The Myth of London Fog

by Margaret Wente

Special to The Globe and Mail

London, 1951

So we've been hearing for years now, ad nauseum, that coal is responsible for the fogs that have caused such trouble in southern England. As the head of British Coal remarked, "You might as well blame horses for the Battle of Waterloo."

Fog has always been part of British weather. It always has, and always will be. At least one battle in World War 2 was postponed because of weather, the Dieppe Raid, and that turned out well in the end. Caesar had the same problem.

People should get a grip.

The Case of the Serial Proroguer - Part the Last

Return to Rideau Hall...

I arrived in Ottawa and went directly by cab to the front entrance of Rideau Hall. Secrecy was useless.

I was shown in to a reception room where I'd been told Stephen Harper had been kept waiting for hours. I lit a cigar and enjoyed the moment.

At length, Her Excellency sat opposite me and asked: "Well?"

"I must tell Your Excellency that your appeal to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council has been dismissed."

There was a pregnant pause. "Shit," she said.

"Nevertheless, I am commanded to express to you Her Majesty's views on the present constitutional problem in Canada."

"Which are...?"

I told her.

"Furthermore, Her Majesty, through the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, has commanded me to present to you her private views."

"Which are...?"

I told her.

"I didn't know she could use language like that."

I'd been waiting avidly for this moment.

"It's the Queen's English," I said.

She gave me a black look and said, "Thanks, I guess."

I let myself out the tradesmens' entrance and repaired immediately to the Chateau Laurier in a dishevelled state. It occurred to me that being a constitutional lawyer was a pretty good gig.

I was comfortably into my third Screech on the rocks when I was approached by a pair of cowboy boots, above which was a cowboy suit to match.

"Hi," said the owner of the suit. "My name's Ed, and I'm looking to take Alberta out of Confederation."

-30-

The Case of the Serial Proroguer - Part 5

Before the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, Parliament Square...

A week had passed. I had obtained an expedited Hearing before the Judicial Committee, to be held in camera and ex parte. I had no idea what that meant.

I represented Her Excellency, the Appellant, and The Prime Minister was represented by Lord Goldsmith, an Attorney-General.

It had been a week of feverish preparation, exchange of documents, and close arguments presented to one of the most distinguished judicial bodies in history. The Rhino and Weasel had put its full resources at my disposal. Fortunately, in this day and age, almost all case law and statutes were available on the web. Everything else I needed was at the bar, including the bartender, who as it turned out, was a barrister.

The pith of my argument was that the Canadian executive was challenging the essence of Canada’s constitution, trying to create a rubber stamp Parliament, a tame judiciary, and a police state. My colleague at the bar immediately took the pith out of it.

“I wouldn’t try that if I was you, squire” he advised me in rich upper class tones. “Their Lordships will bring up Alberta v. Canada [1922] 1 A.C. 191, and that peace, order, and good government don’t extend to the exile of Prime Ministers.”

I tried another tack. “What about the War Measures Act?”

He cringed. “No, no, no, squire. First of all, Quebec would revolt. Second, it’s now the ‘Emergencies Act’, and even if you could convince Their Lordships that a ‘public order emergency’ existed in Canada, you’d have to try to get an Order from the Governor in Council without actually having the Prime Minister in Council.”

“What about Martial Law? We did that in 1840 and there didn’t seem to be any problem.”

We talked it over, and it seemed the only chance. I prepared written submissions accordingly.

On the appointed day I paced the anteroom nervously in the company of Lord Goldsmith, who seemed relaxed and confident, having felled a Robert Mugabe-like figure with a single blow despite the impediment of a flipper pie.

After the courtesies, the President of the Court announced its judgment.

“Her Majesty is unable, even by the most assertive use of Reserve Powers, to declare Martial Law in Canada in order to exile the Right Honourable Stephen Harper, Prime Minister of Canada, to exile in St. Helena.

“Her Majesty is likewise unable to grant leave to Her Excellency to construct a moat and fire pit around Rideau Hall, to repulse any putative attacks on her authority by the executive.

“On the other hand Her Majesty wishes to convey her understanding of alarm at any threat to Parliamentary Democracy in Canada, or indeed anywhere where She is Sovereign.

“Further, Her Majesty has Herself experienced the demeanor of some of her Ministers which suggested they might, given half a chance, usurp the power of the Crown. Her Majesty instructs us to inform you that the exile of certain Ministers to St. Helena has attracted her favourable attention in the past. She had not previously considered constructing moats around various of her residences and filling them with Alberta Tar Sands, but she is likewise attracted by this possibility.

“Her Majesty, through this Committee, instructs us to send this message to Her Excellency.

“First, the institution of British Parliamentary Democracy is an imperfect ship of state: its design has been haphazard, it leaks, and it has many oddities of construction. Nevertheless, it is seaworthy and has been so for a thousand years. Her Majesty believes it will so continue.

“Second, before this very committee was heard the “Persons” case on appeal from Canada, in 1928. In addition to recognizing the rights of women to equal roles in political life, the ruling established the “living tree” principle of constitutional law; that is, that the constitution will grow and adapt with the society it governs.

“Third, Her Excellency should know that all good wishes are extended to her, as is Her Majesty’s confidence in the future of Canada’s constitutional democracy.

“Her Excellency’s appeal is therefore dismissed.”

I rose and bowed.

I flung myself from the chamber, flung myself upon the Underground, and flung myself back to Ottawa. I forgot to stop at the Rhino and Weasel, but they forwarded my meager belongings at minimal expense.

To be continued…..

The Case of the Serial Proroguer - Part 4

(Artist Ptolemy Dean)

First encounter with the Judicial Committee....

