A coat of arms on a jar of marmalade is one of the oldest marketing devices in Britain, and it cannot be bought
By Appointment: The Curious Commerce of the Royal Warrant
Look closely at the label of a certain mustard, or the lid of a particular tin of shoe polish, or the van of a dry cleaner in the West End, and you may find a small coat of arms and the words By Appointment. Most of us have seen the device so often that we no longer see it at all. It is among the oldest commercial endorsements in the country, it is prized by those who hold it, and it works in a way quite unlike any other form of advertising. Nobody can pay for it.
The Royal Warrant of Appointment is a mark of recognition given to people and companies who supply goods or services to the royal household. I have spent some weeks talking to holders, former holders and people who would dearly like to be holders, in order to understand what the warrant is worth and why it still matters.
An Old Arrangement
Tradesmen have supplied the court for as long as there has been a court, and the practice of formally recognising them goes back to the medieval period. Royal charters were granted to the trade guilds. By the fifteenth century, individual suppliers were being appointed in writing. The system grew under Queen Victoria, when a rising middle class took a keen interest in what the palace bought and manufacturers were quick to tell them.
The list of holders has always been a pleasing jumble. It has included grocers, tailors, gunmakers and saddlers, and also chimney sweeps, pest controllers, fence builders and a firm that maintains agricultural machinery. The household is, among other things, a very large collection of old buildings and country estates, and it needs its drains unblocked like anyone else.
How One Is Earned
The rules are administered by the Royal Household and explained by the Royal Warrant Holders Association, the trade body for those who hold one. A business must have supplied the household regularly over a period of years before it may apply. The supply must be real and continuing. It is paid for at a commercial rate. The warrant does not mean free goods for the palace, a point holders are quick to make.
A warrant is granted for a fixed term, usually up to five years, and is then reviewed. It can be withdrawn if the quality falls, if the orders stop, or if the firm changes hands in a way the household does not care for. In recent times applicants have also been asked to show that they have a proper policy on sustainability and the environment, a requirement that reflects the long-standing interests of the present King.
What Happens When the Reign Changes
A warrant is personal to the member of the Royal Family who grants it. When that person dies, the warrant lapses, although the holder is normally allowed a period of grace in which to go on displaying the arms. The death of Elizabeth II after seventy years therefore set off the largest review in the history of the system. Hundreds of firms that had displayed her arms had to apply afresh under a new reign.
Many were reappointed. Some household names were not, and their omission made the newspapers. The Palace does not give reasons, which leaves the field clear for speculation. The effect was a reminder that the mark is not a heritage decoration. It is a live commercial relationship that can end.
What It Is Worth
Every holder I spoke to struggled to put a number on it, and every one of them was sure it mattered. In the home market the arms suggest quality and long standing. The real value, several told me, lies abroad. In parts of Asia, the Gulf and the United States, a British product bearing a royal coat of arms carries a weight that no advertising campaign could buy. An exporter of fine foods said the warrant opened doors with overseas buyers before he had said a word.
For a small firm the effect can be considerable. A family business of brush makers, or hatters, or bookbinders, acquires a distinction that sets it apart from larger rivals. The government’s own guidance for exporters on GOV.UK has long stressed the selling power of British heritage, and there is no clearer shorthand for it than three lions and a harp on the packaging.
The Rules of Discretion
There are firm limits on what a holder may do with the privilege. The arms may be displayed on products, premises, vehicles and stationery, at an approved size. A holder may not suggest that a particular royal person uses or prefers a particular product. There must be no talk of what was ordered or by whom. Indiscretion is the fastest route to losing the warrant, and every holder I met shut up like an oyster when I asked what the palace actually buys.
This reticence is half the appeal. In an age of paid influencers who will hold up anything for a fee, here is an endorsement that says only that a household of exacting standards has been a customer for years, and declines to say anything further.
A Fair Criticism
The system is not above question. It confers a commercial advantage by royal favour, and the process is opaque. Decisions are made privately, criteria are stated only in general terms, and a firm that loses its warrant is given no public explanation. One may reasonably ask whether a modern monarchy ought to be handing out a competitive edge at all.
The defence is that the warrant rewards something worth rewarding. Many holders are small manufacturers of the kind Britain says it wants to keep: skilled, local, slow to cut corners. The association also supports training in traditional crafts through a charitable trust. Information about the household’s wider work with craftspeople and conservation can be found through the Royal Collection Trust and on the Royal Family’s website.
I began this inquiry inclined to regard the warrant as a quaint survival. I end it with more respect. It is a quality mark that money cannot buy and that must be earned again each few years, and commerce has few of those left.
The lighter possibilities have not been lost on the writers of the British Onion school, who have appointed suppliers to the Crown of things no household needs, and The Daily Mash has done the same. For the method behind such pieces, see how to run a satirical website. For the working tradesman’s language that many warrant holders grew up with, there is the guide to Cockney rhyming slang. My other reporting is on my author page at The London Prat.
SOURCE: https://prat.uk/
