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16.—THE BROSELLPO$T, APRIL 27, 1977
Sugar and Spice
by Bill Smiley
Here's a grab bag
There are so many things demanding my
attention this week that faithful readers
(bless the eight of you) will have to be.
content with a brag-bag. Those who have,
no interest in sticking an eye into a
grab-bag may turn over to theastrology
column, or go out and buy a lottery ticket,
or stick their finger in their ear, or
whatever turns them on.
First, let's get rid of the Quebec issue,
which is fascinating the media and
beginning to bore everybody else.
Them there crazies down in Quebec City
have taken their first giant step toward a
dictatorship of sorts, with the announce-
ment that Quebec is to become a unilingual
province (country?).
They were playing it pretty cool for a few
months, but this one is a blunder of
massive proportions. They can no more
force unilingualism on Quebec than the
federal government could force bilingual-
ism on Canada.
When will these people, who begin as
fervent idealists and turn into rigid
commissars when they achieve power, ever
learn that you can't force free people to do
,tnything they don't want to do? You can
,,toot' them or burn them, as state and
church have done in the past. But you can't
control their minds or spirits by force or
threats.
Rene Levesque and his crowd have made
their first big boo-boo. The edict about
"French only" will return to haunt them.
They arc interfering with the right of
people to say "merde" in their own
language, whether it be English or Gree or
Italian, and mark my words, it will
hoomerang.The edict, that is, not the
merde.
Even worse, the pronunciamento will
probably unite the rest of Canada, and all
the non-French of Quebec, behind Pierre
Trudeau, and we'll be stuck with another
four or five years of insipid, inept and
indifferent Liberal government. The only
fate that could be more frightening would
be the prospect of four or five years of
Conservative government. • Fortunately,
there is no possibility of the NDP, that
optimistic gnat straining to produce a
giant, forming a federal government.
Well, that settles the political situation
for f his week. Except for one squalid little
item. As I write. there are rumours that
Jack Horner, an ambitious Tory M.P. from
Alberta, may bolt his party, stick his thumb
in the big, fat Liberal pie, and emerge with
a cabinet post on. the end of it.
Herewith some advice for Joe Clark. If
Horner wants to go, wave goodbye and
forget about him. One Paul Hellyer, once a
power in the Liberal cabinet, the one who
single-handedly destroyed the morale of
Canada's armed forces, crossed the floor in
a huff when he didn't get his own way,
joined the Tories, and has been Paul Who?
ever since. Churchill got away with it and
went on to lead his country. But Jack
Horner is no Churchill. Enough. Politics
are sick-making.
Another Westerner, Ole Missus
Trudeau, is still keeping the gossips
speculating, as I write. Nobody seems to
know where she is or what the hell is going
on. M aybe by the time this appears in
print, Jack Horner will have married.
Pierre Trudeau, and Margaret will pop up
from New York, first-class. Air Canada, to
take the wedding pictures.
I know. Margaret has said no more of
those dull, official functions for her, like
cutting the ribbon on the brand new
outdoor privies installed by Turkey
Township in its fine new paik. But I can't
help wondering if she's going to pass up all
th ose smashing glamour events to
celebrate the Queen's Jubilee, which are
undoubtedly being planned right now in
Ottawa, local- matrons in fighting for
invitations.
It's not fair, I know, but the comparison
between Margaret and ,Queen Elizabeth
thrusts itself at one. The Queen was
crowned when she was younger than Mrs.
T. She had about as many babies about as
fast. But she did not then declare that she
must fulfill herself, and allow herself to ber
pawed and pestered by smutty reporters
avid to learn what was going on between
her and Philip.
Nope, she hung in there, through all the
dreariness and calumny of what must be
one of the most arduous jobs in the world.
When there was a tough ,decision to be
made, she made it and stuck to it. She did a
pretty good job of raising her kids, it
seems. She endured the sniping and the
criticism. And she did it all with a grace
and dignity that proclaimed the word
"lady" at every step.
It's a hard act to follow„ and nobody can
blame the Sinclair girl if she couldn't
match it. But, while Pierre is an arrogant
mandarin, I'll bet the Duke of Edinburgh is
no bargain either. She shoulda hung in
there, the way the rest of us do.
It's not easy, living for years with a
complete stranger. But it goes with the
territory.
It doesn't get any easier, as the years go
by, either. This morning I came down for
breakfast at eight o'clock. At a quarter to
nine I went out the door to work. During
that forty-five minutes, I spoke four times,
each time saying either, "Yes", or
"You're right". That took two seconds.
The rest of the time my wife talked, and
her voice followed me right out the door
like a swarm of bees following a florist.
That's not news, but that, too, is reality.
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