Royal Visit

Last week George VI and Queen Elizabeth became the first ruling British monarchs to set foot on the New World. As it happened, the first foot each set down when they left the gangplank of the Empress of Australia at Quebec was the left foot. This ill omen was somewhat reflected in the reserved manner in which Quebec's French-speaking citizenry received them, causing New York Timesman John MacCormac to observe: "Canadian crowds are given to taking their pleasures silently, if not sadly." But the farther west Their Majesties went on their 26-day Canadian trip, the more English and enthusiasm they ran into, until, at Ottawa, the crowd went crazy and somebody actually slapped George on the back. At that point the Royal visit--whose chief purpose was to bring Canada as close as possible into the arms of the war-scared mother country--could be said to have achieved its effect 100%.

First Day. In a big, maroon, convertible sedan with the top down and the bullet-proof windows up, the King & Queen, having greeted Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King and notables at the dockside, were whisked up the winding road from Wolfe's Cove to the old city over a circuitous route past battlefields, through cobblestoned alleys and over bedecked streets to the Provincial House of Parliament. Over the route Quebec's 140,000 inhabitants stretched thinly but politely, regarding the King curiously, but whispering of the Queen: "Qu'elle est charmante!" "Qu'elle est chic!" In point of fact, the Queen, who has never ranked among Europe's ten best dressed women had never looked smarter. U. S. fashion experts, noting her clothes from news photographs, were pleasantly surprised at the Queen's style.

In the Parliament Red Room, seated in two thrones under a huge wooden crucifix, they heard Provincial Premier Maurice Duplessis read a speech of welcome in both English and French, since Canada is officially bilingual under its Constitution. When presentations began, in a room packed with Dominion officials, grand dames, colorful monsignori and sandaled monks, the first man to be presented was Rodrigue Cardinal Villeneuve, the spiritual head of 89% of Quebec's people. The Cardinal gave the King's hand a lingering, fatherly patting.

After this function the King and Queen retired to the Citadel apartment surrendered to them by Governor General Lord Tweedsmuir, who is benched while the King is in Canada. There the King changed from his Admiral's rig to cutaway and silk topper (the Queen not bothering to change) for the first of a long & indigestible series of official luncheons and dinners. This one, at the Chateau Frontenac, served up lobster tails, grilled breast of chicken and a Grand Marnier souffle which neither the King nor the Queen accepted. This instance of royal distaste had the mimicking lunchers floored for the moment, but the King's personal, scarlet-clad footmen signaled to the Chateau's blue-uniformed corps (one for every two guests) that the rest might partake of the souffle without offense.

After lunch the King wanted a smoke badly, but could not light up, according to the protocol that rules his conduct until he had been toasted. The Prime Minister tapped a bell, and, in Veuve Cliquot '28 the guests toasted first the King then the Queen, then both. Then the King lit up before a waiter could get to him with a match (the Queen does not smoke in public), and listened while Prime Minister King reminded the diners: "Today as never before, the throne has become the centre of our national life." Stammering slightly His Majesty spoke in English: . . . Deeply moved . . . moment is historic . . . anticipation too great for expression." Then, in unhesitating French, he said: "It is here today that two great races dwell happily side by side. The spirit of Quebec is a happy fusion of vigorous spirit, proudly guarded."

That afternoon Their Majesties went to the Plains of Abraham, there heard 50,000 school children sing O Canada and God Save the King in French. That night there was a speechless dinner at the Chateau, at which the King dawdled over snowbird breasts on toast and trout, while the Queen, who is apparently dieting, ate almost nothing, fussed with her gloves until at dinner's end the King led the way to bed.

Second Day. Next morning, bound for Montreal, 180 miles up the St. Lawrence Their Majesties boarded the Royal train, a silver, blue and gold twelve-car streamliner with Royal bedrooms connected by a sliding, panel, gold-plated telephones, a lounge car, offices and bedrooms for the staff and party. At every whistle-stop the populace waved frantically, but the only full stop was at Three Rivers, where the King and Queen walked over the tracks on a wooden platform to greet 50,000 appreciative gazers, twice the town's population.

At Montreal, biggest city in Canada and next to Paris the largest French-speaking city in the world, 2,000,000 (again double the population) awaited them. So did mercurial, bouncy little Mayor Camillien Houde, anti-conscriptionist, Italophile (TIME, Feb. 20), a municipal executive with the verve of Manhattan's Mayor LaGuardia and the political slant of the late Huey Long. At the station, Queen Elizabeth delayed proceedings for a five-minute chat with kilted, Black Watch Captain S. S. T. Cantlie, but from then on Mayor Houde stole the show. He and his pert wife stole the Queen and King respectively from Dominion bigwigs, hovered over them while they signed the Golden Book at City Hall, led them on a breathless four-hour tour of the town, the Mayor taking bows right and left before throngs, some of whom paid as high as $30 for window seats for the show.

In a Montreal baseball park 50,000 children, mostly French Catholic, 900 of them forming a great Union Jack, sang while the King & Queen sat in an open Buick near home plate.

