Wesblock, the autobiography of an automaton

by Harry McDonald Walters

Our mill was surrounded with vast dumps of sawdust rising into huge hills and dunes. Our house was built on one of these dunes and commanded a view of a little creek, a stretch of railroad track through woods, and apparently endless piles of lumber, hundreds of thousands of saw logs and a long vista of sawdust. I can smell the odour of the lumber as I write, and even to this day, when Muriel and I come across lumber piles we put our noses in the air like dogs searching a scent, inhale big sniffs of the sweet, clean smell, turn and look at each other and smile foolishly.

The life at the mill was to Muriel like a most wonderful, gorgeously illustrated new book of fairy tales to a child. She had known, as every one knows more or less, that the kind of people amongst whom our lot was cast, existed. The mere fact of their existence was the beginning and end of her knowledge. She knew them as she knew a cow. She had driven through villages of one street such as ours, with a general store, an hotel, and a railroad station as a business centre; but hitherto she had looked at them with unseeing eyes. A small fundamental settlement like that at the mill, so insignificant that it was not to be found on any map, was an entirely new experience to her. The mill was an unknown place except to a few conductors and brakesmen on freight trains who called it Chagnon’s Siding for convenience. She learned now that these people of another unconsidered world, so different from her own, were worth knowing and knowing intimately. They could teach her, as it proved, many things about life of which she was entirely ignorant.

At first, the frankness of French-Canadian conversation about the intimate things of domestic life shocked her dreadfully; but she had all the adaptability of youth, and soon such plain talk made her laugh the while she learned. These crude country people were primitive to her, and in many ways she was primitive to them. There was not a lady or gentleman within miles of us, taking the words “lady” and “gentleman” as they are understood technically, or let us say Socially with a capital S. But Muriel learned from the kindness, willing helpfulness, thoughtfulness and even delicacy of these simple people, what was meant by “nature’s gentlefolk.” Uncultured and ignorant people may be low in a sense, but they are hardly ever vulgar. Pretension and the conceit of a few dollars are the only true vulgarity. Low people may be worth while; vulgar, never.

It seems to be characteristic of the French-Canadian to love to bow and do homage to persons and things which he thinks are superior to him. We were from a world nearly unknown except by hearsay to our little village, so we were marked people, and wherever we went, women courtesied and men touched their hats, except the keeper of the hotel, who was an Irishman. When we came to the post office for our mail, bowing even was not considered sufficient; I have seen half a dozen men come out of the little place and await our entry. I was what was known as “un vrai monsieur.” Such true politeness and deference we have never known since.

It must not be supposed that Muriel alone gained anything from our mill life; I also learnt many things.

Our house being in order, we set about the business of life. The settling of that house was an important matter. Muriel, like most women, had the nest-building instinct highly developed, and enjoyed placing and shifting furniture and trying positions for things many times till they were set exactly right to her mind. A six-inch move of a picture, or the angle at which a sofa was placed across a corner, were matters of serious importance to her.

The period of adjustment to our environment, to the world in general, and to each other in particular, had commenced.

The process of harmonising two unformed characters in the state of marriage is one full of doubts, irritations, and dangers. Usually this period is passed through by young married couples in dense ignorance of what is taking place. If the process is successful the result is due more to good luck than to good management. In a new home, the man and the woman usually have separate notions of what that home should be. These notions are seldom formulated, or very definite; but they are there. The man, for example, has an idea that the new home should be exactly like his father’s, with a few minor differences. The woman has her idea, which is entirely different. Generally these views do not coincide in any one detail, although they may agree at large. When one character is much stronger than the other adjustment takes place more easily perhaps; but at a cost. The weaker character never gets an opportunity to develop. When two characters of nearly equal strength come together friction is nearly inevitable. The two act and react on each other for years until the final adjustment comes or utterly fails to come—the failure, of course, bringing misery. The knowledge that this period has to be passed through would make it comparatively easy, but most people enter into the marriage state in complete ignorance of what lies before them.

Patience and adaptability, with much love to aid the deliverance, may in the end work wonders, and the coming of babies works miracles. But if boys and girls only learned from fathers and mothers the essential things it is necessary to know about marriage, wonders and miracles would not be so necessary, and many a heartache would be saved.

The foregoing suggests, perhaps, that Muriel and I were not at first as happy as we expected to be, nor were we. We were more or less a disappointment to each other. Traits of character we had hidden unconsciously, or designedly, during courtship, were now discovered and we became frank with each other—much too frank. But we loved, and through love believed in each other, we persevered in working out our destiny. Such as I am, my wife made me, and in making me she made herself. Such as she is I made her, and in making her I made myself. Forming a character in another is much like teaching music. You cannot teach without learning much yourself, and many things are brought home to you while looking at the instrument in the learner’s hands that you could not have discovered by having the instrument in your own.