Different people react differently to defeat. But the grief of rejection often reveals personality and character as much or perhaps even more than the joy of victory. Trudeau pitted his strength against nature on a long canoe trip, and returned tanned, relaxed, and bearded. Macdonald binged and was not seen for weeks. If anyone had expected Bennett to shamefully skulk away after his October defeat they would have been disappointed. He was saddened but not immobilized. He still had work to do and so he got to it.

Bennett dictated letters to all victorious and defeated candidates and to those who had helped in the campaign. He wrote personal notes to many others. He returned to Calgary where he tended to business matters. Bennett’s mother would have been proud to hear him say to a number of those who inquired that he was carrying on in public life due to “a sense of duty.”1 Without missing a step, Bennett was charging into the next phase of his life and career with the same verve, focus, and determined effort that he had brought to all others.

Bennett returned to Ottawa for the opening of Parliament on October 23, 1935, just nine days after the election. He demonstrated that he had learned an important lesson in defeat when he ordered that the national party office remain open. Jane Denison was appointed national director. With no staff and an annual budget of only $4,000, she worked exceptionally hard. She kept the party lists up to date, improved communications with provincial offices, which also stayed operational, and oversaw a number of mailings to party faithfuls and newspapers. Denison also produced new issues of the Canadian.

More could have been done at the national level but Bennett argued that the party should strive to organize itself from the grassroots up. Work should begin, he said, at the constituency level, helped by provincial offices. Only when they became strong should substantive money and effort be devoted to the national office. He reasoned that with a majority government in Ottawa there would be no federal election for at least four years, where there would be an election in nearly every province in the next three.2

While the plan had merit, it would have been bolstered had Bennett supported it by travelling the country to help with the implementation. But he did not. Fundraisers could have been organized. They were not. Morale-boosting rallies for volunteers, possible donors, and potential candidates could have been staged. They were not, either. Bennett received a number of letters from provincial party leaders and rank-and-file members that bemoaned the sorry state of the party in their part of the country. But he stayed in Ottawa. While pouring himself into his responsibilities and appearing to colleagues and the public as still burning with the old passion and drive, he confided to friends that he was tired. Perhaps the man who had worked for so long and so hard, suffered a heart attack just months before, and still shouldered the responsibilities of various businesses and the leadership of the official Opposition deserved a break.

While in Ottawa, he remained seated on his wallet. He made it clear that he would no longer be funding party operations from his personal fortune. This decision created problems as the party had ended the 1935 campaign $170,000 in debt. Bennett encouraged Denison and provincial directors to undertake fundraising initiatives that would be essential for the party’s future. But, as in the past, he refused to personally participate. He was adamant that he would never take part in the fundraising dinners that had become a new and lucrative practice for the Liberals.³

While leaving responsibility for the day-to-day party organization and operation to others, Bennett took a sincere personal interest in his post as leader of His Majesty’s Loyal Opposition. He explained his dedicated work as the most important person on the Opposition benches in a letter, in which he wrote, “Democracy is only possible if in Parliament there is an opposition with some knowledge of public questions, and even though small in numbers, with courage to criticise measures that may be submitted.”4

The Conservative caucus that he led was drastically different from the one he had known as prime minister. First, of course, was that there were only thirty-nine members. Second, nearly all of his former cabinet colleagues — who had taken much of the workload and upon whom he could depend for sage advice — were gone. Those remaining arrived fatigued, while warhorses such as Perley and Cahan were over seventy and showing their age. The caucus was predominantly young men who were keen but inexperienced. Although of dubious health and no longer a young man, Bennett remained the hardest working and most able of the bunch. His energy and dominance over the caucus was evident; he was in the House every day and on his feet for every issue. He spoke far more than any of his younger colleagues. Hansard shows extended passages of his extemporaneous remarks posing questions, raising points, and presenting arguments. Together they demonstrate that his passion and wordsmith skills were as fervent and impressive as at any time in his career.

His domination of the small caucus and his towering presence in the House disturbed some Conservative MPs and revived the accusation of one-man rule. Bennett received a good deal of advice regarding the need to delegate. A letter from Conservative MP Wilfrid Heighington related well the point made by many. Heighington wrote,

. . . whether you like it or not, you must appreciate the fact that there is need for consultation with those in the lesser ranks of the party’s activities who perhaps could not only assist you in the performance of your duties but help you guide the party to a prosperous future. . . . I am steadfastly behind you and the Conservative party. I only write to ask you please to consult those who share with you the future of the party and to clear yourself of the charge, which I feel is all too justly made, that you are conducting the destinies of the party on your own, disregarding those who have nothing but personal goodwill towards you and who share all your hopes and expectations for the ultimate triumph of our party.⁵

The response to Heighington’s rather courteous and constructive criticism betrays much about both Bennett’s thin skin and his still-broad network of reliable political informants. He replied that he indeed consulted broadly, since responses to all bills were considered in caucus and all members encouraged to state their views. Further, he argued, he also sought the views of friends of the party outside caucus. He then must have stung Heighington by noting that he was unable, as Opposition leader, to play any role in helping him to obtain the appointment that he had heard the MP had been recently seeking. Having wounded his correspondent by impugning his motives, Bennett then swooped in for the kill. The charge that he ran the party without consultation, he wrote, was groundless and the spreading of such rumours circulated only by those with sinister purposes.6

Bennett continued to rise in the House nearly every day. He showed sincere consternation for Liberal attempts to unfairly blame his administration for problems that Mackenzie King was facing, for taking credit for legislation created by his government, and, most often the case, for offering a bill that contradicted something that his government had done. In many cases he seemed to be defending old ideas due to a sense of pride rather than a careful reading of the political landscape or with an eye to increasing the political popularity of his party. For instance, he even stood to attack Mackenzie King’s rescinding the widely despised Section 98 of the Criminal Code and to decry the closing of the hugely unpopular relief camps. Simply remaining quiet while Mackenzie King made the changes would have been the politically wise thing to do. But he spoke up — over and over again. As noted by Bennett biographer Peter Waite, “Bennett scorned hypocrisy. He had the dangerous habit of saying what he really thought. What drove Bennett was his own mind, not what others thought.”⁷

BENNETT'S LONG SHADOW

Within two weeks of coming to office, on November 4, 1935, Prime Minister Mackenzie King referred all of Bennett’s New Deal legislation from the previous parliamentary session to the Supreme Court. The court’s decision would colour Bennett’s legacy.

In bringing the reformist legislation to the House that spring, Bennett had reasoned that because, collectively, the acts were based on a broad interpretation of the federal government’s constitutional power, they would likely be challenged. His Minimum Wages Act, Employment and Social Insurance Act, Natural Products Marketing Act, and Hours of Work Act all contained provisions and promised regulations that moved into provincial areas of jurisdiction. He had already seen many of Roosevelt’s New Deal programs crash against the wall of the US Supreme Court and get torn asunder due to the federal government overstepping its constitutional bounds. Bennett, of course, was a skilled lawyer and had argued cases before the Supreme Court and the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council; he was confident that a broad interpretation would break his way. He had said when introducing the legislation that the federal government’s right to act was based upon its constitutional obligation to provide peace, order, and good government, and upon its international treaty obligations to protect the rights of labour.8

The Canadian Supreme Court, however, disagreed. It found much of the New Deal legislation ultra vires due primarily to the federal government infringing on provincial property and civil rights as listed in the British North America Act’s Section 92. Bennett followed the case quite closely. Every day, Finlayson provided detailed accounts of the intricacies of the arguments being made. He noted especially the persuasiveness of Ontario chief justice Newton Rowell and respected Quebec constitutional lawyer Louis St. Laurent, both Liberal and both destined to play large roles in the country’s future, who were arguing the federal government’s case. Bennett predicted that all the legislation would stand. Both he and Finlayson were surprised when the Supreme Court ruled against the government.⁹

Mackenzie King could have let the case die, but he recognized that the issues at stake were actually of greater importance than the legislation itself and so he took the next step and referred it all to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. On January 28, 1937, the council supported the Supreme Court by deeming nearly all of the New Deal legislation ultra vires. It argued that since the Depression was not a national emergency, the federal government had no right to use its treaty-making powers or the peace, order, and good government clause as justification for so broadly interpreting its powers under Section 91. The Farmer’s Creditors Arrangement Act was the only law left untouched. The Privy Council’s decision reversed the trend toward centralizing political power in Canada that it had established with the radio and aviation cases and upon which Bennett had relied.

The decision angered Bennett. He believed that it flew in the face of precedent, and altered the court’s views on the relationship between the federal government and the provinces. He said that the decision further emasculated the federal government by destroying its jurisdiction with respect to treaties in a way that embarrassed the country and weakened future governments.10

Bennett was not overreacting. The decisions of the Canadian Supreme Court and the Privy Council were indeed momentous. Two freight trains, each representing a different vision of the country, had for years been charging toward each other. The judicial review of Bennett’s New Deal package of legislation invited a collision of those trains, and the crash would change Canada.

