31.03.1933 Canadian Pacific Hotel Vancouver, Vancouver BC
Beloved Parents,
No mail still. I suppose the unfortunate young woman who does the forwarding from New York must have quite lost track of us by now, because 8 of us are still in California; more I think; and nearly all in different parts of it, and the remainder of us only got here 2 days ago. This is going to be the ne plus ultra of everything I think, owing to the fact that the fame of our coming has been going before us as we came across the continent, so that last night there were according to the newspapers 8,000 people – we take that with a pinch of salt, as a matter of fact, but there were well over 6,000. The hotel ballroom here, which is only supposed to hold 1,600, had 2,200 in it. The Cathedral was filled, one of the big churches which we’d taken provisionally for an overflow was crowded out before the advertised time, so that we had to get hold of yet another church, and there were still people turned away. We were welcomed by the Archbishop of British Columbia, the Bishop of Calgary, Alberta and by another dignitary of sorts, and it really was perfectly astounding.
Our job here consists in picking off the key people, under guidance, and getting them far enough to be able to change the rest of Vancouver and BC when we’ve gone. It really is tremendously exciting.
There’s a man called Lincoln Steffens, who is an arch socialist, communist and general revolutionary, who goes about the countryside lecturing on anarchy and the overthrow of all existent institutions, and he was billed to speak at the hotel on the same night and only 150 came to hear him. Frank and Eleanore Forde went to supper with him afterwards though, and he inveighed bitterly against religion in general and the Oxford Group in particular because, he said, he was just beginning to get people to think, and work up a first class revolution when we came along and spoilt it all. Something seems to be happening anyway.
Later
An enormous mail arrived last night, just as I was going to the evening meeting and I had to wait till it was all over, because I didn’t feel I could read my letters in the Cathedral.
By the way will you tell Mrs Farmer that I rang up her brother-in-law and spoke to him, and found that Mrs Long is in hospital, but I shall try to get round and see her before I go.
April 2nd
I never told you about my visit to Captain Thorpe-Doubble. Lily van Heeckeren had, as I said, an aunt in Victoria who was staying in a small boarding house, so she asked us both to go there for the night, and we arrived to find Captain Thorpe-Doubble in the act of ringing up to know if he could take us for a drive. That was about 2.30 and at 3.00 he turned up with his son Peter to drive us about the island. I felt it was rather a tragedy, not the drive, but the T-D family. Peter, it appears, developed nerves in some way as a child, and all the schools they sent him to were a failure. He was partially educated over here, and then failed to get into Sherbourne when he went to England but they got him into Canford, and after 3 weeks had to take him away, and he developed a hatred of all things English at the age of 14 or 15 which he’s never got over.
He came back to Canada and went back to a Canadian school, took to talking with a broad Canadian accent and looks like a garage mechanic. I can’t imagine what they can have done with him because people don’t get like that for no reason, and the poor Thorpe-Doubbles are miserable about it. Captain T-D obviously has it on his mind terribly, and he says if he can’t make him into a good Englishman he’ll try and make him into a good Canadian, so they’re all going to stay over here.
Victoria is a terrible backwater of retired and rather penniless people, and there’s absolutely nothing to do there, except that as they have no servants and Captain and Mrs T-D have to do all the housework and the dishwashing. To do Peter justice, I think he does wash the dishes and is obviously a good hearted boy underneath. However, he may yet be changed, which will or would make his father have a higher opinion of us than he does. Poor things they’re all terribly unhappy if they’d only admit it, and they see no point in anything really. However, I sent them a copy of For Sinners Only to cheer them up.
Another mail posted on March 17th arrived at lunchtime today, just after John Langton? and I had come back from a Quaker meeting. I’d never spoken at one before and he’d only been to a couple, and I’m afraid the extreme age and piety of the congregation made us a trifle sententious. However, it was interesting as they’d all met Kitty when she was over here, and there were two old Sidcot scholars who were fearfully interested at my being her cousin. Another amusing thing was that the head of the Quaker Community, a man called Hoyland, is a cousin of the Somervells, and there was another woman called Eileen O’Brien who also knows all the Kendal people, and is mixed up with them in some way. So it wasn’t all for nothing.
