Collaborative Doctoral Award with the Open University: The Black and Mixed Ethnicity Presence in British Politics, 1750-1850

We are pleased to announce that the History of Parliament Trust is participating in a doctoral studentship project in partnership with the Open University. Applications are invited for an Open-Oxford-Cambridge AHRC DTP-funded Collaborative Doctoral Award, for entry in 2020-21. The deadline for application to the Open University is 8 January 2020.

The proposed PhD research will examine ‘The Black and Mixed Ethnicity Presence in British Politics, 1750-1850’. It will be supervised by Dr. Amanda Goodrich (Open University) and Dr. Robin Eagles (History of Parliament Trust). For further details on the project, see

Details of how to apply to the Collaborative Doctoral Award scheme can be found here:


Jan or Dyani Tzatzoe (Tshatshu), Andries Stoffles, James Read Sr, James Read Jr and John Philip giving evidence to a Commons committee (by Richard Woodman, 1844) (C) NPG

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MP of the Month: Sidney Herbert – still dancing to Nightingale’s tune

September’s MP of the Month is Sidney Herbert, who was born on this day (16 September) in 1810 and widely expected to become a Victorian prime minister. Fate, however, cruelly intervened, as Dr Ruscombe Foster, the author of an important new biography of Herbert, explains in this guest post…

Sidney Herbert (1810-61) is probably best remembered today as the Secretary at War who, in October 1854, invited his ‘intimate friend’ Florence Nightingale to head a party of nurses to Scutari, where wounded soldiers from the Crimean War were being hospitalised. Within months Nightingale was being immortalised for her work as the ‘Lady with the Lamp’. Herbert meanwhile, organised the Nightingale Fund, arguably the first national charity appeal in Britain. The £48,000 raised went towards funding the Nightingale Training School for Nurses, opened next to St Thomas’s Hospital in June 1860. Herbert also collaborated with Nightingale on the 1857-8 royal commission on the sanitary state of the army. According to popular legend Nightingale worked Herbert to his premature death.

There are innumerable biographies of Nightingale but until recently there was none of Herbert, other than a memoir commissioned by his widow. Tellingly, it would not be until 1915 that Herbert’s statue was eventually shifted to sit alongside that of Nightingale in Waterloo Place.

Sidney Herbert was, according to the great social reformer, Lord Shaftesbury, ‘born with a silver spoon’. Intelligent, handsome and personable, he inherited a vast personal fortune from his father, the 11th Earl of Pembroke, and was heir presumptive to the 40,000 acre Wilton estate in Wiltshire which had been inherited by his half-brother.

Wilton House

Having studied at Oxford University, where he was president of the Union, he entered Parliament for South Wiltshire aged 21 in 1832. Sir Robert Peel, who tipped him as a possible future prime minister, gave him junior office at the Admiralty in 1841. He promoted him to the Cabinet as Secretary at War in 1845. Herbert was one of his closest confidantes during the crisis over the repeal of the corn laws. That political drama would see Disraeli dismissively describe Herbert as Peel’s valet. Herbert, unsurprisingly, thereafter loathed the man he dubbed ‘the Jew.’

By the early 1850s, however, even Disraeli was happy to acknowledge that Herbert was one of the leading experts in the House on army matters. Herbert’s obsession became how to keep the nation safe. This led to his investigating how best to increase the strength of home forces should the French attempt an invasion. He also wanted to improve the army’s proficiency. He became increasingly convinced that there should be more promotion on merit, and that the existing system whereby most officers purchased their commissions should be phased out. By the same token he wanted to see an extension of what he called military instruction. The Crimean War broke out before his ideas could be implemented.

Herbert’s reputation survived the blame game and charges of political incompetence created by the war. His work with Nightingale from the mid-1850s complemented that which he had already been doing: if fewer soldiers were lost to illness and disease, fewer new recruits would need to be found. Nightingale’s biographers characterise her as the driving force in their work. It is arguably truer to say that theirs was a partnership in which she was the solicitor and he the barrister. And it is certainly the case that without Herbert history would not have heard of Nightingale.