The first of those trains contained arguments regarding Canada’s ability to decide legal and constitutional matters for itself. The Canadian Supreme Court had been established in 1877, but in the 1930s its decisions could still be appealed to London’s Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. Criticism of the Privy Council’s power had been growing in Canada for some time and had reached a fever pitch in the 1920s. Manitoba’s Justice A.C. Galt was among those in the Canadian legal community who argued that the reason for the institution’s waning respect was in its having overturned twenty Canadian Supreme Court decisions from 1911 to 1921.¹¹ The issue could be seen as concomitant with the country’s burgeoning national pride. The events of the 1930s had turned the developing consensus into a critical mass of scholars, lawyers, and others in civil society insisting that the national government simply had to have the constitutional power it needed to respond to a national crisis in a nationally unified way.

The Privy Council’s overturning so much of Bennett’s legislation rallied those who argued that the council had overstepped its bounds again. Many said that it had been too narrow and formalistic in its interpretation and — not for the first time, but more fervently than ever — should be done away with once and for all. In a radio address that saw excerpts published in mainstream newspapers across the country, University of Manitoba president Sidney Smith captured the mood of the legal community, and of a growing number of Canadians, when he said,

It does appear that we cannot expect from the Privy Council an interpretation of the constitution that will enable the Dominion to take over some of the social services and the regulations of industrial activities which the provincial legislatures, with insufficient revenue, are unable to undertake [due to its] narrow legalism.12

Smith’s words, and similar arguments that were being made across the land, vindicated Bennett’s broad and centralist interpretation of the constitution and the legislative package upon which it had been based. A group of influential lawyers and university professors calling themselves the Canadian Legal Realist Movement was formed in 1937. It dedicated itself to ending the Privy Council’s power in Canada. More articles were written in scholarly journals and the mainstream press, and many letters arrived on the desks of parliamentarians arguing that with the quashing of Bennett’s New Deal legislation, the Privy Council had proven once and for all that it did not understand the unique needs of Canadians.

Despite his feelings for Britain and his belief in the importance of the emotional ties that Canada had to its mother country, Bennett agreed with the chorus of those demanding an end to the Privy Council’s power. In a 1938 letter to Regina’s F.W. Turnbull, he wrote that the Privy Council’s jurisdiction over Canadian legal decisions must end. Bennett observed, “Of course, to permit a body of men in England to make a constitution for us is absurd.”¹³

But the Privy Council’s power to overturn decisions of the Canadian Supreme Court would not end quickly. It was not until 1949 that the Canadian Supreme Court became Canada’s court of last resort and the country stepped one more rung up the ladder toward constitutional maturity. Bennett’s New Deal legislation had played a role in advancing the debate that led to that important step.

The second freight train that was smoking its way forward carried questions regarding a fundamental vision of Canada as a nation-state. Macdonald and the others ensconced in Charlottetown and Quebec City had based their work on the conservative philosophies of Edmund Burke and their observations of the Americans, who were at that moment ripping themselves apart in a civil war fought essentially over the issue of states’ rights. These influences led Macdonald and the Canadian founders to locate predominant state power with the federal government. Macdonald included an introductory statement in the BNA Act’s Section 91 list of federal powers. It stated that Parliament would be responsible for the “Peace, Order and Good Government of Canada, in relation to all Matters not coming within the classes of the Subject of this Act assigned exclusively to the Legislature of the Provinces.”14 The phrase was meant to say that the federal government would assume responsibility for any area of jurisdiction that might arise later. The specific powers listed in Sections 91 and 92 were simply illustrative of the types of areas that the two levels of government could tend to in carrying out their responsibilities.

However, beginning shortly after Confederation, in decision after decision, the Privy Council had sided with whatever province brought questions to its bench. In case after case, it separated the phrase from the list of powers that followed and decided that the items in the list could not be superseded by it.¹⁵ By the late 1920s, the teeter-totter of power had shifted so that the clout of the federal government had declined precipitously as that of the provinces had risen.

Macdonald would have wept. Bennett got mad. He believed that for the country to operate efficiently and the government effectively, especially in a time of crisis, the federal government needed all the power that Macdonald had intended for it. Bennett worried that so much power had devolved to the provinces that the federal government had been emasculated and left unable to deal with the economic crisis at hand. The twin arguments that he had laid out in January 1935 were his rallying call to that interpretation. Bennett realized that while the provinces had constitutional authority for a number of social responsibilities — such as education, social assistance, and labour — their financial powers to raise money did not match those responsibilities. The Depression had shone a light on the disparity between the provinces’ social responsibilities, as allowed by the British court’s narrow constitutional decisions, and their financial capacity, as dictated by economic reality. The many programs that Bennett had instituted, such as direct emergency relief, had been his reaction to that disparity. In 1930, only British Columbia and Prince Edward Island collected taxes on corporations, but by the Depression’s end all nine did. Some introduced income taxes and others gasoline taxes, but all those efforts and more had proven inadequate. The federal government, in the meantime, was able to raise significant revenue through corporate taxes, income taxes, excise taxes, and its sales tax, which went from 1 to 8 per cent. It also had a greater capacity to take on debt and run deficits to meet temporary challenges and then, through various programs, ship that money right back to the provinces.

Bennett wrote to the editor of Maclean’s in December 1935, stating that he wished he could have been better at explaining the constitutional and fiscal problems that the country faced and the solutions that he had been offering. He described the problems Canada would face if it did not soon rectify the issue of the constitutional separation of federal and provincial powers in a responsible fashion. In a statement that could have been written by prime ministers from Macdonald to the current occupant of the Sussex Drive mansion, Bennett warned, “. . . unless firm action is taken in the way of bringing home to the Provincial Governments a sense of their own responsibility, we will have Federal financial obligation with local authorities expending the money, without regard to how it may be obtained.”16

The Privy Council’s overturning of the New Deal legislation said that Macdonald and Bennett were wrong. The centralist view was wrong. Its decision was welcomed by those adhering to the compact thesis. It postulated a system of devolved power and held that the provinces must constantly be wary of any federal intrusion into their jurisdictions. Those advocating that point of view see Canada as a treaty or compact between provinces. Prime Minister Joe Clark supported this view when he called Canada “a community of communities.” Every provincial premier from René Lévesque to Ralph Klein who has railed against federal power sees the country this way. In 2001, before becoming prime minister, Stephen Harper had shown himself to be a supporter of this school when he signed a letter supporting the building of a “fire-wall” around his home province of Alberta. Pierre Trudeau, on the other hand, channelled Sir John and Bennett when he warned that the federal government’s role in such a country would be that of playing head waiter to the provinces. He fought for the centralist vision while in office, and then afterwards with his carefully reasoned and influential opposition to the compact thesis that lay at the heart of Prime Minister Mulroney’s Meech Lake Accord and Charlottetown Amendments.

The two trains met. By the late 1930s, a growing number of influential Canadians had become tired of the provinces jealously guarding constitutional responsibilities while being unable to meet them. And they were quite sick of the empire striking back. In August 1937, with the full support of Opposition leader Bennett, Prime Minister Mackenzie King created the Royal Commission on Dominion-Provincial Relations. It was first chaired by Ontario chief justice Newton Rowell and, when he resigned due to illness, by constitutional law professor Joseph Sirois, becoming commonly known as the Rowell-Sirois Commission. Its mandate was to examine political decisions made during the Depression and the constitutional arguments rendered regarding Bennett’s New Deal legislation. It would determine if the distribution of powers as constituted enabled the federal system to fulfill its obligations to Canadians while promoting national unity. For three years the commissioners travelled widely and consulted broadly.

The Rowell-Sirois Report was a stunning repudiation of the compact thesis and afforded nearly unqualified support for the centralist view that Bennett had espoused throughout his career and that informed his New Deal legislation. The report stated that for Canada to create a modern society in a responsible way, it must adopt a more centralist constitutional approach to power sharing. The federal government simply had to have the jurisdictional powers needed to enact the social and economic policies and programs that a modern society demanded and Canadians deserved. As Bennett had said in word and deed, constitutional powers must be shifted, or at least more broadly interpreted, so that a match could be forged between social responsibilities and fiscal capacity. The wide disparity in the wealth of provinces, the report argued, meant that the power to raise revenue and thereby meet those responsibilities must rest with the federal government. In other words, the report suggested that in terms of what Bennett had been trying to do with his economic and social policies based on his centralist vision of the country, he had been right.

One of the recommendations made by the Rowell-Sirois Report was that the federal government be afforded the responsibility for providing relief to the unemployed. In 1940, Mackenzie King acted on the recommendation. A constitutional amendment was made, and a federally operated unemployment insurance program was instituted. It was based entirely on the program that Bennett had created.

In January 1941, Mackenzie King convened a federal-provincial conference to discuss the report more fully. As one might have expected, provincial premiers were loath to surrender any power. The commissioners may have smiled when the richest provinces declared themselves most vehemently opposed to even discussing constitutional changes such as the report suggested, but the poorest — Saskatchewan, PEI, and Manitoba — were quite willing to have the federal government assume more fiscal powers and to be the recipients of more financial aid. Most were frustrated by the conference, although there was progress on unemployment insurance. It took the Second World War, and the need for the federal government to take the power needed to respond to that new crisis, to change minds. Slowly, the report’s recommendations were adopted and the centralist view of Canada that Bennett had espoused came to form the collective consensus nearly everywhere for two generations.