On the way home we were passing the General Hospital, so I told Miss O’Brien about Mrs Farmer’s sister, and she said she had influence with the Superintendent, and that even if it wasn’t visiting time I could probably go in. So in we went, and it did turn out to be the rest period, but they let me in to Mrs Long’s room. The poor old thing was in bed and seemed feeble, but very cheerful and full of spirit – a plucky little old woman – and I told her about Mrs Farmer, and how we’d seen Edie, and that I’d heard she was doing awfully well in her Hastings job, and how we all loved Mrs F, and she was frightfully pleased. I couldn’t stay long as it was rest hour, and left after about 5 minutes. Then after lunch as I was sitting writing this – by the way it’s now Monday – there was a knock on the door and in walked Papa Long, and Long fils, the latter having been transferred from the Eastern branch of the bank he was in, so as to be near his mother. They were very chatty and I gave them a copy of For Sinners Only, as I understand that Mr Long isn’t always a model, and it was great fun. That afternoon I went driving with a worthy couple round Stanley Park, and then went to a tea party of bright young things, and on to a church service that Don Mackay and I were supposed to be taking together. Unfortunately the church was packed ¾ hour before the service was due to start, so they had to open another, and we both spoke at each church (what’s the difference between each and both?). We started with 20 minutes apiece in our respective churches and then swapped. I got to my second at 8.25 and was told that time was no object and I could speak till 9.0 which was rather shattering, so towards the end of the time I made them ask questions, which was quite amusing.
Then Don came back and together we took an after meeting of the joint Young People’s Organisations of the two churches, and then I went back to meet some of the parishioners at a private house over a cup of tea – very welcome.
Our papers this morning estimate that altogether 30,000 people came to the various services throughout the day, and I should think there probably were. It really is astounding to see the people flocking in. Graft is the principle vice in this city, and their stock question is, “How is it possible to be absolutely honest in business?”, and make no bones about the fact that they aren’t. Dog eat dog simply isn’t in it. It really is a frolic.
We heard today that Mr Loblaw, the local Liptons (grocery chain in UK) who was changed in October, died yesterday, and it’s perfectly extraordinary what that man has accomplished in four months. The moment he grasped the principles of this he set to to spread it round all the branches of his firm, and to all the businessmen he was touch with, so that after four months literally hundreds of people have been changed or are in the process of being changed through this one man, who after all had no idea he was going to die. In fact he was supposed to be starting from Toronto today to join us for short time and do a spot of work on the Vancouver grafters. So he is, as it were, an example of what can be done.
I met an English girl the other day, who is rather of the Alice Crosthwaite standing, awfully nice but quite penniless, and she’s written to the hotel where we’re going to have the next house party to get a job as a housemaid so that she can get there. Ver’ speruted, I call that.
This morning by some happy chance yet more letters (written on March 16th) arrived. A long one from Mamma, two typewritten pages, all about the men making shoes in M’bro, and the Myra, Betty, Ronnie and John Belfield weekend. I hope Mamma that you will always type your letters – the spelling is so gloriously funny - I wonder what the misty-poptic present was that you”nhad often thought you wd ike” to have. I’m glad you got our telegram before the earthquake came out in the papers. I wonder what they said about it.
Also a long letter from farver, all about the raquet court and the alterations, and the loffly things that are being done to the Warren. It does sound perfect. Yes, Ramsay Mac and Sir J Simon are tiresome, they need changing, but the European news in the American papers is awfully scanty, and we’re only just beginning to get it fully now in Canada. The Canadians loathe the Americans for the most part, especially here where there’s a very large English colony, but the Americans don’t seem to be so particular about the Canadians. However, that’s what we’re here to scomfish (sic) , and talking of Canada, I’m trying to trace Cecilia Goodenough, but as Canada is a largish place to look for one girl in, it’s not as simple as one might think. I have no notion what province she’s in, or what her work is exactly, except that it’s some sort of missionising.
I met a girl at tea yesterday who drives one of the Sunday School caravans in summer, and she gave me the name of an organisation that might know where she is.
I find it difficult to tell you everything that’s happened during the last 3 days, but I think this may have given you an idea. On Saturday night there was a party for City Councillors, Members of Parliament, doctors and professional men, with their wives and daughters. This afternoon the Mayor is arranging a meeting for the Corporation and Public Works officials and employees, and tomorrow morning we’re going to the prison. That’s what’s known as getting in touch with a cross section of the community.
There, I must send this off or you’ll never get it. Did I tell you I’m collecting stamps for Bill? I’ve got simply masses, so I hope he still goes in for them.
Very much love from Maria
English