Sidney Herbert, c. 1859

Herbert was more than just an army sanitary reformer during the 1850s. He was never far from the drama of high politics. He helped bring down Derby’s government in 1852, assisted in forming Aberdeen’s coalition ministry which followed it, rejected taking the Home Office under Palmerston in 1855, helped mend the Liberals’ differences in June 1859, and became Secretary for War the same month. His return to office confronted him with a familiar spectre: how to deal with a France led by Napoleon III, who seemed keen to revive the glories of his uncle.

Herbert’s fate, as he told Palmerston, was to suffer from a weak constitution. He died on 2 August 1861, killed not by overwork (still less by Nightingale’s demands), but by chronic nephritis, then only recently diagnosed as Bright’s disease. There was a remarkable outpouring of grief at the news of his passing, manifested in poetry as well as prose. Thomas Sotheron Estcourt, a former Home Secretary and another Wiltshire man, wrote of his ‘playful Wit; the rich inventive Thought.’ There was something of a consensus that Herbert might have followed Palmerston as Liberal leader – a more palatable successor than the unpredictable Chancellor of the Exchequer, William Ewart Gladstone. On this basis Herbert was one of England’s lost prime ministers. At the very least, he merits recognition, alongside the Duke of York and Edward Cardwell, as the most important army reformer of the 19th century.

Ruscombe Foster

Further reading:

R. E. Foster, Sidney Herbert. Too Short a Life (2019)


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Political Prorogations: a view from the Victorian Commons

It’s been a long time since the business of suspending Parliament and starting a new session has generated so much political controversy. Throughout most of the 20th century prorogations invariably tallied with the expectations of most parliamentarians, neatly book-ending a government’s legislative programme. Scroll back a little further into the 19th century, however, and a rather different picture emerges …

Parliament’s historic procedures and conventions have generated a huge amount of public interest recently. Responding to popular demand, the latest version of Erskine May’s Parliamentary Practice, detailing the ‘law, privileges, proceedings and usage of Parliament’, has even been uploaded online. What readers won’t find in the latest edition, however, is much information about prorogation. Beyond stating that it is a personal prerogative power exercised by the Crown on the advice of the prime minister, which ends the current session of Parliament, there is remarkably little discussion of how and when prorogation can or indeed has been used, particularly for political purposes.

Before becoming so routine and un-contentious in the 20th century, however, prorogations were often attracted a fair amount of controversy. Occasionally they even aroused popular indignation and triggered public protests, such as the one organised in Manchester in September 1841 against the new Tory government’s decision to prorogue during an economic crisis and sidestep calls for an inquiry into the corn laws. Petitions and memorials from across the country had flooded into Parliament urging MPs to remain in session and alleviate the nation’s starvation and distress. On 7 October 1841, however, the new prime minister Sir Robert Peel prorogued Parliament for almost four months.

A number of factors helped to make prorogation decisions more open to question in this period, including the looser nature of the two-party system, the existence of many more minority governments, and the much greater power of the House of Lords, which was far from being the subservient chamber it is sometimes assumed to have been.

What really made prorogations stand out and potentially so controversial, however, was their length. Today we are used to prorogations lasting days – the recent average is eight. Over the past 40 years no prorogation has lasted more than three weeks.

During the 19th century, by contrast, they usually dragged on for months, sometimes for almost five and on occasion even six months. The graph above plots the length of the breaks between each session of Parliament from 1836 to 1916. As such it also includes prorogations that were followed by a dissolution and a general election – a more drawn out process in the Victorian era than it is today. In 1873, for example, Parliament was prorogued on 5 August. On 26 January 1874, a few days before it was scheduled to reconvene, it was dissolved on the advice of the Liberal prime minster William Gladstone. A general election then took place and Parliament did not sit again until 5 March 1874, making a total break of 213 days (around seven months) during which Parliament was not sitting.

