Ecclesiastical Appointments and the Royal Supremacy

Since Andy Burnham announced that the Government will pursue a change to the law to allow Prime Ministers of any faith to advise the King on ecclesiastical appointments, a number of people have suggested that it would be better to apply the ban to all non-Anglicans. Banning all non-Anglicans from advising the Sovereign on ecclesiastical appointments would be an improvement on the status quo since it would fix the anomaly whereby Unitarians and Hindus can tender advice but Catholics and Jews cannot. But I’m not convinced that this would be a prudent course of action.   

The idea that Anglicans alone should advise the Sovereign on ecclesiastical appointments is not without logic. After all, the Ecclesiastical Secretary to the Crown and the Lord Chancellor (the civil servant who does much of the legwork of identifying suitable candidates for Crown livings) is by longstanding convention a communicant member of the Church.

But the Prime Minister occupies a different position. Their ecclesiastical functions have become increasingly formal in nature. When a bishopric falls vacant, the Prime Minister doesn’t whip out their Rolodex to find a suitable candidate. Today, the job of identifying candidates falls to the Crown Nominations Commission (a Church body). However, since the King is a constitutional sovereign, the CNC’s candidate must be submitted to him via a responsible Minister. Ordinarily, the Prime Minister will simply forward the CNC’s nominee to the Palace, but their duty to shield the Crown from embarrassment nevertheless gives them the authority to intervene in extreme situations. Even in appointments to Crown livings, where the Ecclesiastical Secretary plays a substantive role in the appointment process, the Prime Minister is still ultimately responsible for deciding whether a name is forwarded on to the Palace. In practice, the Prime Minister will accept the Ecclesiastical Secretary’s recommendation, but this doesn’t lessen the constitutional significance of the Prime Minister’s role.[1]

Giving this kind of role to a non-Anglican is not as anomalous as one might think. In fact, I’d argue it’s consistent with the Royal Supremacy in its modern form. Henry VIII’s use of statute law to implement his Reformation ultimately established the Crown-in-Parliament as the final authority in ecclesiastical matters. Although Parliament eventually granted the Church greater legislative autonomy, first with the Church Assembly and then the General Synod, its constitutional power over the Church remains intact. Church Measures must be approved by Parliament before they can receive Royal Assent, and Parliament is free to pass whatever Church-related legislation it deems fit.[2]

Of course, Parliament is not a wholly Anglican body. It hasn’t been for centuries as Dissenters, Roman Catholics, Jews, and atheists all gained entry over the years. In 1993, the late Earl Russell considered whether he, a non-believer, should vote on ecclesiastical matters. He ultimately did so, characterizing his approach as “the triumph of one version of the Royal Supremacy over another. It is the triumph of Christopher St. German over Bishop Stephen Gardiner, of Sir Francis Knollys over Queen Elizabeth I, of Chief Justice Coke over Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, and of John Pym over Archbishop Laud.”[3]

It is more than a little incongruous that Jews and Roman Catholics are denied even a formal role in ecclesiastical appointments, yet they are free to influence the Church through the division lobbies. That is arguably as it should be. The Church of England is not a private sect. It is the established church, and it’s supposed to minister to everyone in England. This reality gives outsiders like Earl Russell and Andy Burnham the right to have a say in its affairs.[4]

The reality of establishment in an increasingly secular, religiously pluralist Britain is that it will be increasingly common for state officials to be non-Anglicans. But that’s not some kind of threat to be guarded against. The Prime Minister is now a safety brake to protect the Crown against embarrassment, and that doesn’t require deep confessional knowledge. Even reserving this role for communicant members of the Church of England wouldn’t necessarily lead to better decision making since regular church attendance is not a guarantor of theological expertise. Letting a Jewish or Catholic Prime Minister advise the Sovereign on Church appointments won’t result in rabbis and Jesuits filling Anglican bishoprics, but it will underscore the fact that the Church of England exists for the public good rather than its own sectarian interests.

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[1] I attended a talk by the current Ecclesiastical Secretary in which she stated that none of her recommendations had ever been rejected by the Monarch, the Prime Minister, or the Lord Chancellor.

[2] The most recent example of Parliament legislating for the Church is the Lords Spiritual (Women) Act 2015 (Extension) Act 2025. This statute continued the provisions of the Lords Spiritual (Women) Act 2015 allowing vacancies among the Lords Spiritual to be filled by female bishops.

[3] Conrad Russell, “Whose Supremacy? King, Parliament and the Church 1530-1640,” Ecclesiastical Law Journal 4, no. 21 (1997): 700.

[4] One could argue that peers and MPs from Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland are in a different boat since the Church of England has no jurisdiction over their home nations. But in the absence of some kind of ‘English Votes for Anglican Laws’ scheme they ultimately have the same authority as their English brethren.

Andy Burnham, the Premiership, and the Roman Catholic Relief Act 1829

Andy Burnham announced today that his constitutional responsibility for advising the Sovereign on ecclesiastical appointments has been transferred to the Lord Chancellor. This was necessary because, as a Roman Catholic, Burnham is barred from tendering this advice by s. 18 of the Roman Catholic Relief Act 1829. S. 4 of the Jews Relief Act 1858 imposes a similar prohibition on Jews. However, Burnham also announced that the Government will bring forward legislation to remove these prohibitions “at the earliest possible opportunity.”

The Prime Minister is formally responsible for advising the Monarch on the appointment of diocesan bishops, suffragan bishops, most cathedral deans, and the incumbents of certain Crown benefices. While the Prime Minister’s role in senior appointments is now largely a formality, Downing Street continues to play a substantive role in other appointments such as Crown livings.[1] Since the Lord Chancellor is also involved in the Crown’s parochial patronage, it makes sense for him to temporarily assume constitutional responsibility for all ecclesiastical appointments.[2]

It’s not clear how this transfer was implemented, however. Because the Prime Minister’s ecclesiastical role is a matter of custom rather than statute, it could probably be done in a relatively informal manner.[3] Burnham could make a submission to the King recommending that he accept advice on ecclesiastical matters from the Lord Chancellor.[4] I have submitted an FOI request for any such submission. If I receive it, I will make it available over on the Corpus of British Administrative Instruments.

I’m glad the Government has pledged to fix the underlying problem instead of deploying a temporary solution and calling it a day. It makes no sense that Catholics and Jews are specifically banned from advising the King on ecclesiastical appointments, but Methodists, Buddhists, or atheists face no such restriction. I hope the Government follows through on its promise and doesn’t toss this into the too-difficult bin.

Some will no doubt argue that the Government should go a step further and completely remove itself from the process, but in my view that would only be possible if the Sovereign were also removed from the process.[5] As long as the Crown remains involved with ecclesiastical appointments, its Ministers must be involved, too. A constitutional Monarch must act on the advice of responsible Ministers, even if that advice is a formality. The wider question of the Church of England’s status is a question for a different day.    

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[1] Although Gordon Brown tried to divest himself of responsibility for Crown livings, pushback from the Church led to the preservation of the status quo. Many of these parishes seemed to think that Downing Street was more solicitous than their local bishop.

[2] There is now a single Ecclesiastical Secretary to the Crown and Lord Chancellor who handles both types of Crown patronage. 

[3] S. 2 of the Lord Chancellor (Tenure of Office and Discharge of Ecclesiastical Functions) Act 1974 allows the Sovereign to transfer the Lord Chancellor’s ecclesiastical duties to another Minister by Order in Council, but this provision only applies when the office is held by a Roman Catholic. There is no such provision for a Jewish Lord Chancellor, but if a Jew were appointed to the office, its ecclesiastical functions could be transferred elsewhere using existing powers.

