This column first appeared in the Victoria Daily Times on Sept. 27, 1941.
The sour cynic who says it always rains on the opening day of the fair was nowhere to be seen the day our fair opened. We had exactly the sort of day which the word 鈥淪eptember鈥� brings to mind; a day of amber sunshine, a calm sea with misty shores, and cathedral clouds low in the sky, little winds, orchard-scented, turning over the leaves of the plane trees on the streets, and the gardens along the way glowing with crimson, purple and gold.
A fair to me is something like Christmas. It is not only a day, it is an institution, redolent with memories. I like to see everything when I go to a fair, and I like to have plenty of time. So this year, the conditions were perfect.
Among the potatoes I saw my old friend, Early Rose, just as pink and smooth as it used to be in Manitoba. I believe I see more beauty in it now than I did then. It has no association now with long, back-aching furrows to be planted. Beside it sat another pink potato, with still pinker eyes, no doubt an offspring of the original Early Rose 鈥� the smart daughter who thinks she is improving on her mother by having her toenails painted, but I prefer the old lady.
A new potato, at least new to me, is called Field Marshal; it seems to be the favourite this year, excelling even Green Mountain and Chippewa. Vegetables seem to be reflecting our craving for colours, for I saw pink celery and pink squash, sugar beets in purple and orange.
At the end of the vegetable tables hung ropes of Spanish onions, great beauties, like giant necklaces; and in front of a booth stood sunflowers and field corn, so high and stout, they could, I am sure, be used for building material as the Mexicans use their cactus. At the other end of the great hall were the flowers, the decorated tables, the hanging baskets, and in one corner, a high display of fuchsias all grown in Beacon Hill Park. From across the hall the fuchsia exhibit looked like a fountain, dropping colour from their trumpets. I went over to count the varieties, but decided that didn鈥檛 matter, and went back to my seat and could well believe that I hear 鈥渢he horns of Elfland faintly blowing.鈥�
In all the buildings, chances were being sold on various attractions in aid of war work. In other places women served tea to raise money. I went to the Friends of China booth, admiring the facade of the booth itself, with its minute carving, the gift of one of the local Chinese merchants. No matter what happens, come wind, come weather, the Friends of China carry on faithfully, with something of the patient persistence of the gallant people they are helping.
Behind the table were hanging samples of the work they do; blankets in knitted squares made from odds and ends of wool, and others made from the legs of woolen socks, opened and pressed and stitched with wool.
One of the women in charge told me the Dominion government had set aside a magnificent gift of wheat for China, but there is no ship available to carry it. And then we talked about the ship Boris lying in our harbour, the one which is already spoken of as the 鈥渕ystery ship,鈥� and we hope that when the diplomatic tangle, which has held it here in idleness all these months, is broken, the Boris might take the Canadian wheat to China. That would be a crowning glory for this ship of adventure.
A fair is a cross-section of life. If you had only one day to spend in a country, you would be well advised to go to the agricultural fair if you wished to find out about the people. The exhibits tell their own story. You would see something of their education by the school exhibits; from the flowers and foods and manufactured goods you would be able to see something of the people鈥檚 way of living and their ideas of beauty.
When I had finished my rounds of the main building I tried to think of myself as a visitor from another planet who had come to see something of the Canadian way of life, and wondered what I would be able to tell about these pleasant people. From listening to their conversation I would know them to be both polite and intelligent 鈥� I would also be able to tell that they were industrious and home-loving.
But I wondered what I would really know of their outlook on life. I looked at the walls to see if there was any declaration of faith that would guide a stranger in making an ethical survey. I saw nothing on the walls but a map of the Island; above my head were plenty of flags, but I knew they were decorations.
Then I saw something and went over to examine it 鈥� yes here was evidence. In a simple little booth, the Bible Society had a display 鈥� mottoes, texts, daily readings and Bibles in all bindings and prices. Here, I said to myself, is the charter of our liberties. Here is the declaration of the rights of man, and the first leaflet I picked up contained Lord Tweedsmuir鈥檚 tribute to the Bible.
鈥淭he Bible is our national testament, a national confession of faith, for it is the key to all that is worthy in our character and famous in our history. It is the true bond of union for us, both as a nation and as an empire, for it contains all that is noblest in our long tradition and all that constitutes the hope of the future.鈥�
The Bible Society came into being in a time of storm, similar to the days we are passing through now. In 1804, when Napoleon was waiting across the Channel to invade England, a small body of men met in London and formed the Bible Society. That was 137聽years ago, and now the Bible is the most accessible book in the world and a continuous best-seller. In over 700 languages it goes around the world.
In the display of our fruit, our vegetable, our arts and crafts, I聽was glad to find that we had not forgotten the rock on which we are trying to build a better world.
Some of McClung鈥檚 columns from the 1930s and 1940s have been collected in a book, The Valiant Nellie McClung: Selected Writings by sa国际传媒鈥檚 Most Famous Suffragist, by Barbara Smith.
