s future relationship with the EU. As a minimum, it seems to us that there would need to be treaty agreements on matters such as borders and trade. There are a range of governance options which could become available after Welsh independence, if other parts of the UK were willing to implement them, ncluding free association and confederation. Free Association This option could be implemented ahead of full independence. This model has most commonly been implemented in nations that are either under the protection of another nation, have been colonised, and/or are in the process of decolonialisation. As such, international examples of free association models have been shaped by the historical relationship between the nations. However, the general approach is that under a free association model, nations choose to delegate certain functions to another nation to operate on their behalf. The level of control that the delegating nation retains over the delegated function varies depending on the structure of the free association agreement.

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98 For example, in an independent Wales, matters such as defence could be delegated to the rest of the UK to exercise on Wales’ behalf, and this would be subject to a bilateral negotiation and agreement between Wales and the rest of the UK. Confederation In a confederation, independent nations chose to pool their sovereignty on specific topics. The European Union is an example of such a confederation, as is the Benelux confederation of Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands. Decisions on these topics (such as trade, foreign policy, defence and so on) are taken jointly and all nations agree to be bound by the common decisions. Governance models vary, but they can feature weighted voting arrangements depending on the populations of the constituent nations, and nations holding veto powers over actions of the confederation. This model would require agreement from all parties involved. For example, if the UK split into constituent nations confederation would require agreement from England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland.For both these variants, the questions above apply, and there would be further questions, including: ⊲ What evidence is there that England and/or other parts of the UK would join in any free association or confederal arrangements with Wales which would constrain their own freedom of action? ⊲ If other parts of the UK were unwilling to enter into shared governance arrangements with an independent Wales, how would cross border matters be managed? The evidence received so far does not provide convincing answers to these questions and we will pursue these in the second phase of our inquiry. In the coming year we will take further evidence to enable us to fully evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of these different directions of travel. We will also discuss them with the people of Wales through the ongoing national conversation. Taking forward the national conversation The work programme mapped out above includes ways to improve the workings of our representative democracy as it currently stands, as well as options for constitutional change. We will use the mechanisms set out in Chapter 3 to discuss these ideas with the public and

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99 civic society. This will enable us to find out what the people of Wales think are the priorities for change. Conclusion We have spent our first year taking evidence on the way the current settlement works and the problems identified by citizens, elected representatives and civic society. In the second phase next year we will deepen our evidence base and test potential solutions to these issues. On our remit to strengthen Welsh democracy, the evidence suggests a wide range of pressures on the workings of representative democracy today, and we will evaluate the most promising ways of addressing them. In respect of constitutional change, we have considered a wide spectrum of options and narrowed them down to three ways forward, all of which we consider viable. Each of these raises fundamental questions, and the evidence received to date does not answer them fully and convincingly. In the second phase of our work, we will extend the conversation with the people of Wales and continue to seek more detailed and comprehensive evidence so that we can test these options with the public on a sound basis.