[4] I don’t believe that an Order in Council made under s. 1 of the Ministers of the Crown Act 1975 would be necessary.

[5] Removing the Crown from ecclesiastical appointments wouldn’t necessarily require the disestablishment of the Church of England. The Church of Scotland retains its established status even though the Sovereign is now just an ordinary member. Similarly, Sweden and Norway have removed their monarchs from their ecclesiastical polities while preserving the privileged statuses of their respective Lutheran churches.

Two instruments associated with the Duchy of Lancaster

I recently added two documents associated with the Duchy of Lancaster to the Corpus of British Administrative Instruments. Both are Letters Patent under the Seals of the Duchy and the County Palatine of Lancaster. The older instrument appoints a Chancellor of the Duchy while the newer one appoints an Attorney General.

What is the Duchy of Lancaster?

The Duchy of Lancaster is a portfolio of land and other assets that provides the Sovereign with personal income. It’s distinct from both the Crown Estate (the proceeds of which go to the Treasury) and the Duchy of Cornwall (which provides income for the Prince of Wales in his capacity as Duke of Cornwall).  

Common features

Although these patents were issued over half a century apart, they share many stylistic similarities. Both are entirely handwritten (likely on parchment or vellum) and feature decorative red marginal lines. A Gothic hand is used to emphasize certain elements of the text such as the Sovereign’s name and incipits. Aside from these touches, there is minimal decoration. Both patents have the pendant seals of the Duchy and the County Palatine of Lancaster.[1]

The patents’ teste clauses are noteworthy:

In Witness whereof We have caused these Our Letters to be made Patent Given at Our Court at the Palace of Westminster as well under the Seal of Our Duchy of Lancaster as under the Seal of Our County Palatine of Lancaster…

While the first part uses the same language as teste clauses in UK patents, the use of “Given” and the reference to a specific royal residence[2] in the second part are closer to the datum clause of a Royal Warrant.[3] The fact that the seals used are named in the instrument is also unusual as Letters Patent under the Great Seal generally do not reference the seal by name.[4]

Despite naming the Duchy and County Palatine seals, neither instrument includes a warranty like those that appear in Letters Patent under the Great Seal.[5] Consequently, it’s not clear how their sealing was authorized.[6]

Each patent has the surname of the Clerk of the Council of the Duchy in the lower right-hand corner similar to how Letters Patent under the Great Seal feature the surname of the Clerk of the Crown in Chancery.

The Chancellor’s patent (1895)

The Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster is nominally responsible for administering the Duchy on the Sovereign’s behalf. In modern times, their Duchy-related duties have been minimal, and the title is essentially a sinecure that allows the holder to function as a minister without portfolio.

Queen Victoria’s Letters Patent appointing Viscount Cross as Chancellor and Keeper of the Seal of the Duchy of Lancaster were dated June 29, 1895. At the same time, he was also appointed Chancellor and Keeper of the Seal of the County Palatine of Lancaster.[7] Queen Victoria gave him the power to appoint various inferior officers such as stewards, escheators, and bailiffs.

Viscount Cross was also empowered to nominate “any of the Poor of the Hospital of the Holy Trinity at the Newark near the Borough or Town of Leicester.” Originally dedicated to God and the Virgin Mary when it was founded in the 14^th century, the almshouse was rededicated to the Holy Trinity when it was re-founded by King James I and VI in the 17^th century. It’s still around today, focusing on providing accommodation and care to people over the age of 60. While it seems like the Chancellor no longer chooses who will be housed at the Hospital, their website states that the Chancellor is still the Hospital’s Visitor and appoints its chaplain by Letters Patent on behalf of the King. Cross’s patent also granted him an annual salary of £2,000 to be paid in quarterly installments throughout the year with the money coming from the Duchy’s own revenues.

While the seals aren’t entirely visible, they appear to have been attached to the patent by tongues of parchment.[8] The impressions are likely in wax.

One perplexing feature of this patent is the presence of long lines after each occurrence of Viscount Cross’s name. Their purpose isn’t immediately apparent. While they resemble fill lines, these normally appear at the end of a line rather than in the middle of a text.[9] There is a traditional fill line in red ink at the end of the instrument, however.

The Attorney General’s patent (1951)

The Attorney General is the Duchy’s chief legal adviser. Their role is distinct from that of the Attorney General for England and Wales, and they are not part of the Government Legal Department.

King George VI’s Letters Patent appointing Edward Holland as Attorney General of the Duchy were dated December 5, 1951. As with the Chancellor’s patent, Holland was appointed to a second office at the same time. In his case, the secondary role was that of Attorney and Serjeant within the County Palatine of Lancaster.[10] The use of the title ‘Serjeant’ is notable given that, in the legal realm at least, it had largely fallen into desuetude by 1951.[11]  

The double appointment entitled him to two distinct salaries. He was to be paid £150 per year as Attorney General and £6 13s 4d as Attorney and Serjeant. The former salary was to be divided into two portions with the first payable on the Feast of St. Michael the Archangel (September 29) and the second on the Feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary (March 25). His Attorney and Serjeant salary, on the other hand, was payable in full on the Feast of St. Michael. The wages for both roles were to come from the Duchy’s own revenues.

Holland’s patent included a provision stating that, if it wasn’t enrolled in the Office of the Keeper of the Duchy’s Records within six months, it would be “void and of no effect in the Law.” According to Somerville, the purpose of enrollment is to provide a permanent record of the instrument that can be exemplified if the original is ever lost.[12] This makes enrollment analogous to the Patent Roll kept by the Crown Office. Interestingly, there was no such provision in Viscount Cross’s patent.

Like the earlier patent, Holland’s patent has a traditional red-ink fill line at the end of the document.

The seals are attached by laces: red and white for the Duchy seal and green for the County Palatine seal. From the reign of George VI onward, impressions of these seals have been made using a molding resin powder of cellulose acetate.[13] The Crown Office also uses this material for impressions of the Great Seal.[14]

Are these instruments still used today?

Although the Duchy of Lancaster still has a Chancellor and an Attorney General, it’s not clear what instruments of appointment (if any) they receive. Some evidence suggests that the Chancellor is now appointed by a Royal Warrant.[15] However, in 2022, a Duchy staff member told me that a Chancellor still receives Letters Patent upon their appointment.[16] When I subsequently asked for a copy of the patent, I was told it couldn’t be provided because it is a “private document.”[17] The formalities associated with the appointment of a modern Attorney General are even less clear. Because the Duchy is not subject to the Freedom of Information Act 2000, it’s under no obligation to make these materials public.

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[1] For a historical overview of the Seals of the Duchy and the County Palatine, see Robert Somerville, “The Seals of the Duchy and County Palatine of Lancaster,” Archives 10, no. 48 (1972): 146–153.

[2] Although the Palace of Westminster is not a current royal residence, its usage here mirrors the use of St. James’s Palace in the datum clauses of many (but not all) Royal Warrants. However, Warrants refer to “Our Court at St. James’s” rather than “Our Palace of St. James’s.”

[3] Conversely, Letters Patent under the Great Seal simply say “Witness Ourself at Westminster” without specifying a location within Westminster.

[4] As is often the case with these things, there are exceptions. For example, the Instrument granting the Countess of Harewood the style of ‘Princess Royal’ stated that “We have caused The Great Seal to be affixed to these Presents.”

[5] Examples of warranties used in Great Seal patents include “By Warrant under The King’s Sign Manual” or “By The King Himself Signed with His Own Hand” with the former being by far the most common type.

