Britain.” Ontario’s days as Canada’s wheat king had ended in the prior century.
“The Ontario government will urge its farmers to devote as much acreage as possible to fall wheat, but it’s August. Decisions like this need to be made in the spring. Ontario will not be able to grow enough wheat to meet its commitment. It will have to purchase wheat from the west.”
“Or from the States,” Roy said, now applying more of his knowledge.
“Oh, no. Not from the United States. We’ve been working hard with the federal government on this. Canadian wheat! We are quite clear on this: the government orders must be filled with nothing but Canadian wheat.”
“Unless it is more expensive than American wheat,” Father said.
“Even if it is more expensive than American wheat,” Uncle William replied firmly. By this, we knew that it was likely to be just that.
Then, showing his interest in Canadian families, Uncle William went on. “One million, three hundred thousand bags of flour—that much demand will certainly increase the price of wheat, flour, bread, and everything else made with flour and sold in our bakeries. That is to be expected. But if we don’t procure this properly, there will be some real price-gouging. Farmers and mill owners will be seen to make unrealistic profits from these generous commitments. All Canadians will pay the price. We don’t want that.”
Fortunately for consumers, the other provinces pledged other gifts. Quebec pledged 4,000,000 pounds of cheese; New Brunswick, 100,000 bushels of potatoes; British Columbia, 1,200,000 cans of salmon; Prince Edward Island and Alberta, collectively, 150,000 bushels of oats; Nova Scotia, 500,000 tons of coal; and Saskatchewan, 1,500 horses. But all the gifts—the flour, potatoes, salmon, oats, coal, and horses—had to be transported. Uncle William was concerned about that as well.
“Trains and ships,” Uncle William said in response to a question about the method of conveyance. “And of course, they will both be required for use at the same time we need to transport overseas twenty thousand men, all of their equipment, and thousands of horses—not just the fifteen hundred pledged by Saskatchewan. The federal government is preparing to commandeer a number of ships for its use during the war. That is one of the things we have been discussing with Dick Blain.” Uncle William was again referring to our Member of Parliament. He went on, “But the ships—they raise another concern. They could be threatened by the German navy.”
“Surely the Germans would have no ability to pirate our ships,” Mother said.
“Don’t be so sure of that, Mary,” Uncle William replied. “It’s for that reason we currently have over seven million bushels of wheat in our Montreal ports that we cannot ship east.”
“Because you’re afraid of the wheat being stolen?” I asked.
“Because we’re afraid of the gold necessary to pay for the wheat being stolen. We fear an attack on the ships carrying the gold. It has affected trade between Canada and the United States with England—and others too. But a new scheme is being proposed. Our minister of finance is going to act as trustee for the Bank of England. It will no longer be necessary to ship gold. The ships in our port should soon be able to depart.”
“William, you seem to know a lot about the goings-on of our Conservative government,” Father remarked in a not very complimentary way.
* * *
While Uncle William was using the telephone in Aunt Rose’s bakery to conduct his communications. Roy was using the more traditional method—the telegram. In Brampton, telegrams were sent and received by our family friend and Brampton Excelsiors Lacrosse Club executive member, Thomas Thauburn. From his general store premises on Main Street, next to the jewellery store of Mr. Woods, the former telegraph master, Mr. Thauburn operated the local Canadian Pacific Railway ticket and telegraph office. Of the two businesses, Mr. Thauburn far preferred the telegraph business, for, being a caring man, he enjoyed knowing the details of the lives of his fellow townsmen. Of course, he regarded the confidentiality of all telegrams as a sacred trust. He would never divulge to others the content of a telegram, a feat that was not particularly difficult to observe when the telegrams pertained to such matters as the purchase and sale of livestock, birthday greetings, holiday reports, and other ordinary matters, which most telegrams did.
No matter the topic, each such missive, once received, was placed in a manila envelope, addressed to the recipient, sealed, and then handed to one of Mr. Thauburn’s local bicycle-riding delivery boys, each of whom he called “Johnny,” no matter the Christian name conferred on him by the boy’s parents. If an illness or a family emergency prevented one of those boys from completing his delivery or if the destination was too far, Mr. Thauburn took charge of the sealed envelope and personally transported it by foot, horse, coach, or, later, by car.
Mr. Thauburn was acknowledged as being a fine telegraph master in large part due to two edicts by which he operated his business. The first edict was that no telegram was to be hidden. Mr. Thauburn, not wanting himself or any of his delivery boys to be accused of converting another person’s property as his own, insisted that all telegrams be delivered in plain view—either in the carrier’s hand or bicycle basket. They were never to be stored, even temporarily, in a pocket. The second edict was that all telegrams received during normal business hours were to be dispatched to the recipient promptly upon its receipt—ideally within ten minutes and certainly within thirty.
Being well aware of the efficiency of Mr. Thauburn’s telegraph office and of his adherence to the second of those two requirements, a person expecting a telegram waited to receive it at his or her home or place of business. Only occasionally would a prospective telegram recipient have the temerity to enter Mr. Thauburn’s premises and inquire as to whether a telegram had been sent to him. If the inquirer purported to be making the inquiry in an effort to save Mr. Thauburn the trouble of having it delivered, he or she would be politely thanked for the inquiry and provided with a reply. But that civil response applied only to a first inquiry. Mr. Thauburn viewed any subsequent inquiry not as a considerate gesture, but at best as an irritation and at worst as an aspersion on his service record.
“If I had a telegram for you, Mrs. Smith, would it not now be in the course of delivery to you?” This was as polite a response as one might receive for a first inquiry made without a suggestion of trying to save Mr. Thauburn the time of delivering it or as one might receive to any second inquiry. Few in Brampton knew his rejoinder to those who inquired more often than that. But on August 7th, 1914, three days after the hostilities commenced, my cousin Roy became one of them. It did not start that way.
For three successive days, Roy sent telegrams to his commanding officer in Winnipeg, seeking instructions as to how to proceed. Should he return to Winnipeg immediately? Should he instead proceed directly to Camp Petawawa? Should he wait and return home with his parents departing Toronto on August 16th? Roy’s commanding officer responded to the first telegram sent August 4th with genuine appreciation for being consulted. “Acknowledging with thanks your telegram of yesterday’s date. No orders have yet been received. Unless orders otherwise sent, suggest you return to Winnipeg with family Aug 16.”
In response to a similar telegram sent by Roy on August 5th, his commanding officer replied in a less appreciative but still friendly manner. “No orders received. Reiterate suggestion of yesterday.”
The commanding officer’s response to the third telegram, this one sent August 6th, was an order. “Pending further instructions, you are commanded to return to Winnipeg, departing Toronto Aug 16.”
While the sending of such telegrams began to irritate Roy’s commanding officer, they had no such deleterious effect on Mr. Thauburn,