As the struggle toward the adoption of an altered vision of Canada was moving apace, Bennett’s wise and visionary leadership should have become apparent. The two trains became one with the federal government its engineer. Canada moved forward with an enhanced ability to decide its own constitutional progress and with greater federal power to meet the burgeoning needs of an increasingly urban, complex, and vibrant country. Esteemed historian Frank Underhill later reflected on the consensus among those analyzing Bennett’s New Deal, and the crucial role it played in this transformation, and noted, “It inspired all subsequent social legislation.”17

RESIGNATION

In the spring of 1937, London was the place to be. On the evening of May 11, thousands of enthusiastic monarchists spent the night in Trafalgar Square so that they would not miss a thing. The occasion was the coronation of King George VI. The event was rather unexpected, as King Edward VIII had taken the throne after the death of his father. But he had announced his abdication in a dramatic radio address, explaining that he could not carry out his responsibilities as sovereign without the woman he loved. For the king to marry a divorced woman, and an American at that, was simply unimaginable. He and Mrs. Wallis Simpson left to live a life of quiet contemplation and Bennett left to attend the lavish ceremony.

Accompanied as always by Mildred, Bennett found respite on the ship. He was merely one among a large contingent of Canadians, and Prime Minister Mackenzie King naturally drew more attention. But there was a new king and a blushing young Queen Elizabeth to be celebrated in royal and spectacular fashion at Westminster Abbey. Again Bennett and Mildred enjoyed the theatre and the magnificent shopping that London had to offer. He also travelled to Germany to consult a world-famous heart specialist. After a thorough examination, the doctor told him that he was fine but that he should contemplate a quieter life, away from the stresses of political leadership. Bennett enjoyed a taste of that life with another extended stay at Beaverbrook’s estate. It was then off on an invigorating world tour of a number of Commonwealth countries, including Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa. Bennett later spoke of being most impressed with New Zealand and of being proud to see loyalty to the Commonwealth everywhere. South Africa, however, disturbed him. He warned of the dangers of racism and said that his experience there reminded him of the virtues of diversity.18

With Bennett absent from the country, the knives came out. There was great speculation about his political future and much of it was fuelled by Conservative senator John Haig who, without Bennett’s knowledge, had spoken in Winnipeg about the Conservative leader’s intention to soon step down. He had not a clue what he was talking about. The speech nonetheless set backrooms and the chattering class chattering.

Bennett had not made a decision about his political future, but news of Haig’s speech, which reached him in England, persuaded him to ruminate on the issue. He added fuel to the fire of speculation by making broad hints to a number of British correspondents about his belief that a younger man should perhaps take up the leadership of the party. Another point made casually to a number of correspondents, including to such important party supporters as the president of the Crown Life Insurance Company, was that he had grown physically and emotionally tired of public life. He wrote, “At my age I have no ambition to be Prime Minster again and I have a clear appreciation of the thanklessness of the task in which I was for so long engaged.”¹⁹

As news that he was considering resigning swept back across the Atlantic to Canadian newspapers, Bennett felt great pressure from individuals, business people, and even unions, complimenting him on his service to his country and encouraging him to stay. He responded to each politely. A short sentence in one letter seemed to sum up all of the well-conceived and carefully expressed reasons for his impending decision. To a correspondent in Bolton, Ontario, Bennett admitted, “I am tired.”20

But he was rejuvenated by his holiday and by so many friends and supporters encouraging him to remain at his post. Shortly after his return he told all who asked that he’d made the decision to remain as party leader. He explained that he did so because he wished to put aside health concerns and did not want to be seen as a quitter or coward. He summoned the courage and energy, or perhaps the tenacious stubbornness, to continue. He claimed to many that he took no feeling of satisfaction from remaining as Conservative leader but rather believed it to be his duty.²¹

So it was back to work. For seven months Bennett assiduously dedicated himself to his duties. However, just as his heart was physically weak, it was perhaps metaphorically weakened as well. He occasionally appeared distracted. He still spoke often in the House but sometimes without the old passion that had been so consistent for so long. As a hard winter dragged on, with an election looming closer, and with more medical tests having been done, Bennett made another decision. While his heart was adequate to meet the demands of an Opposition leader, he decided that it was not sufficiently strong to sustain him on the campaign trail — and that trail was coming, sooner or later.

In early February 1938, Bennett assembled the caucus. In a closed-door meeting he formally announced that he was resigning, effective immediately. The stunned silence in the room was quickly replaced by enthusiastic pleas that he stay on. The meeting continued until finally, late in the afternoon, Bennett relented and agreed to remain, but only with the promise from those assembled that a convention would be held to replace him a quickly as was practical.²²

Whatever happens in caucus is supposed to stay in caucus, but then as now it is a leaky vessel. The next day, newspapers reported again that he was leaving. Bennett spoke to no journalists but answered a great number of letters with a similar message. He told all who pleaded with him to reconsider that his decision this time was final due to his weakening heart. To many correspondents he confessed a struggle in his mind between trepidation regarding his mortality and his devotion to duty. To one supporter he revealed himself more than was common. He wrote,

I am sure you realize how reluctantly I am retiring from active participation in public life. I believe I could truthfully say that I would not be concerned about dying in harness but I do not like to contemplate the possibility of being an invalid or, what may be worse, find myself at a critical point in a general election unable to discharge the duties of my position, which would undoubtedly affect the fortunes of my Party.23

Meanwhile, Bennett saw to party and succession matters. All seemed to agree that the party was in better shape than it had been in between the last two elections, but also that there was a great deal of work left to be done. The first order of business was to hold another national convention to stir grassroots interest, grab headlines, and determine a platform. As Bennett had not formally announced his decision to leave, there were no overt plans made regarding a leadership contest. A date was picked that would allow time to prepare. Planning was based largely on the structures and processes established prior to the hugely successful event in Winnipeg eleven years before. As in 1927, General McRae oversaw the whole affair and, as before, his preparations were flawless.

In March 1938, 150 delegates made up of Liberal-Conservative MPs, senators, and senior party people from every province assembled in Ottawa to plan the party’s second national convention. Committees were established to examine the major challenges facing the party. It was decided that a national organization needed to be permanent and that a national council had to be established to coordinate the central and provincial offices. It was also decided that more publicity and regular communications with party members was needed. The Policy and Convention Committee suggested that a convention involving people from the grassroots of the party should be convened in order to hash out new party policies on a number of issues. All agreed, as most had in 1927, that women needed to play a much greater role in the proceedings. The committee also brought forward a suggestion that, due to the plethora of parties on the scene, including three with the word “Liberal” in their name, that the party change from the Liberal-Conservative to the National Conservative Party.

As planning proceeded smoothly, Bennett remained in the background. When most of the big decisions were made, he deemed it time to formally announce that he planned to resign as party leader. As with the caucus, there were many who urged him to reconsider. But this time, and with these people, there were fewer doing so. Their urgings seemed more polite than sincere. It was a fascinating moment. If a rousing cheer, a resolution, or even a series of positive statements had been made, it is possible that Bennett might have again changed his mind. But this time, with not just the MPs but the party faithful hearing of his wish to resign, the room remained largely silent. And that silence said more than words ever could. Bennett was done.24 He issued a press release that repeated what he had told the delegates: that he was resigning due to doctor’s orders following a diagnosis of a weakness in his heart.

Just as the final decision had been made, a tragedy struck. Mildred died. She had taken ill weeks before and had been whisked to a hospital in New York City where she was treated for breast cancer. Bennett had travelled south to visit her and stayed for several days. She appeared to be recovering from what doctors described as respiratory troubles acquired during her recovery. All were assured that she would soon be discharged.

While in New York, Bennett had met with Bill Herridge. Herridge had sent numerous letters to Finlayson and some directly to Bennett during the 1935 campaign. Bennett had acknowledged the soundness of his advice by often following it, but he had never written back. While they dealt together with Mildred, the two former close friends and colleagues were civil but did not speak of politics. Bennett left New York with the assurance from Mildred’s doctors that she was improving.

He was back in Ottawa for only a few days when the telephone rang. It was Herridge. Bennett wept openly when informed of his sister’s death. She was only forty-nine. He sat alone in a darkened room and read aloud the entire Book of Ruth. According to friends, his mourning never ended, for in losing Mildred he lost more than a sister. He lost his closest friend and confidante. It is easy to trace his reduced interest in Canadian public affairs to the moment of Mildred’s death. For days he was not seen outside his Château Laurier suites. For the first time in his life, work went undone. Letters of condolence flooded his office but most were answered by Alice Millar. For a long while he was inconsolable.

CONVENTION

On a hot fourth of July morning, co-chair John MacNicol banged the gavel to commence the proceedings of the second Liberal-Conservative Party national convention. The 1,597 delegates comprised riding representatives, MPs, senators, MLAs, and a number of ex-officio members of the party that included many former politicians. Every riding association had played a part in preparing for the convention. Letters were written, meetings held, and finally, pre-conference committees arranged to establish five standing committees to lead the convention. Publicity, resolutions, organization, nominations, and credential committees began their work.

