Free Man of the City Debra Reeves   © Copyright 2024 by Debra Reeves

Photo courtesy of the author.

One of the great luxuries of marrying your beloved in one’s latter years is time. Neither of us are running from pillar to post to accomplish something vital. We have space to reflect on the times of our lives. In one of those peaceful interludes in our living room in rural Canada, I learned something gobsmacking about my English husband. We were watching a program on our computer. After about seven years of marriage, I had absolutely no idea that he was a big wig. Decades before he had been inducted into a group that included Queen Elizabeth II, Lord Nelson, Florence Nightengale, Benjamin Disraeli, Winston Churchill, Margaret Thatcher, a whole host of Olympic athletes, writers, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, and many more luminaries including the actor, Michael Caine. I never knew.

We were sitting on our sofa, preparing to eat our meal when my husband offered me a choice of programs. I chose the one that featured the British comedian Steven Fry receiving an award. As we watched, E told me about the setting. He told me about the City and the Mansion House in London. He delighted in the landscapes and buildings that had formed the backdrop of his early adult life. As the program continued, Steven Fry and the rest of those who were to receive the “Free man of the City” award that year joined the procession into the Mansion House’s Egyptian Room. The setting triggered many memories for my husband.

It was always pleasant for me to learn about his life. It had been so different from mine that it was like story time for me so we frequently paused the program. I delighted in his reminiscences of events in those places and buildings. He told me of the time that there had been an important dinner at the Mansion House and how proud his parents had been to attend it.

All of the major roads of the City converge at the Mansion House which is used for ceremonial events. The annual dinner of the Junior Chamber of Commerce of London was always held at the Mansion House in those years and that particular year had been a huge success. As president, E was expected to give a speech. It was an exciting time because many of the presidents of Junior Chambers from all around the UK were attending and that included the President from Aberdeen in the north of Scotland. To E’s great delight it was the first year that a President from Ireland and one from Northern Ireland would sit around the same table.

It was such an occasion for his parents that his mother borrowed his aunt Nan’s fur coat. (The story about E’s friend spilling his beer on that coat will be reserved for another occasion.) At that time, E was still visiting his parents in Cheddar on alternating weekends so he drove them back with him to London the preceding Sunday evening. They would stay with him for the week in the Mews house that he, with the advice and support of his friends had rebuilt from a burned-out shell with only two walls standing. He had redeemed it to be a cozy two story home of London brick. It had all the amenities including an almost unheard-of garage for off street parking. It was just a few minutes walk from Marble Arch, Paddington station and Hyde Park.

I had previously found an old photo of that evening in a trunk and it sat framed on a bureau in our bedroom. The three of them stand smiling from the past. His father, a former Inspector in the Bristol Constabulary stands ramrod straight and his much shorter mother, a retired midwife, stands between her two men smiling a glowing smile. E smiles on the right- hand side of his parents with his long-gone curly hair and a confidence and joy that I seldom get to glimpse. The vicissitudes and brutalities of life can take their toll on the young men who set out with such boundless hope and confidence. I am E’s second wife. Many years ago, he lost a wife to breast cancer and before that, a child to a brain tumour.

That evening while sitting in front of our computer, E was happy to share stories of his past with the prompting of familiar places and sights. Steven Fry was in fine form and he explained the history of the award and the history of the exclusive City to the audience. I watched as he was given a long thin rectangular piece of paper that was folded into a red envelope that was about two by four inches in size.

Dignitaries explained that the award was now given for exceptional service. Freeman is a medieval term that means that someone was not the property of a feudal lord and that they had the right to earn money and own their own land. People who are protected by the charter of the city are Free. It gave them the right to carry out their trade or craft within the City itself.

Fry went on to explain that the City was approximately one square mile in the middle of London. It represents the space that originally lay within the ancient city walls that were built by the Romans circa the year AD 200. Freedom of the City as it now exists started around 1237. The first person to be recorded as being inducted to the award was either Philemon Philip Carter, son of Nathaniel Carter (goldsmith) in 1681 or perhaps it was William Pitt the Elder in 1757. The facts of the matter may have been obscured by the Great Fire of London. By 1835 this freedom or right to trade was extended to one who lived in, worked in or had a strong connection to the City itself. Free women are referred to as Free Sisters. The City is an independent part of Central London and it is known for its history and heritage.

Most of the real financial movers and shakers are located there and that includes the Bank of England, the Stock Exchange, the Royal Exchange and Lloyd’s insurance. It administers the major bridges and it owns vast swaths of London property. It owns water rights by virtue of owning large tracts of lands that sit over long buried rivers of London.

That autumn evening, though as I sat next to my husband on the sofa, I was learning so much history and I turned to him and said something like: “Wow! That is quite an honor.” Steven Fry went on to speak about the life of an elderly lady who resided in an apartment complex called the Barbican. When he reverted to humour at the end of the program, he explained that as a Freeman of the City he had a right that few others ever gain. At the finale of the program, he and the elderly Free Sister walked a sheep over London Bridge into the city. As the program concluded I told my husband that Steven Fry had been inducted into an impressive honor.

He looked at me strangely and he asked “Do you think so?”

I looked back at him just as strangely and I said: “Of course.”

He jumped up from the sofa and went upstairs to his office. As I cleared the dishes, I heard him rummaging around in drawers. When he returned a few minutes later, he handed me a little red rectangle about the size of his palm. In gold print, it said “Copy of Freedom, City of London”.

I stared at it with dawning comprehension. He went ahead and pulled out the long narrow certificate that was written in calligraphy. It said: “London to wit and then it stated his name, address at that time and occupation “and a citizen of London was admitted into the Freedom aforesaid and made the Declaration required by Law in the Mayoralty of Air Edre, the Honorable Sir Peter Vanneck, GRE, CB, AFC, AW, Mayor and John Perceval Griggs Esq. Chamberlain, and is entered in the book signed with the sector wide relating to the purchasing of Freedoms and the Aduifsious of Siccuicu (to wit) 10^th day of February in the 21^st year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth II in the Year of our Lord, 1978. Witnessed whereof the Seal of Office of the Chamberlain of the said City is hereto affixed Dated in the Chamber of the Guild Hall of the same City and the day and Year aforesaid.”

I asked: “Are you kidding me? How long was this sitting in a drawer?”

He paused and he calculated: “About forty years I suppose.”

“You left an award like this sitting in a drawer for forty years?” I replied with shock.

“Well, I didn’t think anyone would think it mattered.” He answered with a shrug.

“You mean to tell me that you were withholding this from me and we could have walked a sheep over London Bridge on our honeymoon?” I asked with a laugh.

We went out the next day and got the certificate framed. It now sits above a shelf that holds some of the memorabilia of his life.

*****

I have been writing for several years since my medical retirement after a coma. My writings were primarily for the personal entertainment of my new British husband and myself. We live in an isolated rural area of Canada.