After dinner there was a campfire program. We were ready earlyâthe kitchens were so full we'd managed to cook some dinner on Uncle Douglas's stove, unhitching the tent and using the tailgate of the car as a kitchen. While we were waiting for the movies to begin the younger kids played in the playground, and it was the best equipped playground we'd seen in any of the parks, I'll have to say that for it. The trouble was that it was unsupervised, and the bigger boys kept shoving Rob off the swings and seesaws, and if he hadn't had the rest of us around he wouldn't have had a chance at anything.
So, what with one thing and another, none of us was too happy when the movie began. And what happened next was that the very first film they showed made us feel for the first time that we were strangers in a foreign country. I know I said that in Victoria we felt that we were in a foreign land, but we weren't
strangers
. In Victoria we were
visitors
, we were with friends, and we met a lot of interesting, hospitable people, and everybody was wonderful to us, and interested in exchanging ideas and finding out about each other. All through British Columbia we
had fun talking with people, and learning from them. There was one girl with a long pigtail, who came from Vancouver, and who was biking
all alone
all the way to Montreal, where she was going to college. She and John had some wonderful talks. Then there were people from Calgary, in Alberta, who were leaving because of the Calgary Stampede. We'd thought something of going there, but they advised us not to, saying that in one day there'd be as many as a hundred thousand people there, and they always got away at that time if they possibly could, because it was like suddenly having all those people descend on Thornhill. They had twin boys just Rob's age and the three of them made a magnificent fort out of twigs and rocks and had to be dragged away from their project when we all left in the morning. Anyhow, what I mean is that everybody was friendly and we loved meeting them and we didn't feel out of place or different.
But that first night in Banff the first movie was called
The Two Kingstons
, and it was about Kingston in Ontario and Kingston in New York, and the man who played the typical (so they said) American looked like Porky Pig and was always telling the Canadian off and trying to boss him around and showing off. All of a sudden, sitting there on the bleachers, surrounded by Canadians, we felt disliked, the way we'd heard Americans are abroad, and we felt very funny about it, funny peculiar, not funny haha.
“What did they
mean
by it?” John said indignantly as we walked back to the tent. “Why would they
show
a picture like that?”
Daddy said calmly, “After all, there's a certain amount of truth to it, even if it isn't very tactful, and even if it's only a half truth.”
Rob and Suzy ran and played as usual on the way back to the
tent, but I felt as though someone had scrawled in large letters on a wall, “AMERICANS GO HOME!”
That night it was noisy, and it was the very first campsite we'd been in where there was any noise at night at all. People were in the kitchens talking in loud voices till long after midnight, with the result that we, and everybody around us, were kept awake. I hoped the people making the noise were Canadian and not American. People in other tents kept shouting out, “BE QUIET!” but there wasn't any quiet, and finally at almost one o'clock Daddy got up and went up to the kitchen and then it was a lot better. We were glad it wasn't our introduction to Canada, because we'd have had a very bad impression.
In the morning we slept late because of having been so disturbed during the night and Mother didn't wake us up, because the kitchen was crowded, and so were the lavs. When we finally were dressed and went up to the kitchen to cook our breakfast there were only two other families there. One family left as we got started, and the other family didn't seem to want to talk or make friends; they seemed to be deliberately ignoring us, but I realized later that that was because we were sensitive from the movie the night before. They had three kids, the youngest a boy about Rob's age, and two girls, the oldest about Suzy's age. The five of them got together (the
kids
weren't worried because Rob and Suzy were American) and asked if they could go down to the playground while breakfast was cooking. Mother and Daddy said okay as long as I went along to keep an eye on them. The Canadian parents (their name was York) didn't seem too keen on the idea, but finally they said the kids could go if they were back in fifteen minutes sharp.
We ran down to the playgrounds, so they'd have as much time as possible, and I sat on one of the bleachers and watched while they see-sawed and swang and ran around and had a marvelous time and didn't seem to be thinking about being Canadians and Americans at all. I really don't think kids think about things like that. It's all dumb grown-ups. Why is it that some grown-ups just seem to go on getting dumber and dumber year by year instead of
learning
anything?
All of a sudden the middle little York kid tripped and fell and, instead of getting up laughing, she started to scream. I ran across the playground to her. Suzy was already there and I could see that the little kid's wrist was spurting blood. Not just bleeding, but spurting.
“S
hut up,” Suzy said to her roughly, “and be quiet so I can stop you bleeding.”
The kid shut up. Suzy grabbed her wrist and began pressing. Somebody's mother came running up. “She needs a tourniquet. Here, I'll make a tourniquet for you.”
Suzy glared at her. She was holding the York kid's wrist and the spurting had stopped, though Suzy's hand was all red from blood, and there seemed to be blood all over the place. “Sorry,” she said sharply, and she sounded almost like Daddy, “but a tourniquet's the worst thing you could possibly do. Vicky, go get Daddy quickly and tell him to bring the first aid kit. I'll go on applying pressure till he comes.”
“You ought to get a doctor,” the mother said nervously. “Let the poor kiddie's wrist alone. You're hurting her. You don't know what you're doing. I'll report you to the authorities.”
