The Governor General, Earl Grey, saw that King was awarded the Companion of the Order of St. Michael and St. George, a very high honour for a civil servant. Now Willie felt he was ready to leave the civil service and set his sights a little higher.
Berlin, Ontario
September 24, 1908
King roared into town like a general to the front. There was an election to fight, and he had let Laurier know he was determined to win. He drove his assistants to mount the attack. He drilled businessmen on the issues, organized them into squadrons, and sent them door to door. He personally greeted platoons of people, impressed many by greeting them by name, and won them over with his charm and good humour. He worked tirelessly, editing copy until 2 a.m., his pencil going slash, slash, slash, until his speeches became the sharp weapons with which he would courteously, but meticulously, cut down his opponents.
Today, other Liberal politicians of note were on the scene to help him with his fight. The bunting fluttered in the breeze as the Right Honourable Sir Wilfrid Laurier took to the stage. A throng of thousands had gathered, and all were enthralled with his Old World gallantry and grace. As Laurier turned to his young protégé, his face lit with a smile. King wore an immaculate dark suit, a starched collar, a tie pin placed in his tie in the fashion that Laurier wore his. The aspiring politician looked into the eyes of the great Liberal leader, noted the spirit and fire, but worried that he also detected a weary and feeble note in Laurier’s demeanour.
Laurier turned to the eagerly listening crowd. “I am of the belief that the Department of Labour needs to be its own department with its own minister. Furthermore, I am delighted with this young man,” he enthused. “He is definitely cabinet material. It is simply up to the people of North Waterloo to elect him!”
When the applause died, King took his place before the podium. Another ovation. He looked at the sea of expectant faces before him and experienced the rush of excitement he felt every time he stepped before a crowd. “My friends of North Waterloo!” he began.
By spring of 1909 the newspapers were writing about the new minister of labour, the “Honourable Mackenzie King, one of the best-groomed men in Cabinet, Solver of Labour Troubles.”
Kingsmere, Quebec
August, 1910
“Father’s complaining about the insects. I think he’s using it as an excuse to lie down for a rest,” Bella giggled, “but I’m ready to go out in the canoe!”
It made Willie happy to have Father, Mother, and Bella at Kingsmere on holiday. Max, now a doctor, practised medicine near by in Ottawa. Jennie had her own family in Wiarton and would undoubtedly come for holidays too.
Willie realized that his father had never built a cottage or even owned property. Finally he was able to make up to him and his dear little mother for some of the sacrifices they had made.
“I’ll just check to see if Mother doesn’t want to come too. I’ll be along in a moment.”
Even though it was a warm day, a small fire was lit in the grate. Isabel sat next to it, a book open on her lap. How beautiful she looks, King thought. The purest soul God ever made. The firelight made her cheeks rosy, and her white curls fluffed like soft feathers around her face. She was in the exact pose of one of the paintings King had commissioned of her.
“Now Mother, is that book Morley’s The Life of Gladstone: The Prime Minister, the one you have in your portrait?” her son teased. “If that’s the one you’re reading I’ll think you’re posing for your painting again.”
“But you will be a regular Gladstone!” Isabel laughed, a frequent and pleasant sound. “Aren’t we in high spirits today, Billy?”
“Why not! My family is with me and it’s a lovely day. Hardly any need for a fire.”
“You know how easily I feel a chill these days. Besides it is such a lovely fireplace with a fire in it.”
“It’s a copy of the one Shakespeare had at Stratford-on-Avon and I’ve dedicated it to Bert,” he said quietly. “Although I’m not so sure dear Bert’s spirit hasn’t become quite mischievous. It smokes a lot at times! Now Mother, are you coming out on the lake?”
“You go ahead, but be careful,” she warned. “Sir Wilfrid doesn’t want to lose his minister of labour. Oh Willie, Father and I were so proud. We were looking down from the galleries as Sir Wilfrid introduced you to the house. “William Lyon Mackenzie King. The name rang out across the room.”
“I was proud of you Mother. The press had so many things to say about you – how distinguished and witty you are, how much you look like Grandfather. I was so happy to see you and Father there. If only Grandfather could have been present to see me carrying on his work, my happiness would have been complete.”
Willie put a poker in the fire and stirred the flame brighter.
“It’s all been so wonderful, Mother, the dream of my life. It’s as if an unseen hand guides me in the direction of my life’s work. One step after the other I have been led up to this height. College, settlement life, post-graduate study, the Bill, the recognition from the Crown, my doctorate from Harvard for my work on Oriental Immigration, all come as if Fate or Destiny was guiding me in the direction of a living. Now, with the election, the voice of the people is calling me to come as their champion in the fight for a greater liberty.” King thrust the poker back into the stand and turned to look directly at her, his cheeks flushed. “Surely my success can erase the blot of the rebellion, if ever a blot it was!”
“I cannot but feel that you are going on with a work that your grandfather strove hard to throw the best part of his life into, and now you will too. But Willie,” she continued in a confidential tone, “you are thirty-five years of age. Don’t you think that it might be time to settle down?”
“Are you plotting with Sir Wilfrid and Lady Zoë?” Willie asked her, chuckling. “They’ve been asking me to dine with them and a number of young ladies, all of them wealthy. I think of them as skirmishing expeditions. Laurier thinks that such a wife is what I’ll need to secure a foothold with my public career.”
“Sir Wilfrid is a wise man!” Isabel enthused.
“Mother,” he said, taking up one of her hands, “what Sir Wilfrid does not know is that until I find a young lady who is even half as good as you, I will not be content. I will not let wealth, position, or aught else tempt me.”
“Willleeeee!” a screech was heard from towards the docks.
“That lovely voice would be Bella. Come for a paddle, Mother,” Willie urged, “for I won’t hear anything different.”
“Tell me more of what happened,” King gently urged the woman.
“The phosphorous from the matches in the factory where she worked. The doctor says phosphorous poisoning made my daughter die. It was horrible to watch her swell up and suffer, all because she wanted to help feed us.” The woman bowed her head.
“When did she begin work in the factory?”
“She started at age fourteen and she was there for seven years. When she died she was only just turned twenty,” the grieving mother whispered.
“Mrs. LeBlanc,