The Man Who Wouldn't Be King

And why no-one liked Sir David Frost

They never liked David Frost. The cool kids, like Peter Cook and Willie Rushton, thought he was a try-hard. In a sense they were right. David Frost tried hard – and wasn’t afraid to be seen to try. And he really succeeded, fronting the legendary That Was the Week That Was and The Frost Report as well as chat shows in America and Australia. He interviewed Nixon, launched a successful breakfast television franchise, and received a Knighthood.

Sir David Frost was some kind of genius. He tried. And succeeded.

For Cook and Rushton, genius should at least appear effortless. For Peter Cook it probably was. He had one of the greatest comic brains in the history of the English Language. Comedy seemed to come so naturally to him that it wasn’t even fun.

This is how I start my e-book, Writing That Sitcom. (You can buy the eBook or the Audiobook here.) Sir David Frost was never liked by his comedy peers.

I mention Sir David Frost because he came to mind when I was pondering another wildly successful but friendless fellow. He is a national hero. Or at least, his statue has been standing outside the Palace of Westminster for over a hundred years erected in an era when there was much residual suspicion of Roman Catholicism. In 2004, some MPs including Tony Banks unsuccessfully tried to have him not only removed but melted down.

Such is the strength of feeling around Oliver Cromwell.

In this column, I’d like to explain who he is, why no-one likes him, and why he deserves at least some begrudging respect from all of us.

Who is Oliver Cromwell?

Not to be confused with Henry VIII’s fixer, Thomas, a hundred years earlier, Oliver Cromwell was the cavalry officer who rose rapidly through the ranks of the Parliamentarian army to emerge as the de facto leader by the end of English Civil War in 1646. And when it ended again in 1651. By that time, he was Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, having orchestrated the execution of Charles I in early 1649.

With the blow of the axe, Parliament’s victory was final and total. The King is dead. Long live, erm, something else? Not the King. Obviously. Or the Lord Protector. He’s not the King. Just some sort of executive chair.

It starts to sound like Monty Python’s Holy Grail in which Dennis says, “We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take turns to act as a sort of executive-officer-for-the-week. But all the decisions of that officer have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting by a simple majority, in the case of purely internal affairs, but by a two-thirds majority, in the case of more major—” At which point King Arthur tells Dennis to be quiet and asserts the divine right of kings. And a lady (Terry Jones, of course) says that she didn’t vote for him.

The debate with King Arthur above is a pretty good rendering of the discussions of the 1650s. There was a power vacuum and chaos in our kingless Commonwealth. If you want to know more on the subject, I can recommend Providence Lost: The Rise and Fall of Cromwell's Protectorate by Paul Lay, which I read last year. This book tells the story of the paralysis that happens when a slow moving legal system receives a system shock following regicide. Constitutional circles had to be squared all over the place; red lines were drawn and redrawn. The account of the 1650s is heavily reminiscent of the internecine conflicts over Brexit.

But let’s not get into that.

Actually, let’s get into that.

Britain has been seeking to redefine itself, trying to forget a colonial past that many find embarrassing or abhorrent. As I wrote in a previous column about Captain Sir Tom Moore, we’re a nation crying out for heroes. Any hero will do. Why not look to Oliver Cromwell, a proto-President of the People? Here’s why.

Why does no-one like Oliver Cromwell?

For anyone with Irish blood in their veins, no explanation is required. No one likes Cromwell because he has committed war crimes, authorising the terrible slaughter of civilians. I’d be unwilling to say more on this without careful research. Clearly, this debate takes place within the context of centuries of bitter struggle which is exacerbated with every human life taken. This fuelled the MPs’ campaign in 2004 who wished to remove “the statue of Oliver Cromwell, known to many as the Butcher of Drogheda,” and that they “would not like to see the statue relocated to anywhere other than a foundry”. I suspect if they could have moved to have the statue “thrown into fires of Mount Doom” they would have done.

Normally, even with controversial figures like Cromwell, there’s a constituency that leaps to their defence with all manner of yes-buts and now-hold-on-theres and man-of-his-times, along with the usual whatabouttery. For whom is Cromwell a hero? Who are his supporters? Anyone?

