The Right Honourable (at last) Jeremy Corbyn
Labour leader triumphs among the creepies in Crawley, then it’s off for a trickier date at the Palace
Jeremy Corbyn kissed the Queen’s hand but did not kneel in front of her when he was made a member of the Privy Council last night.
The lifelong republican was sworn in during a short ceremony at Buckingham Palace, alongside a High Court judge.
Mr Corbyn had missed an opportunity to take part in a swearing-in ceremony last month, choosing instead to go on holiday in Scotland. The Labour leader can now be styled “Right Honourable” during debates in the House of Commons and can be briefed on state secrets.
IN THE END, the British establishment proved more flexible than Jeremy Corbyn’s knees.
While the leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition agreed to kiss Her Majesty’s hand, he did not kneel for the occasion. But her privy council went on with its ceremony yesterday.
When the sun had set and the crowds outside Buckingham Palace had dispersed for the day, Mr Corbyn was driven into Buckingham Palace to take the oath of allegiance.
He is understood to have kissed the Queen’s hand because the end of the ceremony requires “a necessary form of gesture,” sources told The Daily
Telegraph. Yet Her Majesty’s latest “true and faithful servant” hardly seemed her most enthusiastic.
Last month, he had already missed his first opportunity to attend the council in favour of a hiking trip to the Highlands. How, then, would he prepare for this month’s meeting? The
Daily Telegraph attempted to track Mr Corbyn yesterday to find out.
His day began not in the splendour of the palace, but in the rather less intimidating setting of the Caterpillars Pre-School in Crawley. No kneeling was enforced, but even here Mr Corbyn could not avoid ceremonial gesticulation. As the class began to sing Incy Wincy Spider, he knew what protocol required: his hands, too, became a spider climbing up and up the spout. He even appeared to know the words.
“At a pre-school in Crawley, talking to parents about how tax credit cuts could affect them,” the Labour leader solemnly tweeted.
“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” he sang. Yet, after joining the children to mark the Armistice Day silence, Mr Corbyn appeared to go to ground. Not even a brief glimpse of a brown jacket was reported and his Twitter feed went silent. Where might he be passing the afternoon?
Perhaps he would take solace in like-minded company at the Gay Hussar, that Soho institution rather more renowned for its Old Labour connections (Michael Foot and Roy Hattersley were regulars) than its Hungarian cuisine.
“Jeremy Corbyn?” asked Ken Adair, the taxi driver who took The Telegraph there. “He reminds me of my grandfather.” Because of his age? “No. He was a Commie, too.” Mr Adair did not share his views, but sympathised with Mr Corbyn on his big day.
“I bet the first thing he had to do was to buy himself some decent clothes,” he said. “You almost feel the embarrassment for him.”
Still, he reckoned Her Majesty might rather enjoy the occasion. “She must have seen so many sycophants in her day, to have someone who disagrees with her must be quite a nice challenge,” he said.
The Gay Hussar was stuffed with luminaries: Charles Clarke wildly gesticulating, Ken Livingstone cradling a glass of red, Alastair Campbell snarling. All, though, simply caricatures hung on the walls to recall the glory days.
Mr Corbyn was not among the diners (12 men, two women), and Shlim Miah, head waiter for 21 years, sadly admitted that he had not seen him for some years. “He has been here,” he said. “But he hasn’t come since he’s been leader.” The Telegraph then tried its luck at a Charing Cross Road eaterie billed as Mr Corbyn’s favourite restaurant. Perhaps he would be at Gaby’s, drowning his sorrows with his usual carrot juice and fortifying himself with an aubergine stew or a bowl of lentil soup.
Not so, said Menahem Kojman, who has served Mr Corbyn for years. “Before he became leader, if there was any demo, after the demo, he’d come here,” he said. But he has not stepped inside since his election.
In desperation, The Telegraph trudged to the offices of Republic, the anti-monarchy lobby group, to see whether Mr Corbyn had dropped in for some last-minute guidance. Only, they did not exist. The address listed on the website turned out to be an accountancy firm.
“It’s only registered here,” said the bemused receptionist.
Over the telephone, its chief executive, Graham Smith, insisted he was not disappointed by Mr Corbyn’s “pragmatic decision”.
By now Mr Corbyn, who, it eventually emerged, had spent the afternoon in the office, could no longer delay his appearance.
Shortly before 5pm, he drew up at the palace sporting a red tie, not sitting in the back of a chauffeur-driven car, but in the front passenger seat of a Ford Galaxy. About an hour later, he swept out again, after being sworn in alongside Sir Peregrine Simon, a high court judge.
For once, the only certain place to spot a republican was inside the palace.