Even removing all the prorogations that were followed by dissolutions, however, still leaves an average prorogation length that seems extraordinary by modern standards. The mean duration from 1836-1916 was 142 days, over four and a half months. In practice this meant that for much of the Victorian period, Parliament was prorogued and not in session for over a third of any given year.

Perhaps the most striking feature of Victorian prorogations, however, and the one that maybe has the most contemporary resonance, was the correlation that often existed between their length and some sort of national crisis or major political upheaval. Put simply, when things got tough, governments tried to avoid Parliament as much as possible.

In 1838, for instance, the Whig ministry of Lord Melbourne was accused of deliberately proroguing Parliament for too long, for 173 days, in order to avoid discussion of their incompetent handling of rebellions in Canada and Ireland and their decision to go to war in Afghanistan. ‘Ministers are afraid to meet Parliament … they are afraid to encounter Parliamentary scrutiny’, protested the Tory press.

Lord Aberdeen’s government also had no intention of allowing its disastrous handling of the Crimean War to be exposed to any more parliamentary scrutiny than was absolutely necessary. When one of their own supporters tried to move for an address to the Queen against prorogation, in July 1854, they made it a matter of confidence, forcing its withdrawal.

Many of the minority governments of the 19th century made ample use of prorogation, for obvious reasons. The Conservative leader Lord Derby, keen to avoid a repeat of his short-lived first minority ministry of 1852, kept his second minority government of 1858 going for far longer than expected with the help of a six month prorogation – one of the longest on record. His successor as Conservative prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli, also managed to keep the lid on a major political row within his own party and between the Commons and the House of Lords over church reform by proroguing Parliament for a similar period in 1874.

The use of such tactics inevitably meant that public campaigns and petitions for and against prorogation were a much more familiar occurrence than we are used to. The scale of the famous prorogation protests of 1820, however, was unusual. In November Lord Liverpool’s Tory government had been forced to abandon its hugely unpopular attempt to prosecute Queen Caroline for adultery, much to the fury of her estranged husband George IV. Rather than risk an inquiry, which the opposition were demanding, the prime minister prorogued Parliament, prompting nationwide demonstrations. At one rally in Durham, the Tories were accused of acting ‘unconstitutionally’ in order to ‘terminate discussion and popular protest arising from their persecution of Queen Caroline’ and ‘silence the indignation they had aroused’.

It has been a long while since the issue of prorogation triggered these sorts of levels of political commentary and public activism. Given recent events, the next edition of Erskine May may well have to provide a few more details about the use of this ancient procedure than it does now.

Further reading:

P. Salmon, ‘Exploring the History of Prorogation’, Times Literary Supplement, 6 Sept. 2019

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MP of the Month: William Tooke and the royal charters of the University of London

Following our blogs on the creation of the University of London constituency in 1868 and its first MP, Robert Lowe, August’s MP of the Month is William Tooke. As MP for Truro from 1832, Tooke worked tirelessly to secure a royal charter for the London University (later University College London) that allowed it to grant degrees to its students.

Cockney College, 1826, SW Fores

The secular London University sparked controversy from its foundation in 1826 and was commonly derided in the Tory, staunchly Anglican press, as the ‘Cockney College’. SW Fores, Cockney College (1826), CC British Museum

The London University’s campaign to achieve degree-awarding status was a key battleground in the wider movement for religious freedoms in the aftermath of the 1832 Reform Act. The university had been the subject of considerable controversy since its establishment in 1826 as a non-degree awarding secular alternative to England’s only other universities, Oxford and Cambridge. As students at Oxford and Cambridge were required to sign the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England, non-Anglicans were effectively barred from obtaining degrees in England.

