DRONGO, DORMOUSE, DOBBIN, DUFFER . . .

. . . and Speaker of the House of Commons:

Simon Carr on Michael Martin's

barely believable deficiencies

`GORBALS Mick', writes the Daily Mail. 'From the same chimp farm as Two Jags' (Sun). 'Like a supply teacher in a sink school' (Guardian). `Drongo' (Times). 'A face red and throbbing like a haemorrhoid' (Independent). Dobbin. Duffer. Dormouse.

Awful things, really, to repeat about the Speaker of the House of Commons in the week of his confirmation. Not only is he plump and avuncular; he holds the most senior position in the House of Commons. `I am the custodian of the House,' he says; and he's right.

Since the 17th century, his predecessors have defended Parliament against the ambitions of an invasive, ambitious, autocratic monarch, and as a result nine of them lost their lives. These days, the office is meant to defend Parliament against an invasive, ambitious, autocratic government. The life-expectancy is longer but the job remains the same.

The status of the office is matched by the terms and conditions of employment. Pay runs to £130,000 a year (a third higher than the Prime Minister's); the pension is half the salary, irrespective of length of service. The apartments in the Palace of Westminster are all you could expect. Speakers meet and greet foreign heads of state. They join an international group of parliamentarians at the very highest level. Their memoirs are sought by publishers (Lady Boothroyd signed up with Random House for a little under £700,000). Prestige; admiration; affection, even. Money; three months' holiday; job security; no lifting. It's political heaven and you don't even have to die to get there.

The current Speaker, Labour's Michael Martin, comes from the Gorbals. His father was a stoker. His mother died of cancer when he was 25. He had no academic qualifications until he was 42, when he got an 0Level in Italian. His life has been hard. How old would you say he looked? Sixtyfive? Sixty-seven? No. Fifty-six.

These biographical facts disqualify no one from high office in Britain today. Nor should they. Yet Michael Martin's performance in office couldn't have been worse if he had inherited the job from an Australian uncle. When Betty Boothroyd announced her retirement, he was, as deputy Speaker, in pole position for the poll. He began a period of intense electoral lobbying which, Scots parliamentarians say, included priests recommending him to their parliamentary parishioners. Whatever deficiencies have become apparent, he is a great corridor man, a fixer, an arm-twister. Eventually he overcame Blair-babe resistance to his campaign (he's anti-abortion) and, following a series of run-off votes, was elected 370 to eight.

At this point, he was meant to ascend into his lonely heaven beyond politics, to sever his relationship with his party, to liquidate his tribal loyalties, forget his auld acquaintance, and enjoy the House 'rallying round'. None of these things happened. His old loyalties remained in evidence. He could never be mistaken for anything other than a Labour Speaker.

In the early days, the stopwatch showed that he cut off Tory Members significantly more quickly than Labour Members. Even now, less scientific evidence has him winking and grinning at the government benches. And he clearly discriminates against certain Members for private reasons. Lady Boothroyd told a committee that she didn't look at the voting record of her election until a full year had gone by. That is not something of which you would suspect Speaker Martin.

Labour's Tam Dalyell, the new father of the House, says, 'After a very bad start he's done increasingly well.' But then, Mr Martin has had the room to do increasingly well for years without ever doing a good job. He's a pleasant-looking chap, he has a gentle, fireside charm, many of his pongoid defects are entirely excusable in Parliament — but the fact is he hasn't any of the qualities Nicholas Winterton would look for in a Speaker. The chairman of the procedure committee was talking on the telephone and in general. Abstractly. Nothing personal. No hint of criticism of Mr Martin. Mr Winterton enumerated the essential qualities a Speaker needs: independence; fairness; an ability to read the mood of the House; a sense of humour; the ability to uphold the rights of the House against the executive. It is cruel but fair to observe that Mr Martin fails on every one of these counts. You might add the facts that he has only recently become audible, he can't keep order without shouting, he needs advice from the clerks on any interesting point of order, and when he reads out prepared statements his fore finger travels the line of ink.

A few anecdotal observations.

Late last year, the Tory John Butterfill approached the Chair during a series of questions on the Middle East. He privately pointed out to the Speaker that he had just called a succession of Members with recognised pro-Arab interests or histories. The Speaker reared up and expelled Mr Butterfill with the words: 'The Member will take himself from the House.' The Member bowed his head like a boy and left at once.

The following day, Mr Speaker explained to the House that he had not expelled the Member. He had been invit ing him to sit down again. The extent of that factual reconstruction was notable even by the standards of this Parliament.

But Mr Butterfill had touched the Speaker's most sensitive nerve, that deepest Old Labour value of demarcation. 'Don't tell me how to do my job!' he railed at the opposition benches recently, his face breaking out in all the colours of a heart attack.

On that occasion, the Tories had been bawling 'Disgraceful!' and 'Order!' at the Prime Minister (and probably, truth be told, at the Speaker, under cover of their colleagues). William Hague had just asked some aggressive party question and, in answer, Tony Blair quoted at length the opinions of some unknown Conservative candidate on the Tory leader's prospects.

This was contrary to the Speaker's riding instructions. He has ruled — and ruled well — that ministers are there to answer questions on government policy, not to attack opposition policy. It's a very good stand for a Speaker to take, and hooray for Mr Martin for taking it. But where government ministers bend his rule, the Prime Minister simply ignores it. That was why the Tories were crying foul, and why Mr Martin visibly lost his temper — though not with the Prime Minister.

An hour later, in points of order. Mr Martin gave his considered verdict on the exchanges. 'What I would say to the honourable gentleman is this. At all times I must be able to use my judgment. The Prime Minister didn't change the rules. The House changes the rules. And the rules are in my custody. I am the custodian of the rules of this House. What I would say to the honourable gentleman is this.' He then announced that people should not tell him what to do, because then he would do the opposite of what they suggested.

Not a very solid precedent, and expressed in a mix'n'match prose style, you might feel, but it was nonetheless an interesting one. It represents the Speaker doing 'increasingly well'.

During the last parliament Tony Benn made a short, rather old-fashioned speech announcing his intention to stand down after the election. His wife had died. His son sits on the bench behind him now. You could have been caught with a sudden pricking round the eyes, as this great Toby jug of postwar Fabianism announced his retirement from the House.

The Speaker read a bloodless, two-line response, following the text with his forefinger. It was the parliamentary equivalent of 'Cheers, mate!' written on an office retirement card.

We'd thought that Glasgow had heart; that the Gorbals had, at least, warmth. But Mr Martin, with his mental, moral and emotional deficiencies, will remain a core asset for, and absolutely essential to, the sketchwriters. Long may he reign over

Simon Carr is parliamentary sketchwriter of the Independent.