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In the nineteenth century, a new icon was added to the British national gallery. The distinctive costume of the Yeomen Warders, known as Beefeaters, and their highly visible role at the Tower of London made them colourful symbols of the nation. This chapter examines nineteenth century as an epoch of crisis to which the monarchy responded by creating a narrative of historical continuity based on loyalty to the Crown and constitution. The Beefeaters at the Tower played an important part in this response. In the United Kingdom, made up of at least four nations, the Beefeaters needed to prove themselves to be national symbols able to cope with the complexities of being British.

For some, Niklas Luhmann’s social theory is ‘the best description and analysis of contemporary society presently available’, and yet ‘the majority of people — not only the wider public, but also in academic circles — have apparently failed to notice this’ (Moeller 2012:3). Over his lifetime Luhmann produced over 75 books and 500 articles (Borch 2011), although he is probably best known for his scholarly work on the sociology of trust and risk (Luhmann 1979, 1988, 2000, 2005) and systems theory (Luhmann 1982, 1995). Given his wide-ranging and voluminous outputs, it is therefore highly unlikely that we will be able to provide a completely adequate introduction to his work in this short chapter. It is with this in mind that we would direct readers to some of the useful texts that introduce Luhmann (King and Thornhill 2003, 2006; Moeller 2006; King 2009; Borch 2011). In addition, it is worth pointing out that Luhmann’s own lecures introducing systems theory have now been published and are presented in a very accessible format, clearly demarcating his theory of society from other approaches in sociology (Luhmann 2013). For many of those working with his theory, an exciting development has been the recent publication of Theory of Society Volume 1: Cultural Memory in the Present (Luhmann 2012).

Certain geographical areas and neighbourhood types have come to symbolise patterns of ignorance, lack of opportunity and ‘poor lifestyle choice’ in public discussions of family food practices. The media, reporting recently on the activities of one of the UK’s ‘celebrity’ chefs announced: ‘Jamie Oliver to teach the poor how to cook ‘the basics’ in town [Rotherham] where mums opposed his school dinners campaign’ (The Daily Mail 28 March 2008). Concern about diet and about contemporary eating practices is therefore widespread. An increasing public focus on diet and health is not surprising: in England the number of obese children has tripled in 20 years. Ten per cent of six year olds are estimated to be obese, rising to 17% of 15 year olds (Zaninotto et al. 2006). While current concern about childhood obesity is usually expressed in terms of what children eat, implicit in contemporary discourses about health is also a critique of how they eat. While the ‘what’ is subject to scientific debate among for example, nutritionists and members of the medical profession, discussion of the ‘how’ has often been dominated by prejudice, myth and unquestioned assumptions which are grounded in notions of appropriate — and inappropriate — forms of parenting and family life.

The Unionist Party believed that its coalition of support could be fractured if working-class identity provided a focus of loyalty that was irreconcilable with the Union. Elsewhere in the United Kingdom, Northern Ireland was seen as ‘a place apart’ because it was divided by the fundamental political dispute between Irish nationalism and Unionism. The conceptualization of class as the primary identity of individuals in modern society meant that the existence of labour parties was seen as natural and inevitable. The Unionist Party sought to obstruct the ‘forward march of labour’ in Northern Ireland and their success suggested to the British Labour movement that the (Northern) Irish were deviating from the normative politics of the rest of the United Kingdom. Given their debt to late nineteenth-century Liberalism, which under Gladstone and Asquith was being forced to confront the pluralist nature of the British Isles, many early labour activists had an intense sympathy for Irish nationalism.1 The presumption was that Unionist-labour in the north of Ireland was a departure from the true interests of the working class.2 These presumptions have followed through into the historiography of the labour movement in Northern Ireland. As Henry Patterson has remarked, ‘The problem with such histories is their tendency to treat the main ideological currents among Protestant workers simply as obstacles to be overcome. From the outset they are defined as “problems.”’3

Richard Weight has described Huw T. Edwards as ‘a man whose gradual loss of patience with Britain’s political elite mirrored that of millions of ordinary people.’1 It certainly seems that Edwards’ political life fits into a narrative of the increasing unravelling of the United Kingdom, as he moved from the position of Labour stalwart to Welsh nationalist when he joined Plaid Cymru in 1959. This narrative suggests a steady dismantling of support for the Union. Edwards agitated for greater autonomy for Wales from Labour and Conservative governments. Without doubt he was frustrated by the unwillingness of governments in London to give undivided consideration to the problems of Wales. However, it is simplistic to see Edwards’ stance steadily and irrevocably moving away from identification with the United Kingdom. This chapter discusses the complex and dynamic nature of Edwards’ Welshness and his negotiation of that identity within the realms of the United Kingdom. Edwards’ last political act was not his break with the Labour Party that had become increasingly centralist, but the rejoining of the party when it seemed to him that it was at last recognizing his aspirations for Wales within the Union.