The Revolution Has Arrived Ahead Of Schedule

Could Cromwell be a hero to the anti-monarchists, the Levellers and those who want to tear down the Establishment? He had the King tried and executed. In public. What could be more revolutionary than that? Come on, Voltaire. Get with the programme, Rousseau. Your revolution was 150 years behind. Chop, chop.

But here’s why Cromwell is unloved by the Left: religion. Cromwell’s firm faith puts him outside of the camp of acceptable thought. Close that Overton Window and pull down the blinds. Pretend we’re not in. No-one wants Cromwell in that house. The French Revolutionary spirit can be summed up in words attribute to Diderot; “Men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.” In short: jog on, Olly.

Too Religious For The Right

What about those who are more comfortable with religion? Especially the conservative types who tend to like the Church of England, might have voted to leave the EU and our proud of our history and heritage. Could Cromwell be our own Martin Luther?

No. Cromwell is religious. But he’s too religious. He was a puritan, giving long speeches constantly invoking God’s name. And he meant it. Conservatives find all that non-liturgical stuff rather embarrassing. It reminds me of the way Sir Humphrey Appleby stops a man from becoming Governor of the Bank of England by referring to him as ‘The Lay Preacher’. It’s as if you can understand a priest preaching for money, but a layman? Oh dear. That’s Cromwell. The layman who loves God. Avoid.

Some will tolerate talk of God, but as long as it is vague and deistic. But don’t talk about Jesus. And most of all, don’t claim you speak for God. That’s what Cromwell apparently did. When you dig into the details, you discover he was quite not as sure about speaking for God as his critics would have you believe. He was frequently wracked with worry and self-doubt. But that’s not the perception of the puritan who cut off the head of a king.

Cromwell did not doubt God and he did not fear men. So he’s not going to become a focal point for a nationalistic demagogue any time soon. And so the invincible military commander and man of the people, Oliver Cromwell, is friendless, viewed with suspicion and contempt. He is the Sir David Frost of 17th Century politics.

Cromwell as Frodo

However, Cromwell did one thing that I believe deserves our respect. In 1657, he was offered the crown. He would be King Oliver, and his descendants would inherit the throne. He agonised for five weeks, eventually saying ‘no’. How many others would have done the same?

At a time of intense political division – there had literally just been a bitter civil war – there must have been a temptation to take the throne. It would solve a lot of problems. One could say it was for the greater good. Everyone would understand.

But he did not go down that path. And yet that is the politics of our day. You don’t do something because it’s the right thing for the country, or the right thing morally. You do it because it defeats your political enemies. You get to own the libs. Or out the fascists. That’s the tone of politics the UK and the US at the moment. It’s very ugly. Cromwell, at least, didn’t go all the way down that road by taking the throne.

Some would question why he even took five weeks of painful, prayerful deliberation. He’d just executed one king. Why create another?

But we should be mindful of the effects and allure of power. The great English novel, The Lord of the Rings, tells the story of a ring of power. Gollum finds it. Bilbo takes it. He passes it on to Frodo, who then discovers its true potential. It is interesting that is the powerful who fear the ring most. Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond eschew the ring. It is only a humble ordinary hobbit who is able to resist its lure. And even then, he caves in.

Maybe Cromwell isn’t such a bad statue to have at the Palace of Westminster. We don’t want to be the kind of country that elects a ‘President for Life’. We don’t want the sort of ruler who wants to be President for Life. Or, we shouldn’t.

I know we have a ruler for life called Elizabeth Windsor. But that kind of power is very different. King Oliver’s power would have been executive and real. But just as he did to King Charles, he cut off its head before the dynasty could even start. And for that, Lord Protector Cromwell, I, at least, salute you.

Thanks for reading. Would you consider subscribing? If you already have, maybe email this column to someone you think would it enjoy it.

The nature of public debate, in and our of the church is toxic. Barry Cooper and I talked to Adam Mabry about this who wrote a really good book, Stop Taking Sides. Find that over at Cooperandcary.com

If you’re interested in Writing That Sitcom you can buy the eBook or the Audiobook here.