“My
fa
ther
is
a doctor,” Suzy said between clenched teeth. “Go ahead and report me.”
It wasn't very polite of her, but I didn't blame her. I ran as fast as I could up the hill to the kitchen, panted out to Daddy to get the first aid kit and come
fast
, which he did, without asking any questions. Mother and John and the Yorks came running along, too, because of course nobody knew who was hurt. I tried to explain to them as we ran, but nobody seemed to understand just who was hurt, or how.
We all got there at about the same time, and there was a crowd around Suzy, all of them telling her what to do, and a couple of women yelling at her, and the York kids all crying, especially the one who'd fallen, and Suzy, looking all bloody, was still holding on to the cut wrist with grim determination and crying, too.
“Everybody's
yell
ing at me,” she sobbed as Daddy came up, “and wanting to put on tourniquets, and I
know
it's the wrong thing. I'm applying pressure and please make them all go away and leave me alone, Daddy!”
Daddy squatted down beside Suzy, and John and Mr. York shooed the mob away, but I heard Mrs. York mutter, “If she's hurt my childâ”
I'd had about enough. I turned on her. “She
has
n't hurt her! Your child fell on a piece of broken glass which shouldn't have been
on
the playground, anyhow, and my sister's keeping her from bleeding to death, and you just leave her
alone
!”
“Vicky!” Mother said in a surprised voice.
But I don't think Mrs. York even heard.
“Everybody thinks Americans can't do anything
right
!” I shouted.
“Vicky,” Mother said again, but quietly this time, and took my hand.
I just stood there by mother, my mouth shut tight so I
wouldn't say anything more, while Daddy fixed up the York kid. In a couple of minutes he said, “I'm going to take her into one of the lavs. Will you come along please, Mr. York, and keep people out while I clean her up? She's going to be all right. Don't worry. You did exactly the right thing, Suzy. Good for you for sticking to your guns. You come along and wash up, too. The rest of you go back before breakfast burns up. We'll be along in a few minutes.”
“How do you
know
she's all right? What do you know about it?” Mrs. York demanded.
“I'm a doctor,” Daddy said quietly, as if it oughtn't to have been
ob
vious. “She'll be better off if you'll go along and get some breakfast ready.”
Mrs. York turned without saying a word, as though she thought an American doctor couldn't know what he was talking about, and we walked back to the communal kitchen, Rob and the other two York kids running half-heartedly on ahead. When we got back to the kitchen Mrs. York's batch of sausage was completely shriveled up and blackened, and so was our bacon. I watched, without saying anything, while Mother and Mrs. York took paper towels and wiped out their frying pans and put in more sausage and bacon.
Then I said, “If I was rude I'm very sorry. I don't want you to get the idea that Americans are rude. But I knew my sister was doing the right thing.”
Mrs. York seemed occupied with her sausage. I didn't think she was going to answer at all, but then she said, “Perhaps I jumped to conclusions.” It wasn't really very gracious.
Mother briskly whipped some eggs in the smallest pot. “My
daughter was upset by the picture last night. This is the first time she's come up against any feeling against Americans. One of our faults as a nation may be our very friendliness, and our eagerness to have everybody love us.”
John was squatting in front of the stove, shoving in little bits of resiny wood. “Is there really feeling here against the Americans?”
Mrs. York still seemed very busy with the sausage. Sausages don't take that much tending. If you run off to playgrounds when your daughter's cut herself, then they burn up, but when you're right by the stove you don't have to watch them that closely every second. She said, “Well, yes, I think there is, a bit.”
“We didn't feel it in British Columbia,” John said. “We talked with lots and lots of people and everybody was friendly. Is it just Alberta?”
“Oh, I shouldn't think so,” Mrs. York said. “You'll probably find more of it, not less, as you go east.”
Daddy and Mr. York came back then with Suzy and the middle York kid. She had a nice neat bandage around her wrist, and Mr. York had his arm around Suzy and began praising her all over the place to Mrs. York, and going on about how lucky it was that Suzy knew just what to do, and Daddy's being a doctor and all, and what a great kid Suzy was, beauty
and
brains, and more should be made like her, and on and on. Mrs. York rushed to her little girl, and as soon as she realized that she was really all right, that all that blood hadn't meant she was going to be brought back on a stretcher, she began to relax. Daddy said the little girl hadn't lost nearly as much blood as it seemed from the mess, but they'd better have her checked by their own doctor when
they got back to Edmondton the next day, and get a tetanus booster.
The kids all started playing then, but this time right in the kitchen, the little girl the happiest and noisiest of anybody. The rest of us went on talking about the differences between Canadians and Americans. I think the Yorks had thought there were lots of differences, but the more we talked the fewer and smaller the differences seemed to become, and the more everybody relaxed and got all friendly and normal. Mr. and Mrs. York brought their breakfast over to our table, and the younger kids took their tin plates and mugs over to the York's table, and we began to feel comfortable with them and to have an interesting time. The Yorks had thought that the average American was terrifically wealthy, sort of like Zachary's parents, I guess, instead of being people like us, or like them.