Scarred by the Bennett-Stevens-Cahan ideological split that had caused such damage to the party in the lead-up to the 1935 election, the Resolutions Committee cautiously worked its way through the ideas presented to it by riding associations and individuals. It was careful to ensure that policies were clearly in the middle of the political spectrum. They were quite tepidly worded to avoid specifics. When the platform was finally ready, it was clear to all that the committee had been successful in ensuring that the party’s right, left, and centre would find nothing too objectionable. Of course, something that is designed not to offend is also certain not to excite. The platform was bland enough to do neither. Bennett signed off on it all after making only minor amendments.

Even after such careful preparation, some parts of the platform found trouble when they reached the floor. The most serious issue went to the core of a problem that Bennett had been unable to address: the French-English cleavage. It presented itself at unlikely moments, such as the platform debate regarding support for British Commonwealth flyers to be trained in Canada. Bennett had spoken in support of the initiative in the House. Meighen stood at the convention and announced his support for the plan, couching it as necessary to demonstrate that Canada was still loyal to Britain. The Quebec delegation, however, was outraged that the party would so blatantly ignore its province’s desire to play no role whatsoever in any joint British-Canadian defence scheme just as it appeared that the world was stepping toward another European war. At that point, after all, Hitler had already taken the Rhineland and Austria. Of lesser importance, it seemed at the time, was that Japan had taken Manchuria. With thoughts of war in the air, a compromise that pleased no one and said little was finally adopted. It pledged only that Canada would remain loyal to the Crown and that the defence of Canada could be best protected in consultation with all members of the Commonwealth. There was applause from the floor when the resolution passed, but the Quebec delegation remained seated and silent.

Bennett’s farewell speech was short and vague. He reviewed his major accomplishments and restated his love for and faith in the country. He thanked supporters and all Canadians for the honour of having served. The speech demonstrated his realization that the convention was about the future, and that he was already of the past and needed to sweep the spotlight from himself. He was not, as had been the case in 1927, destructive like Meighen, but neither was he instructive like Borden. The understated remarks were barely like Bennett.

The speech inadvertently revealed that despite all of his adroit work in the province, Bennett still did not completely understand Quebec. He said, “My friends from Quebec you and I are British subjects together, not English or French, but British subjects, and in that proud name I ask you to join with other British subjects not only in Canada but in every part of this great world, to ensure the prosperity of Canada and the safety of the Commonwealth.”25 Bennett had chosen to utter those words in English. Once again the Quebec delegates sat as those around them stood and applauded. In saying what he did, Bennett acknowledged the French-English cleavage but also that he was unable to comprehend the ethnic nationalism that was pumping the heart of a tiny but growing number of Québécois. Bennett was neither the first nor last Conservative leader to boldly proclaim a fundamental misunderstanding of this vital Canadian issue. Consider Diefenbaker writing in his memoirs in 1976, the year that Quebecers put René Lévesque into the premier’s chair, “. . . not one syllable, not one word, not one line in any speech I ever delivered conveyed any other idea than that I was for ‘one Canada, one nation.’ I have never uttered a disparaging word about French Canada either indirectly or at all.”26 He just had. And like Bennett he didn’t even know it.

Five men stepped forward to replace Bennett. Denton Massey was first elected as a member of Parliament in 1935, but he brought with him years of public service in Toronto and, as a son of the family that had co-founded the Massey-Harris Company, he was heir to a fortune along with powerful, corporate connections. Earl Lawson had come to Ottawa in 1928. He was best known and respected for the yeoman’s work he had done in party organization. Joseph Harris was another Toronto MP. He had earned the respect of many through his adept chairing of the politically explosive Commons Committee on Railways, Canals, and Telegraph Lines. Murdoch MacPherson was a Regina lawyer and had been an MLA and Saskatchewan’s Attorney General. MacPherson was an appealing choice as a talented westerner who had been born in Cape Breton, but he had lost his seat in the 1934 provincial election and had recently suffered a bout of poor health. Best known and qualified of the bunch was Dr. Robert J. Manion. Manion had lost his seat in the last election, but his travels to nearly every riding in the land, his work in three cabinets, his raw intelligence, and his eighteen years in Parliament convinced most delegates that he was the man to beat.

Other names that rose and fell included Stevens, Meighen, and Bennett himself. Among those who came to believe that Bennett actually wanted the job and could succeed himself was the influential J.W. Dafoe. He had heard the rumours that Howard Ferguson and Bill Herridge were active both before and during the convention in trying to garner support to draft Bennett. In the weeks leading up to the convention, Bennett had, in fact, received numerous letters encouraging him to remain as leader, but he had answered each one with a polite thank-you and assurance that his decision was final. But his Wednesday-evening farewell speech, even though subpar according to his standards, had persuaded a good many delegates that he was still the best man for the job. Word began to circulate that if all the other candidates would withdraw from the race, Bennett would accept a draft and remain. The conversations about Bennett became feverish.

Only an hour before first-ballot voting was scheduled to begin there was still no word on whether Bennett’s name would be among the candidates. Meighen was called to Bennett’s room and was shocked to hear Bennett say that he might consider a run to succeed himself. Meighen counselled against it. He told Bennett that Manion had support from every region’s delegates. He reported that the Quebec delegates had all donned bilingual Manion buttons and would vote as a block. Bennett heard him out, then said that he had no intention of allowing his name to stand. Meighen left with Bennett’s assurance and let the word filter through the hall.27 The race was wide open. Whether Bennett had seriously considered placing his name in nomination or was playing some political game will never be known; he tipped his hand to no one either publicly or privately.

As the slate of candidates delivered their speeches, a number of minds were changed. Murdoch MacPherson had arrived with no organization whatsoever. He had even pondered withdrawing his name from contention. But his speech was the best of the evening. Beyond the passion of his delivery, MacPherson was the only candidate to adopt Bennett’s entire Red Tory program as his own. Manion’s speech was competent but less inspiring. His policy promises nonetheless showed that, like Bennett, he was a reformer on the party’s left. His speech offered more vague platitudes than specifics, which, to be fair, reflected the party’s new platform. But it was no way to win a nomination.

Bennett had a decision to make. Many delegates were waiting to see which candidate he supported in order to determine their own votes. Manion had spoken to Bennett and asked directly for his endorsement but Bennett had demurred. After MacPherson’s speech, Bennett’s mind was made up. He then discovered that Meighen had also decided to back Saskatchewan’s native son. Bennett told a couple of supporters and within minutes his intentions had swept through the hall.

The first ballot saw Manion win 726 votes to MacPherson’s second-place 475, with the rest far behind. On the second ballot, both men drew support from the two remaining Toronto candidates, but more went to Manion. He won on the second ballot with 830 to MacPherson’s 648. Bennett had backed the wrong horse.

MacPherson later solicited Bennett’s opinion regarding what he should do to advance his career now that he had missed his opportunity to lead the party. The former leader’s advice was interesting for what it said about Bennett himself. He told MacPherson that perhaps losing the race was a gift, for it would be better at that stage in his life if he concentrated on his law practice, built up some wealth, and then later re-entered politics. Bennett contended that it was impossible to keep a practice going in the West when seconded to Ottawa as an MP. A career as an indigent politician, which he himself would have been had he not built assets and wealth before entering the federal arena, was not something that he wished upon anyone, especially his young friend.28

The newly named National Conservative Party had a new leader. Manion said everything one would expect him to have said in accepting the convention’s decision, but all could sense that there was trouble ahead. Two former prime ministers, including the departing leader, had spoken and voted against him. Like Meighen, Manion was a dignified, intelligent, and honest man, but could not inspire passion. Like Bennett, he was a principled, thoughtful, and articulate spokesman for the reformist wing of the party, but could not build unity. He was the best of the lot, but doomed for a short and troubled tenure. All good soldiers do not make good generals.

Mackenzie King was polite with Manion and did something that he had never done with Bennett. He invited him to lunch at Kingsmere, the prime minister’s private estate just north of Ottawa in the picturesque Gatineau Hills, where he communed with nature and concentrated on the leisurely creation of a fake ruins assembled from bits of rock gathered from famous sites around the world. The gracious prime minister recommended that Manion restrict the number of people he saw each day and work to preserve his strength, for the job he had just taken on was physically and emotionally taxing. It was a friendly start, but in due course Mackenzie King would act to destroy him.

As Bennett was no longer the leader of the Conservative Party, a number of offers came his way. Among the more substantial suggestions with which he wrestled were appointments to the Senate or Supreme Court, or the presidency of a university. He had once yearned for a Senate appointment and toyed with the idea of a place on the Court, but he turned down all entreaties to even consider the moves. While the academic offers were no doubt legitimate, those discussing the appointments to the bench or Senate were probably dreaming; it was quite unlikely that Mackenzie King would have made either.

THE LONG GOODBYE

With a new Conservative Party leader in place and Bennett nearing the end of his long political career, it fell to the press, party, and Canadian people to consider their thoughts on the man. People seldom get to hear their eulogies, but a politician often does — and with those leaving from beneath a dark cloud of unpopularity it is always interesting to see whether the feelings engendered by the public man remain as his public life ends.

