Great Britain: The Laborious Parliament

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For the first time in two weeks, the sun shone over London. Out of Buckingham Palace in gilded grace swept the Irish State Coach, bearing Queen Elizabeth II to Parliament. The royal route through St. James's Park was lined by a thousand troops, and the equipage of horses and cavalrymen jingled cheerily between trumpet fanfares. The Queen, acrackle in white silk organza and wrapped in white fox, dismounted and marched up the Royal Staircase past lines of tabarded heralds to the Royal Robing Room. Then, having donned the 18-ft. red velvet train, originally tailored for Queen Victoria and a 3-lb. jeweled crown, she mounted the throne in the jammed Lords' Chamber. "My Lords," murmured the Queen, "pray be seated."

Thus, amid centuries-old pomp and pageantry—and for the first time under the eyes of television cameras—the Queen last week summoned the Commons to a parliamentary session that promises to be the longest, most loquacious and most Laborious since the end of World War II. As 185 rounds of gunfire celebrated the double occasion of a royal birthday (it was Elizabeth's 40th) and Parliament's opening, Prime Minister Harold Wilson's strengthened Laborites made it clear that in this session they hope to pass all the controversial bills that their pre-election majority of three had made impossible. With a 97-seat margin after the March 31 elections, Labor has the votes to force its will.

A Bit Closer. Wilson's second program, as outlined in "Her Majesty's Most Gracious Speech," throws challenges to both right and left. To mollify Labor's vociferous left-wingers, who are nettled at Wilson's continued firm support for U.S. policy in Viet Nam, Wilson pledged to work toward "a negotiated settlement of the conflict in Viet Nam." But he simultaneously angered Britain's powerful trade unions by promising to introduce legislation that would hold wage increases within certain limits. Government pressure to hold down wages might well bring on a spate of labor strikes.

In foreign policy, Wilson veered a bit closer to the Common Market, with a statement that his government "would be ready to enter the European Economic Community provided essential British and Commonwealth interests were safeguarded." His Common Market pronouncements during the election campaign had baldly demanded that British conditions for entry—such as freedom to purchase wheat and sheep from Canada and Australia without import levies—be met before he would consider membership. Then came the little firecracker that almost everyone expected, even though many wondered why it should be lighted.