[6] For a historical overview of the Duchy of Lancaster’s chancery practice, see Robert Somerville, “The Preparation and Issue of Instruments Under Seal in the Duchy of Lancaster,” in Studies Presented to Sir Hilary Jenkinson, ed. J. Conway Davies (Oxford University Press, 1957). Note, however, that Somerville only discusses modern practices in passing.

[7] The offices of Chancellor of the Duchy and Chancellor of the County Palatine have been held by the same person since 1461. W. R. Williams, Official Lists of the Duchy and County Palatine of Lancaster (Self-published, 1901), 17.

[8] This practice continued until the reign of George V. Somerville, “Preparation and Issue,” 383.

[9] Fill lines originally served to prevent the addition of unauthorized text in blank spaces. Today, they are predominantly decorative.

[10] These two roles have been held by the same person since 1892. Williams, 38–39.

[11] Serjeants-at-Law were formerly an order of English barristers that came to be eclipsed by King’s Counsel, and no new appointments were made after 1875. Ireland had its own Serjeants-at-Law, but their appointment also fell into abeyance. By 1951, the only other Serjeant in the legal sphere was the Common Serjeant of London.

[12] Somerville, “Preparation and Issue,” 385.

[13] Somerville, “Preparation and Issue,” 384.

[14] Hilary Jenkinson, “The Great Seal of England,” Journal of the Royal Society of Arts 101, no. 4902 (1953): 555.

[15] See, for example, the Clerk of the Privy Council’s memorandum on the appointment and resignation of ministers published in Rodney Brazier, Constitutional Practice: The Foundations of British Government, 3^rd edition (Oxford University Press, 1999), 315.

[16] J. Townsend, email message to author, June 30, 2022.

[17] K. Linforth, email message to author, July 5, 2022.

An Irregular Sealing: The 1908 Commission for Executing the Office of Lord President

In the spring of 1908, the Lord President of the Council, Lord Tweedmouth, experienced a mental health crisis that rendered him unable to discharge the duties of his office. Officials responded by putting his office into commission but in doing so they failed to comply with the statutory requirements for passing documents under the Great Seal. Crown Office documents stored at the National Archives shed new light on this little-known episode in British constitutional history.

1. A Lord President in distress
2. An improvised remedy
3. The Letters Patent
4. An illicit sealing?
5. Aftermath

A Lord President in distress

During Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman’s premiership, Tweedmouth had been First Lord of the Admiralty, but the revelation that he’d communicated with Kaiser Wilhelm II regarding Britain’s naval program tarnished his reputation. When H. H. Asquith entered Downing Street in April 1908, Lord Tweedmouth received the Presidency of the Council in the resulting reshuffle.

In his memoirs, Sir Almeric FitzRoy, the Clerk of the Privy Council, claimed that Tweedmouth was unhappy with this change.[1] He described Tweedmouth as “nervous and ill at ease” when he went to the Privy Council Office to be coached on his new role and mentioned that he caused problems at the Council itself by attempting to read the List of Business without his glasses and then “omitting a necessary feature of the procedure.”[2]

As May wore on, Tweedmouth’s behavior became more erratic. On May 18, he characterized the Government’s plans for the Army as a gamble during a debate in the House of Lords.[3] The next day, when responding to a question regarding the Government’s education policy, he began by saying “So far as I can make out, the Privy Council consists principally of secretaries and messengers. There is a splendid room, and a splendid inkstand, but otherwise I do not think the President of the Council has anything to do. At any rate, the control of education and the control of agriculture has been taken away from the President of the Council.”[4] He then proceeded to read the statement he’d been given verbatim.

According to Sir Almeric, the clerks in the Lords noticed “how impotent [Tweedmouth’s] grasp of facts has become, and how often he falls short of coherent or even articulate expression.”[5] Things only escalated from there. A few days later, FitzRoy wrote that the Lord President was “using his knowledge of Cabinet secrets recklessly and indulging in the bitterest language against those at whose hands he had suffered real or fancied wrongs.”[6]

An improvised remedy

While it was clear that Lord Tweedmouth was incapable of discharging his duties, there were no direct precedents to apply. However, the Lord Chancellor, Lord Loreburn, noted that the Great Seal could be put into commission if the Lord Chancellor was incapacitated or absent from the kingdom. He asked Sir Almeric to prepare a Commission to be issued under the Great Seal that would allow other ministers to discharge the Lord President’s duties. FitzRoy suggested the task should be entrusted to Lord Loreburn, the Marquess of Ripon (Lord Privy Seal), and the Earl of Crewe (Secretary of State for the Colonies). Loreburn agreed to this proposal.[7]

On June 2, Sir Almeric submitted his draft Commission to the Lord Chancellor. Although Lord Loreburn devised the proposal, he subsequently told FitzRoy that he wasn’t sure it was actually legal (though he was still willing to attach the Great Seal to the instrument). When laying the matter before the King, Sir Almeric noted that he “avoided difficulty by asking approval as a matter of course without raising questions of constitutional propriety, and the King was good enough to assume I was acting with sufficient authority.”[8]

The Letters Patent

The transcript of the Letters Patent preserved in the Crown Office’s file is unusual in several respects. The royal style and titles have been reduced to “Edward VII, etc.” while the teste clause was rendered as “In witness whereof, etc.” The warranty has been omitted entirely. Although the transcript is typewritten, the date was added by hand. While it was originally written as “2^nd day of June 1908”, that was crossed out and replaced by “the 2^nd day of June in the eighth year of Our Reign.”[9]

Although the instrument was inspired by Commissions for custody of the Great Seal, it differs in one key respect. While Commissioners of the Great Seal are typically required to act jointly,[10] the Lord President’s duties could be exercised by a single Commissioner.[11]

Curiously, the Court Circular’s account of the Privy Council meetings where the Commissioners were present never alluded to the fact that they were discharging the Lord President’s role. The only hint was the statement that they enjoyed the audience with the King prior to the Council that was normally accorded to the Lord President.

An illicit sealing?

The sealing process involved procedural anomalies as well. According to notes written on the file, the Warrant was sent to the Palace on June 2 and returned with the King’s signature the following day. Although the Letters Patent were engrossed and sealed that same day (June 3), the Warrant wasn’t sent to the Home Office for the Home Secretary’s countersignature until June 5 (i.e., two days after the patent had been sealed).[12] And the Home Office didn’t return the countersigned Warrant until June 10, which was a full week after the Letters Patent had been sealed.

Section 2(1) of the Great Seal Act 1884 states that the use of the Great Seal generally requires a Warrant signed by the Monarch and countersigned by the Lord Chancellor, a Secretary of State, or two Lords of the Treasury.[13] The Privy Council Office may have been eager to get the patent sealed as soon as possible, but that eagerness couldn’t dispense with the statutory requirement for a countersignature. Procuring the countersignature is unlikely to have been burdensome. If the Home Secretary was unavailable, the Lord Chancellor could have countersigned in his stead. Moreover, Lord Loreburn would have had to ‘recepi’ the Warrant in order to authorize the sealing, so it’s hard to see why he couldn’t have countersigned it as well.[14] Sealing the patent without a properly countersigned Warrant would seem to be a misdemeanor under section 2(3) of the 1884 Act.[15]

Given Lord Loreburn’s concerns about the legality of the scheme, he may have been reluctant to take a step that might suggest that he was assuming responsibility for the Crown’s actions. It would be interesting to know if the Home Secretary also had reservations about putting his name on the Warrant as that could have contributed to the delay. Unfortunately, the material in this folder is silent on that question.

