In the years before the party system was as solidly formalised as it now is, Unionist MPs took the Conservative whip at Westminster but today the SDLP is the only Northern Irish party which takes the whip of a British party (in its case, Labour). Gradually official Unionists found themselves increasingly challenged by upstarts, which evolved into the formal division between the Ulster Unionist Party (moderate liberal-conservative unionists) and Paisley’s Democratic Unionist Party (hardcore conservative unionists).

The decision to start a separate Conservative & Unionist party for Ulster is a curious one, as it can only further split the Unionist vote, already divided between the dominant DUP and the fading UUP. This is at least simpler than in the 1990s and 2000s, when the vote split between these two and smaller Unionist groupings like the UK Unionists, the Progressive Unionist Party, the Ulster Democratic Party, and the Northern Ireland Unionist Party.

My favourite Unionist Party, however, was that which dominated the political scene in the Punjab from the First World War until Partition. It was primarily the instrument of the Muslim, Hindu, and Sikh gentry of the province, and counted three holders of knighthoods — Sardar Sir Sikander Hayat Khan, Sir Fazli Husain, and Rao Bahadur Sir Chhotu Ram — among its founders. Alas, with the increasing enmity between the Hindu and Muslim populations of India, its existence became unsustainable, and even the Punjab Province itself was split between Pakistan and India at independence. Sic transit gloria mundi!

Now the Free State’s Naspers-owned daily has been redesigned (c.f. the genial Charles Apple). The stately dignity of its former logo has been coldly replaced by the boringest of banners. Newspaper banners consisting of light text on dark backgrounds are tricky to pull off well. The Guardian does it, as does Le Figaro, but I’ve never really been convinced by either effort. Both, however, are better than Volksblad‘s choice of a supremely dull and featureless typeface for their banner. It has a real Anytown, USA feel to it.

Bring back the old’un! Luckily the redesign of Die Burger, my daily newspaper of choice when I was luxuriating in the comforts of the Western Cape, was much more of an aesthetic success.

The calles and avenidas of Madrid are decorated with some of the most elegant apartment house entry halls in the world. What a delight to take a stroll just after sunrise when doors are flung open, floors are swept, brass is polished—the city’s portales are made ready to welcome and to bid goodbye in style.

It’s the perfect place to compose oneself, button up a coat, search pockets or purse for a note, or deal with an umbrella (rarely a requirement in Madrid), before facing the porter or the street. …

Click here for more.

From 1307, the OPs occupied this particular site in Norwich until the Henrician Revolt, when the friary was dissolved and the city’s council purchased the church to use as a hall for civic functions. The nave became the New Hall (later St Andrew’s Hall) while the chancel was separated and used as the chapel for the city council and later as a place of worship for Norwich’s Dutch merchants. (The last Dutch service was held in 1929).

The complex has been put to a wide variety of uses. Guilds met here, as did the assize courts. It was used as a corn exchange and granary. King Edward VI’s Grammar School began here. Presbyterian and Baptist non-conformists worshipped in various parts during the late seventeenth century. William III had half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences minted here. In 1712, the buildings became the city workhouse until 1859, when a trades school was established the continues today elsewhere as the City of Norwich School. The East and West Ranges are now part of the Norfolk Institute of Art and Design.

Hopkins Architects, a firm responsible for many noteworthy projects, were commissioned in April 2009 to bring the St Andrew’s & Blackfriars Hall up to date as a multi-purpose functional space to be used for conferences, dinners, performances, and other events. Their plan aims at “transforming the existing buildings into a regionally important cultural and conference venue and an accessible community facility for the city and beyond”.

“The scheme will improve the setting of The Halls in relation to the urban realm around them,” the group claims, “and set out a series of sensitive alterations and additions to enhance and extend their current usage and life. Underlying any new proposals will be the concept of restoring the clarity and meaning of the primary spaces which formerly comprised the friary complex.”

Their schema seems relatively inoffensive and should work towards preserving this complex of buildings until such time as it can be reclaimed by an appropriately expanded Dominican Order in these islands.

