The Speaker of the Commons turned himself into a human shield yesterday to save George Osborne during Treasury Questions. Who’d have thought it? Michael Martin is a sheet-metal worker, a working-class boy from Glasgow. The Shadow Chancellor is a Tory toff, the son of a baronet, the heir to a wallpaper fortune. The whole set-up had more than a tinge of Upstairs, Downstairs about it.

It was George’s first outing in the House since his career hit stormy seas with Yachtgate. He was nervous and sat, legs crossed, arms crossed and, we must assume, fingers crossed. This is the parliamentary equivalent of the aircraft brace position. He knew Labour would launch an attack, though he could not have known it would take the form of a guerrilla ambush manned (or should I say womanned?) by female backbenchers.

The guerrilla girls did not act alone by any means. I counted at least eight whips keeping a watchful eye on things on the Labour benches. Real effort had gone into this for, of all the Tories, Labour dislikes George Osborne the most. For them, the thoroughbred arrogance encapsulated by Georgie Boy’s pose in that ridiculous Bullingdon Club photo says it all. Certainly Gordon Brown detests him and, in this scenario, Gordon would have to play the Che role – though, admittedly, it is hard to see the Great Leader in a beret.

First up was the formerly anonymous Lyn Brown, who read out a question so planted that I could see the leaves. She criticised George for leaking “confidential documents”. (He is actually accused of leaking a private briefing, but guerrillas are never great on detail.) What, she asked the Chancellor, did he think of the Shadow Chancellor’s judgment?

The Tories groaned. Ms Brown giggled, thrilled with herself. George braced himself even more, but, as Alistair Darling arose, the Speaker threw himself in front of the question and demanded of Ms Brown: “Did you warn the Shadow Chancellor that you were going to make an attack on him?”

Ms Brown, looking at the Speaker as if he were mad, said she hadn’t. “Well,” he said, “you should have done.” Ms Brown looked about as contrite as a Valkyrie. “You must behave yourself!” he scolded. But from then on a variety of guerrilla girls popped up to denounce people who live on “Planet Bullingdon”. The Speaker was not amused.

Among the warriors was Anne Snelgrove, dressed for camouflage in a zebra jacket. “Is it bad judgment to oppose government action to protect small savers’ money in banks or just another example of social justice from the perspective of the Bullingdon Club?”

The word “Bullingdon” created unrest. “That’s just embarrassing!” heckled a Tory. “Order!” cried the Speaker. He looked at Ms Snelgrove: “You should cut that behaviour out.”

Another backbencher, Karen Buck, said that all Labour MPs should send a note over now “because, for the next 18 months, we all intend to do little else other than attack the Shadow Chancellor!”

“Order!” cried the Speaker. “A genuine attack is one thing but a personal attack on anyone’s integrity will be stopped. I know you will not indulge in any personal attacks on anyone.”

Ms Buck bucked back: “Perish the thought, Sir.” The Speaker protected George until the end and, on his way out, the Shadow Chancellor stopped by the Speaker’s chair. “Thank you!” I saw him mouth to the giant black pillow that is the Speaker in his robes. The Speaker, human shield, defender of toffs, nodded.

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