Quest Biographies Bundle — Books 11–15. Gary Evans

Cover William Lyon Mackenzie King

      Grandfather. William Lyon Mackenzie

      Mother. Isabel Mackenzie King.

      Father. John King, K.C.

      Prologue

      Laurier House, Ottawa

       December 17, 1943

      Best wishes on your birthday and God bless you and keep you in the best of health for your benefit and for the nations that have already benefitted where your name is written in their hearts and on their minds forever.

      One of your loyal friends,

       Mrs. Mabel Carlesso

      Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King felt humbled to receive such a wonderful card for his sixty-ninth birthday. It was a moving tribute, a simple manifestation of trust. Yet, guiding the people of Canada so often felt like a burden, especially since the beginning of the war. With Christmas drawing nearer, King thought of the fighting men. His own nephew, Lyon King, had been killed, and King shuddered to think that many men might meet a similar fate. War raged abroad, but at home, English Canadians clamoured for overseas conscription while the people of Quebec were so strongly opposed to it that King feared civil war might befall his beloved country. Although he sometimes felt unsure and alone in the position of prime minister, King knew he had guidance. He felt those he loved, and who had left this earth, were still near him, assuring him that he was doing the will of God.

      His life’s work was to help people. King put the flowered birthday card away and called for the dispatches. It was time to start his work for the day. It was time to address the problems of the Dominion of Canada, and indeed, the world.

      But before King settled into reading the official documents before him, one of his secretaries, Dr. James Gibson, couldn’t help noticing the prime minister “beamed just a little.”

      It was, after all, his birthday.

      1

       Nest of Dreams

      17. December, die Frau von John King in Berlin, einen Sohn.

      Berlin, now known as Kitchener, was in 1874 a town of 3,000 in Southern Ontario. It had such a large Mennonite population that the Berliner, John’s uncle’s newspaper, announced the news in German. The birth announcement read: 17. December, to the wife of John King in Berlin, a son.

      John King almost missed the event.

      That day, John was dreaming of moving towards a brighter world. The elders of society might be nodding off to memories of the glory of the British Empire, but King was seated at a meeting, listening intently to a Reform Association speech. At a burst of applause, John spoke excitedly to the man beside him. “This man is a friend to liberty!”

      Woodside, happy home of Willie, old Bill the horse, Bella, mother Isabel (seated), Jennie, Max (seated), and Fanny (who is hiding under the table).

      A lawyer, newspaperman, and active Liberal politician, King admired reformers such as the speaker. He also held his wife’s father, William Lyon Mackenzie, in great esteem. Some people referred sneeringly to the leader of the Upper Canadian Rebellion of 1837 as a notorious rebel who had incited the people. King felt, however, Mackenzie was an example of those who fought for justice. As a newspaperman, mayor of York (which became Toronto), and a member of the Legislative Assembly, Mackenzie had witnessed the actions of the British government, which he felt were unfair in dealing with the people of the colony. He saw his fellow men as enslaved and oppressed at the hands of a few privileged people he dubbed the “Family Compact.” As an editor and politician he first tried to make changes peacefully, but by 1837 the time to seek reform quietly had passed. In 1837 Mackenzie urged armed action – rebellion!

      By 1874 Mackenzie had been dead for more than a dozen years. Although his brave attempt had failed, many of the reforms he believed in had come to pass. John King’s generation enjoyed the benefits of being able to vote for responsible government, but as the speaker that day pointed out, there were the issues that still required change. King himself might put up his fists to defend his personal honour, but he wasn’t such a hothead that he charged about with mobs waving pikes and pitchforks. After all, he and his wife were expecting their first child, William Lyon Mackenzie’s grandchild.

      Before King could settle into listening again, he felt an urgent tapping on his shoulder.

      “Mr. King, a message. It’s your wife. They’ve already sent for the doctor.”

      John stood up, half knocking over his chair. Something was very wrong. Isabel was not expected to have the baby for another month. He needed to be back at Benton Street as fast as a horse could get him there.

      John and Isabel already had a beautiful year-old daughter, Isabel or Bella. Bella had gone to John’s Uncle Dougall Macdougall’s house. There she would stay with her Grandmamma, John’s mother, Christina King, and his Aunt Flora. John was free to do a lot of pacing and hand wringing. It was a cold night. Fetching wood and stoking the fire in the wood stove kept him busy.

      Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Dr. Bowlby appeared in the bedroom door holding a bundle. “I’d like to announce the safe arrival of a baby boy!” he trumpeted. “Mother and baby are doing well.” The doctor neared the wood stove and unfolded a corner of the blanket.

      King peered at the red, scrunchy face of his newborn son. “Well, well, well,” he admired. “I have decided,” he told his wee lad softly, “and your mother agreed, that we shall call you William Lyon Mackenzie.” He glanced at Bowlby, his eyes twinkling merrily. “William Lyon Mackenzie King has a nice ring to it, an important ring, don’t you think?” And then he answered himself, “Why yes, it does.”

      Although he had been born prematurely, baby Willie thrived. Soon he was toddling about the house, chasing the cat and trying to mount his big wooden rocking horse by himself. His mother thought he looked simply cherubic. His innocent blue eyes were full of curiosity, his blond hair curled sweetly around his chubby face, and his plump little legs peeked out like German sausages from under his dress, the garb for both boys and girls of the day.

      Two years later there was another baby in the family, when Janet (known as Jennie) arrived in 1876. During her pregnancies and confinements, Isabel might not always feel like romping across the carpet with her children and roaring like a lion. A nursemaid helped her with the children’s care, but their mother was always available for merriment! After dinner she played the piano and sang hymns and other songs. Sometimes John joined in and even accompanied her with clacking castanets. The little family had a lot of fun before quieting down later each evening to games and stories read aloud. As both John and Isabel King were of Scottish ancestry and very devout Presbyterians, they would read the bible and hear the children say their prayers every night before they went to bed.

      Willie awoke to the sound of little Jennie’s crying. He couldn’t get back to sleep.

      “Tell me the grandfather story,” he demanded of his mother as she perched on the edge of his bed.

      “Which grandfather story?”