William Tooke, Charles Turner, (1836)

William Tooke by Charles Turner (1836) © NPG

William Tooke (1777-1863) was present at the first council meeting of the London University, where he was appointed treasurer and solicitor. The son of a pre-eminent London journalist, Russian historian and preacher, Tooke’s early life was spent practising as a solicitor in London from 1798. In the aftermath of the Napoleonic wars, Tooke used his legal expertise, as well as his father’s reputation, to establish himself in London’s thriving reform culture. By the end of the 1820s he was enmeshed in Bloomsbury’s network of ‘godless’ reformers, working assiduously behind the scenes for the London University, and its sister institution, the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (SDUK).

Tooke’s work for the London University and the SDUK (and a raft of other learned societies and businesses during the 1820s) focused on the preparation of draft legislation, petitions and royal charters. These documents helped turn organisations that were usually dreamt up in a London tavern into secure legal entities with official powers enshrined in law.

He enjoyed some success in lobbying and working with MPs (many of whom were also members of these reforming societies) to push his draft bills and charters through parliament. But to be most effective he needed a seat in the Commons. As he was of insufficient status to stand for one of London’s prestigious borough or county constituencies, Tooke began targeting the Cornish borough of Truro from 1830 after securing the backing of a local merchant.

Royal Collection

The London University and its adjacent University of London School playground in Bloomsbury. George Scharf, University of London School (1833)

Tooke was unsuccessful at Truro at the 1830 and 1831 elections, largely as a result of borough’s closed corporation status. However, things changed following the 1832 Reform Act, which extended voting rights to the town’s middle-class Dissenters. These new voters returned Tooke to Parliament at the 1832 and 1835 elections, where he stood as a Reformer.

At Westminster Tooke supported the Whig governments of Grey and Melbourne on confidence issues, but stayed true to his independent status as a Reformer to vote in favour of corn law reform, the ballot, retrenchment, currency reform and the repeal of the malt duty. Unlike most new members, Tooke broke his parliamentary silence within days of taking his seat in the Commons and continued to intervene regularly, particularly in debates over municipal, electoral and legal reform. He was also active behind the scenes at Westminster, taking a keen interest in the business of the House, sitting on a large number of select committees and paying close attention to a wide range of public and private legislation.

King's College Versus London University (or which is the weightiest)

The Anglican King’s College London was established in response to the avowedly secular London University. It was established as a non-degree awarding college by royal charter in 1829. Robert Seymour, King’s College Versus London University (or which is the weightiest), (1828)

It was Tooke’s quest to secure degree-awarding status for the London University, via a royal charter, that took up most of his attention. While the university had been offering classes since its foundation in 1826, it could not award degrees. The only English universities that could were Oxford and Cambridge, but they required students to take the Anglican oath. As Tooke explained to the Commons in 1833 this meant that the ‘whole dissenting community of England’ was ‘altogether precluded from academic honours’.

After introducing a failed motion for a royal charter for the London University in 1833, he entered abortive negotiations during 1834 with the Whig government (many of whom were founding members of the university) to secure a charter via the Privy Council. In March 1835, during the short-lived Peel ministry, Tooke secured a majority of 110 for his motion for a degree-awarding charter for the university. This was not the end of the story, however, as Tooke was required to enter further negotiations with the Melbourne government during 1835 and 1836 to find a way that King’s College London, which had been established by royal charter in 1829 as an Anglican alternative to the London University, could also be awarded the ability to grant degrees.

University College London Royal Charter (28 Nov. 1836)

University College London Royal Charter (28 Nov. 1836) © UCL

The method that was eventually settled on, and confirmed in law in November 1836, was a system of two royal charters. The first incorporated the London University as a college rather than a university, renaming it University College London. The second charter established a new body called the University of London, which was to serve as a distinct degree-awarding examining body for University College London, and King’s College London. The first students to receive degrees, free from the obligation of a religious test, graduated from UCL in 1839.