In a multinational state, relations between the constituent nations are always likely to be dynamic rather than static, even when they appear remarkably tranquil. Between the 1920s and 1960s, there were almost no demands for separation from the United Kingdom from within Scotland, and few demands even for Home Rule, as a legislative assembly subordinate to the United Kingdom parliament has been described. Demands for reform were episodic rather than part of any consistent campaign. The Union between England and Scotland was accomplished in 1707, and was dynastically resisted by the Jacobites, followers of the Stuarts, in 1715 and 1745. There had been substantial anti-Scottish agitation by John Wilkes and his supporters in the late eighteenth century, but by the mid-nineteenth century the relationship between the two nations had settled down into one of apparent mutual benefit.1 Tranquillity, however, is relative and, like dynamism, has a history. The tranquillity of the Union relationship rested on the continued recognition of Scottish difference from England within the Union. As Graeme Morton has remarked about the relationship in the nineteenth century: ‘Scots be not Britons, but be Scots and Britons.’2 Scottish national identity had not been absorbed within a new and monolithic British identity but had come into a negotiable relationship with a more extensive identity.

Gwilym and Megan Lloyd George were brought up in a family in which by virtue of their father’s successful political career their multiple national identities were fully apparent to them. David Lloyd George had utilized his Welshness to strengthen his position in British Liberalism, and then as Prime Minister during the First World War and its aftermath had established himself as a world statesman, although one who represented British interests. The Lloyd George name was Welsh and instantly recognizable. Lloyd George was celebrated as the ‘Welsh wizard’ and criticized as the ‘Welsh goat’.1 Politics was seen as a natural occupation for the Lloyd George children. Megan remarked in a speech in 1928 that ‘I’ve had politics for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner all my life.’2 With their father being appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1908, the children found the family home coincided exactly with the centre of power of the United Kingdom and its Empire in Downing Street. Despite this British context, the Lloyd George family did retain its Welshness, not least through the deliberate and conscious actions of Margaret Lloyd George, the children’s mother. Richard, the oldest son of the Lloyd Georges, wrote of his mother that ‘her love of Wales and everything Welsh was so great as to have left an indelible imprint on all her children’.3

There is a certain irony in the fact that the most devout supporters of the Union between 1921 and 1972 inhabited the one part of the United Kingdom that had legislative devolution. In Northern Ireland, as elsewhere in the United Kingdom, the construction of distinctive political and cultural identities was compatible with the existence of the Union. Northern Ireland had been created in the British government’s attempt to disengage from Irish politics after the First World War and Ulster Unionists, who had not asked for a separate parliament, came to see its establishment as enabling them to defend their Britishness in a potentially hostile political situation in Britain. Captain Charles Craig, brother of James, the first Northern Irish Prime Minister, gave the House of Commons at Westminster a clear explanation of how the Ulster Unionists saw their position: We would much prefer to remain part and parcel of the United Kingdom. We have prospered, we have made our province prosperous under the union … We do not in any way desire to recede from a position which has been in every way satisfactory to us, but we have many enemies in this country, and we feel that an Ulster without a parliament of its own would not be in nearly as strong a position as one in which a parliament had been set up … We profoundly distrust the labour party and we profoundly distrust the right hon. gentleman the Member for Paisley (Mr Asquith) … We see our safety, therefore, in having a parliament of our own.1

The problematic nature of the multi-national United Kingdom has been recognized for a long time. The United Kingdom is not a single nation but different nations held together by various Acts of Union. Wales was incorporated with England in 1536 and 1543, Scotland became part of Great Britain in 1707 and Ireland’s Act of Union, passed in 1800, came into operation in 1801. In 1921, the United Kingdom, for the first time in four hundred years, saw its geographical extent diminished through the Government of Ireland Act of 1920 and the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921. Six counties in north east Ireland were named Northern Ireland and retained within the United Kingdom, but the formation of the Irish Free State in the south meant that the territorial area of the Union was reduced for the first time in centuries. The union of nations that constituted the United Kingdom was, therefore, a dynamic relationship given to ebb and flow according to the political economy of national identity in the four nations.

