Double jeopardy: the two state openings of 1974

6 June 1974, Bomb explodes at House of Commons in IRA attack (Keystone Press / Alamy Stock Photo)

New year celebrations were distinctly muted 50 years ago in 1974. Edward Heath’s government was in trouble. Miners were on an overtime ban and debating an all-out strike, while action by rail and power station workers meant shortages of coal. A month-long state of emergency was declared on 9 January and a three-day week instituted to conserve supplies. Everyone suffered scheduled power cuts and television closed down at 10.30pm to save electricity. One person who managed to escape the chaos was her late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, who started a tour of Australasia at the end of the month.

Unknown to everyone at Westminster, the finishing touches were being put to a cinema film called Hennessy. The Queen’s private secretary was alarmed

On 7 February a renewed state of emergency was proclaimed but Heath also wanted a snap election. Requesting this when the monarch is out of the country is tricky. The then-Queen’s constitutional role had been taken on by two councillors of state, namely the somewhat droll combination of the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret; however, they were barred from agreeing a dissolution without the Queen’s specific consent.

“Dear Harold,” wrote Ted Heath to opposition leader Harold Wilson on 7 February. “I am writing to let you know that I have asked the Queen by telegram to New Zealand to proclaim an early dissolution of parliament. She has been pleased to comply with this request.” 

When the councillors of state issued the proclamation (“having received the express instructions of Her Majesty”), the election date was just 21 days away. Twenty-five is now the legal minimum. The 10.30pm TV ban was lifted. Lucky voters.

In Parliament, Black Rod, Admiral Sir Frank Twiss, had heard rumours of an early election and had concluded that an all-singing, all-dancing state opening would not be right during a state of emergency. With the Queen out of the country, it could be a low-key event conducted by royal commissioners.

On 8 February the lord great chamberlain wrote to the home secretary to ask “whether it is the gracious intention of Her Majesty The Queen to open Parliament in person on March 12”, requesting a reply not later than 13 February. The answer arrived two days late. “The home secretary (Robert Carr) presents his compliments to the lord great chamberlain” and told him the Queen would not attend. The Queen decided to return from her tour on 1 March to meet the prime minister (whoever it was), swear in new ministers and return to Australia. 

Black Rod continued preparations for a low-key opening and tickets were duly dispatched, but behind the scenes he had a discreet chat with the deputy private secretary at the Palace. What if there were a constitutional crisis? HM would need to stay on. Twiss tracked down the ceremonial of the first state opening of the Second World War and read up The Times reports. He concluded it was perfectly possible to conduct the opening with the sovereign but without the glitter.  

The election result was a minority Labour government. Parliament met on 6 March with political instability in the air. It seems the Palace decided a bit of old-fashioned normality was required. The royal tour was cancelled, and the Queen would open Parliament personally in six days’ time. Ceremonial uniforms were out; dresses and hats, lounge and morning suits were in. The clerk of the Parliaments reminded a meeting that the Queen would have to decree that peers would not wear robes. 

There was just one remaining problem. Hats. Women. For the use of. After much debate it was decided that those in the Chamber should not wear them, but that the Queen and her household would.

A gentlemen’s agreement

If the problems of etiquette and protocol had all been before the Queen’s speech in February, the problems facing the state opening in October (following the second general election of the year) emerged very soon afterwards.

Unknown to everyone at Westminster, the finishing touches were being put to a cinema film called Hennessy. The Queen’s private secretary was alarmed and contacted his opposite number in Downing Street.

Writing to the Speaker’s office, Robert Armstrong (later cabinet secretary) outlined the plot: “Hennessy is a Belfast demolition expert whose wife and daughter have been shot dead at a demonstration.” He then flies to London intending to blow up Parliament by disguising himself as an MP and gets into the Lords. Footage of the Queen (from 1970) had been spliced into the movie to show her reacting.

Worries about terrorism within Parliament were not confined to celluloid. On 17 June 1974 a bomb had gone off in Westminster Hall as part of the IRA’s bombing campaign in England which had started the year before. Damage to the hall was slight but an annexe was destroyed. Not surprisingly, fears of terrorism would have been in the minds of both palaces, Westminster and Buckingham, when it came to dealing with the problems raised by the Hennessy film.

Traditionally, permissions for broadcasting and newsreel coverage had been done informally. At some point Movietone had sold the newsreel coverage to British Lion films in good faith, but they in turn had sold it on to the Hennessy production.

Armstrong went on to ask if parliamentary privilege could be invoked. Both Commons and Lords officials declared this unlikely, particularly as there is no provision for any action to be taken to prevent an anticipated contempt.

The Palace had been alerted when the Sunday Mirror started making inquiries, somewhat surprised that permission had been given for the footage to be used. In a letter to the clerk of the Parliaments, the Queen’s private secretary Sir Martin Charteris somewhat ruefully admitted the fault lay with the Palace for relying on ‘gentlemen’s agreements’ to govern all filming of the Royal Family.  

The letter was copied to the cabinet secretary, the private secretaries of the PM, the lord great chamberlain, the lord chancellor, the home secretary, the Speaker, the clerk of the Commons, the serjeant at arms, the Treasury solicitor and the attorney general. By now, everyone was involved.

In seven months of correspondence, suggestions were batted about. Lords officials wrote to No 10 saying they favoured Buckingham Palace agreeing contracts for the state opening, only for the attorney’s office to advise against as it could result in the Queen being sued personally. They proposed all parliamentary filming should be authorised by the environment secretary. Parliamentary officials countered this was too wide a net and should be limited to state occasions. It was agreed the law officers would draw up contracts.

So, how did it all end? The film was released in America in July 1975. Here, the film censor denied it a classification until a disclaimer was inserted stating that the Royal Family had not participated in its making and footage of the Queen was from newsreel. A section where she appeared to react to an explosion was cut. It went on to limited release, the Guardian calling it “quite a good thriller”.

In public the limited controversy was soon forgotten, but the effect on the Palace was substantial. It now assiduously polices its copyright of all royal coverage. That’s why, for example, you won’t see pictures of the King’s Speech cut in with other shots on Have I Got News For You.

October 1974 was the last occasion when the rules of coverage were determined by a gentlemen’s agreement. As the constitutionalist and real Lord Hennessy might think, it was an early casualty in the ‘good chaps’ school of government. 

One final note: 30 years later, Michael (Lord) Dobbs published The Lords’ Day about a terrorist takeover of state opening. He told me he’d “never heard of the Hennessy case”. A strange coincidence. 

With many thanks to Alexandra Fisher of the parliamentary archives for her invaluable help

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