Canada Criticised: Why I Don’t Like It

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 2, 13 January 1909, Page 54

Canada Criticised: Why I Don’t Like It

By

"THE SAUNTERER."

Criticism is tne easiest thing in the world. When a mi'ii knows nothing about anything, hr 1: is then qualified as a critic. To overstate an admitted fact, it is necessary that the critic should not Im* the subject he criticises. Happily therefore the writer need not be a Canadian to criticise Canada. and Canadians. t’nder these fortunate conditions I will attempt to misjudge both to the best of a humble ability after two weeks’ sojourn in the country. 1 recently lost a very good friend, because I was unwise enough to voice to him what I am about to write and because he participated in the subject. 1 constantly wond*r who was (hr author of that maxim, peculiar to copy-books, “Honesty,” and the remainder of the misleading expression. I t<dd my friend, among other things, that I often doubled that hr was a Canadian hr was so agreeable. Th *rr were other remarks, of a less complimentary nature. Canada is a new country, and, like all other new countries is registered under 1 hr. trade mark, ‘‘(tod’s own." Canada lias served for some years as a convenient dumping-ground for English refuse. Some of it they can u>e for various useful and primitive purposes, and some of it is returned. A large proportion of it encourages the Canandian brewers. This modest Dominion is justifiably annoyed, and its people are not overwhelmingly courteous (o English visitors. During the time taken to cross the continent, from Qu.*bec to Vancouver, including various top-overs, I had very much the feeling of a transported criminal and certain of the discomforts. Quebec is the very quaintest of towns. One. feels to be back on the “Continent.” in some French place. Quail.t houses and French names, and a peculiar mixture of [French-Canadian evi ry where. Their manners here are not French, however, but the same peculiar mixture. There

arc some good buildings, and the ices they make are exquisite. Montreal is larger, not so French, but rather similar. Winnipeg, in the heart of Panada, is the true Canada, and here we find the Canadian himself. It is too far from the East coast to be noticeably French, and too far from Vancouver and the West to be English; for Vancouver is very English. It was in a Canadian theatre that I heard the adage, “Soup is to be seen and not .heard.” I was noticeable because of my hearty appreciation of its humour; otherwise, it was taken quite seriously. I had been in Canada long enough at the time to appreciate the reason why. Soup is taken very audibly by the Canadians. Their edible process is worthy of description. The reader will readily pick out a Canadian after reading it. With a spasmodic jerk, the food is conveyed to tile mouth, and this initial process neatly finished by means of the fingers. During masti‘ation, the eater has his mouth open the whole time, and, so far as much careful and easy observation can tell, it is done at the back of the mouth, with the back of the tongue. It is a trifle ostentatious, but simple. An active tooth-piek proclaims repletion. An elderly relative used much of her energy in my early youth telling me to “say ‘please.’” After earnest effort I mastered the habit, and have found it, except in Canada, a profitable one. It is regarded as a species of profanity there. One can imagine an employer going into his office one morning and, on overhearing one of his clerks using the vile expression, try to find him some more work, thinking he had not enough to do. Imagination, however, fails to supply the clerk. If one is very rich or very strong and drunk, a Canadian will respect one. He will even be civil! Biute strength and dollars govern here. “Cuteness,” conver-

tible into the latter commodity is also currency. Civility is waste time and refmemeiiL effeminate. Blunt ways are alxvays forgivable; rank discourtesy and lack of consideration arc Canadian, so far as hotels, shops, railways, and other public places are concerned. Canada, the country itself, is wonderful. Getting into the train at Quebec, one travels constantly for five days across the continent. Roughly speaking, there are four kinds of country which one travels through; the bush, the wheat fields, the prairie and the incomparable Rockies. The weather was fine, dry and cold when we crossed Canada. For five mornings we got up to the accompaniment of the incessant •hum” and rattle of the train, and took the fresh, crisp air on the platforms at the end of each carriage. The gold brown prairie stretched and slid past on either hand, and at intervals wild fowl would rise with shrill cries to a hard, blue, clear sky. And so we would watch the red sunsets making the unfathomable sliding country a more golden brown, fading slowly to giey—and black. As for the gaunt, majestic Rockies—they are just the Rockies. Abler pons fail to say very much more. All this is wonderful and awful. It makes man feel puny —and silent. In a life-time it may endear him to it. But for ordinary, shallow, babbling, town-bred mortals like the critic the feeling it inspires is cold and lonesome. It is noble, and worthy a better fate than to be peopled with Canadians. Winnipeg is acknowledged to be the finest city in the world—by its inhabitants. You may converse with a Winnipeg man about Paris or London. He will extol their wonders in an absent-minded manner, and with many reservations. But let fall—if you can anticipate him, which is improbable—the magic name ‘’Winnipeg." His eyes will glow, he will adjust his plug of tobacco for conversation, and expectorate meditatively. Then you- are his listener until nightfall—unless help arrives. Paris is beautiful; hi does not deny it. But have you seen the principal streets in Winnepeg? London is populous, true. You should see Winnipeg on a Saturday night, though!

This spirit of earnest citizenship tB beautiful—but just a little tiring. Winnipeg is truly marvellous for a mushroom town, and credit is due to its builders. One cannot fairly begrudge it. Yet, there are other cities in other parts of the world which are growing up, and it is probable that, in a few years, such towns as London, Paris, and Berlin, will rival it for size and importance. Citizenship is a glorious thing, but the day is nearing when acute forms of it will come under the heading of lunacy. Just a-s one is getting hopeless about Canada, one reaches Vancouver. It is a beautiful and prosperous city, and its citizens “say please.” Victoria is more beautiful, and the inhabitants cultivate a similar habit. Like Winnipeg, it has the most tastefully designed theatres the writer has ever been in. In summing up, the critic is bound to confess that the principal reason Fie does not like Canada is that it is peopled by- Canadians.

Canadians make good farmers, soldiers, and dollar-getters. They have very little demand for courtesy or culture, and this little they import. They can produce strenuous musicians, also breakfast foods. Canada will never be forgotten. while a Canadian. breathes. It will never be liked until they cultivate, besides cereals, decency.