Leacock, the wars, and history
Stephen Leacock is one of the most enduring figures of Canadian literature. Some might regard that statement as faint praise. But he was a good choice for inclusion in John Ralston Saul’s series of Extraordinary Canadians for Penguin Canada.
Margaret MacMillan, a distinguished Canadian historian (Paris 1919, Nixon in China) admits her field is international history, not the history of this country. Yet she was a good choice to write the Leacock entry in the series.
In delivering the 2009 Leacock Lecture last night, MacMillan told us it was not easy “to get a sense of the full man.” She’s right. He is, I believe, the least understood of Canada’s literary figures.
Leacock worked as a university economics professor but is known for his humorous writings. His life, 1869 to 1944, covered the years of Canada’s existence as a loyal member of the British Empire. Canadianness was viewed with suspicion by an establishment that largely denigrated the few original expressions of character that were developing during his lifetime.
Most notably known for Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town, Leacock , MacMillan writes, “lived through great changes in Canada and in the world, and his writings are part of the record we have of the past.”
MacMillan paid tribute to Leacock both as a humorist and a public intellectual — one of the very few that Canada had during his life. His speeches were reported on the front pages of the newspapers. His ideas were fodder for the editorial writers.
In the book, she reminds us of Leacock’s view that “the real virtue of a nation is bred in the country, that the city is an unnatural product.” Then she asks: “Don’t we still have that today with our enthusiasm for our cottages and for summer camps for our children?”
This makes me think that MacMillan is addressing the same comfortable upper middle class audience about whose foibles Leacock, wrote, made fun of, and otherwise demolished.
I asked MacMillan whether she thought there was still a market for Leacock’s work, and works about Leacock and others of his era, in today’s post-British, multi-ethnic society? Do Canadians whose recent roots lie in other lands give a damn?
She didn’t really answer my question, probably because there isn’t an easy answer. But she did make a good case as to why those Canadians should be interested in our past: The institutions and values of Leacock’s time are still largely our institutions and values, she said, and you can’t understand a country without knowing something of its past.
Other echoes of Canada’s past were heard at the Leacock Festival when authors Ted Barris and Tim Cook discussed their books: Juno by Barris and Shock Troops, by Cook.
The former deals, of course, with the Canadian landing in Europe on D-Day. The latter is the second volume of Cook’s history of Canada in the First World War.
Barris gave us illuminating anecdotes of Canadian achievements. Like the weather observer whose report after flying along the coast of Europe led to General Eisenhower’s decision to postpone the invasion by 24 hours. Or the cameraman who rode a Canadian landing craft onto the beach to record the first film of the Allied invasion.
Barris reminded us that soldiers don’t usually talk of their wartime experiences. He’s collected many such stories for his next book, Breaking the Silence, to be published in September by Thomas Allen.
Cook didn’t read, but he did sing. He sang a few ditties of World War I, such as Hit Me There Again (a satirical challenge to the Boche) and Mademoiselle from Armentieres, a bawdy ballad of the trenches.