Third Day. What Their Majesties had seen in the first whirlwind two days was mostly quaint, Arcadian stuff--a Frenchy people curious, appreciative but not essentially King-loving in the British manner. Beef-eating Ottawa more than made up for this.

The Royal train was met by Lord Tweedsmuir and his Lady, an escort of Princess Louise Dragoons in scarlet tunics and brass hats, and a landau with two postillions and two footmen--something dug out and refurbished from the Governor General's livery stable. A London-like overcast cloaked the scene, and from the Houses of Parliament sounded a bell that looked and rang like Big Ben.

Big function of that day was a convocation of Parliament to hear the Royal assent to a series of bills (a U. S.-Canada trade agreement, a wheat subsidy, the Dominion budget), something brand-new to Canada and a prerogative of the King-Emperor almost forgotten in England. At each the King nodded, and the deputy clerk droned "His Majesty doth assent." But as a warning that no individual may supersede Parliament, Ottawa's seven old men of the Supreme Court filed into the Senate chamber and plumped down on a big circular woolsack, from which they could symbolically keep an eye on everyone. After that Their Majesties received the 70-odd reporters covering their trip (see p. 45).

Fourth Day. George VI was born on Dec. 14, 1895, but a special Canadian birthday celebration was scheduled for May 20. In Ottawa's Parliament Square, to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance, Canada staged for the first time in its history a Trooping of the Colour to celebrate the King's "birthday," a celebration conducted since the 17th Century in London by the Guards Regiments. In Canada the troops honored were brigades of Canadian Foot from Ottawa and Grenadiers from Montreal in blue trousers, red coats and great bearskins.

Then Queen Elizabeth made her first speech, and exercised the Royal prerogative to break a date. The date she broke was engraved in six-inch letters on the cornerstone of the new Supreme Court building which will rise on a bluff overlooking the Ottawa River. Unwary of the fact that Their Majesties' visit might be delayed, engravers had marked the stone as laid on May 19. Blithely, with an ivory-handled gold trowel, the Queen tapped the stone on May 20, declared it laid, chatted with a Scottish stone mason whose accent moved her to remark: "You haven't lost your tongue."

That afternoon the Royal pair stole away for a stroll in the fields outside Ottawa, encountered a small boy who doffed his cap and ran away when the Queen introduced him to his King. That night they went to another State dinner, at Chateau Laurier.

Fifth Day. It was not until the trip's fifth day, however, that Their Majesties really got taken to Canada's heart, and when they did, it was to experience a spirit they had not met before, a hearty blend of U. S. hail-fellowship and a reassuring, yeoman love of King and Country that was truly British. This man-to-man meeting occurred in Connaught Square at the unveiling of the Canadian national war memorial. There was a reveille, the King placed a wreath at the foot of the shaft, tall redcoats holding standards stepped away, and the memorial was unveiled. The King spoke, with what some thought was a hint to Rome and Berlin:

"Not by chance do . . . Peace and Freedom appear side by side. Peace and Freedom cannot long be separated. . . . Without freedom there can be no enduring peace, and without peace, no enduring freedom."

At the conclusion of the speech, the King and Queen stepped down from the marquee into the open area. The grouped World War Veterans kept their places stiffly for a moment, and then, chanting "We want the King!", surged toward the Royal couple. Guards moved to interfere but the King waved them away. A greying veteran grasped the King's hand with his right, the Queen's with his left. Others slapped the King on the back, wrung the Queen's free hand. "You don't need any bullet-proof glass here, Your Majesty!" they cried. "God bless you, you're among friends." A blind veteran who last looked on the world at Vimy Ridge, a war nurse, a mother of two sons killed in action, empty sleeves, a typical group, rallied around. The King and Queen met them all, embraced them all, obviously loved it. Finally they got into their cars, stood up well above the bullet-proof glass to wave goodby, and were driven away. Only then did Scotland Yard and Canada's constabulary breathe easy again.

Sixth Day. In Toronto Monday noon, Their Majesties met the only Canadians who are perhaps more famous than themselves--the Dionne Quintuplets. What happened history will enjoy longer than any other episode of this trip. With Dr. Allan Roy Dafoe, Oliva Dionne and wife and seven of the eight other Dionnes, the Quintuplets were bustled into the Lieutenant Governor's room of the Parliament Building. All five wore puffy, white organdie court frocks and poke bonnets, and each wore her favorite flower in her hair. Already astounded by the miracle of their first train trip and a ride through Toronto in a "voiture," the four-year-olds* faced royalty calmly enough.

sb They all curtsied wrong-ways (right foot behind the left). Then Cecile departed from protocol. She rushed over and kissed the Queen. In a trice Elizabeth, lonesome despite the previous day's telephone call to her own two daughters, was on her knees in a flurry of kissing Quintuplets. Forgotten man for the moment was the King, in his Navy uniform, but Yvonne fixed that, running to him and taking his hand. Soon they were in brisk French conversation over the King's Navy buttons.

*They will be five on May 28.

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