You can find out how Tooke’s parliamentary career progressed in his full biography, which will be published shortly on our free preview website. For details of how to obtain access to this or any other of our completed articles please click here.

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‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ Thomas Jones Phillips (1790-1843): pioneering Tory election agent

If you think some of the recent electioneering tactics that have hit the headlines seem extraordinary, spare a thought for the voters of Monmouth in the 1830s. As a new episode of the BBC’s ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ reveals, one of the comedian Jack Whitehall’s ancestors was a pioneering election agent, whose experiments manipulating the electoral rolls and stopping opponents from voting helped to inspire a remarkable national electoral recovery by the Conservative party. One of the first people to fully understand and exploit the complex voter registration system introduced by the 1832 Reform Act, and one of the few local agents with direct access to the Tory leadership, Thomas Jones Phillips briefly became a leading figure behind-the-scenes.

Objecting to the voting qualifications of your political opponents and using every ruse possible to claim voting rights for your supporters seems an entirely alien and undemocratic practice to us today. Between 1832 and 1918, however, these practices became the norm in most constituencies, helping to politicise the electorate and drive forward the development of the UK’s modern party system.

Made possible by the yearly registration courts introduced by the 1832 Reform Act, which were originally designed to sort out who was eligible to vote (and who wasn’t) in advance of any poll, these tactics took a little while to spread. Many Liberal election agents, in particular, had serious qualms about using the courts to try and reduce the size of the electorate and challenge a voter’s qualifications, even if they were die-hard Tories. Trying to kick people off the electoral rolls, whatever their politics, seemed especially inappropriate after the nation had just been through a bitter 18 month political struggle for parliamentary reform and an extension of the franchise.

Aided by the incredibly imprecise legal wording of the new 1832 voting qualifications, however, and the fact that ‘objectors’ were able to lodge objections against existing electors and new ‘claimants’ without having to specify any reason, it soon became clear that the entire registration system was ripe for abuse.

Lord Worcester MP

Thomas Jones Phillips, Jack Whitehall’s four times great grandfather, enjoyed a head start. A Newport solicitor and election agent, who was employed  by the firm of Messrs. James Powles and Charles Tyler, the Duke of Beaufort’s Tory agents in the parliamentary constituency of Monmouth, Phillips had helped manage the elections of the duke’s son and heir Lord Worcester, the borough’s Tory MP from 1813 – May 1831 and July 1831-1832.

In the May 1831 election Worcester had been defeated by 19 votes after Newport’s pro-reform corporation admitted about 70 new freemen voters by ‘birth and servitude’. It was Phillips who masterminded a legal challenge against the votes of these freemen, uncovering technical issues with their admissions and long-standing errors in the appointment of Newport’s mayors which made their actions void and invalid. As a result of his work the election result was overturned by Parliament, on a petition, and Worcester was awarded the seat in July.

It was this recent experience and expertise that Phillips redeployed with such great effect in Monmouth’s first registration courts the following year. His surviving letters to Messrs. Powles and Tyler, now in the National Library of Wales, show how he created hundreds of objections to new Liberal voters on the basis of rating errors, insufficient tax payments, receipt of poor relief, incorrect spellings, imprecise addresses, changes of residence and various other legal technicalities.

Extract from a letter from Phillips listing his objections to voters, 21 Oct 1832

Thirty-seven electors were challenged because they shared the same name with at least one other voter – a widespread phenomenon in this border area with Wales. One person was even targeted for ‘having laid a wager upon the event of an election’. At the same time, Phillips also made sure his Tory ‘claimants’ had watertight qualifications, creating all the necessary paperwork such as rent and rate receipts and even paying their one shilling registration fee and any rating arrears on their behalf.

Lord Worcester lost the 1832 election, but only by 38 votes, which was extraordinary given the political circumstances and the Reform Act’s tripling of Monmouth’s electorate to almost 900. At the next election in 1835 this margin was reduced further to just four votes.

