Uncle George’s interview with Lord FitzAlan, the Deputy Earl Marshal, may seem somewhat informal, certainly he thought so.
“That took place over 60 years ago and so I do not feel the least ashamed about it. Today things are different and to become a herald is not so easy. It is no longer just a question of suitability, though that may still count. Now you also have to have scholarly or similarly impressive qualifications or else perhaps serve a very long apprenticeship. Gone are the days when the College of Arms was largely filled with the friends and relations or the natural children of the great, like for example the herald of the last century who had a distinguished career at the College, finally becoming Garter King of Arms, whose principal qualifications for being appointed to the College seem to have been that he was the illegitimate son of a Garter King of Arms who was himself the illegitimate son of the Duke of Norfolk.
By letters patent, which is an antique way of saying by a formal open letter addressed to everyone who might read it, I was appointed to the Office of Portcullis Pursuivant of Arms. Since the appointment emanated from the King, it meant that it could not be legally upset, cancelled, or amended, except perhaps by the King himself or by Act of Parliament. Thereby I was also given all the ancient “rights, privileges, liberties and pre-eminences, appertaining to that Office” and, in addition, a yearly salary of “thirteen pounds and nineteen shillings of good and lawful money of Great Britain”, a salary which I noted had not been raised for about two hundred years. I also noted that, although all these things were conferred upon me for life , they were subject to my “good behaviour in the same Office”, a condition which I thought very acceptable since it seemed to infer that I could behave how I liked outside it.
The Office of Portcullis Pursuivant was instituted by our first Tudor King, Henry VII, the designation being derived from one of his household badges, a portcullis, an heraldic device which had belonged to his mother, Margaret Countess of Richmond, often known in history as Margaret Beaufort. When he became King, he added to it a royal crown and used it principally in relation to his Palace of Westminster, then his residence and seat of government. It distinguished his officials and staff there, and also the household goods and chattels. It is still to be seen in many places in the Palace of Westminster, marking the things which belong there. Its purpose now, besides being decorative and historically interesting, is to discourage noble lords and honourable members of parliament, as well indeed as all and sundry, from taking things home.
Among the ancient liberties conferred upon me was the right to use this historic badge – but uncrowned, like Margaret Beaufort’s – on such things as my writing-paper at the College of Arms, which was not perhaps in itself a privilege of the very highest importance to me, but it symbolised security, because after all that is what real portcullises are for, and security is one of the most precious things in life. So I used it gladly, as my badge of happy servitude, for the next few years during which I tried to become a learned and sagacious herald.
I had been given a practice job to do as soon as I arrived at the College of Arms. It consisted of converting a narrative pedigree in the Burke’s Peerage into a tabular pedigree on paper, and I found it a distressingly dull exercise. In fact, within 48 hours I had an attack of jaundice which, as you know, is often brought on by boredom. But I was back again within a week or two and resumed my tedious task, hoping it was not always to be like that. A few days later, however, and to my great relief, I was permitted to take my place at the receipt of custom.
Public enquiries at the College of Arms at that time averaged about 30 a week. These enquiries, either made in person or by letter (there was no telephone), were dealt with by the heralds and pursuivants of the College in turn on a weekly roster. Seated at a table in the Waiting Room, or “Office” as it was labelled in faded gold letters, they waited patiently, sometimes anxiously, ever hopefully, for a motor-car, preferably a Rolls-Royce, though a taxi was always welcome, to drive into the courtyard. My first enquiry came on foot, a Mr Coulson, who only wanted an authenticated picture of the royal crown. I obtained one for him, certified it as being the real thing, and charged him fifteen shillings, which gave me a net profit of 7s. and 6d. for my trouble. Though not exactly a transaction of stupendous magnitude, it gave a strange feeling of achievement – I suppose because it was the first filthy lucre I had ever received from a member of the public.
By the end of my first week “in waiting” I had earned four and a half guineas. My most promising client was a baronet, Sir Cecil Domville, who came to enquire about his ancient and modern coat of arms – he had both. One of them dated from 1814 when an ancestor, who had been Lord Mayor of London, cluttered up his one-time simple shield with additions and embellishments to commemorate the event and had had his Arms officially altered accordingly. Now he wished to revert to his original Arms which came from the remote past, and asked me to look into it and let him know if and how it could be done, for doing which I charged him a guinea. I am able to provide these details because I still have my “day-book” of that time. ”
Sir George Bellew, KCB, KCVO, KStJ,FSA.
‘…. within 48 hours I had an attack of jaundice which, as you know, is often brought on by boredom.’ Priceless.