This summer I received an email from my friend Bruce Patterson, all-around nice guy and Deputy Chief Herald of Canada, informing me of a new historical and literary review just founded called the Dorchester Review. Intrigued, I obtained a copy and was pleasantly enthralled with what I found. The first issue of the Dorchester Review contained a variety of thoughtful articles on fascinating subjects. I spent an entire morning sitting comfortably on a café sofa and imbibing the intelligent and enlightening contents of the magazine.

The editors did issue a brief statement explaining the genesis of their new review. They had me at their Pieperian first sentence: “The Dorchester Review is founded on the belief that leisure is the basis of culture.”

Just as no one can live without pleasure, no civilized life can be sustained without recourse to that tranquillity in which critical articles and book reviews may be profitably enjoyed. The wisdom and perspective that flow from history, biography, and fiction are essential to the good life. It is not merely that “the record of what men have done in the past and how they have done it is the chief positive guide to present action,” as Belloc put it. Action can be dangerous if not preceded by contemplation that begins in recollection.

The endeavour of reviewing books, the editors acknowledge, has too often been reduced either to brief puff-pieces in the Saturday insert of the local paper or more high-minded but uncritical praise of like-minded academics for one another. “There are too few critical reviews published today, particularly in Canada, and almost none translated from francophone journals for English readers.” As someone with a lifelong love of Quebec, I am relieved that finally there is a review in my own language willing to take Quebec seriously.

“At the Review,” the editors continue, “we shall praise the good books and assail the bad.”

They also forthrightly explain their rejection of the narrow nationalist perspective that has been on the ascendant in Canada throughout the past century, especially since the foundation of The Canadian Forum. The Dorchester Review effectively throws Canada’s doors open to a more reasoned understanding of the country’s relationship with Europe (Britain and France particularly), America, the Commonwealth, and the world.

But the Dorchester Review is not a publication just for Canadians. There is a great deal of Canada in it, but also a great deal of the world. The second issue (just printed) features articles with titles such as “Why Marx is Still (Mostly) Wrong”, “1789: The First Counter-Revolutionaries”, “What Sort of Autocrats Were the Popes?”, “Can Vichy France Be Defended?”, and “The Scots Fight Back” (the last in response to an article in the first issue: “How the English Invented the Scots”).

Contributing editor Chris Champion is interviewed by CBC Radio here. A number of the contributors (Conrad Black, Paul Hollander, etc.) readers of The New Criterion will already be familiar with. The latest number also includes a book review by this, your humble and obedient scribe.

Head over to dorchesterreview.ca to find out more or subscribe.

I cannot condemn this in more stringent terms. The Tories at the University of St Andrews have apparently burnt Barack Obama in effigy and then backtracked with all manner of pussyfooting around and the standard issue of apologies. Burning in effigy is a perfectly legitimate form of political expression and has been verified by centuries of tradition.

What’s more, I suspect there’s a bit of the old racism behind the apologies: would anyone have bat an eyelid if Mr Obama’s predecessor had been burnt in effigy by students? I, for one, would have happily joined in both effigy-burnings. The more effigies burnt the merrier. Chesterton remarked “It is terrible to contemplate how few politicians are hanged”, and I would suggest effigy-burning is a potentially more wholesome if less efficacious alternative.

If you’re going to burn an effigy, burn an effigy and then stick with it. But the weak-kneed, shilly-shally Tories always want to engage in a bit of old-school fun before hoisting up the white flag and issue an “unreserved public apology”. Rank hypocrisy of the highest order! Ye cannae have yer cake an’ eat it, too!

The Irish Cultural Centre in Hammersmith, London is in danger of closing as its landlord, the local council, is putting the ICC’s building up for sale. The enterprising folk at the Centre have launched the Wear Your Heart for Irish Arts campaign to raise the funds required to save this outpost of Gaelry and have adopted Begley the Bear as the campaign mascot. Begley is a brave little lad and he recently undertook a charity skydive to raise money for the Centre.