In the years ahead, Phillips’s registration antics helped the Tories win a series of victories locally, including both of Monmouthshire’s county seats and various Welsh constituencies. But it was at the national level, in the newly formed Conservative Carlton Club, that his influence really proved decisive. Lord Worcester’s  younger brother was Lord Granville Somerset, who became one of the leading architects of the Conservatives’ highly successful national registration campaigns during the 1830s. His policies drew heavily on Phillips’s practical advice and expertise, especially in the complex areas of voter rating requirements and making ‘blanket’ objections.

As a number of historical studies have shown, it would be on the basis of these new annual ‘battles’ in registration courts, using tactics trail-blazed by Phillips, that the electoral fortunes of both parties would increasingly be decided during the Victorian era.

This episode of ‘Who Do You Think You’ Are is available from the BBC here.

Further reading:

‘Register, Register, Register!’: political activity in October

MP of the month: John Barton Willis Fleming (1781-1844)

P. Salmon, ‘Electoral reform and the political modernization of England’, Parliaments, Estates, and Representation, xxiii (2003), 49-67 VIEW

P. Salmon, Electoral reform at work: local politics and national parties, 1832-1841 (Royal Historical Society, 2002)

J. Prest, Politics in the Age of Cobden (1977)

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MP of the Month: George Augustus Constantine Phipps, Earl of Mulgrave (1819-1890), MP and colonial governor

George Phipps, Earl of Mulgrave, later 2nd Marquess of Normanby [by Edward Mason (1845–1923) after Eugene Montagu Scott (1835–1909)]

Today marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of our MP of the Month, George Augustus Constantine Phipps, who, after a short stint in the army, served in the Commons as Liberal MP for Scarborough, 1847-51 and 1852-57, under his courtesy title, the Earl of Mulgrave. This constituency had previously been represented by his father and grandfather, both of whom enjoyed distinguished ministerial careers. His grandfather had received an earldom in 1812, and his father was created Marquess of Normanby in 1838. A leading Whig, Normanby held a succession of offices, notably as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 1835-9, and Home Secretary, 1839-41, followed by diplomatic appointments after 1846.

Mulgrave therefore had an impressive political pedigree, but the records of parliamentary debate in Hansard would suggest that he made little impression at Westminster, since he never spoke in the Commons chamber. However, as many of the biographies in our 1832-68 project reveal, being a silent member did not necessarily mean that an MP failed to contribute to parliamentary business. Mulgrave provides an excellent example of this. As a Liberal whip – briefly in 1851 and again from 1852-7 – he often acted as a teller in divisions. This meant that he became one of the House’s most assiduous members in the division lobbies, present for 207 out of 257 divisions in the 1853 session, and missing only 15 out of 198 divisions in 1856. By contrast, in 1849, before his appointment as a whip, he voted in 93 out of 219 divisions. Among the key votes where he acted as teller for the ministries of Lord Aberdeen and then Lord Palmerston were the divisions on William Gladstone’s first budget, 2 May 1853; the hostile motions of John Roebuck and Benjamin Disraeli on the government’s handling of the Crimean War; and Richard Cobden’s critical motion on the Palmerston ministry’s policy towards China, 3 Mar. 1857.

Mulgrave as teller in the division on Richard Cobden’s motion on the Canton bombardment

Alongside this role, Mulgrave held positions in the royal household. His mother had served as a lady of the bedchamber to Queen Victoria, and he therefore had experience of life at court long before his own appointment as comptroller of the household in July 1851. His acceptance of office meant that he had to seek re-election at Scarborough. He faced a challenge from George Frederick Young, a shipowner whose staunch support for protectionism won him the support of the local shipping interest. In contrast Mulgrave favoured free trade, although he had bowed to his constituents’ concerns by voting in 1849 against the repeal of the navigation laws, which gave protection to British shipping. Despite this, he was ousted by Young at the July 1851 by-election. He had his revenge at the 1852 general election when he won the second seat ahead of Young. In December 1852 Mulgrave was appointed as treasurer of the household by the Aberdeen ministry, and canvassed actively at Scarborough in case a last-minute opponent challenged his re-election. However, he was unopposed at the by-election held in January 1853.