Aftermath

By September 27, the King had received Lord Tweedmouth’s resignation.[16] None of the Commissioners for executing the office of Lord President were present at the Council held on September 26 at Balmoral.[17] Instead, the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, appears to have performed the Lord President’s role.[18] However, Lord Tweedmouth’s successor, Viscount Wolverhampton, didn’t formally take office until October 19.[19] Tweedmouth died less than a year later on September 15, 1909.

This stratagem for dealing with a Lord President’s incapacity may have been an isolated occurrence. I’m not aware of any subsequent examples, and the Privy Council Office couldn’t find any evidence in their records.[20]

This episode highlights the British constitution’s inherent flexibility. Putting the office of Lord President into commission may have been a reasonable course of action under the circumstances, but the decision to proceed with the sealing of the patent even though the statutory requirements hadn’t been met was problematic.

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[1] Sir Almeric FitzRoy, Memoirs, vol. 1, 6^th edition (Hutchinson & Co., n.d.), 348.

[2] Sir Almeric does not say what that necessary feature was. FitzRoy, 349.

[3] HL Debates, 18 May 1908, col. 1567.

[4] HL Debates, 19 May 1908, col. 19. FitzRoy attributed his behavior to his dislike of Reginald McKenna who had replaced him as First Lord of the Admiralty (McKenna was President of the Board of Education at the time).

[5] FitzRoy, 352.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid. Unfortunately, FitzRoy’s diary doesn’t explain why he suggested those three individuals.

[8] FitzRoy, 353.

[9] The former style is often found in Royal Warrants, while the latter is typical of Letters Patent.

[10] Similar provisions govern the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury or Counsellors of State.

[11] Unfortunately, the Crown Office’s file for this instrument doesn’t reveal why it was felt necessary to put the office into commission instead of simply appointing an Acting Lord President. If I had to guess, I’d say it was because the Lord President had duties beyond Council meetings (e.g., serving as a Visitor) and Sir Almeric and/or Lord Loreburn wanted to make sure that these were delegated to someone as well.

[12] The Home Secretary was the default countersigner for most Warrants. Sir William Anson, The Law and Custom of the Constitution Part II: The Crown (The Clarendon Press, 1892), 220.

[13] The Lord High Treasurer could also countersign if that office were ever to be filled again.

[14] Recepi is Latin and literally means “I received.” It takes the form of a notation (usually in the lower left of the Warrant) stating the day the Warrant was received by the Crown Office along with the Lord Chancellor’s signature.

[15] It’s not clear who, exactly, would have committed this misdemeanor. The 1884 Act says that “[n]o person shall make or prepare any warrant for passing any instrument under the Great Seal of the United Kingdom, or procure any instrument to be passed under that Seal otherwise than in manner provided by this Act or the Crown Office Act 1877; and any person who acts in contravention of this section shall be guilty of a misdemeanour.” Depending on how the provision is interpreted, the liability could fall on anyone from the Lord Chancellor down to the Crown Office official who actually sealed the patent. As far as I’m aware, no one has ever been prosecuted under this section, so case law doesn’t provide any clarity.

[16] FitzRoy, 361.

[17] This may have been because their appointments were deemed functus officio upon Lord Tweedmouth’s resignation, though the precise date of his resignation is unclear.

[18] FitzRoy, 360.

[19] Court Circular, October 19, 1908.

[20] Luke Cooley, email communication, August 11, 2026.

Starmer Steps Down, and Burnham Steps Up

After months of speculation, Sir Keir Starmer has announced that he will resign as Prime Minister once the Labour Party selects a new leader. The favorite to succeed him is the former Mayor of Greater Manchester, Andy Burnham, whose victory in the Makerfield by-election sent him back to Westminster for the first time since 2017.

1. A decade of turnover
2. Burnham’s path to No. 10
3. A difficult inheritance

A decade of turnover

Whoever succeeds Sir Keir will be the United Kingdom’s seventh Prime Minister in a decade. While this level of turnover is not unprecedented (the period between 1827 and 1837 also saw seven Prime Ministers), more recent premiers have typically enjoyed much longer tenures. In the half-century leading up to 2016, there were only eight Prime Ministers.

Of the six men and women that have led the British government over the past decade, only Rishi Sunak departed after losing a General Election. Aside from David Cameron (now Lord Cameron of Chipping Norton), who resigned after Britain voted to leave the European Union, everyone else left office because they’d lost the support of their own MPs. And while Theresa May (now Baroness May of Maidenhead) led a minority government that was propped up by a confidence and supply agreement with the Democratic Unionist Party, everyone else enjoyed a majority when they were turfed out of Downing Street.

Burnham’s path to No. 10

It’s remarkable that Labour’s MPs are stampeding to get behind Burnham even though he’s the equivalent of a TikTok mystery scoop. He said little about his plans for government during the by-election since, at the time, he was just running to be a backbench MP. It sounds like Burnham may have hoped to spend the summer firming up his plans before taking over from Sir Keir sometime in September. But unless someone else throws their hat into the ring, Burnham will become Leader of the Labour Party once nominations close on July 16, and the King will likely ask him to form a government shortly thereafter. For Burnham, it will be third time lucky given that he previously ran in the 2010 and 2015 leadership elections.

This means Burnham may have less than a month to figure out what he wants to do in government while also selecting his ministerial team.[1] He could choose to leave Sir Keir’s administration in place, but the fact that there’s already media chatter about the Chancellor of the Exchequer being demoted suggests there will be a wider reshuffle.

While there will be plenty of calls for Burnham to hold an early General Election after entering No. 10, he’s under no obligation to do so. Since Labour already has a comfortable majority, there would be little to gain, and everything to lose, from such a move. Burnham is also not required to ask the King to deliver another Speech from the Throne. But as a practical matter, Burnham may find it harder to deliver promises that aren’t grounded in Labour’s manifesto.

A difficult inheritance

The stakes will be high, and any missteps could prove costly. Sir Keir’s early errors generated a succession of negative headlines that eroded his momentum and arguably set the tone for his premiership. It’s a trap Burnham will be keen to avoid.

Unfortunately for Burnham, he will take office against a backdrop of uniquely challenging circumstances. The global economy faces stiff headwinds. The ‘special relationship’ with the United States, long a lynchpin of the UK’s foreign policy, is coming under increasing strain because of President Trump’s chaotic and transactional approach to foreign policy. And while relations with the European Union have thawed in recent years, an improved deal with the bloc remains elusive.

Time isn’t on Burnham’s side. The current Parliament is almost half over, and with Reform leading in the polls, Labour MPs are only going to get jumpier as the next General Election approaches. If Burnham doesn’t reverse that trend soon, there’s a real risk they will give him the boot in a last-ditch effort to find someone who can.

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[1] Interestingly, Sir Keir has authorized Burnham’s team to hold talks with civil servants to help him prepare for government. While civil servants customarily meet with Opposition frontbenchers in the run-up to a General Election, this may be the first time this privilege has been granted in a leadership race.

RIP Chancery Division

The Lady Chief Justice and the Lord Chancellor recently announced a reorganization of the High Court. The specialist Business and Property Courts that are currently divided between the King’s Bench and Chancery Divisions[1] will be placed under a new Business and Property Division that will replace the Chancery Division.

While it makes sense to bring the Business and Property Courts together under one roof, it’s unfortunate that they’re renaming the Chancery Division. The current nomenclature provides a link with the old Court of Chancery that was instrumental in developing the concept of equity in English law. Some may argue that having Business and Property Courts within the Chancery Division would be confusing, but it’s no more baffling than having the Administrative Court be part of the King’s Bench Division.

It’s a shame to lose a venerable part of Britain’s constitutional history for the sake of a pointless rebranding exercise.

