Tag: dorkiness

La Reyne le veult!

Monday saw one of the coolest events in the British parliamentary calendar: prorogation. What is prorogation, you ask? Simply put, it’s the end of a parliamentary session. But unlike here in the US where the legislature expires quietly, Parliament goes out with a ceremony that’s 100% pure awesomeness.

The power to prorogue Parliament is part of the royal prerogative, though nowadays it is only exercised on the advice of the government. In the past, monarchs prorogued Parliament in person, but since the 19th century it has been customary for the sovereign to appoint a commission of peers to perform the ceremony on their behalf. Nowadays, it is also customary for the prorogation ceremony to include the signification of royal assent to any outstanding bills, but the two things are technically separate.[note]Monarchs stopped signifying Assent in person around the same time as they stopped proroguing Parliament. Until 1967, Assent was always signified by the Lords Commissioners. But that eventually proved to be too inconvenient, so Parliament passed the Royal Assent Act, which allowed the Queen to signify her Assent by signing Letters Patent. The older, more formal, is only used at prorogation.[/note]

Illustration of a peerage robe courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

The ‘Lords Commissioners’ are always chosen from among the ranks of the Privy Counsellors, and usually include the Lord Speaker, the leaders of the main political parties in the Lords, and the Convenor of the Crossbench Peers.[end]The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chancellor are also named in the Queen’s Commission, but they no longer take part in the ceremony.[/end] At the appointed hour, they put on their parliamentary robes (complete with ermine) and process into the House of Lords, where they take their seats on a bench between the Throne and the Woolsack. The male Commissioners were black bicorn hats, while their female counterparts wear something that looks like a squashed tricorn hat with a gold brooch on the side.[end]The ladies’ headgear seems to be a modern innovation. Traditionally, women wore the same bicorn hats as their male colleagues, and I’m not sure why a change was made. I think it’s fairly recent though.[/end]. The commission is presided over by a Minister of Cabinet rank, usually the Leader of the House.[end] and he’s the only one who gets a speaking role. The rest of the Commission just sits there in silence.

The Leader of the House commands the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod (who also doubles as the Serjeant-at-Arms of the House of Lords) to summon the House of Commons. When the Commons arrive, they can’t actually enter the Lords Chamber. Instead, they have to stand at the threshold. As they crowd in, they bow three times to the Lords Commissioners, and the Lords Commissioners in turn acknowledge each bow by doffing their hats (though female Commissioners don’t doff their hats for some reason).

Once the Commons are in their place, it is time for the best part of the entire ceremony: the reading of the Queen’s Commission. This is probably one of the most awesomely arcane documents in the British constitutional repertoire. It’s addressed to “Our right trusty and right well beloved the Lords Spiritual and Temporal” and “Our trusty and well beloved the Knights, Citizens, and Burgesses of the House of Commons in this present Parliament assembled,” and contains references to the “fidelity, prudence, and circumspection” of her Commissioners, as well as the “divers (sic) difficult and pressing affairs concerning Us, the State and Defense of Our United Kingdom, and the Church” that caused her to summon Parliament in the first place. At the end of the document, the clerk informs everyone that it’s “signed by the Queen herself, with her own hand.”[note]Those with a hankering for grand legalese can find a sample of the Commission here.[/note]

The commission read, it’s time for the Royal Assent. As the Clerk of the Crown in Chancery reads the short title of each bill, the Clerk of the Parliaments turns to the Commons and pronounces the appropriate Norman French formula (in most cases, it’s La Reyne le veult, which means “the Queen wills it”). That’s right: in Britain, a bill formally becomes an act when a bewigged man shouts at legislators in a dead dialect.

Assent given, it’s time for the Leader of the House to read the Queen’s prorogation speech “in Her Majesty’s own words.” Of course that’s not exactly true: like the Speech from the Throne, this speech is written for her by the government, and it’s basically a boring laundry-list of all the great things the government has done over the past session. When the speech is over, the Leader of the House formally prorogues Parliament to a certain day, and the Commons withdraw. Much more hat-doffing ensues.