Bennett had never been on good terms with the press and always believed that he was unjustly treated. He thought that nearly all newspapers and periodicals printed inaccuracies and were unfair in their assessment not just of him but of most politicians. He held Maclean’s as the most unfair with respect to his administration.29 Bennett wistfully, or perhaps hopefully, later wrote to one correspondent, “I do not suppose, in the whole history of Canadian political life, any man has been attacked as I was during the five years I held office . . . many who were not too kindly disposed in days gone by are now realizing that, after all, I had no selfish purposes to serve and desired only to do my best for the country in which I was born and in which I have lived all these years.”³⁰

No longer being at the helm of the party, however, allowed Bennett to relax somewhat with the press. He accepted a number of requests for interviews, some of which were quite wide ranging. In each, the interviewer left impressed with Bennett’s verbal ability and mental acuity. His powerful personality overwhelmed the uninitiated. For instance, Bruce Hutchison explained one conversation as beginning with Bennett’s speaking about Canadian politics and linking Canada’s economic future to trade, which itself depended upon developing global links in an increasingly interdependent world. He pressed his point by speaking of the situation in South Africa, then moved on to minute details of a British military campaign, and then to a history of the Boers. He drew a connection to the importance of trade with China, which led to his speaking in precise detail about the history of the Ming dynasty and its contributions to art and pottery, then to Alexander the Great, then to ancient Rome, and finally to summing up with quotes from Theodore Roosevelt and a review of the Monroe Doctrine. Hutchison wrote that it was as if Bennett’s mind raced faster, recognized more complexity, and illustrated points with more historical connections than any listener could follow. Hutchison concluded his piece with a point that must have pleased Bennett. He wrote, “Mr. Bennett should write a book. . . . Then, perhaps, history would understand him, for his public record will not reveal him. . . . The interesting, the unique thing, is not what Bennett has done or not done, but Bennett himself. We may look on greater men, but not on his like again.”31

Laudatory letters poured into his office. Bennett answered each with sincere gratitude and humility. Esteemed University of Toronto economist Harold Innis, for instance, was one of many academics who took time to send his thoughts to Bennett. Innis wrote,

Your leadership of the party especially during the years when you were Prime Minister was marked by a distinction which has not been surpassed. . . . No one has ever been asked to carry the burdens of unprecedented depression such as you assumed and no one could have shouldered them with such ability. I am confident that we all look to those years as landmarks in Canadian history because of your energy and direction.³²

Even though many articles and letters were written as if he were already gone, Bennett was, in fact, still quite active. He remained the member of Parliament for West Calgary and while speaking less, his voice still often filled the chamber. One of his more memorable remarks came when Mackenzie King rose to answer questions regarding the leak from a Vancouver paper regarding Britain’s request to establish pilot training sites in Canada. The prime minister was opposed to the idea, believing that it would draw Canada more deeply into the war that everyone knew was on the horizon. He stirred Bennett’s wrath when he argued that the sites would negatively impact Canada’s sovereignty.

Bennett caught the eye of the Speaker and rose to his feet. He stated that Canada had a responsibility to Britain and, in fact, to the world, to do all that it could to help in the preparation for the conflict. He thundered in his conclusion,

If it was the last word I ever uttered in this House, or with the last breath in my body, I would say that no Canadian is worthy of his great heritage and his great traditions and his magnificent hopes for the future who would deny to the old partner who established us the right in this country to create those centres, which she may not have at home, to preserve her life and the life of every man who enjoys freedom and liberty under the governing aegis of that flag.33

Mackenzie King immediately relented and there on the floor of the House, without consulting anyone, he changed his government’s policy and announced that Commonwealth pilot training sites would indeed be established in Canada.³⁴ The sudden policy shift showed Mackenzie King acting like — dare it be ventured — a one-man government. The clash was not the first time that Bennett demonstrated a better instinct for the threats to world peace than the new prime minister. After attending King George VI’s coronation and the Imperial Conference in 1937, Mackenzie King had travelled to Germany and met with Hitler, who had been Germany’s chancellor for four years. While Hitler’s opinion of the prime minister was not recorded, Mackenzie King famously observed that the Nazi leader was “. . . a simple sort of peasant, not very intelligent, and no serious danger to anyone.”³⁵

Bennett, on the other hand, had demonstrated a prescient understanding of the dangers that the world faced from the madmen of Europe. In 1935, four years before Britain declared war on Hitler — a war that saw more civilian deaths than military — Prime Minister Bennett attended a conference in New York City. It dealt with the storm that all intelligent and alert people saw gathering in Europe. Bennett warned those assembled of the dangers he saw in Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini, and equated fascism and totalitarian communism for the savagery at their core. He predicted a new and horrible war and even outlined the nature of the conflict to come. His words have even more profundity now as images of Dachau, the Blitz, Hamburg, Dresden, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki come to mind. He said,

Many millions of men and women within the sound of my voice, of every race and clime, have come to appreciate that their lives are the pawns with which the game is played. These millions should know that another great war will be a conflict not primarily between armies or between navies, not between craft fleets. It will be a conflict of peoples against peoples in which the scientific skill and perfected mechanism of each country is organized to destroy, maim or cripple the entire population of the other.³⁶

His New York speech was not the only time Bennett spoke of the dangers of scientific progress being used for terrible ends. On June 16, 1934, he had travelled to the United States to make a similar point in an address to the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute’s graduating class of engineers. He urged people of science to turn their talents and energies to goals benefiting mankind. He asked the young graduates to ponder whether, as scientists, they believed that science and technology had outpaced the social order. He issued a challenge to the young engineers:

And so I make a bold suggestion to you as men of science, trained in the application of its principles, that you should play your part in the restoration of the equilibrium of human forces by the application of a scientific attitude to problems of human behaviour which may seem to be outside your direct sphere . . . [for] of what avail to be able to count the stars, if man starves in the midst of plenty; if he must languish in idleness when so much remains to be done; if he must fight when he knows now that war means destruction and desolation alike to victor and vanquished.37

He had seen it coming. The year 1938 brought frightening military action from Germany, Italy, and Japan, appeasement from some, and war preparations from others. Meanwhile, Bennett felt frustrated that he had much to say in a world going mad but that he had lost the pulpit from which to say it. As Opposition leader his efficacy was minimal and as an Opposition member of Parliament it was even less.

Shortly after the Conservative Party convention had ended, Bennett had travelled to England. After toying with the idea for decades, he had made the decision to retire there. He had briefly considered California, and more seriously thought about South Africa or Australia, but decided on England due to his love of all things English, because Beaverbrook was there, and because England was at the centre of world activities.³⁸

Another consideration was that with his service in Canada over, perhaps in England he could still contribute. Bennett made this point in a December 1938 article. A reporter was preparing a piece on Bennett and sent him a proof for approval. A first draft contained a sentence regarding his decision to leave Canada that read: “A great Canadian . . . is leaving it, not because he loves Canada less, but because England has for him a greater appeal.” Bennett changed little in the article but he took pen in hand and edited that sentence to read instead: “He is leaving it because he believes that his activities of the past mitigate against his usefulness as a private citizen.”39

Bennett spent late August to early November 1938 meeting with old friends and acquaintances in London and searching for a home. Beaverbrook played host at his palatial Surrey estate. After seeing many ostentatious country homes, Bennett settled on the one that Beaverbrook had suggested at the outset. It was right next door. Juniper Hill was a tired but still magnificent old house surrounded by 100 acres and containing outbuildings, gardens, a large pond, and three cottages. The house boasted four reception rooms, nineteen bedrooms, a formal library, and a winter garden room. The estate was twenty miles south of London, halfway up a large hill, and offered a commanding view of the Mickleham valley.

That Bennett was ready to retire and happy to be soon back with his old childhood friend was seen in a letter he wrote to Beaverbrook from the ship heading back to Canada in November. He admitted,

It pleases me beyond words to think that in my old age I am a neighbour in a strange land of the great man whom I used to know as a mere lad — of promise, I then thought — in the Old Manse at Newcastle and who amid all the changing scenes of life has never ceased to remember the old days and his ever grateful friend. [He signed the warm letter “Dick.”]⁴⁰

Bennett arranged for £40,000 of improvements to be made to the house and grounds including the installation of an elevator and a theatre projection room. A grand gazebo was constructed in a newly created garden that boasted an array of flowers, shrubs, and banana trees. Beaverbrook hired architect Robert Atkinson to oversee the work. The house represented an enormous change for Bennett. It would be the first house in which he had lived since his family home in New Brunswick. After all, for decades he had called hotels home in both Calgary and Ottawa. His suite of rooms at Calgary’s Palliser and Ottawa’s Château Laurier were spacious enough but they were nonetheless at hotels that took care of his laundry, meals, and more. Even though Juniper Hill would come with a staff, the change in Bennett’s lifestyle and routine would be momentous.

When word reached Canada that Bennett had purchased Juniper Hill and that the rumours that he would be leaving the country were indeed true, he was swamped with speaking invitations. Upon his return, he and Alice Millar carefully sorted through them all and accepted many in what became a coast-to-coast tour; a victory lap of kind words and good wishes. Bennett was quite aware that it was his promise to retire from both public life and the country that was at the root of the warm responses he was receiving from old friends and foes alike, even from many reporters who had never had a good word to say about him. He later wrote, “I am quite certain that the politicians opposed to me would not have taken part in these gatherings had they not assumed that I was permanently taking up my residence in England.”41

The January 1939 farewell tour was spectacular for the size and conviviality of the crowds that met him at every stop. Among the many cities he visited, none was more special than Calgary. A large crowd of six hundred well-wishers met his train at the station on a cold January afternoon. That evening he attended a dinner at the Palliser Hotel hosted by the Kiwanis Club. In his remarks, he slightly altered the story he had been telling for months and claimed that he was leaving politics not so much because of his health, or what he called a bothersome heart, but rather that he wanted to retire, for he believed it unfair to remain with Manion as leader. He would not do as Diefenbaker did after losing the leadership in 1967, for instance, and remain in the House undermining the new leader’s authority. He was also leaving Canada, he said, because he did not think it fair as a former prime minister to be involved in Canadian businesses or even in his Calgary law practice. To use his name and the prestige of the office would be undignified and sully that office.