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[1] According to Joshua Rozenberg, the Commercial Court, the Technology and Construction Court, and the Admiralty Court are currently part of the King’s Bench Division while the Business List, the Financial List, the Competition List, the Insolvency and Companies List, the Intellectual Property List, the Property, Trusts, and Probate List, and the Revenue List are part of the Chancery Division.

When the Queen Said No: The Leeds International Piano Competition and the Personal Prerogatives

Queen Elizabeth II was often portrayed as a purely ceremonial sovereign whose personal views had little impact on government decision-making. But as Anne Twomey observed in 2012, we know remarkably little about how the Queen actually exercised her duties since most of the relevant material remains inaccessible. The glimpses that have emerged suggest that the conventional image may be too simplistic. A 1975 Home Office file about a proposal to grant the title of ‘royal’ to the Leeds International Pianoforte Competition (now known as the Leeds International Piano Competition) shows the Queen rejecting the Home Secretary’s advice and Roy Jenkins opting for acquiescence rather than confrontation.

1. Enter the Leeds International Pianoforte Competition
2. The Home Office deliberates
3. The Queen’s rebuff
4. The Home Secretary backs down
5. Other examples of royal pushback
6. Rethinking the figurehead narrative

Enter the Leeds International Pianoforte Competition

On April 28, 1975, Lord Boyle of Handsworth wrote to Jenkins to ask how the Leeds International Pianoforte Competition might obtain the title of ‘royal.’ Founded in 1961 by the Countess of Harewood, Fanny Waterman, and Roslyn Lyons, it was intended to reward talented young pianists from across the globe with monetary prizes, medals, and diplomas. Its Committee of Honor included numerous well-known musicians such as Leonard Bernstein, Benjamin Britten, and Sir Arthur Bliss (Master of the Queen’s Music). In 1975, Lord Boyle was Chairman of Jury that evaluated the performances.

In his letter to Jenkins, Lord Boyle argued that Leeds was “one of the truly significant international music competitions” with prizes that “really do make a great deal of difference, both from the point of view of engagements and recording-contracts.[1]”

Home Office officials prepared a reply from Jenkins that stressed that there was no formal application process. However, the Home Office preferred to be approached informally “since we are always most anxious that there should be no appearance of a rebuff should it prove impossible to grant an application under the very strict criteria that apply.[2]” The letter stressed that Jenkins would ultimately be responsible for advising the Queen on the matter.

After the Competition submitted more information to the Home Office, officials asked the Department of Education and Science (DES) for its opinion regarding the Competition.[3] The latter’s response characterized the Competition as “an olympic-type event largely dominated by highly trained competitive foreign ‘teams.’ The music world is not altogether happy about these highly competitive and narrowly based events where the winner is not necessarily the best musician.[4]” Consequently, the DES could not support the Competition’s application.

The Home Office deliberates

When Home Office officials prepared a submission for Jenkins in September, they recommended that the title of ‘royal’ should not be granted. In a cover letter to Jenkins’ Private Secretary, Kenneth Witney of the Home Office emphasized the opposition of the DES.[5]

However, Jenkins pushed back against the Home Office’s recommendation. As his Private Secretary explained to Witney, Jenkins believed that the Competition was generally held in high esteem. Moreover, he understood that Leeds was one of the top piano competitions in the world. “[S]ince the final responsibility for advice rests with him, he is minded to advise The Queen that the title ‘Royal’ should be conferred.[6]” Witney wrote to the DES on October 1 to inform them of Jenkins’ decision and solicit further feedback.[7]

The DES evidently had a change of heart. Although DES official G. J. Spence noted that the music world had mixed views of the Competition,[8] he also observed that it played a significant role in international cultural relations.[9] He also called attention to the fact that the Competition represented “a notable example of provincial enterprise at a time when there is much criticism that far too much artistic patronage and publicity goes to London.[10]” Ultimately, the DES concluded that the international and provincial considerations outweighed the others.

The DES’ about-face seems to have disquieted Witney. He noted that Spence’s letter mentioned the Aldeburgh Festival and the Three Choirs Festival, which left him “a little shaken.[11]” If either of them were to subsequently apply for the title of ‘royal,’ “I do not believe that the title could be denied them, on the precedent we are about to set.”

Nevertheless, Witney presented Jenkins with a revised submission on October 21 which recommended that the matter should be submitted to the Queen with a recommendation that the Competition be granted permission to be called “The Royal Leeds International Pianoforte Competition.[12]” Jenkins duly initialed his approval the following day.

The Queen’s rebuff

The Home Office prepared a formal submission to the Queen and sent it over to the Palace. However, on October 24, the Queen’s Assistant Private Secretary, William Heseltine, wrote to Witney in the following terms:

Dear Kenneth,

The Queen was not enthusiastic about agreeing to the submission that the Leeds Piano [sic] Competition should be granted the title “Royal”. She has no doubts about the status of the Leeds competition, but was not convinced that it was appropriate for a competition as such, or indeed an event like the Aldeburgh Festival, to be granted this particular form of recognition. The Queen would be grateful if the Home Secretary would very kindly have another look at this.

Yours ever

Bill Heseltine[13]

A note in the file states that the Palace returned Jenkins’ submission at this time.[14] The fact that it’s described as a ‘submission’ is noteworthy since that term is generally associated with ministers’ formal advice. In practice, there is a distinction between formal and informal advice.[15] This can allow the Palace and the Government to iron out differences while remaining within the bounds of constitutional propriety. Unfortunately, Heseltine’s letter is the only piece of correspondence between the Home Office and the Palace in the file. However, there’s no evidence that informal advice was tendered in this case.[16]

The Home Secretary backs down

Initially, the Home Office sought to convince the Queen to change her mind, and officials prepared a list of relevant precedents.[17] In a letter to Jenkins’ Private Secretary, Witney noted that, although the Queen questioned whether it was appropriate to grant the title of ‘royal’ to a competition, she had conferred that honor upon the Royal International Horse Show and the Royal National Eisteddfod of Wales.[18]

Witney suggested that Jenkins should discuss the matter with the Queen’s Private Secretary, Sir Martin Charteris. Although Jenkins did briefly discuss the matter with Sir Martin, he ultimately chose to back down. He concluded that, while the Queen would ultimately accept his advice, “in view of the question she has raised he does not think it would be right to press the matter.[19]” His reversal is striking given that he’d pressed his officials to revisit their initial recommendation that the title be withheld. Unfortunately, the file does not provide an explanation for his change of heart. It also doesn’t reveal if Sir Martin (or anyone else from the Palace) advanced any other arguments against the grant.

The Queen’s intervention was subsequently glossed over, presumably to avoid drawing the Crown into controversy. Writing to Lord Boyle, Jenkins portrayed the decision to deny the Competition’s request as his.[20] Witney adopted a similar line in his own letter to one of the Competition’s organizers.[21] In constitutional terms, the Home Secretary was effectively assuming responsibility for the Queen’s decision. This discretion didn’t just extend to public-facing communications. When Witney notified DES that the title wouldn’t be granted, he didn’t mention that the Queen had declined to accept the Home Secretary’s advice.[22] That decision proved final. To this day, the Competition has never received the title ‘royal.’

What’s striking about this episode is the lack of friction. The Queen’s rebuff doesn’t seem to have caused much perturbation in the Home Office. Instead, officials responded pragmatically. The low-stakes nature of the matter likely shaped their response. After all, the grant of the title to the Competition was not a key plank of Labour Party policy. From a practical standpoint, one can see why Jenkins might have concluded that it was ultimately adiaphora. Since many documents from the Queen’s reign aren’t publicly available, it’s not clear if this kind of pushback was commonplace. But the evidence we do have suggests this wasn’t an isolated incident.

