Hereditary Lords face up to extinction

In jailed in the Tower of London in 1538 hoping to be executed, Henry Courtnay, the Count of Devon, wrote in the words of its cell walls that would become the motto of his family: “Where did I like, what have I done?”

Almost 500 years later, another Count of Devon is once again contemplating to obtain the cut.

Charlie Courtnay, the 19 or 38th Count of Devon, depending on whether you tell it, is one of the 87 hereditary companions who will be expelled from the House of Lords this year, if the Government’s House of Lords).

He is quite relaxed with his imminent department. Henry Courtnay’s Beoading was one of the four that the family has suffered, so for the current “executions” of the Count of Devon, as he expresses it, they are nothing new.

“For us the hereditary, that is what happens.”

For hundreds of years, hereditary colleagues had the right to make and discuss laws in Parliament, a right they inherited from their parents and died to their children.

In 1999, then Prime Minister Tony Blair described his presence in the House of Lores as an “anachronism” and got rid of more than 600 of them, but, after what was supposed to be a temporary commitment, 92 were saved.

Twenty -five years later, a new Labor Government has come to power and hopes to get rid of those who remain.

The BBC has spoken with four of those colleagues to pack their parliamentary desks.

Charlie Courtnay is happy to talk about the long history of her family, but when she grew up, she felt uncomfortable with her privileged background.

“Obviously it is uncomfortable and shameful on a personal front. In particular, it does not help if you live in a castle, you feel a bit like the stranger.”

“I walked away from England for ten years and lived in the United States, where it became very easy.

“When moving to America, where the answer was” God, that’s really interesting, tell me more, “I learn to talk about it with a little more confidence.”

His distant ancestor, Baldwin of Redvers, received the title in 1142 a reward for supporting the right of Empress Matilda to the throne.

He inherited it after his father’s death in 2015, and begged to think more deeply about what he meant to be a count.

His father had expelled his leg from the House of Lores in the 1999 sacrifice, but his son could return through a partial choice process, whereby the hereditary who have died can be replaced by others of the same political group.

He says he remembers having thought that “here is a good opportunity to provide a voice of Devon in Westminster, which is exactly the work Baldwin received 900 years ago.”

The Count of Devon is what he calls a proponent “without shame” or hereditary companions.

“I am the only person who defends the indefensible,” he jokes.

He argues that, at a time of a group on the “rabid consumption of our natural world,” the hereditary sacrifice a “long -term multigenerational vision” and they are less likely to focus on short -term political profits.

With his remotely, he hopes, if not changing the law, then obtaining some support for his amendment to eliminate what he calls “the patriarchal and misogynistic rules” that impede women inherit most of the titles.

“It seems weak, totally ridiculous, shameful and incorrect that my sisters and my aunt or my daughter can inherit the title.”

Whether or not their amendments be accepted, it is almost certain that their children do not have the opportunity to sit in the lords based only on the title, a fact that the count is more than resigned.

“The great moment for the Courtenay family was around 1100. Since it is a bone, a child of a slight and soft glories settlement.

“This is just another step on the route to ignominy.”

“I will not miss traveling to 672 miles there and back every week,” says Lord Thursus, a Democratic liberal partner.

He lives in Thurs, a city that is located on the north coast of Scotland and the farthest from the gentlemen as you can without a boat.

He has no problem with the hereditary companions who get the boot (“the idea that we have a unique quality is ridiculous,” he says), but doubts that he will make many differences.

“This is another plaster attached to something that really needs to be dealing with.”

He says that the lords have good debates and analyze the government’s plans “extremely well”, but “does it really take us anywhere? He does not.”

To have influence with the government, the lords need legitimacy, he says.

“A house full of parliamentarians largely retired on the grass for 30 or 40 years or people like me who inherited him is that his grandfather was secretary of the cabinet? That is not a way of putting together a second chamber.”

In 2012, he worked in a condemned plan that would have red lords composed of a combination of chosen and designated colleagues.

He says no “cat in Hell’s chance” that the government makes more changes once the current bill is approved.

Ministers want ministers to use legislation to make other changes, including a 20 -year period limit for new peers and a restriction on the size of the house.

“If you have those two, well, then we can expect another 100 years or so for democracy,” he sighs.

Lord, how he inherited his title from a second cousin without a child in 1984, along with Penn House, a majestic Buckinghamshire house.

“My wife and I lived on a small terrace in London. I was a teacher. I was working on the couch.

“Suddenly I had a call to say that I had inherited the title.

“It was a shock for the system, particularly when you reach a dark afternoon in January, the front for open crevices and there is a butler that says ‘welcome home your honor’. And he did not feel at home at home.”

The heating invoice cost more than its annual salary, he remembers.

Only a few years after becoming a partner, conservative prime minister John Major made him minister (“he must have the legs scraping the cannon,” he says).

He is in the leg in the front bank of his group since then in several roles.

Almost 40 years later, his enthusiasm for the lords has not decreased.

“I love the place. I have found it very satisfying. And occasionally you feel that you have done a bit of good.”

Lord Hacking is a strange thing: a hereditary labor partner. There are only four of his son, a fact that partly explains the enthusiasm of governments to get rid of hereditary.

He obtained the title in 1971, but never expected to stay so long.

He assumed that the hereditary companions would soon be eliminated and decided that once he kicked, he could run to be a deputy.

“It didn’t work as,” he says. “A bad political judgment.”

“I remained in the House of Lores until 1999 when I was 62 and that was a bit late to think about entering the House of the Commons.

He supports the position of his parties in hereditary colleagues, but not without regret.

“I would say that I am happy to get rid of them. I am sad but I think what happens … is that the best of the hereditary companions will be invited to have a nobility of life.

“I am sure it will be a commitment. We always commit ourselves out of situations in England.”

You can listen to the interviews in The Westminster Hour of BBC Radio 4 In BBC sounds