Wales in the twentieth century was more culturally distinct and yet more politically integrated into the United Kingdom than Scotland. The existence of two languages made dual identities more palpable. The numbers of Welsh speakers fell until the last decades of the twentieth century. In 1901, 50 per cent of the population of Wales could speak Welsh. In 1971, the proportion had fallen to only 21 per cent. Decline was much more to do with the processes of modernization — for example, the rise of towns, the development of industry and immigration from southern England, radio and television broadcasting — than any deliberate policy of English cultural imperialism.1 Nationalism in Wales rooted itself firmly in defence of the language. Plaid Cymru was formed at the Pwllheli National Eisteddfod in 1925 with only the language within its scope. At its summer school at Machynlleth in 1926, despite the continuing miners’ strike, the new party failed to discuss social or economic questions.2 Welsh and Welsh nationalism have sometimes therefore been seen as synonymous, with the eisteddfodau seemingly symbolizing that relationship. But the eisteddfodau were frequently cultural events that drew out Welsh distinctiveness only within the British context. The full title of the main annual event was the Royal National Eisteddfod, and Sir J. Prichard Jones told the national eisteddfod at Colwyn Bay that For generations the Eisteddfod has been the pivot around which Welsh nationalism has catered to us who are of Wales … that Nationalism is a living thing, by it and for it we strive to attain higher things, not in a mean provincial spirit, but in a spirit that teaches us to do the best we can, not only for Wales, not only for Britain but for that wider British community, all over the world of which we form a part.3

Walter Elliot was the leader of Scottish Conservatism in the 1930s. He was a Lowland Scot, concerned with the affairs of state of the United Kingdom as an imperial power. Within Scotland, he was most concerned with Roxburghshire in the rural Borders where he lived, Lanark where he had business interests, and the Glasgow constituency of Kelvingrove, which he represented as a Member of Parliament for most of his political career. In the United Kingdom, his concerns resided at Westminster, where he was an MP from 1918 to 1957 (with only two brief interludes outside parliament in 1923 to 1924 and 1945 to 1946). He held a variety of government posts. He was Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State of Health for Scotland in 1923, Parliamentary Under-Secretary for Scotland between 1924 and 1929, and Financial Secretary to the Treasury between 1931 and 1932. In 1932 he was promoted to the cabinet as Minister of Agriculture and Fisheries. Between 1936 and 1938, still in the cabinet, he returned to the Scottish Office, this time as Secretary of State. In 1938 he was appointed as Minister of Health, a post that he held until the fall of Neville Chamberlain as Prime Minister in May 1940. While he was in Churchill’s shadow cabinet in the late 1940s he was not offered any government post commensurate with his seniority and instead he played the part of backbench elder statesman until his death in 1958.

It is axiomatic that a party officially adopting the label ‘Unionist’ for half a century between 1912 and 1965 and adhering primarily to the concept of the Union since 1886 should be the site of constant and firm allegiance to the Acts of Union that held the United Kingdom together in the twentieth century. However, the Labour movement too, despite its adherence to the principles of Scottish Home Rule from the 1880s to the mid-1920s, and a continuing paper commitment to devolution until the 1950s, was as much a unionist movement as its main rival in Scotland.

Ronald MacNeill, in what amounts to the official history of Ulster Unionism before partition, paid tribute to ‘The women of Ulster [who] were scarcely less active than the men in the matter of organization. Although, of course, as yet unenfranchised, they took as a rule a keener interest in political matters — meaning thereby the absorbing question of the Union — than their sex in other parts of the United Kingdom.’1 Yet MacNeill devoted only one and half pages to women’s Unionism. Mainly because women were kept in subordinate and auxiliary positions within the movement, the sources for examination of the day-to-day politics of women’s unionism are sparse and women have been largely absent from the historiography of Ulster Unionism.2 Women in the north of Ireland were, however, a significant force in the spread of unionist ideas outside the normal channels of masculine politics. They strengthened unionist ideas within the home and in voluntary organizations.3 After 1910, with the Irish MPs holding the balance of power in the House of Commons, the urgency of the threat of Home Rule did afford women a greater role in Unionism. Dehra Parker was one such woman. After the accomplishment of the exclusion of the six counties from Home Rule and the formation of Northern Ireland women’s role in politics was restricted, as the running of the state fell overwhelmingly into the hands of men.

Like Walter Elliot and Thomas Johnston, Lady Priscilla Tweedsmuir held to an outward-looking version of Scottishness that operated within the framework of the Union. She told the House of Commons in 1955 that ‘Scotland is a voluntary partner in the Union with England and Wales. We must take our share — and a large share — of responsibility in the great issues of foreign and Commonwealth affairs, defence and the wider matters of Government.’1 Tweedsmuir differed from Elliot and Johnston in two fundamental ways. Firstly, and most obviously, she was a woman, and secondly, born in 1915, she was of a subsequent political generation to them. Whereas Elliot and Johnston’s political careers were conducted against the backdrop of Empire, hers coincided with the end of Empire and the United Kingdom’s turn towards Europe. She was compelled to renegotiate unionist identity to take such developments into account. Another way in which she differed was that while Elliot and Johnston were subordinate figures in UK politics, it is fair to say that they were the two most eminent figures of their day in Scottish politics. Tweedsmuir was far less prominent. Her highest political position in Scotland was as Minister of State in the Scottish Office (1970–1972), and in the UK government it was as Minister of State in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (1972–1974), where she was the first woman to serve.