Other examples of royal pushback

When Tony Benn was Postmaster-General, he tried to remove the Queen’s head from Britain’s commemorative stamps. While Benn believed that he’d secured her agreement, he received a rude awakening when No. 10 ultimately instructed him not to commission any stamps without the Queen’s head.[23] Moreover, he was explicitly told that she could reject ministerial advice in certain circumstances.[24] According to Benn, Harold Wilson subsequently told him “[The Queen is] a nice woman, and you absolutely charmed her into saying yes when she didn’t really mean it. I don’t think you ought to go back and argue it out with her again because I’m sure you would win and she really wouldn’t be happy.[25]” With that, Benn had to admit defeat.[26]

Anne Twomey has also shown that the Queen resisted efforts to remove British ministers from the process of appointing Australian state governors because she was reluctant to accept advice from state premiers. While she ultimately yielded, the Australian government took her opposition seriously and took steps to address her concerns.[27]

Interestingly, Twomey’s research also reveals that Australian officialdom viewed the prospect of the Queen rejecting ministerial advice as something to be avoided because it might cause her ‘embarrassment.[28]’ There is likely a similar feeling in Whitehall which could help explain both Jenkins’ volte-face and Harold Wilson’s decision to side with the Queen rather than Benn.   

One recurring theme in all of these episodes is that they all affected the Queen personally to some degree. The presence of the Monarch’s head on Britain’s stamps was a matter of longstanding tradition. Allowing Australian state premiers to advise the Queen directly could have dragged her into conflicts between state governments and the Commonwealth government. And the title of ‘royal’ was a mark of the Sovereign’s favor. While we cannot draw firm conclusions based on such a small range of sources, it seems plausible that the Queen might have been more willing to rebuff her ministers when it impacted her personally.

Of course, the examples are difficult to reconcile with the orthodox understanding of the British constitution. As far back as Walter Bagehot, the dominant view has been that the Monarch is generally expected to act on the advice of their ministers. Conventional wisdom also holds that there would be dire consequences if the Monarch rejected that advice. For example, Sir Vernon Bogdanor wrote that “[t]he consequence of rejecting advice would normally be the resignation of the government.[29]”

At the same time, the Monarch also has what Bagehot described as the right to be consulted, the right to encourage, and the right to warn.[30] In practice, this means the Sovereign is not obliged to unquestioningly approve whatever their ministers place in front of them. A cynic might dismiss these powers as little more than social niceties, but the Queen’s intervention in the case of the Competition suggest that a royal warning can cause minister to change course.   

There are a few areas where the Monarch can act without ministerial advice. The standard list of these personal prerogatives is quite short and includes the appointment of the Prime Minister, the dissolution of Parliament, and appointments to the Order of the Garter, the Order of the Thistle, the Order of Merit, and the Royal Victorian Order.[31] The power to grant the title of ‘royal’ is not generally recognized as one of the personal prerogatives. But the fact that Jenkins backed down in the face of the Queen’s opposition suggests there may be areas where advice is formally tendered but ministers are perfectly willing to yield in the face of royal objections. If this is the case, it’s fair to ask if these matters should also be classified as personal prerogatives.

Rethinking the figurehead narrative

The events documented in this file provide a tantalizing glimpse of the complex reality of Britain’s constitutional monarchy. While we can’t say how representative it is, it does suggest that the familiar image of Queen Elizabeth II as a passive figurehead likely requires qualification, and the list of personal prerogatives may be broader than currently believed. Only time, and the release of additional material from her long reign, will allow us to see the full picture.

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[1] Boyle to Jenkins, April 28, 1975, HO 290/149/56.

[2] Jenkins to Boyle, May 9, 1975, HO 290/149/52.

[3] Bone to Chapman, June 26, 1975, HO 290/149/45.

[4] Chapman to Bone, July 23, 1975, HO 290/149/44.

[5] Witney to Innes, September 11, 1975, HO 290/149/40.

[6] Innes to Witney, September 16, 1975, HO 290/149/38-39.

[7] Witney to Lloyd-Jones, October 1, 1975, HO 290/149/33-34.

[8] “[O]ne can detect a quite understandable lack of enthusiasm from the corps d’orchestre for the encouragement of the international virtuosi who scoop so much of the publicity, and the monetary rewards, of the arts world.” Spence to Witney, October 14, 1975, HO 290/149/32.

[9] The Foreign and Commonwealth Office indicated that they agreed with this assessment, though they seemed surprised that the Home Office would take this into consideration. Morgan to Witney, October 15, 1975, HO 290/149/29.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Witney to Harrison, October 14, 1975, HO 290/149/31.

[12] Witney to Jenkins, October 21, 1975, HO 290/149/19-20.

[13] Heseltine to Witney, October 24, 1975, HO 290/149/18.

[14] HO 290/149/5.

[15] Informal advice often takes the form of a standard letter from the Minister’s Private Secretary to the Monarch’s Private Secretary. Formal advice, on the other hand, is a direct communication from the Minister to the Monarch, and at least at Westminster it’s written in the third person and includes unique stylistic elements such as a reference to the Minister’s “humble duty.”

[16] The absence of informal advice is curious. The practice doesn’t seem to be universal, though. Perhaps the Home Office believed it was routine enough that informal consultation wasn’t necessary.

[17] HO 290/149/15-17.

[18] Witney to Phillips, October 30, 1975, HO 290/149/12. Although the Eisteddfod had been granted the title annually starting in 1931, the Queen made the grant permanent in 1966.

[19] Phillips to Witney, November 3, 1975, HO 290/149/11.

[20] Jenkins to Boyle, November 24, 1975, HO 290/149/10.

[21] Witney to Waterman, November 24, 1975, HO 290/149/8.

[22] Witney to Spence, November 24, 1975, HO 290/149/9.

[23] Tony Benn, Out of the Wilderness: Diaries 1963-67 (Hutchinson, 1987), 339.

[24] Benn, 335.

[25] Benn, 343.

[26] While Benn wasn’t able to remove the Queen’s head from commemorative stamps entirely, he was able to reduce it to a small silhouette. 

[27] Anne Twomey, The Chameleon Crown: The Queen and Her Australian Governors (The Federation Press, 2006), 237-256.

[28] See, for example Twomey, 219.

[29] Vernon Bogdanor, The Monarchy and the Constitution (Clarendon Press, 1995), 66.

[30] Walter Bagehot, The English Constitution (Chapman and Hall, 1867), 103.

[31] The first two are largely theoretical at this point.

From Compromise to Closure: The House of Lords (Hereditary Peers) Bill

The House of Lords (Hereditary Peers) Bill has now completed its journey through Parliament. Although peers made several amendments to the bill, the Commons rejected most of them. In the end, the Lords chose not to insist on the rejected amendments by a voice vote, paving the way for Royal Assent. Once that happens, the 92 hereditary peers who still sit in the Upper House will lose their seats at the end of the current parliamentary session.

The removal of the remaining hereditaries isn’t really all that surprising. In 1999, Parliament decided that “[n]o-one shall be a member of the House of Lords by virtue of a hereditary peerage.” That 92 hereditary peers still have seats is the result of a compromise brought about by negotiations between the Government and Opposition Front Benches in the Lords.[1]  Under Lords’ Standing Order 9, these peers have been chosen by a system of byelections. Although this was intended as a temporary expedient, this system ended up lasting for over 25 years.[2]

The antiquarian in me found these contests fascinating, but a system where seven candidates can compete for the votes of three voters looks decidedly odd to the general public. In theory, they were supposed to be a sort of irritant that would ensure that the long-running project of Lords reform wasn’t repeatedly kicked into the weeds.[3]  

One could argue that the hereditaries should have remained until the House of Lords was fully reformed. The problem is that their presence has not been an effective goad. Even though all the main political parties theoretically support an elected Upper House, comprehensive Lords reform remains as elusive as ever. MPs pay lip service to the idea of an elected second chamber, but they don’t want to create something that could one day undermine the primacy of the Commons. They’re left longing for an Upper House that’s more democratic but not too democratic. Until someone can figure out a satisfactory way to unravel that particular Gordian knot, the cause of Lords reform is unlikely to advance.     