Mulgrave was elected again for Scarborough at the 1857 general election, but that December he entered a new phase of his political career, when he was appointed as lieutenant-governor of Nova Scotia. This was not Mulgrave’s first experience overseas, as he had served in Canada during his time in the army, acting as an aide-de-camp to the commander of the British forces, Lieutenant-General Sir Richard Downes Jackson, 1840-3. These earlier travels included a buffalo-shooting expedition near Hudson’s Bay in 1842.

Marquess of Normanby depicted in Vanity Fair (1871). (C) NPG

After almost six years as governor of Nova Scotia, where he needed a great deal of patience to handle the highly factional politics of the colony, Mulgrave resigned and returned to Britain following his father’s death in 1863. He succeeded his father as 2nd Marquess of Normanby, but did not make his maiden speech in the House of Lords until 1866. He received further appointments in the royal household, serving as a lord in waiting from May 1866 until the Russell ministry fell from office in July. Gladstone gave him the same post in December 1868, and in 1869 he was promoted to become captain of the Honourable Corps of Gentlemen-at-Arms (the monarch’s ceremonial bodyguard).

Normanby was not, however, a wealthy peer, and told Gladstone that he would prefer another overseas appointment, attracted by the large salary given to colonial governors. Gladstone obliged in 1871, when Normanby became governor of Queensland, where the Mulgrave and Normanby rivers were named after him. In 1874 he was appointed as governor of New Zealand, where he often clashed with the premier, Sir George Grey, over the extent of the governor’s prerogative powers. When faced with difficult decisions, Normanby drew on his experience of the Westminster Parliament, and apparently used to ask himself, ‘What would they think upon this question in the House of Commons?’ One history of New Zealand described him as ‘one of the most formidable colonial administrators to serve Britain in the nineteenth century’.

In 1879 he was appointed to what was then regarded as ‘the blue ribbon of the colonial service’, the governorship of Victoria. Although it was suggested that he might become governor of South Australia when his term in Victoria ended in 1884, a protest from the colony put paid to this. Normanby returned to Britain, where Lord Kimberley praised his ‘statesmanlike qualities’ at a dinner in his honour, suggesting that it was a measure of his success that ‘his name had not been constantly before the public’ and that ‘his action had not called for the production of any gigantic blue-book’ (i.e. a parliamentary inquiry into his conduct). Another contemporary considered that ‘though not a man of great ability, he had sound judgement, robust common sense, and an imperturbable temper’, which served him well during a long career of public service.

Normanby continued his interest in colonial affairs and made a return visit to Australia in 1887-8. He was among the Liberal peers who joined the Liberal Unionist party in opposition to Gladstone’s policy of Home Rule for Ireland. He died at Brighton in 1890 after a lengthy illness.

On Normanby and other MPs who served as colonial governors, see also our earlier blog on Victorian MPs and Colonial Governance.

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Political protest in the age of Peterloo

The History of Parliament

Today’s blog from the editor of our House of Commons 1832-68 section, Dr Philip Salmon, is the first of many pieces in which we will discuss the Peterloo Massacre that took place in St Peter’s Field, Manchester on 16th August 1819. He outlines the political climate within which this infamous episode occurred and provides context for the blogs that are to follow in the series.

This year’s bicentenary of the Peterloo massacre in Manchester serves as an important reminder of the crucial role played by disaffected citizens and radical protest in reshaping Britain’s political system – a historic tradition that of course still continues today. Peterloo also marked a significant turning point in the way public protest was both organised and handled, though it took a while for this to become clear. Within a decade though, many of the pillars underpinning Britain’s ancient Protestant constitution – including discrimination against…

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