Another reception was held at the Calgary armouries. There, he praised the city and its growth, noting that it was known and admired even in England. He concluded by advising his audience to avoid drink and to work hard but to never measure success simply by the money and things that one managed to accumulate. He said, “I feel that if your whole aim in life is material ends, you have lost out in life.”⁴²

He accepted gifts and emotionally charged applause at events in Edmonton, Lethbridge, and more. At the Vancouver Hotel’s Crystal Ballroom, 1,250 people purchased tickets to pay tribute to the former prime minister. As the orchestra played “God Save the King,” members of the city and provincial elite stood on chairs to get a better view and applauded fulsomely as Bennett entered the room. Many people jammed themselves onto the balcony to watch and many others were turned away at the doors from what was the largest reception ever held in the city.

He was soon back in Calgary for one last dinner and one final speech. Again at the Palliser Hotel, Bennett chose sacrifice as his topic. He explained that the road to salvation for Canada was not simply better trade policies or other legislation that might address the issues of the day, but rather a long-term dedication by all Canadians to making their country better. Beyond this, he said, “I believe in democracy, but, to be successful it must be efficient, and this can only come through a willingness of individuals to make sacrifices for freedom. This is my last word to you.”43

Finally it was time to leave the city that had been his home for decades. A large crowd gathered at the station and Bennett slowly made his way through it to the train. A woman yelled out, “You’ll be back, R.B.,” and a number of people cheered. But Bennett shook his head. With darkness falling, and a chilling wind rising, Bennett responded, “I don’t know about that. I can’t say whether I’ll ever be back, but I expect not.”⁴⁴ He shook hands with a good number of folks and paused for chats with members of the Palliser Hotel staff that had come to see him off. As he finally reached the platform of the rear car and stood looking out at the crowd, wearing a thick overcoat and gloves but bare-headed, a band struck up “Auld Lang Syne.” As the song concluded and the applause ended, Bennett said, “I’m sorry my own active days are over. I would like to make some contribution. When I think I may not come this way again, the thought fills me with great sorrow. For your confidence and good will I thank you. Farewell, and if forever, still forever fare thee well.”⁴⁵ As the train huffed and began to pull away, the crowd cheered and the band struck up another tune. The old man waved as tears streamed down his cheeks.

There were more events and more speeches. One of the more memorable took place on January 16 at Toronto’s Royal York Hotel, when the Conservative Party elite gathered to pay tribute. The dinner was as ostentatious as the surroundings. The speeches, including Bennett’s, revealed little of consequence. An exception was that of Arthur Meighen. Meighen was the keynote speaker and he began by praising Bennett and arguing that he had done a wonderful job as prime minister. He noted that no man could have done more to govern the country through the economic crisis that he had inherited. He praised Bennett for his fealty to the truth and for always concerning himself more with the interests of the country than the pursuit of popularity. He said that to win a victory at the polls at the expense of what is best for the people is not victory at all. Meighen then coldly appraised Bennett and his New Deal with an observation that was perhaps accurate but certainly rapier sharp. He said,

There are many excellent citizens who have still something of a horror of what is called the New Deal programme of 1935. I am a long way from being a visionary radical, but I know something about that legislation, and make the statement that in all its important features it was sound and timely. Our guest will not be offended when I say that what a lot of people have still in their minds like a nightmare is not the legislation, which was enlightened, but the speeches, which frightened.46

Beyond bland thank-you notes, there is no evidence indicating Bennett’s reaction to the event or to Meighen’s assessment. Perhaps his silence speaks all the volumes we need.

In his final appearance in the House, charitable words were spoken on both sides of the aisle. Bennett thanked all, but even in his gratitude betrayed some of the bitterness that had come to inhabit his soul. To a carefully worded farewell from Mackenzie King, he responded, “I shall never forget your kindness at times or your cruelty at others. . . .”⁴⁷

Bennett must have been moved by the deluge of congratulatory letters that came his way. One that was noteworthy arrived from the Veterans’ Association of the RCMP. It thanked him for the resolute support he had afforded the force and for significantly improving benefits and retirement compensation for officers. The letter said in part, “During your many years of public life, particularly in Western Canada, you have always been a powerful and sympathetic friend of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and its predecessors the Royal North West Mounted Police and the North West Mounted Police. We, the Veterans’ Association, however, are mainly desirous of recording our gratitude and recognition of what you were able to do for the ex-members of that Force.”48

Considering his relationship with the press, Bennett must have been either pleased or amused when several newspaper editors wrote convivial letters and printed equally laudatory editorials. Many said much as the Halifax Herald, whose editor wrote, “What you were able to do for this country, and certainly for the Maritime Provinces, during your leadership, was great and unforgettable . . . you will be followed overseas, not only by the sincere good wishes, but by the affection of armies of friends and admirers. . . .”⁴⁹

Mackenzie King was happy to see Bennett go. Mackenzie King accepted an invitation to a Rideau Club tribute luncheon for Bennett only with the proviso that he not be asked to speak. In his diary he wrote, “I confess that the H. of C. Parliament proceedings and public life itself seem entirely different today with Bennett out of the way. It was as though the house had been freed from something loathsome.”⁵⁰ Perhaps his pleasure at seeing Bennett gone was partly due to the personal enmity between the two, but also due to Bennett’s effectiveness in the House. Mackenzie King admitted as much in another diary entry in which he observed, “I felt a power and freedom in speaking today that I have not had, at any time, in Parliament. Part of it was having Bennett out of the House of Commons. . . .”⁵¹

There were more luncheons and dinners, including large affairs in Montreal, Quebec City, Fredericton, and Saint John. Bennett finally found himself in Halifax with a first-class ticket for the ship that would take him from the land of his birth. Halifax’s January 30 luncheon was co-hosted by the Canadian Club and Dalhousie University in the luxury liner Monclare’s main dining room. Bennett’s speech was somewhat shorter than usual. He made the same point he had been making in many of his recent addresses in noting the importance of Canadian unity. As he had throughout his career and certainly most explicitly with his New Deal legislation, he advocated a strong federal government and an end to provincial parochialism as the means to attain that unity. He said, “Unity is essential and unity means one sovereignty and one Dominion of Canada. It does not mean nine sovereignties. . . . I invite you to a wider patriotism than that of a mere provincial life . . . if we are to endure as a people we must fill our minds with a sense of unity and with a sense of compromise and see [that] narrow provincial boundaries do not divide us.”52 He concluded, “I still have the hope of my youth. I still have faith that the genius of our people is equal to the task.”⁵³ With those words his voice cracked. His eyes welled up. He retook his seat to thunderous applause.

While in Halifax he penned a letter to his riding association and one to Manion. He resigned his West Calgary seat. Then it was time. He waved to the crowd assembled at the Halifax pier and made his way up the gangplank. He walked alone. As he did, he felt a shower of confetti and so turned to wave an acknowledgement. He was then bombarded with even more of the messy stuff as well as a host of ribbons and streamers. He smiled when it became apparent that he was caught up in a wedding party that happened to be boarding the ship at the same time. When the guests had recognized the distinguished gentleman in their midst they had unleashed their ammunition upon him. With one final wave to the crowd, he disappeared from the deck. And he was gone.

ENGLAND

Bennett moved into one of his Juniper Hill estate’s cottages and with the same focus and drive that he had brought to bear on all other aspects of his life, oversaw even the tiniest details of the ongoing renovations in his new grand house. He would not move into his still-unfinished and largely unfurnished home until the first of October. To the surprise of others, and perhaps himself most of all, he developed a love of and talent for gardening. He tended to flowers a little, but with the help of his gardener became quite expert in the cultivation of vegetables. He spent many hours poring over gardening books and seed catalogues, and he bored dinner guests with tales of his asparagus or beets or whatever else happened to be ripe for their enjoyment.

Also for the first time in his life, Bennett acquired dogs. He purchased two Scotties and named them Peggy and Pat. It is interesting that his old rival Mackenzie King also named all of his dogs Pat. After Pat and Peggy both met untimely deaths, Bennett purchased another dog, this time a small cur that he named Bill. For years, Bill and Bennett were inseparable and wandered Juniper Hill’s grounds together as close companions.

Bennett also purchased four Highland cows. He knew little about their care but often visited and spoke with them as they grew fatter from the rich grasses of his meadows. When he was informed that the time had come to have them slaughtered he first agreed but then demurred. He could not let it happen and so they lived long and supposedly happy lives.

