This column first appeared in the Victoria Daily Times on July 12, 1941.
It might be a coincidence of no significance, but it is interesting to note that Hitler鈥檚 armies crossed the Russian frontier on the 129th anniversary of Napoleon鈥檚 ill-fated march into the same country.
Tolstoy says of Napoleon鈥檚 war with Russia that it was an event 鈥渙pposed to reason and human nature.鈥� But that is not what Napoleon said. Indeed, what Napoleon said and wrote is so similar to Hitler鈥檚 explanation that it would seem more than a coincidence.
To begin with, Napoleon gave as one reason for his march that 鈥淩ussia was intriguing with Britain.鈥� Here are a few sentences from Napoleon鈥檚 journal: 鈥淭he Russian war should have been the most popular war of modern times; it was a war of good sense, a war for the tranquility and security of all, purely pacific and conservative. It was a war for the end of uncertainties, and for the beginning of security. The European system was already founded; all that remained was to organize it.鈥�
The ironic note in these sweet breathings is that they were written by Napoleon on the Island of St. Helena as he waited, in exile, for the end of his misspent life!
All of which makes us wonder if the disturbers of the peace really believe their ideas for world domination are justified.
Not that it matters. A mad dog might believe that there are too many people in the world, and to bite a few of them is to perform a public duty. He might believe that in great sincerity, but he has also to be killed just the same. To us he is just being 鈥渙rnery鈥� and so he has to go.
This is no time for woolly thinking, and no excuse for it when we have clear-headed leaders. Mr. Churchill has given us a lead in his great utterances on the dark day of destiny, June 22. He sees the picture in its true perspective.
He sees Russia attacked without cause. He sees the 鈥淩ussian soldiers standing on the threshold of their native land guarding the fields their fathers have tilled from time immemorial.鈥�
He sees 鈥渢he 10,000 villages of Russia where the means of existence is wrung so hardly from the soil, but where there are still the simple joys of life, work and play,鈥� and he sees advancing upon all this 鈥渢he Nazi war machine, the dull, drilled docile, brutish masses of the Hun soldiery coming on like a swarm of crawling locusts. Insensate robots without reason, or human compassion, and in that spectacle, the mistake and sins of the past have vanished. Russia, no matter what we think of her system of government, is now a victim of Hun savagery, just as we will be, if Hitler wins. And we shall help her in her struggle all we can, for her struggle is ours.鈥�
I was never more proud of my British heritage than I was when listening to this great pronouncement of Britain鈥檚 policy, by a man who hates all despots, all tyrannies, no matter by what name they are called.
I wrote once, in this column, that it is conviction that the British Empire is held together by great words. We are sundered far in distances, widely divergent in creed, colour and race, but we all thrill when we hear a noble thought, clothed in words of light and fire.
What a comfort it is in times like these that there is work to do, which tires our muscles, and makes us sleep at night. When I found myself in a panic over this latest iniquity of the Nazis today, it came time to pick the peas for dinner, so I took two lard pails and scissors and went out into the sunshine.
No sin or sorrow seems quite so killing outside, as it is within walls. The sky was as blue as a borage blossom, with great thick planks of white clouds over the sea, which lay tranquil in stripes of blue and grey. A gleaming white boat went by, and a tug drawing barges of new lumber as pink and fresh as a child鈥檚 face; and across the field a beautiful Jersey cow pastured on the new alfalfa.
When I finished the peas, I sat on a bench and shelled them, making the job last. I am afraid I could not hold a job as a pea-sheller. I eat too many. Around me I could see many things to make me happy, roses on the trellis and on the veranda, roses beside the walks, and herbs coming along 鈥� some of them now in bloom (that鈥檚 how I know about a borage blossom); the gladioli growing its sharp blades of bloom, in keeping with its name.
If I could forget what has happened to neighbourhoods like this, where bombs of death have fallen out of skies as blue as this, and left craters where houses once stood; if I could forget all this, I would not have a care in the world. I wonder now what we worried about before the war. But no one can be utterly gloomy shelling peas.
Humanity has had some tough experiences before this one. Flood 鈥� plague 鈥� famine 鈥� pestilence, but the race goes on. Man has a stout heart and an imperishable soul. The common people 鈥� the John Does 鈥� they are immortal. Humanity made in the image of God cannot be defaced.
Love is stronger than all the forces of evil, and it will save the world from destruction. It will overthrow this plot against humanity. Hitler and all his poisonous gang will dull down into a strange, ugly myth of history, but the world will go on.
Men will plant the seed and harvest the crop 鈥� birds will sing, children will shout and play 鈥� neighbours will lend and borrow 鈥� cows will graze on alfalfa fields and women will sit on homemade benches in the sunshine and shell peas.
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.
