The honorees we really should have seen
With the announcement of the Queen’s Birthday Honours at the beginning of this week, New Zealand once again enjoyed its six-monthly indulging of the number one reason it remains in the Commonwealth – titles.
Considering how complicated and historically fraught this country’s relationship with The Crown (actual, not fictional) is, the idea of the knights and dames of Aotearoa New Zealand seems just a bit ridiculous. And yet…
There is a collective knowing smirk at the accession of New Zealand’s most famous rugby injury victim, Buck Shelford, to the title of Sir Buck. Just like referring to Dave Dobbyn as Sir Dobbo brings a nod of approval, and announcing Dame Topp Twins is just plain old fun.
New Zealand honorees are as much about feelgood stories as they are about establishing a sort of national folklore. Does anyone even think of Malvina Major and Kiri Te Kanawa without the ‘‘Dame’’ in front? People shorten Howard Morrison to ‘‘Sir Howard’’, but never just ‘‘Howard’’. It wouldn’t feel right. Because, in this country ‘‘Sir’’ and ‘‘Dame’’ aren’t just titles, they’re acknowledgements of ability.
That’s why getting rid of knighthoods and damehoods in the early 2000s didn’t work. New Zealand had not – and still has not – discovered a cultural metric with which to adequately label someone at the top of their field. Despite Taika Waititi’s valiant efforts, the term ‘‘Skux’’ is still not widely enough known, even though it would be the perfect gender-neutral replacement.
Most people won’t have heard of Sir Jim McLay, Brian Roche, and Maarten Wevers, or Dames Paula Rebstock and Diana Crosse.
That’s no slight to them, it’s just that being honoured for ‘‘services to the state’’ is a bit obscure. It could mean being very good at management, it could mean giving exceptional advice to a prime minister, it could mean being a spy, or conceivably all three. Whatever it is, we know these people are some of the best to do it, ‘‘Skuxes’’ one and all.
As with any honours list, there are always complaints of people who have been overlooked. Complaining about who hasn’t got a gong is almost as much fun as discovering which random acquaintance has picked one up. But two notable absences stand out, and hopefully can be rectified by the time the New Year honours roll around.
With deep respect to Richie McCaw (ONZ), New Zealand’s most beloved Cantabrian remains Tammy Wells, the (quite possibly) immortal ‘‘Briscoes Lady’’.
This cultural icon deserves nothing less than a damehood. For decades, she has been an economic north star, reassuring New Zealanders that whether recession or pandemic, there will always be a sale at Briscoes, with 50 per cent off something, probably linen. In fact, if New Zealand ever replaces paper money with discount vouchers, the face on the 50 per cent off bill will be ‘‘Briscoes Lady’’.
Such is her power that when the Government announced the end to 2020’s first lockdown, no-one actually believed it till the Briscoes advert following the press conference. If, through some scandalous affair or newspaper columnist’s fan fiction, she ever had a child with Dr Ashley Bloomfield, that child would grow up to be the most reassuring person in New Zealand history. And while traditionalists might scoff, ‘‘Dame Briscoes Lady’’ sounds just as Kiwi as ‘‘Sir Mad Butcher’’, and far less embarrassing to New Zealanders than ‘‘Sir Michael Fay’’.
Also, how has Cliff Curtis not been knighted for New Zealand’s best film re´sume´ and services to diverse acting? He’s the Kane Williamson of New Zealand acting, consistently exceptional no matter what continent he’s on. Maybe it’s because he’s never played an actual knight that New Zealand has failed to put him on their list. He’s certainly played royalty, having been a prince, a sheikh, a Firelord, Jesus, and even Dwayne ‘‘The Rock’’ Johnson’s brother.
There are few cinematic experiences as wholesome as Kiwis discovering Cliff Curtis in a film they had no idea he was part of. He just shows up, like the spirt of New Zealand cinematic aspirations, reminding Kiwis their Hollywood dreams aren’t as fanciful as they used to be. If he has no interest in the honours system, then fair enough. ‘‘Sir Cliff’’ would mean he’d occasionally be mistaken for Cliff Richard. But when the Cliff Richard biopic comes out, Kiwis can bet even money Cliff Curtis will be in the film.
There are obviously other people readers will feel deserve recognition. Perhaps ‘‘Dame Anika Moa the Unleashed’’, ‘‘Sir Michael Hosking the Outraged’’ or maybe, one day, ‘‘Dame Lorde the Generational’’. New Zealand will probably end up giving Lorde a damehood because she deserves it, and ‘‘Dame Lorde’’ is both fun to say and will cause seizures in the aristocracy.
‘‘Sir Dr Ashley Bloomfield’’ will also inevitably come to pass, once the Covid pandemic has finally ended, undoubtedly for ‘‘services to the state’’.
Despite Taika Waititi’s valiant efforts, the term ‘‘Skux’’ is still not widely enough known, even though it would be the perfect genderneutral replacement.