He came to enjoy shopping. To that point he had always just accompanied his sister Mildred or Alice Millar, enjoying the afternoons and exercise while they made all the decisions. But this was new. He had never valued material possessions, but in addition to his continuing to seek out books he became an enthusiastic collector of art. He was always careful to spot a bargain. His library shelves soon groaned with political biographies and he often made gifts of books that he had particularly enjoyed. His art collection was never valuable, and consisted mostly of pastoral scenes, but he hung new finds with great relish.

Bennett personally sought out and purchased many of Juniper Hill’s furnishings. The story of one particular shopping trip is worth retelling for what it reveals of the man. One afternoon, he purchased fourteen antique chairs from a dealer in Kent. Bennett expressed disappointment that the complete set of eighteen was not available and the dealer was quick to suggest a local artisan who crafted reproductions. Bennett was pleased and ordered four. Little did the dealer know, however, that Bennett sought out the artisan and visited his shop where it quickly became obvious that all fourteen supposed antiques were, in fact, reproductions. The flummoxed dealer flatly denied the charge, whereupon Bennett filed a statement of claim. The dealer made numerous offers to buy back the fourteen chairs but Bennett demanded justice in an admission of guilt. Finally, the dealer admitted his deceit. With that, Bennett dictated a letter to that effect, which was filed with the court. He then demanded not a penny in compensation: he kept the chairs, and he paid his bill in full. He had wanted only what was honest and right to be done. There is no record of another merchant attempting a similar swindle with the well-dressed Canadian.

Miss Alice Millar remained in Bennett’s employ and in Ottawa. She continued to handle his still-voluminous correspondence. His long relationship with Millar was a fascinating one. She became his personal secretary shortly after he won the party leadership in 1927. Bennett trusted her implicitly, and business and political friends and foes often wrote directly to her in order to gain the attention of her boss. Bennett relied on her for discretion, of course, but also on her ability to prioritize and forward information to him in letters that were pithy in their summaries of complex issues. Bennett entrusted her with personal business matters and regularly had Millar receive dividend and other payments, deposit them in his name, and pay bills for him of sometimes substantial sums. He often had her speak and negotiate with business associates on his behalf.

Bennett had an insatiable appetite for Millar’s well of juicy political gossip that never seemed to run dry. She often spiced her otherwise tedious political or business letters with news about who was not speaking with whom. Moreover, Bennett admired her political acumen. Among the numerous letters she sent over the pond were many assessing current political events and personalities based not upon newspaper accounts or political wags but upon the often more reliable thoughts expressed by taxi drivers and servants. Bennett took all such news quite seriously.54 Millar was Bennett’s political inside trader.

So well known and influential did Millar become that in May 1939, with Bennett already in England, complaints were made. It was reported in several newspapers that Millar had improperly conducted Bennett’s private business from her personal suite in the Château Laurier at the same time as she had also been conducting his political business. This situation was, according to the Ottawa Citizen, a small thing but represented an abuse of parliamentary privilege nonetheless. Bennett wrote to Millar essentially telling her not to worry about it and suggesting that she do as she had always done and ignore requests for interviews.⁵⁵ The non-scandal blew over.

The considerable number of cables and letters between them after Bennett moved to England, and the detail in their content, indicate the degree of trust that he had in her and the power that that trust enabled her to wield. It also indicates how much he needed her. After a number of requests, and with the harshness of the silly and insensitive scandal in her mind, Millar agreed to move to England.

In June 1939, Bennett ordered the renovation of the largest of Juniper Hill’s three cottages. Noting Millar’s worries about the notoriously dubious English heating systems, he arranged for fifty-six radiators to be installed. With everything set, she packed her belongings and took the Empress of Britain over the Atlantic. Staying with Bennett at his temporary quarters until her cottage was fully renovated and redecorated, she oversaw the building of an addition, the laying of carpets in the hallways, and the creation of a small library. Millar adjusted well to life on the English estate; she planted a garden and even raised a few chickens. She also took up where she’d left off and acted as Bennett’s buffer from the world.

In June 1947, Bennett paid for Millar to take a long cruise. It was her first exotic holiday. She penned many rambling handwritten notes back to Juniper Hill describing her exploits, unique meals, and more. It is interesting that only in these notes was there an ever-so-slight melting of the professional tone that was typical of all their correspondence. Millar even ended a note, “I do hope you are well and being made comfortable and happy. My regards to your visitors and staff and animals and to you. Affectionate respects and regards.”56 She then signed the note “Alice Elizabeth Millar — spinster still .” Throughout their years together she always referred to him as Mr. Bennett and he always addressed her as Miss Millar. They did not see each other socially. Like him, she never married.

In his preparations for his move to England, Bennett had divested himself of his companies, directorships, and law firm. The E.B. Eddy Company was unique in its complexity, however, and so he remained a major investor and company director. From Juniper Hill he maintained regular contact with the company president, Montreal’s Victor Drury.

At that time, E.B. Eddy was vibrant and growing. It boasted liquid assets of $3.2 million and debts of only $94,000.⁵⁷ But Bennett was not happy with how the company was being managed or with the manner in which Drury’s succession was being planned. Eddy’s complex corporate structure was such that the Gatineau Power Company owned 49.7 per cent of the company. In December 1938, Bennett wrote to Gatineau Power’s president Gordon Gale and asked him to take over the presidency of Eddy after Drury’s impending retirement. It should have been easy. However, there were hard feelings between Gale and Drury. Other board members became involved and picked sides. Finally, Sid Kidd, Eddy’s senior manager, had to write to ask Bennett to step in and fix the succession mess. Bennett wrote to Gale, and apologized for whatever part he had played in causing the problems. He suggested that he himself could become president so that Drury would resign without protest, thereby allowing Gale to become president in a year’s time. The bluff did not work and the tensions continued. At the May 1939 board of directors meeting, it was decided that Drury would remain president, and Gale vice-president. Bennett was unpleased but from so far away there was little he could do.

The next month, Bennett confided to Alice Millar that his reading of all the company documents indicated that there was still something fundamentally wrong with the management of the Eddy company.58 By October, his displeasure was such that he elected to sell 4,900 of his common shares and in mid-November, he sold his 15,000 preferred shares for £24 per share. He cleared C$1,785,000. His remaining shares allowed him to continue as a director and, while he allowed Gale to vote as his proxy, he still closely monitored company activities.⁵⁹ The massive liquidization of his investments was not only profitable but afforded him one more step away from entanglements with Canada.

With business concerns becoming more simplified, and his estate nearing completion, Bennett could finally concentrate more on what he would like to do than what he had to do. From the moment he had announced his intention to move to England he had been the recipient of a great number of fascinating offers, including running for office, joining the board of several companies, and investing in various ventures. He turned down nearly all with polite notes, but in late June he began to accept a few that he had filed away. He, for instance, regularly read Bible lessons at Mickleham’s nearby church. He accepted an appointment as the county of Surrey justice of the peace and on a regular basis took his place on the bench, hearing a range of cases. Bennett was even offered a safe Tory seat in London’s Marylebone district that would have assured him a place in the House of Commons. But he declined, explaining that his days of running for office were over.

PUBLIC MAN AGAIN

On the third of September 1939, England declared war on Nazi Germany. Days later, Canada did the same. The Pacific theatre had already been ablaze since Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931. Soon, the whole world was at war. It was a conflagration borne of the failure of politics, a surrender to fear, and the triumph of evil. It was what Bennett had been warning about for some time and it was already taking the tragic course that he had foreseen. Even before the formal declaration of war, Bennett’s quiet repose had been disrupted numerous times by squadrons of planes skimming the treetops overhead. No one knew if those planes might soon be German, but many discussed the possibility. The war made the decision as to what Bennett would do with his time and talents. He had to help.

He let his willingness to pitch in be known to Beaverbrook. While serving in several capacities with the Chamberlain administration, when Winston Churchill became prime minister in March 1940, Beaverbrook found himself in the cabinet. He was minister for aircraft production for a year, then minister of supply, for a few months minister of war production, until a cabinet shuffle in December 1942 saw him reassigned as Britain’s envoy to Washington.

With Beaverbrook touting his talents, Bennett was appointed chair of the London Advisory Committee of the Canadian Red Cross. He led an investigation into the advisability of employing skilled but interned enemy aliens. He represented the British government on the board of a munitions manufacturer. He also travelled back to Canada to embark on a cross-country speaking tour, encouraging all Canadians to support the war effort and young men to enlist.

Back in England, he became Beaverbrook’s assistant at the Ministry of Aircraft Production. Some of Bennett’s contributions in this capacity involved acting as a member of a number of boards of directors, doing the same sort of work for the public that he had done to generate personal profit back in Canada. The British Manufacturing and Research Company (MARC), for instance, had been created in 1938 to build 20 mm guns and ammunition. Two factories were built and the first guns were produced by January 1939. Bennett administered the construction of two more factories. While production was going well, Bennett noted problems in efficiency levels. In July 1940, the company was shaken up. Bennett was appointed to the board of directors. In this capacity, he led the reorganization of MARC to streamline the purchasing and shipping of raw materials, the manufacturing process, the treatment of workers, and the shipment of product. Production went up, profits went up, and the workers received medical and health benefits.

