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The recall of Parliament occasioned by the Taliban triumph in Afghanistan has been and gone. Not much of substance emerged from this emergency debate that we did not already know. What did

re-emerge, however, was Parliament itself in all its full-throated, tightly-packed, unpredictable glory. The Prime Minister was assailed from all sides, but especially from his own. He

survived a torrid half-hour, bloodied but unbowed, mainly thanks to the fact that most of the real anger was directed not at him, but at President Biden. His predecessor, Theresa May, was

his most trenchant critic, suggesting that British policy had been based on slavish obedience to the United States plus “a wing and a prayer [that] it would be alright on the night” — a dig,

perhaps, at Boris “exam crisis” Johnson? The former PM slightly spoilt her critique of the weakness of British intelligence, analysis and judgement by suggesting that we ought to have

cobbled together a Nato force in the absence of the Americans. Boris Johnson rightly dismissed this idea as impractical: “I do not believe that deploying tens of thousands of British troops

to fight the Taliban is an option — no matter how sincerely people may advocate it —that would commend itself either to the British people or to this House.” The most moving speech, which

reduced a rumbustious chamber to silence, came from Tom Tugendhat, one of several former servicemen to speak: “I’ve watched good men go into the earth, taking with them a part of me, a part

of all of us,” he lamented. “This doesn’t need to be defeat, but right now it damn well feels like it.” Those old enough to remember the recall of Parliament after the Argentine invasion of

the Falklands in 1982 will know how defeat felt then — and how Margaret Thatcher was having none of it. Nor, for that matter, was the then Labour leader Michael Foot, who gave a rousing

patriotic speech, perhaps the best of his life. Yesterday the present Leader of the Opposition established his own patriotic credentials by paying tribute to the fallen, before getting down

to business as usual, accusing the fellow across the despatch box of failing to fly to Afghanistan since 2018 despite never having been there himself. Sir Keir Starmer did a decent, if

unremarkable, job of berating Boris for complacency — a bit like accusing Gordon Ramsay of bad language. He got in a more spirited riposte when heckled by the Foreign Secretary: “He shouts

now but he stayed on holiday while our mission to Afghanistan was disintegrating…You cannot co-ordinate an international response from the beach.” Dominic Raab, who has hardly distinguished

himself in the office once held by Palmerston and Balfour, might have done better to pipe down. It is hard to believe that this debate was the first time since Sir Keir was elected to lead

Labour some 18 months ago that he had faced a full House of Commons. Some will feel that we have not missed all the blustering and bellowing, the posturing and preening, the points of order

and the petty point-scoring. But yesterday was a reminder of what British parliamentary democracy looks and sounds like. At a time when democracy is imperilled, it felt good to know that

Parliament is back — and about time, too. In one of those odd coincidences, the death was announced yesterday of Austin Mitchell, one of those backbench MPs to whose name the word “maverick”

was attached as if as an honorific title. Though he represented Grimsby for Labour from 1979 to 2015, Mitchell’s memorial is the fact that we were able to watch, as well as hear,

yesterday’s debate. For in 1983 it was he, as a newcomer to the House who had worked for Yorkshire TV, who introduced the first private member’s Bill to allow the televising of Parliament.

In the teeth of traditionalist resistance on both sides, Mitchell argued persuasively that denying voters the right to watch their elected representatives in action was an affront to

democracy. His was essentially the same argument that had been fought and won two centuries earlier to allow the press to observe, record and publish debates, which led eventually to the

institution of Hansard. Austin Mitchell’s ten-minute rule Bill got enough votes to earn a second reading. After that, it was only a matter of time. In fact, it took another six years before

television cameras were allowed into both Houses of Parliament in 1989. Thirty two years later, it seems incredible that there was so much opposition, motivated in part by a fear that

members would play to the gallery. So they do, but no more than they ever did. The British establishment always resists transparency and scrutiny — what Bagehot, à propos the monarchy,

called “letting daylight in on magic”. But in the end it happens and we get used to it. Parliament remains one of our most underrated sources of entertainment. (Austin Mitchell called it

“the fun factory”.) It may not be edifying but it is always educational. And it is free —to the viewer, if not the taxpayer. The pandemic had reduced our legislature to a skeleton of itself.

That Parliament has returned to full strength just when we need it is providential. For our Houses of Lords and Commons, with all their faults and absurdities, let us thank the Lord. A

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