“I think the main difference I've noticed between Canada and the United States,” Daddy said, “is that so far in Canada there hasn't seemed to be any nervousness about war.” He handed his plate to Mother and she gave him the last strip of bacon and a small piece of coffee cake that was left over.
“War?” Mr. York took a mouthful of sausage and mashed potato. His face and body were relaxedâhe was a big man, as tall as Daddy, and quite a lot heavierâand he looked very comfortable. “Why? What about it?”
Daddy looked at John, and John said, “Don't your kids have air raid drills at school or anything?”
Mrs. York was frying more sausage. She was shorter and plumper than mother, and she wore rather baggy slacks and a sweater and a big gingham print apron over all. Now that she'd
relaxed and decided that Suzy wasn't killing her child and that Americans were just people, not bug-eyed monsters from Mars, she looked a comfortable sort of person, the kind of person you could easily cry on, even after you were big, and she'd just enfold you as though she were a feather bed, and everything would feel better. Now she looked horrified as she looked over at her children playing at the other end of the kitchen with Rob and Suzy. “Those little tykes? Goodness, no! Why would we put them through anything like that?”
Mother said rather bitterly, “Our children have drills and they're taught to crawl under their desks. In New York, where we'll be living next winter, a warning siren screams fear every day at noon. Each time there's a newscast on the radio there seems to be a new and terrifying crisis.”
“We don't listen to the news much,” Mrs. York said. “Would you kiddies like a little of this sausage?” John and I both had some, and Mrs. York called out to Suzy and Rob. Rob brought his plate over, but Suzy didn't have any, of course, because of Wilbur the pig.
“We never even think about things like that,” Mr. York said, “up where we live. You people going to see the Queen?”
So we got to talking about the Queen and Prince Philip, and on the way back to the tent we saw a big brown bear strolling right through the campgrounds and we stopped thinking about wars and differences between Canadians and Americans.
While we were eating our sandwiches for lunch, which we did sitting around the car, because the kitchens were crowded again, we talked about the Queen and the Prince who were coming by the campgrounds right after lunch, which was why
we hadn't gone off on a trip to Lake Louise that day. After all, if the Queen of England was going to be driving right by, we might as well stick around and see her.
“Have you ever met the Queen, Mother?” Rob asked.
“
Hon
estly, Rob,” Suzy said.
But Mother laughed. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have.”
“
Mother
!” Suzy and I shrieked. “When?”
“It was in England, when I was a little girl, and the Queen was only a little princess. I was visiting some friends of Grandfather'sâyou know how grandfather has friends everywhere, from dukes to dog-catchersâand these people were minor royalty, and they belonged to the Bath Club. They took us children swimming there, and it so happened that day that the only other people in the pool were the little princesses.”
We were properly impressed.
“What are you going to say when you see her again?” Suzy asked.
Mother laughed, “Suzy, darling, the queen wouldn't know me from Adam.”
“But you know her!”
“It was a long time ago, and you can hardly call being in the same pool with somebody knowing her.”
“But did you
talk
to her?” Suzy persisted.
“I don't remember, Suzy. Sorry to be such a disappointment to you.”
“But suppose she speaks to
you
,” Rob said.
“She won't, Rob. Don't worry.”
“But I wish she would. I'd like to speak to her. If she should speak to me what should I do?”
“She's not going to speak to you, silly,” Suzy said.
Rob's face fell. “But I thought they were coming right through camp. Aren't they going to speak to anybody?”
“Honestly, Rob! They just drive
through
, dopey.”
I always get mad at Suzy when she talks to Rob that way, and I guess John does, too, because he said, “If you meet the Queen, Rob, what you do is give a deep bow.”
“Oh,” Rob said. “Okay. Did you ever meet a queen, Daddy?”
“If you count meeting Princess Grace when she was plain Grace Kelly,” Daddy said.
Now John was impressed. “You've met Grace Kelly?”
“Just about the way your mother's met the Queen of England. She happened to be visiting in the hospital where I was interning. But it did give me enough personal interest so that I'm apt to watch her and Prince Rainier when they're on TV.”
Rob looked up at Mother. “Is Grace Kelly beautiful like you, Mother?”
By the time we'd finished tidying up after our sandwiches people were beginning to wander past us on the way to the road that edged the camp and along which the Queen and Prince were supposed to drive. The Yorks stopped by and we all walked over together. The grassy bank at the side of the road was already filled with people from all parts of the camp, and Mounties in their gorgeous red uniforms were wandering up and down. Every once in a while one would come by on a motor cycle instead of a horse, and everybody would begin to buzz because it might be announcing the Queen's car. Daddy had Rob up on his shoulders, and Mr. York had his little boy, but after almost an
hour of waiting in the blazing sun the boys must have been very heavy, and Daddy and Mr. York put them down, saying they'd pick them up again when the time came. The Queen's car was supposed to go by at one o'clock, but by two-thirty she still hadn't come, and everybody began to get restless, but nobody left. After a while we missed Rob and the little York boy, and John discovered them up a tree.
“They were buzzing around me like gnats,” John grinned, “so I told them to go climb a tree, and they did.”