Now there are some people who would love to do away with the robes, hats, and Norman French in the name of ‘modernization.’ After all, the prorogation ceremony isn’t necessary. It could be streamlined, or even eliminated. But at the same time, there’s also no real compelling argument for doing so.  Whether it’s fireworks on the Fourth of July or bewigged men shouting in Norman French, there’s nothing wrong with a little spectacle. 🙂

 

Titanic Redux

An Australian billionaire has announced plans to build a replica of the Titanic. Naturally, the ship will be named Titanic 2 (most media outlets seem to be writing the name with Roman numerals, but ships traditionally use Arabic numerals, e.g. Queen Mary 2) and it will be constructed in China by CSC Jinling Shipyard.

As a liner enthusiast, I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I’m not too keen on the recent trend toward ever bulkier passenger ships. Ships like the Norwegian Epic and the Oasis of the Seas look more like floating condos than naval vessels. Even the Queen Mary 2 suffers from balconyitis, albeit to a lesser degree.

Epically Obese
Photo of the Norwegian Epic courtesy of Brian Burnell @ http://nuclear-weapons.info

The Titanic, on the other hand, looked very much like a ship, with a lean superstructure and four raked funnels. Aesthetically speaking, the Olympic-class ships were a masterpiece, both inside and out.

The sister who survived
I couldn't find a picture of the Titanic in full profile, so I had to use the Olympic. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

 

As far as I can tell, no designs for Titanic 2 have been released yet, so it’s unknown how closely she will resemble her namesake. However, it’s already been confirmed that she’ll have a bulbous bow for greater fuel efficiency, bow thrusters for greater maneuverability, and a larger rudder. They’ll also have to figure out a new place for the lifeboats. On the original ship, they were stored 59 feet above the water on the boat deck, but current SOLAS regulations require lifeboats to be stored no higher than 49 feet (though Cunard was able to negotiate an exemption for the Queen Mary 2 because of the nasty conditions on the North Atlantic).

The interior will need to be changed as well. I doubt they’ll have steerage, for example, and second class will probably be ditched too. Even first class will need adjustments (back in 1912, private bathrooms were the exception rather than the rule, even in first class!). If they’re truly faithful to the original design, there won’t be any balcony cabins like we know them today. True, the so-called ‘millionaires’ suites’ on B- and C-decks had ‘private promenades,’ but those were totally enclosed. The lack of balcony space could prove detrimental to the ship’s commercial success. After all, one of the reasons the Queen Mary 2 has so many balconies is that they were thought necessary to help recoup her $900 million price tag. Granted, the Titanic 2 won’t be nearly that large, but if she’s constructed like a true ocean liner, she’ll be a lot more expensive than an ordinary cruise ship.

Ultimately, the whole enterprise seems macabre though. After all, the Titanic is only famous because her maiden voyage resulted in the deaths of 1,500 people. I do wonder how they plan to handle that in the brochure!

Christmas comes early!

After years of searching, I’m finally the proud owner of Alexandre Piankoff’s The Tomb of Ramesses VI. Ramesses VI had one of the best-decorated tombs in the Valley of the Kings, and its walls were decorated with an unusually complete selection of Netherworld books. The Bollingen Foundation sponsored a photographic survey of the tomb and commissioned Piankoff to translate the texts into English. Although it was published over 50 years ago and probably went out of print shortly thereafter, Piankoff’s work is still useful because it contains the only English translations of many of these texts.

Unfortunately, second-hand copies of The Tomb of Ramesses VI tend to be quite expensive. The two-volume set usually sells for anywhere from $200-500. But in a stroke of staggering good fortune, I was able to get both volumes for $21 from a seller called Better World Books. Not only did I get a great deal, but they also donate a portion of their proceeds to various literacy-related charities.

As I waited for the books to arrive, I worried that the deal was too good to be true. Happily, my fears proved to be groundless. Both volumes are in excellent condition, and I’m thrilled with my purchase. If you’re looking for used books, you should definitely check them out.