THE LORD MAYOR.

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 264, 7 November 1931, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE LORD MAYOR.

LONDON'S ANCIENT DIGNITY.

CENTURIES OF HISTORY.

Very old is the City of London, and very great is the dignity of the Lord Mayor. Probably no other city corporation in the world is at once so venerable and so stately in its ceremonial, and can show so long and unbroken a history. The City proper is a very small part of London—67s acres to be precise —and it does not begin until you get to the site of Temple Bar, but it is the oldest and richest part. It is the original Roman London, the hill fort by the Thames, and in the Guildhall Museum you may see Roman remains that have been dug up in the area controlled by the Mayor and Corporation. It is "the City" in the financial sense, for the Bank of England is at its hub. The Corporation can claim an antiquity greatly exceeding that of "the mother of Parliaments," for a charter granted by William I. is still preserved in the archives. When the Sovereign visits the City, the Lord Mayor meets him at Temple' Bar with the Sword of State. November 9 is a great day in the City, for then the new Lord -Mayor marks his assumption of office by proceeding in State to the Royal Courts of Justice to be presented to the Lord Chief Justice, and the other judges and to invite them to the banquet at the Guildhall that evening. The Lord Mayor drives in his great State coach, and the procession constitutes the famous Lord Mayor's Show, a pageant that is more highly esteemed by "country cousins" than by Londoners. At the banquet all the great official world attends, and the Prime Minister makes a policy speech.

The Lord Mayor is usually elected for only one year. He is paid £10,000 a year, but spends much more from his private means. In the City he takes precedence of every subject of the Crown, including princes of the blood royal. He lives in a state of ceremony. When he goes from the Mansion House to the Guildhall, he drives in a great coach with two footmen behind and an officer in a cocked hat and carrying a drawn sword riding ahead. He looks more like a Rembrandtesque rabbi than a Londoner going to send a costermonger to prison, remarks Mr. E. V. Lucas. There is always a crowd to witness this scene. And while London would not have all this pomp and ceremony diminished one iota, it reserves the right to make fun of it. That is the English way.