did much more than provide food and shelter for their family. They opened doors to their children’s futures by exposing them to important people and ideas – even when they were very young.
The crowd pressing around Willie made him hot in his suit jacket and woollen knickers. He squeezed his father’s hand for reassurance. John smiled at his seven-year-old son. “Can you see?” he asked. When the lad shook his head “no,” John lifted him up.
Now Willie could see the speaker on the platform. The tall, dark-haired man with a funny nose, Willie knew, was Prime Minister Sir John A. Macdonald, the most important person in Canada. That was why his father had brought him to the meeting.
“I would like to thank you,” Macdonald concluded. The audience clapped, Willie very enthusiastically.
A young woman crossed the stage, curtsied, and held out a posy. The prime minister bent to receive the flowers, and the giver innocently placed a kiss on his cheek. Macdonald was enchanted. So was Willie. He would never remember what it was that Macdonald had said, but he would never forget the charming rewards that political greatness could hold.
Willie enjoyed the benefits of having parents who were well known in Berlin, but he was not growing up in a rich family. The Kings’ bills exceeded John’s income. However, while John and Isabel did not belong to the upper classes, they wanted to appear to be people of means. Even though John would never own a home, the Kings felt they should live in a place that would impress their friends and potential clients. They needed enough room for their children, their visitors, the family members who stayed with them, and the servants they often employed. In 1886, when Bella was twelve, Willie eleven, Jennie nine, and Max seven, the family rented the last home they would live in in Berlin – Woodside. They would remember it as a warm nest where they had their best family times.
Woodside was a golden-bricked showpiece just outside of town, with over five and a half wooded hectares for enjoying the pleasures of Nature. There were flower gardens to dream in; Lovers’ Lane for rambles; a lily pond for reflecting; a hilltop above the orchard where the children could camp; shady nooks for sharing books of poetry, and woodsy knolls, where on sunny days, Isabel could set up her easel and paint.
Inside, Isabel began decorating and remodelling. The Kings were usually able to hire a man and a woman to help Isabel and the children with the many indoor and outdoor duties. The family still had time for a whirlwind of activities and often went out – skating, sleighing, curling, camping, or attending teas, concerts, church events, and meetings. Between the gay parties at Woodside and the busy schedule away from home, the Kings’ social lives sparkled with laughter and friendship.
The happy mood was tempered with duty. In addition to the gardening, cleaning, and other chores, the four King children were expected to devote themselves to the tasks of intellectual preparation. Schoolwork did not stop even after several hours of homework. John King hired a governess to assist the children with German and other subjects. Many Berliners were more fluent in German than in English. When Miss Siebert came to stay with the family, the local Presbyterian minister and family friend, Reverend Mr. Winchester, was also included in the little Woodside German classes.
When their noses weren’t in school books, the Kings were always reading something else. Almost every evening the cozy panelled library was alive with discussions regarding events they had read about in newspapers or the books that lined the walls. Reading and thinking about important issues was part of the children’s heritage. Grandfather Mackenzie and Great-Uncle Macdougall had edited newspapers. Their father not only wrote articles for newspapers and other publications, but also legally represented the Canadian Press Association. At Woodside, John wrote a book about his father-in-law, in which he argued that Mackenzie was a misunderstood man. The King children were encouraged to have their own opinions, and to seek to do good, to make Berlin and the world beyond a better place.
The students in the gymnasium of the Berlin High School were beginning to squirm, and Willie couldn’t help but notice. Most times he’d rather be having fun by joining his classmates on the cricket or football field or engaging in some silly prank. But today he wanted them to listen. He was speaking about something important.
“The next topic addressed,” King began, assailing a fresh section of his lengthy speech, “concerned …”
“Mr. King,” Principal Connor was on his feet. He peered at Willie over his pince-nez glasses, and his flowing white beard touched his chest as he tilted his head. “We must proceed with the other items on our agenda. I would like to thank you for your interesting narrative on the political meeting you attended.” Willie took his seat to the sound of his classmates’ applause.
“That’s my brother, Old Grandpa,” Bella whispered to her seatmate, Emma Bauer.
“Old Grandpa?” the girl whispered back. “Is that because he’s named after his grandfather?”
“That and because he’s as serious as a little old man, always setting us on the right path” his sister replied.
“I think,” Zulema Seyler piped up, “that Willie King is a silver-tongued orator.” Her friends giggled.
“He may want to be a politician one day,” his friend Oscar Rumpal contributed,” but if you meet Billy in a fist fight you’ll know why we call him The Rebel.”
“Young ladies and gentleman!” a teacher reproached sternly.
John King’s Law Office, Germania Block
Berlin, Ontario
August 6, 1888
“May I help you?” The young man looked up with serious blue eyes. As the teenager was costumed in a suit and tie, despite the August heat, the messenger assumed he was the office clerk.
“Give this bill for telegramming to Mr. King, will you?”
“Mr. King is in Muskoka, vacationing.”
“Vacationing, eh? That might explain why he hasn’t paid it yet. When’s he back?”
“Tuesday next.”
“Just give it to him then.”
“I will direct it to his attention immediately upon his return,” William smiled confidently.
The man left and Willie set the bill on the pile of invoices growing between the stacks of newspaper clippings and letters on the desk. Next to the telephone he had cleared a space and was writing a letter. At age fourteen, Willie increasingly took on more responsibilities in his role of the eldest son. He kept an eye out for his siblings, helped his parents, and even minded his father’s business.
He reread the paragraphs he had written under John King’s letterhead.
“Dear Papa and Mama,” he had begun, “I must answer your loving letter…” He followed with a report of duties as the man in charge.
I