Although they will no longer sit in Parliament, there will still be hereditary peers. Contrary to popular belief, the hereditary peerage itself isn’t being abolished. There will still be dukes, marquesses, earls, and viscounts, and hereditary barons, though there will be fewer of them on the red benches.[4] There will be fewer of them outside of Parliament as well since no hereditary peerages have been created outside the Royal Family since 1984 when Harold Macmillan was created Earl of Stockton.

The removal of the hereditary peers brings another chapter of Britain’s constitutional history to an end. Even if their presence in a 21^st-century legislature is difficult to justify, their centuries of contributions to public life shouldn’t be forgotten. As Lord True put it, “[m]any thousands of Peers served their nation here and thousands of improvements to law were made. It was not all a stereotypical history of reaction in ermine.” Ave atque vale.   

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[1] Allegedly, the Opposition Front Bench in the Lords had entered into this agreement without the approval of the Leader of the Conservative Party, William Hague, or the Shadow Cabinet. Hague subsequently dismissed the Leader of the Opposition in the Lords, Viscount Cranborne.

[2] The last byelection to select an excepted hereditary peer took place in 2023. In 2024, the House of Lords voted to pause the system of byelections in light of the Government’s intention to end the system.

[3] Conversely, Donald Shell has argued that many Conservatives may have hoped that the continued presence of 92 hereditary peers would diminish the chances of further reform. Shell, “Labour and the House of Lords: A Case Study in Constitutional Reform,” Parliamentary Affairs, vol. 53, no. 2 (2000): 301.

[4] Traditionally, all life peers have been barons because of s. 1(2)(a) of the 1958 Act. In 2023, the King conferred the Dukedom of Edinburgh for life upon the Earl of Wessex and Forfar.  Because this creation was outside the terms of the 1958 Act, it didn’t grant Prince Edward a seat in the Lords. Personally, I’d love it if they amended the Life Peerages Act 1958 to allow the King to create parliamentary life peers in any degree of the peerage. 

The Constitutional Anomaly of a Disgraced Ex-Prince in the Line of Succession

Yesterday, Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor was arrested on suspicion of misconduct in a public office. While the specifics of the police investigation aren’t known, the assumption is that it’s related to his alleged sharing of sensitive documents with Jeffrey Epstein during his tenure as the UK’s Special Representative for International Trade and Investment. Although the impact of Andrew’s arrest has been blunted somewhat by the fact that he’s been relegated to the margins of the Royal Family, it’s still a dramatic turn of events without precedent in modern times. Awkwardly, Andrew is still in the line of succession and could theoretically become king one day despite his disgrace. So what could be done about this?

It’s possible to remove Andrew from the line of succession. However, this would require an Act of Parliament. The last time this happened was in 1936 when the legislation that allowed Edward VIII to abdicate declared that “His Majesty, His issue, if any, and the descendants of that issue, shall not after His Majesty’s abdication have any right, title or interest in or to the succession to the Throne.[1]” Any attempt to remove Andrew would require the unanimous agreement of the other fourteen Commonwealth Realms that have the King as their head of state.[2] The other Commonwealth Realms have historically been reluctant to legislate about the Monarchy,[3] but Andrew’s infamous dealings with Epstein are so notorious at this point that it would probably be hard for them to say no if it came to that.

Removing Andrew from the line of succession would also end his eligibility to serve as one of the Counsellors of State who can deputize for the King under the Regency Act 1937 (as amended by subsequent enactments). In practice, he isn’t called upon to act since the Counsellors of State Act 2022 returned the Princess Royal and the Duke of Edinburgh to the pool of eligible royals. But many people will find it odd that a disgraced former prince is still named in the Letters Patent even if he’s not called upon to serve.  

Media reports suggest the Government is considering legislation to make sure Andrew can never become king. Whether it actually happens will likely depend on the outcome of the police investigation. If he’s not charged with anything, they may be content to let sleeping dogs lie. But a conviction will probably render the status quo untenable. After all, the possibility of Andrew becoming king while in prison (however remote) is too ghastly to contemplate.

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[1] In earlier times, this sort of thing was much more common. Following Henry VIII’s marriage to Anne Boleyn, the Succession to the Crown Act 1533 declared his eldest daughter Mary a bastard and made his second daughter Elizabeth heiress presumptive. After Boleyn was executed, the Succession to the Crown Act 1536 in turn declared Elizabeth a bastard. In 1543, further legislation restored them both to the line of succession after their half-brother Prince Edward (Henry’s son by Jane Seymour).

[2] They are Antigua and Barbuda, Australia, The Bahamas, Belize, Canada, Grenada, Jamaica, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, the Solomon Islands, and Tuvalu.

[3] The last time this happened was when the Commonwealth Realms implemented the Perth Agreement of 2011 which sought to alter the rules governing royal succession by abolishing male-preference primogeniture and allowing individuals married to Roman Catholics to ascend the Throne. In the UK, the changes came into force through the Succession to the Crown Act 2013. However, Canada’s implementation of the Agreement proved controversial. Instead of simply enacting the changes in the normal manner, their Succession to the Throne Act 2013 stated that “[t]he alteration in the law touching the Succession to the Throne set out in the bill laid before the Parliament of the United Kingdom and entitled A Bill to Make succession to the Crown not depend on gender; to make provision about Royal Marriages; and for connected purposes is assented to.” Several commentators expressed concern regarding the validity of this approach, arguing that changes to the line of succession required a constitutional amendment. The Canadian courts ultimately upheld the Government’s approach, but it illustrates why Commonwealth Realms can be reluctant to tread in this area.

The Oddly Worded Instruments That Undid a Prince

In late October, it was announced that the King would formally strip Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor of his royal status. At the start of November, the Gazette announced that the King had issued a Warrant directing the Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice to remove Andrew from the Roll of the Peerage along with Letters Patent under the Great Seal of the Realm declaring that he was no longer entitled to the style of Royal Highness or the titular dignity of Prince. Both documents have now been released to me under the provisions of the Freedom of Information Act 2000.  

1. The Royal Warrant
2. The Letters Patent
3. A worrying trend

The Royal Warrant

Queen Elizabeth II conferred the titles of Duke of York, Earl of Inverness, and Baron Killyleagh on Andrew upon his marriage in 1986. The Monarch cannot unilaterally revoke a peerage; that can only be done by Act of Parliament. However, in 2004 the Queen established a Roll of the Peerage and declared that only titles listed there would be recognized by the Crown. The 2004 Warrant doesn’t give the King the power to direct someone’s removal from the Roll, but since it’s governed by the royal prerogative, it’s arguable that the King can authorize a deviation from the normal rules. Removing Andrew from the Roll does not extinguish his titles, but it does mean they will no longer receive official recognition. The command to remove Andrew from the Roll was embodied in a Royal Warrant which is often used for these kinds of instructions. The text of the Warrant is as follows:

Appd CR

CHARLES THE THIRD, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Our other Realms and Territories KING, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.

