In a crowded and solemn House of Commons, the black-gowned Clerk of the House rose to his feet and pointed wordlessly at Tory Backbencher Sir Hugh O'Neill, 68, Father of the House. It was the signal to nominate a Speaker for the new House of Commons, and Sir Hugh promptly rose to speak. His nominee: tall, white-thatched Tory William Shepherd Morrison, 58, a lean and likable Scots lawyer, known to M.P.s as "Shakes" because his first two initials are the same as Shakespeare's. Shakes has been M.P. for the constituency of Cirencester and Tewkesbury for 22 years.
The House of Commons traditionally elects its Speaker unanimously, so as to emphasize the non-partisan dignity of his office. But last week, smarting from their party's defeat at the polls, Labor backbenchers put up a rival candidate and forced a party vote. The result was the first Tory victory in the new Parliament: Shakes was elected Speaker, 318 to 251.
King's Men. Making a show of resistance, Shakes then allowed himself to be dragged by his sponsors toward the Speaker's chair. That was all part of the act. The mock reluctance dates from the days when the Speaker, as mouthpiece of the House, had to bear unpleasant tidings to the King (between 1399 and 1535, seven Speakers were beheaded).*
Next day, in full-bottomed wig, black breeches, silver-buttoned jacket, black silk hose and silver-buckled slippers, Shakes took his place in the high-backed, canopied Speaker's chair. He was a Tory no longer (and the precarious Tory majority was reduced by one, to 26), for Mr. Speaker must stay studiously aloof from voting and debates alike. His power is immense. He presides over debates but does not take part in them, wielding procedural authority which garrulous U.S. legislators might consider tyrannical. He can silence members guilty of "irrelevance or tedious repetition," thus preventing filibusters. He can apply the "kangaroo," a device which allows the Speaker to bring a bill to a quick vote by "hopping over" any amendments he considers obstructive. He can use the "guillotine" to shut off debate on a bill in the committee stages.
Most important of all, he has immense discretion "in deciding which aspiring speaker to recognize." The general practice in debate is to hear first from the government's front bench, then from a member on the opposition side, after which Mr. Speaker generally recognizes only those of all factions who he thinks will illumine the debate. This is usually done with scrupulous impartiality, but younger members are more often seen than heard, and desperately pen notes to Mr. Speaker begging to be recognized. A dexterous Speaker so arranges it that older bores catch his eye only late at night, or at dinner time, when the Chamber is almost empty.