I was led into an ornate office, clearly designed to impress. I was impressed.

I knew that the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council had moved into new premises, but the ancient figure at work before me appeared to have been transferred with dust undisturbed. He was using a quill and perched at a really old desk. The quill stopped and the figure looked up.

"Well?"

"M'lord, I have with me a constitutional lawyer from Canada on an errand to the Judicial Committee from Her Excellency the Governor General of Canada. He has the correct seals."

The figure shuddered. "We don't have to eat them, do we?"

"No, I mean his documents are correct."

"Very well. You will please remain to take notes."

He gazed at me, speculatively. "Canada, eh?" he said. "Haven't seen you for a while. Interesting that you should turn up now. The last I recall was the Manitoba-Ontario Boundary dispute of 1884...."

"It was a significant ruling, but there have been other important decisisons since then, the "Persons" ruling of 1928, for example, recognizing the existence of women...

He sighed. "Those were the days."

He returned from reverie. "So what brings you here? I'd thought we'd done with Canada."

"Unusual circumstances M'lord. Her Excellency, the Governor General, has become concerned about the integrity of the parliamentary process in Canada."

"How so?"

"The current Prime Minister of Canada appears to believe he is the head of a feudal aristocracy that rules by divine right. He has intimidated the civil service with some success, stacked the Senate, abused Parliamentary procedure in the interests of staying in power, and now is trying to control the judiciary. He has twice asked Her Excellency to prorogue Parliament on the flimsiest of excuses, and she assented with reluctance for the greater good, to avoid an open consitutional crisis."

I continued, relentlessly, "But Her Excellency fears that not only will the Prime Minister try to replace her with a more docile Governor General of his own choosing, but that he might try to abolish the office entirely."

"This is grave news, indeed. And what would Her Excellency have the Judicial Committee do about the Prime Minister?"

"Exile to St. Helena."

He straightened slowly. "There is precedent of course, and the Reserve Powers are extraordinary, but the exile of a sitting Prime Minister stretches them considerably. Does Her Excellency have less drastic alternatives to safeguard the Dominion?"

"Yes, in the event that St. Helena is impossible, Her Excellency requests leave from the Committee to construct a moat around Rideau Hall, connected to the remainder of National Capital District by a single drawbridge, and that the moat then be filled with Alberta Tar Sands."

"Your appeal is most unusual. Please allow me one day for consultations, and return here tomorrow at the same time."

I bowed and withdrew. I returned to my lodgings and dreamed uneasily of weasels.

To be continued......

The Case of the Serial Proroguer - Part 3

London. Winter.

I was stiff and sore after a charter flight from Ottawa: the service had been excellent but the seats were painful. I'd spent extra do get the direct flight, not the one that stopped in the Canaries.

I was working under cover for The Woman in Black, and I surveyed the world bleakly from Victoria Station, where I had debouched after a coach journey from Heathrow of unsurpassing tedium, before hailing a passing Number 82 bus. Only the Europeans understand this level of service and comfort.

I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to shake off any tails from CSIS. I dismounted at Golder's Green and doubled back towards St. John's Wood to wrongfoot any surveillance, but fell awkwardly into the gutter. I was recovering my presence of mind when two shiny black boots presented themselves at eye level.

"Hello, hello, hello!" said a bass voice that seemed to boom from the heavens. "Had one too many, have we?"

I thought quickly. "No, I'm a Canadian constitutional lawyer."

"Well, that explains a lot, " the voice continued, relentlessly. "We get a lot of them at this time of year. Blown off the migration routes to Florida."

What could he mean? Why drag the CIA into this? I lurched to my feet.

"I merely need to find my way to a bed and breakfast, Constable."

"All very well sir. I suggest you try The Rhinoceros and Weasel, an excellent public house directly behind you."

He assisted me across the threshold with a minimum of force, and the landlord threw me courteously into bed. As I dozed into unconsciouness, the name of the pub echoed ominously. Rhinoceros? Weasel?

The next day I arose at noon, owing to the time difference, and staggered down to a breakfast of kippers and Scotch. The landlord hovered without any real enthusiasm, and I managed to have a quiet word.

"Can you," I asked furtively, "direct me to the offices of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council?"

He was a cool devil, I'll give him that, and his eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.

"We hear that a lot," he said.

"How often?" I asked.

"Once," he replied.

I toyed moodily with my kippers as he drifted off to serve another customer with the traditional English fried breakfast. I felt like my brains had been fried. When I checked, that was also on the menu.

He drifted back and stuck a Post-It Note on my menu. It said: "The Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, Parliament Square, London SW1P 3BD."

I lurched out into the street with my London A-Z in hand. It was useless. I hailed a cab.

I fell out at the address and tried to pull myself together. I entered the premises.

A receptionist regarded me disdainfully.

"Who are you sir, and what do you want?"

"I'm a constitutional lawyer sent by the Governor General of Canada to make representations before the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council."

"And your bona fides?"

I deposited a flipper pie on her desk, on which was engraved the insignia of the Governor General of Canada, blurred only slightly by an unfortunate baggage incident at Terminal 5.

She was visibly impressed. "Please take a number and have a seat."

I took a number, which was "2" and noted that the only other occupant of the waiting room was a man who resembled Robert Mugabe. He sneered at me. "So, another colonial come to grovel at the feet of the British Crown."

I regained possession of the flipper pie and ground it into his face. I felt better for having done so.

The receptiionist returned. "The Secretary will now see Number 1." There were incomprehensible noises from the Mugabe-like figure, filtered through a thick layer of flipper pie.

"In that case, Number 2?"

I stood up and offered my ticket. It said "2".

"Please come this way."

To be continued....

alt.PMO 3 - Davos

alt.PMO 2