The House of Lords is a very odd place. At first glance, not much of it makes sense. Much like Britain itself, especially our constitution, it seems to be hopelessly anachronistic, and unfit for purpose. But although the gleaming throne, ornate carvings and funny outfits seem to be made of gold, wood, and ermine, the place is actually constructed with Chesterton’s fences. 

One of the very few benefits of devolution, is that we can see that clean, modern and “fit for purpose” debating chambers in Holyrood and Cardiff are actually ghastly, sterile spaces that do nothing to improve governance, and much to demean statecraft. The House of Lords, on the other hand, with its prima facie absurd theatrics, provides more value per square inch of filigree than any other part of the Whitehall estate.

So of course, the new Government wants to “improve it”. First, we had constitutional travesties imposed by the New Labour years. The Law Lords were literally unceremoniously chucked out across the road to be replaced with the failed “Supreme Court”. But we also lost most of the hereditary peers who had previously been entitled to sit there by dint of their inherited titles. 

And now, it sounds like Starmer, like Kylo Ren clutching Darth Vader’s helmet, has vowed to finish what Blair started and remove the remaining hereditary peers, en route to abolishing the House of Lords in its entirety. If they are successful, Labour will tear down all of Chesterton’s fences and make Britain a more boring, less idiosyncratic, and less well-run country.

The rationale for removing hereditary peers seems obvious enough “it’s undemocratic” to be there just because someone’s great grandfather was rather handy at the battle of Waterloo. Well, sure. But the House of Lords was and is supposed to provide a check on the democratic urges and impulses of the Commons. 

The introduction of a great number of life peers in recent decades has been a textbook curate’s egg; for every world expert jurist, scientist, or businessman, we have had a handful of former MPs of all parties who continue the politicking and carry ancient enmities. 

(Parliament really is a place where you can make enemies for life: Having helped the then-Chief Whip remove the Conservative whip from Lord Heseltine after he said everyone should vote for the Liberal Democrats in local elections, I heard that he then went to have his picture taken with other surviving members of Margaret Thatcher’s first government. Upon entering the room, Norman the Lord Tebbit apparently exclaimed “Oh God, not you…”)

But there is no argument put forward beyond “democracy” for why the hereditary peers are so awful. Labour’s desire to make an “alternative second chamber that is more representative of the regions and nations” would create the mother of all headaches for a government with an already formidable to-do list. Besides, it already has a chamber for representing the regions and nations — the House of Commons. 

Speaking as an openly arriviste, state schoolboy with a chip on his shoulder, it pains me to say that the hereditary peers were, almost without exception, more hard-working, dedicated and serious about their constitutional role than anyone else I’ve ever dealt with in politics. And I say this as someone who was the Special Adviser to the Leader of the House of Lords through Getting Brexit Done and the early Covid drama.

Are most of them toffs with anachronistic notions about some elements of the country? Absolutely, and jolly good, too

Being free of the burden of personal political ambition, having security of tenure, a lifetime of preparation both morally and temporally, and feeling a keen stake in the place and governance of the land are all great qualities that these people share. Should we change the rules to allow first born women to inherit the titles? Sure, if it’s good enough for the Monarchy, it’s good enough for the nobility. Are most of them toffs with anachronistic notions about some elements of the country? Absolutely, and jolly good, too. They are even, unlike life peers, at least now the winners of a small and wonderfully mad election of their peers.

This whole sorry affair also augurs ill for the monarchy, knocking out another plank of the principles behind its own legitimacy of passing titles, to say nothing of responsibilities, down a single, familial line.

The fundamental point is that someone who feels that his lineage is something to strive to live up to, rather than to live off of, is someone who will work their hardest not to let the family down. That is a sense of duty shared by military families, those who pass down cherished family businesses and anyone else who has been taught to respect and revere their history, rather than to hate and apologise for it.

Many will call me a bootlicker for this, but I am much more interested in preserving some of the magical eccentricity of the UK than allowing us to become grey and uniform. As a friend put it so well, where you stand on this topic may come down to where we think legitimacy comes from: inputs or outputs? 

Jan Nedvidek framed the question like this: “What makes you a legitimate legislator: the quality of your output, or the means of becoming a legislator in the first place?” For centuries, Western cultures that were made great by the former have been moving towards the latter. The American founding fathers originally had their upper chamber, the Senate, appointed by state legislatures. This was only changed by the 17th amendment in 1913.

All I can tell you is that my dealings with these wonderful, mad figures was characterised by a sense of duty that I have felt was sorely lacking in modern politics anywhere else I have looked in Whitehall. And when Sir Keir realises that far from removing these servants of the nation from the Lords, and instead looks to create new hereditary titles, I will humbly accept an Earldom and ensure my children understand that responsibility.