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| Making England my hobby |
realisation came in the spring of my senior year at university. I should have been locking down my first job, not wavering. Instead, I announced to my mother that I wanted to stay in school to get my PhD in English history.
With an ancestry split between Sicilians and the Irish, my mother was prone to emotion. But this sent her to new levels of alarm. Wasn't journalism bad enough? Children in my family were supposed to become doctors and lawyers. I was already disappointing. All a history degree would get me was an undervalued teaching job and a life of unfulfilled desire. (Exactly what my mother, an art historian, had ended up with.) I'd never get to any of those places I wanted to see, because though I'd have the summer off, I wouldn't have enough money to travel anywhere.
I needed to make England my HOBBY, and devote my LIFE to something that would give me a comfortable income.
Neither of us realised it at the time, but that was the most significant advice she was ever to give me. I followed orders. I topped up my journalism degree with a masters and then, in search of decent salaries, moved quickly through newspapers and university PR before I landed my first corporate job. The rest is history. If mentoring a young professional, I can tell a different tale of thoughtful career progression, but the reality is that all I really cared about was England and English history. My work was the necessary evil to fuel my passion.
In my 20s, my motivation was earning enough cash for as many holidays to the country as possible. My first work assignments in England had nothing to do with my growth plan, though that was the official line. It was getting me to the place where weekends and evenings would have meaning. I accepted my first full-time job here with no cost-of-living comparisons, pensions considerations or career path contemplation; all I could think of was a life of using my National Trust card every weekend!
As I got more senior in my UK jobs, the opportunities rolled in. Corporate dinners in the Banqueting House in Whitehall. Private group access to the Ceremony of the Keys. Cocktails in the Dorchester's one-of-a-kind, Oliver Messel-designed penthouse. And, most remarkably, a seat at the last State Opening of Parliament before the elimination of the hereditary peers. Every professor of English history would want to do such things. Very few do. For London's business elite, however, this stuff is part of the job. Great historical settings, unique access and picturesque traditions energise a business community that loves to slip on formal wear and enjoy a good party.
I couldn't help thinking of that last night as I lifted my long skirts to process up the grand marble staircase at Fishmongers' Hall, to then be formally announced by a "beadle" in traditional dress banging his ceremonial staff on the floor and formally announcing me. This had all the hallmarks of one of those memorable, history-soaked events. The occasion was the investiture of one of my friends and former colleagues as the master of the Worshipful Company of Marketors. And though this "Livery Company", as it's formally known, only dates back to the 1970s, the event drew from traditions that stretch all the way back to London's Medieval guilds. In fact, it's the origin of those guilds, set up to ensure proper training and management of different professions, that still lies at the heart of these gatherings today.
The Master and her "court" wear robes that Americans would associate with university graduations. The higher the position, the more adorned with chains of office, medals, gold or fur trim. Most Livery Companies also have a ceremonial affiliation with a branch of the military, which seems to mostly be about making sure that people with splendid uniforms add to the visual appeal of the occasion. Of course, when men are in white tie and tails ... or tuxedos if dressing down ... and women in long gowns, everyone's looking quite grand anyway.
Dining tables are set up as you've seen in the great Oxbridge colleges or, more likely, in Harry Potter films: the most important people at a head table stretching across the top of the room, with long tables descending from that at a right angle for all the guests. The ceremonial silver of the guild hall hosting the event is scattered along the tables; given how old and well-endowed many of these establishments are, that can be a formidable spread. The important people process in with great pomp, in the case of the Master of the Marketors proceeded by a sword of state and a bagpiper. (The latter isn't usual; the new Master was injecting a bit of her native Scottish flare.) There's a long, venerable program of formal toasts running in between courses of excellent food and wine, each one requiring a rise to your feet. So much popping up and down, in fact, I wondered if someone whipped up this concept during the Reformation as a comforting substitute for the Catholic Mass. Toasts end with a robust belting out of "God Save the Queen".Most delightful, however, is the loving cup ceremony that takes place towards the end of the meal. It's popular throughout all of London's Livery Companies, and supposedly dates back to the assassination of King Edward the Martyr in 987, though it smacks of the re-invention of ancient traditions so typical of the Victorians. It is, essentially, an elaborate way of sharing a drink while pledging your friendship and protection to your colleagues. The cup is an oversized, lidded chalice with two graceful handles. Each sip requires three people: the drinker holds the cup, his partner
It's the lavish settings, of course, that lend credibility to tradition-laden events like this. You could dress everyone up and perform all the ceremonies in a modern hotel ballroom, but in those surroundings it would all feel like children play-acting. (American debutante balls come vividly to mind.) The backdrop dignifies everything and breathes history through proceedings.
Though London has 110 Livery Companies, only about 40 of them have their own halls and those tend to be the ones that date back to the Middle Ages. There may not be much call for armourers, glovemakers and mercers these days, but their halls do a roaring trade hiring out to all the companies that don't have their own. Or to anyone who has the cash to book them. You've probably seen many of them without knowing it, as their grand interiors often show up in historical productions as palaces or stately homes. Despite the Medieval roots, most of the halls are grand Georgian affairs, with a sprinkling of Victorian and Edwardian architecture, and many are re-creations of originals destroyed in WW2 firebombing. True to their roots, they all use art and architecture to proclaim that their members are just as worthy as aristocrats or royals. These are palaces of business.
Though what you see today is 1950s restoration, it's true to the lavish Regency/Georgian design that stood here before the war. There are mosaic floors and grand coffered ceilings, engaged marble columns and lofty mahogany door surrounds, cornices dripping with ornate plasterwork and crystal chandeliers still illuminated by scores of candles. The identity of the Fishmongers is stamped everywhere, though without concession to the idea this might ever be a hard, dirty or smelly profession. The badges of past masters in carved and painted wood grace the walls. Life-sized merpeople brandishing weapons support the company's crest. The art collection is noticeably piscene, whether it's oversized 17th century still-lives of fishmonger's stalls or
It is, quite simply, an honour to be a part of anything in this setting, and even better when the ceremonies you're a part of connect you to generations past. I've come a long way since my main reason for working in the UK was to get myself into events like this. But the wonder hasn't worn off. And I'll pledge you a loving cup that for me, it never will.
Note: Londoners may remember that Fishmongers' Hall was the scene of the terrorist attack late last year in which a young man on early release had from his prison term for terrorist offences had been attending a workshop there, went on the attack when leaving, stabbed five and killed two before being shot dead. Whoever booked a venue this grand for an offender rehabilitation meeting should be facing some serious questions. Bringing people who have issues with authority into an opulent palace that celebrates the lofty establishment could only ever foster anger and resentment. It makes no sense. The famous narwhal tusk, grabbed by a staff member and used to keep the terrorist at a distance, is no longer on display. One assumes it's in an evidence store somewhere...
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