WHEREAS Her late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II by Royal Warrant dated the first day of June in the fifty-third year of Her Reign did declare and ordain that: there shall be a roll called the Roll of the Peerage (referred to in Her Warrant and in this Our Warrant as “the Roll”); the Roll is to be prepared and kept by Our Secretary of State; Our Secretary of State shall prepare the Roll in consultation with Our Garter Principal King of Arms and Our Lord Lyon King of Arms, according to their respective heraldic jurisdictions; and Our Secretary of State may take such steps and do such acts as he considers expedient to preparing and keeping the Roll, or incidental thereto:

NOW KNOW YE that We direct Our Secretary of State to cause the Duke of York to be removed from the Roll with immediate effect.

GIVEN at Our Court at Saint James’s
the 30th day of October 2025
In the fourth year of Our Reign

BY HIS MAJESTY’S COMMAND

David Lammy[1]

The fact that the King wrote “Appd CR” is anomalous. That usage is normally seen in connection with submissions from ministers. Since this is a Warrant, he would normally sign with his full signature (“Charles R”).

Several things stand out from a drafting perspective.

• The Warrant is not addressed to anyone, nor is there a greeting clause. Since it’s a direction to the Secretary of State for Justice, one would normally expect to see him named as the recipient. This could be done in one of two ways. It could use his full name with an honorific address (e.g., “Our right trusty and well-beloved Counsellor David Lindon Lammy Our Chancellor of Great Britain and one of Our Principal Secretaries of State”[2]) or the Warrant could have omitted the recitation of the King’s style and title and simply begun “Right trusty and well-beloved Counsellor, We greet you well![3]”
• There is no attempt to cite an authority for issuing the instrument. One would normally expect to see this reflected in the Warrant through language like this: “Know ye therefore that in the exercise of Our Royal Prerogative We do hereby…”
• Referring to Andrew as “the Duke of York” is unusual. Official documents like this typically use a person’s full name plus an honorific form of address that depends on their rank. Normally, a royal duke in his position would be addressed as “Our Most dear and entirely beloved Brother Andrew Albert Christian Edward, Duke of York”. However, this may have been an intentional change rather than an oversight. Referring to someone accused of sexually exploiting a minor as the King’s “most dear and entirely beloved” would likely provoke adverse comment.
• Although the Earl Marshal is not directly involved with the administration of the Roll, one could argue that the Warrant should also have included language directing him to record it in the College of Arms.

The Letters Patent

Unlike peerages, which are granted to specific individuals,[4] the style of Royal Highness and the titular dignity of Prince/Princess are borne by anyone who falls within certain degrees of kinship to the Sovereign.[5] As a child of the Monarch, Andrew was entitled to these dignities from birth. In modern times, these matters have been regulated by Letters Patent, so the King issued a further instrument to make his brother ineligible. The Letters Patent read:

CHARLES THE THIRD by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Our other Realms and Territories King Head of the Commonwealth Defender of the Faith.

AND WHEREAS Her late Majesty Queen Victoria by Her Letters Patent dated the thirtieth day of January in the twenty-seventh year of Her reign did in exercise of Her Royal Prerogative declare Her Royal Will and Pleasure as to the style and title of the Princes and Princesses of the Royal Family:

AND WHEREAS His late Majesty King George V did by His Letters Patent dated the thirtieth day of November in the eighth year of His reign did in exercise of His Royal Prerogative extend and amend the said Letters Patent of Her late Majesty Queen Victoria by declaring His Royal Will and Pleasure that the children of any Sovereign of these Realms and the children of the sons of any such Sovereign and the eldest living son of the eldest son of The Prince of Wales only should hold and enjoy the style, title or attribute of “Royal Highness” and the titular dignity of “Prince” or “Princess”:

AND WHEREAS under the above-mentioned Letters Patent Andrew Mountbatten Windsor [sic] has been entitled to hold and enjoy the style, title or attribute of “Royal Highness” and the titular dignity of “Prince”:

AND WHEREAS We deem it expedient to declare by due Authority that the said entitlement should be removed.

NOW KNOW YE that We of Our especial grace, certain knowledge and mere motion do hereby declare Our Royal Will and Pleasure that Andrew Mountbatten Windsor shall no longer be entitled to hold and enjoy the style, title or attribute of “Royal Highness” and the titular dignity of “Prince”. In Witness whereof We have caused these Our Letters to be made Patent Witness Ourself at Westminster the third day of November in the fourth year of Our Reign

BY WARRANT UNDER THE KING’S SIGN MANUAL

FARRAR[6]

Once again, there are a number of oddities in the drafting.

• Although the Letters Patent recite Queen Victoria’s Letters Patent from 1864[7] and King George V’s Letters Patent from 1917,[8] they make no mention of King George VI’s Letters Patent from 1948 which granted the style of Royal Highness and titular dignity of Prince/Princess to the children of the then-Princess Elizabeth.[9] However, the broad language of the final clause likely compensates for this oversight. Moreover, it is hard to imagine the validity of this patent being challenged in court.
• The Letters Patent aren’t addressed to anyone. Past patents dealing with the styles and titles of the Royal Family were addressed “to all to whom these Presents shall come.”
• There is no language directing the Earl Marshal to record the Letters Patent in the College of Arms.
• The Letters Patent make liberal use of punctuation even though patents are traditionally unpunctuated.
• The body of the patent begins “And whereas,” but the conjunction is unnecessary since this is the first clause.
• Andrew’s surname is given as “Mountbatten Windsor” even though Queen Elizabeth II’s 1960 declaration used a hyphen.[10]
• Normally, a person’s full name is used in Letters Patent, but Andrew’s middle names have been omitted. As with the Warrant, there is no honorific form of address, either. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to use a duke’s form of address given his removal from the Roll of the Peerage, but he could have been referred to as “Our trusty and well-beloved Brother.” Though given the circumstances, it’s not hard to see why the drafter might have decided to eschew the traditional form.

A worrying trend

Although these are novel instruments, there is a wealth of precedent that the drafters could have drawn upon when composing them. They aren’t just ceremonial frippery; they are legal documents that require careful drafting. What’s more worrying is that there have been other signs of this kind of carelessness in Whitehall. This isn’t even the first weirdly drafted instrument I’ve come across: The Warrant conferring the title of Lord High Admiral on the Duke of Edinburgh also had numerous issues.[11] If this trend continues, I fear it’s only a matter of time before stylistic infelicities become genuine legal headaches.

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[1] Royal Warrant – Directing the Secretary of State to Remove Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor from the Roll of the Peerage [2025-10-30], in Corpus of British Administrative Instruments, ed. Jason Loch, accessed December 1, 2025, https://cbaionline.org/corpus/admin/items/show/485 (hereinafter cited as CBAI).

[2] This is how the Lord Chancellor/Justice Secretary has traditionally been described in Warrants for the Great Seal, for example. Cf. Royal Warrant – For Letters Patent Revoking a Knighthood [2012-02-01], in CBAI, accessed December 1, 2025, https://cbaionline.org/corpus/items/show/228.

[3] Cf. Royal Warrant – Grants Depending [Great Seal] [New Lord Chancellor] [2024-07-16], in CBAI, accessed December 1, 2025, https://cbaionline.org/corpus/items/show/38.

[4]  And their heirs, in the case of hereditary peerages.

[5] The wives of men who possess these dignities are entitled to them as well.

[6] Letters Patent – Removing Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor’s Entitlement to the Style of “Royal Highness” and Titular Dignity of “Prince” [2025-11-03], in CBAI, accessed December 1, 2025, https://cbaionline.org/corpus/items/show/486. 

[7] Letters Patent – Declaring Style and Titles of Princes and Princesses of the Royal Family [1864-01-30], in CBAI, accessed December 1, 2025, https://cbaionline.org/corpus/items/show/488.

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