Alright, he wasn’t so brave at first, but he worked up the courage in time.

The ICC’s assistant manager, Kelly O’Connor, accompanied Begley on his endeavour.

She had to cover poor Begley’s eyes at the start…

…but then they got into the swing of things.

And at the end of the day, who could say no to a pint of plain?

To be filed under ‘Flags I Never Knew Existed’: the Québécois heraldist Maurice Brodeur designed a flag commemorating the French explorer Jacques Cartier, founder of Quebec and Canada. The banner was designed to hang as an ex-voto in the Memorial Basilica of Christ the King in Gaspé, conceived in the 1920′s as an offering of thanks for the four-hundredth anniversary of the claiming of Canada by Cartier. The Great Depression brought the project to a halt, and the church was finally finished in 1969 as a modernist cathedral in wood — the only wooden cathedral in Catholic North America.

Was the flag ever actually executed? I don’t know, but I doubt it.

ON MY WAY TO the Cavalry & Guards Club yesterday for lunch with an ancient veteran of King’s African Rifles (“Hardly qualify for this place — Black infantry!”) I realised I was a bit ahead of schedule and so took a gander at Cambridge House, the former home of the Naval & Military Club on Piccadilly. It’s surprising that an eighteenth-century grand townhouse of this kind has sat in the middle of the capital completely neglected, unused, and falling apart for over a decade.

Cambridge House was built from 1756 to 1761 by Charles Wyndham, 2nd Earl of Egremont, nephew of the 7th Duke of Somerset and younger brother of Percy Wyndham-O’Brien, the 1st Earl of Thomond (of the second creation), as well as an enemy of the radical John Wilkes. The architect was Matthew Brettingham the Elder, better known for his more impressive work for the Curzons at Kedleston.

Given its progenitor, it was originally known as Egremont House. Early in the 1820s, however, it was sold to George Cholmondeley, 1st Marquess of Cholmondeley and thus became known as Cholmondeley House (pronounced “chumley”, of course). In 1829 it came into the hands of Field Marshal H.R.H. The Prince Adolphus Frederick, Duke of Cambridge, Earl of Tipperary, Baron Culloden, &c. The Duke was the tenth child of George III & Queen Charlotte and with his long occupancy No. 94 Piccadilly became stuck with the name of Cambridge House.

When the Duke died in 1850, Lord Palmerston bought the place and lived here during most of his two premierships. After Palmerston’s death in 1865, Cambridge House was purchased by the Naval & Military Club. The Naval & Military had been founded just a few years before because the three other military clubs in London — the United Service Club, the Junior United Service, and the Army & Navy — had all reached their full capacity of membership. The club organised the traffic into the forecourt of Cambridge House by affixing large letters stating ‘IN’ on the west gate and ‘OUT’ on the east gate, thus gaining for itself the nickname of “the In and Out”.

The Naval & Military survived here for over a century but by the 1990s, they had begun to find Cambridge House a cumbersome load to bear. In 1999, they sold up and moved to No. 4, St James’s Square, the former London home of Waldorf Astor, 2nd Viscount Astor, the New Yorker whose wife Nancy was the first woman to take her seat as an MP in the House of Commons (Countess Markievicz, the first female MP, having been a Sinn Féin abstentionist). The building was sold to Syrian millionaire Simon Halabi, who planned to turn combine it with surrounding buildings and turn it into a hotel, with swimming pool and squash courts beneath the forecourt. Halabi’s enterprises went under, however, and so Cambridge House has been left to rot and ruin for ten years.

This summer it was finally sold (alongside its adjoining properties) for £150 million to David and Simon Reuben, the enterprising pair of brothers from a Bombay Jewish family. The Reubens say it’s too early to tell what they might do with the property. Perhaps sell it on to the current Duke of Cambridge, giving the Prince & Princess William a happy home right on Green Park? Grandma’s house (Buckingham Palace) is just across the park, after all.