A Conversation on Commissions

There were three of us at the pool, Matilda Hatt, myself and my daughter Victoria. Vicky had just finished shooting a number of damsel in distress sequences for the True Blood series in Los Angeles and was now back at The Manor working on a paper commissioned by the British Historical Society entitled What Really Occurred at the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. Tilly was back from God knows where, and had picked up a nasty bruise on her forearm that she was not talking about. Given that the temperature was pushing 33 degrees C., the pool was the place to be.

Another reason that drove us outside was the fact that two of the Manor's fireplaces needed attention, and various workmen were at present clambering all about, and making a hell of a racket. My driver Ahmed was supervising, and for this I was glad. His wife Consuela, my gardener, was great with child, and he was continually fretting and worrying.

We were all in our bikinis, something that did not go unnoticed by the odd workman's face that would appear from time to time in the Manor's windows.

I looked up. saw one, and muttered, "Bloody better get back to parging, boyo."

"What the hell is parging?" asked Tilly.

I didn't acquire an engineering degree for nothing, and replied, "It's applying a thin coat of polymeric mortar to create a smooth surface. In a fireplace that's necessary because --"

"Now Mum," said Vicky, putting down her history notebook, "let's not get all technical. I mean, I can expound at length on this Westphalia thing as a justification for the Thirty Years War. It did, after all, establish a diplomatic principle of non-interference in another countries affairs that --"

"Enough!" said Tilly loudly. "It's too damn hot for obscure arguments. But I am curious, Victoria, about your little cinematic commissions as a way of making some money on the side.

"Actually, quite a lot of money," I said.

"Well," said Vicky, "I enjoy it, although at times you have to be a little, er, athletic."

"Like being suspended by the ankles over a pit of open fire," I added. "Just your normal cameo role."

"Now, Mum," said Vicky. "That was one of my best. It's a pity there isn't an Oscar category for that type of performance. I mean, I writhed!"

Tilly, who I knew had once been in that very position in an actual situation, just stared at her.

"And look, Mum, I got a gift from the True Blood cast. See?"

Vicky did something with her tongue, and, click, two little fangs appeared.

"Good God," I said.

"Cool," said Tilly.

I had had enough of this, and plunged into the pool. I surfaced, and was soon joined by Tilly. We swam for a bit, then perched on the far side of the pool. Vicky had gone back to her notebook.

"Lord," said Tilly out of the blue, "but Canada is a civilized country."

"And just what prompts this observation?"

"For starters," she replied, "you don't tear yourselves apart over an issue. In the USA, health care, abortion, gun control -- both Democrats and Republicans just snarl at each other. And each year the divide seems to be getting more wider, even more vicious. Yet it doesn't appear to be the same here."

"Not exactly true, Tilly. There was the FLQ in Quebec, and earlier, at the time of WW II, conscription was a big deal. Further back, there was Riel, and the Fenians, but I see what you mean. Actually, what Canada does is rather unique when a divisive issue surfaces."

"And just what is that, precisely?" Tilly was all ears now.

"We borrowed a strategy from the Brits. It's called a Royal Commission. Wonderful thing, really. When an issue looks like it's going to be problematical, the government appoints this Commission, headed up by someone who has an impeccable record, and comprising a number of the great and the good. It is staffed, and then swans about the country for a considerable time, listening to everyone and making copious notes. Later, much later, an Interim Report is issued for yet further comment, and a goodly time after that comes the Final Report. Of course, by this time everyone has forgotten all about the issue, and presto -- problem solved."

"We don't have Royal Commissions," said Tilly glumly.

"You could have, if George III and Lord North hadn't been so stupid. But, as they would say in Yorkshire, that's between summat and nowt. Yet all might not be lost."

"What do you mean?"

"Why not suggest a Presidential Congressional Commission? Get someone who both parties agree is a near saint on the issue at hand, and have equal membership from both Republicans and Democrats. It would also help if they knew something about the issue. Then off they go, listening and taking notes, with everyone saying their piece. Health care would be a natural."

I could literally see the wheels turning in Tilly's head. "You know," she said, I have this contact in Michelle's Secret Service detail. A word in his tinted ear, then to Michelle, then to Barack -- hell, it's worth a try."

"Good, but remember old W.C. Fields on this: 'If at first you don't succeed, try again. Then quit. There's no point being a damn fool about it.'

"I," said Tilly swimming away, "will keep that in mind."