Bennett’s work often involved his being swamped with the excruciating sorts of details that he had always delegated to others. For example, he was charged with managing the enlargement of the Radlett Aerodrome. He found himself working to hire tradesmen in the midst of a labour shortage. He secured contracts for all of the raw materials that were needed to build bases for planes, for the construction of factories to manufacture the planes, and then for the material needed to build the planes themselves. Bennett became the point man in sourcing wood, magnesium, aluminum, steel, and everything else that was needed for the wide-ranging operation. These negotiations would have been complicated in peacetime: they were especially tricky with Nazi planes and submarines destroying trade routes, and with Britain’s traditional suppliers of many important materials falling into enemy hands. Refined cryolite, needed for the production of aluminum, for instance, had come from Denmark. When it fell to the Nazi army, Bennett needed to find a new and reliable source and that search led him to negotiations with the Aluminum Company of Canada (ALCAN).

The ALCAN deal was the first of many contracts that Bennett sent Canada’s way. Some Canadian companies, however, seemed naively to believe that they were in for special treatment because they were dealing with the former Canadian prime minister. They were all quickly disabused of that assumption. Bennett managed to secure large contracts for spruce, for instance, from Vancouver’s Sitka Spruce Lumber Company. Charles Labrie, the purchasing agent who acted to set up the deal, made it clear that, while he was happy for the contract, he was miffed that Bennett had driven such a hard bargain in securing the lowest possible price for his British project.60

Bennett was also called upon to oversee the investigation of a tragedy. On August 9, 1940, an aircraft manufacturing factory was under construction when thirty-nine trusses fell into the 600-foot-long structure and it all collapsed. Six men were killed and another twenty injured. The architect and consulting engineer were both on the site the next day arguing over whether one of them, both of them, or the wind was to blame. A three-person committee of inquiry was established and Bennett was appointed its chair. Over a matter of weeks a series of witnesses was called and while all three commissioners played a role, Bennett led the questioning. He meticulously edited all the commission’s documents, effectively writing its final report. The commission finally found the accident to be just that: tragic, but no one’s fault.61

Despite being pulled in so many directions, Bennett made a habit of touring factories not just to inspect but also to boost morale. He often arranged in advance to have workers gathered and would then address them in his old barnstorming manner. His point was always the same: that everyone from the soldier on the front line, to the pilot patrolling London’s skies, to the factory worker toiling at a machine, was working for the same end. They were all saving civilization by destroying Hitler. His oratorical skills were as undimmed as his memory, allowing him to speak without notes and with great effect. He drew on his knowledge of British, European, and military history to stir patriotic pride in his audience’s hearts and pry guilty donations from their wallets. At one luncheon alone, Bennett’s remarks were credited with persuading patrons to write cheques to the Manchester Aircraft Fund that totalled £65,000.⁶²

Newspapers spoke highly of his visits and inspirational speeches. The Stratford Express, for instance, reported on Bennett’s visit to the Thames Refinery in Silvertown and observed, “There is nothing half-hearted about Mr. R.B. Bennett, Canada’s ex-Premier . . . he expressed in no mincing way what the British Empire must do to save itself and civilization generally from destruction by the evil thing threatening them . . . the already enthusiastic personnel were keyed to a further (sic) pitch by his straight talk of what must be done to the enemy.”⁶³

On the few days that he was home, Bennett dealt with details regarding the never-ending house renovations and enjoyed time in his gardens. He dealt with correspondence each morning. As the war and his involvement escalated, the number of letters rose and their handling took up a greater portion of each day. Alice Millar organized it all the night before and then every morning Bennett either read his letters or had her read them aloud. As he had done since his Calgary days, he dictated replies to most and hand wrote responses to some.

Letters from old political friends and foes were among those filling his mailbag. Senator Arthur Meighen was a constant correspondent who despaired at Mackenzie King’s handling of the country and the war. Bennett was polite with all and afforded each the respect of prompt and thoughtful replies. It was only occasionally that he allowed his old, dangerous sarcasm to surface. For instance, Bennett said in a number of replies to Meighen that keeping up with correspondence was not only a problem for him but that the content of the senator’s letters was perhaps testing national security. To Meighen’s complaining of the hardships of wartime, he tried to encourage some perspective by closing an April 1941 letter with the thought, “I will try and write you a long letter just as soon as I can get to it. Of course you realise as fully as anyone that none of us know whether or not we will be here to-morrow, for the bombs of the Hun fall in almost every county of the Kingdom and no house, ‘in town or country’, is secure from possible destruction.”64 The volume and content of letters that continued to arrive at Juniper Hill suggest that neither Meighen nor Bennett’s many other Canadian correspondents seemed to get the hint.

An old friend who could not have possibly missed what was certainly more than a subtle insinuation — and one that also revealed the bitterness still crowding the corners of his mind — was Charlotte Whitton. She opened her mail one day to find this sharp rebuke in response to a letter she had written, asking if Bennett might ever consider returning to Canada:

Don’t you think I was given a furlough by the Canadian people in 1935? They rejected me and all my plans and ideas and hopes. Haven’t I the right to accept the views of doctors? . . . as for wanting me back that is sheer nonsense, Charlotte, and you must know it. They gave me a great ‘send off’ for many reasons. Some for real regard; some glad to be rid of me. But it just became a bit of mob manifestation; Hosanna in the highest and ‘Crucify Him Crucify Him’ a week later.⁶⁵

Bennett did not know, and there is no evidence to suggest he ever found out, that in February 1941 he was the subject of a fascinating discussion in Ottawa. Canadian Pacific Railway president Sir Edward Beatty visited Mackenzie King in the prime minister’s office. He suggested that in order for Canada to fight the war with a united government, a wartime cabinet should be assembled containing the best people possible, regardless of party. He suggested that Bennett be appointed finance minister, not only because he was eminently qualified, but also to allow Mackenzie King to demonstrate to the Canadian people just how serious he was about the initiative. The prime minister decided to hear him out and promised to consider the matter, but as Beatty pressed he became impatient. Finally, Mackenzie King cut Sir Edward off and stated flatly that he would never do such a thing. And even if he did, he would never invite Bennett to join his government. Within an hour of arriving, he said, Bennett would be trying to take over everything and run it himself. Beatty left disappointed.66

LORD BENNETT

Mackenzie King was not, however, through with Bennett. Never one to shrink from exploiting a relationship, Lord Beaverbrook approached colleague and personal friend Prime Minister Winston Churchill. He asked that Churchill grant Bennett a peerage and appoint him to the House of Lords. Beaverbrook spoke of Bennett’s service as Canada’s prime minister, his generous donations to worthy causes and institutions throughout his life, the wealth and jobs he had created, and of course his stellar work in the British war effort. Churchill agreed but, respecting process, he wired the Canadian prime minister for his blessing. The disdain with which Mackenzie King still held Bennett bubbled to the surface. To the privacy of his diary he scoffed Bennett’s even wanting such an honour. He wrote, “It reveals the ambition of the man’s life; his own glorification and his readiness to use his country to that end, even to the extent of leaving it completely at a time of its greatest need. I shall be amazed if, among the thinking people of Canada it does not create a revulsion of feeling toward Bennett. . . .”⁶⁷

The practice of honouring Canadians with titles was stopped in 1919. It is why Borden is the last Canadian prime minister called “Sir.” Bennett brought the tradition back in 1934, but with his election the next year, Mackenzie King reverted to the old policy. Churchill, however, was a difficult man to turn down, so Mackenzie King eventually made an exception to his own rule and supported Bennett’s elevation to the House of Lords.⁶⁸

On July 23, 1941, draped in sartorial splendour, Richard Bedford Bennett became Viscount Bennett of Mickleham, Calgary, and Hopewell. He was nervous. According to tradition, he needed to be formally introduced to his fellow lords by two viscounts and he had chosen Lord Hailsham, a former lord chancellor, and fellow Canadian Lord Greenwood. When his name was announced, he nodded graciously, acknowledging the warm applause from his peers in the ornate red chamber.

The honour was one that he had long coveted. In fact, at the conclusion of the 1932 Ottawa conference, British delegate J.H. Thomas had told Bennett that upon his return to England, the king would be sure to ask if there was anything Bennett wanted in recognition for his service as Canada’s prime minister and for his efforts at the conference. Bennett had replied that upon his retirement he would like to live in England and to be awarded a peerage.69 And now it was his — another dream had come true.

Bennett attended sessions as often as most and enjoyed his time there. His maiden speech was not well received; it was deemed too long and thought to employ too familiar a tone. But he learned quickly and was soon a well-respected member of the upper chamber.

Of the many speeches that he delivered in the House of Lords, a February 1942 address is of particular interest, for it makes clear the beliefs that lay at the heart of the policies he had supported throughout his public life. He spoke of the importance of maintaining imperial ties and of the absolute necessity of the increased role of the state. He acknowledged that all members of the Commonwealth had grown and prospered under what he called “methods of laissez faire,” but after the Depression, and with the challenges of a whole world at war, those methods needed to be put to one side. He said, “It seems to me obvious that in the world of the future the organised community and state, or groups of states, must displace, whether in peace or in war, the unorganised, just as machine production has displaced hand production.”⁷⁰ He went on to say that he was not advocating socialism but merely organized government action and policies which would protect freedom and thus allow free men to work for their own benefit and the benefit of a free society.

Bennett returned to this theme to support Sir William Beveridge’s report regarding the viability of wide-ranging social welfare legislation. It had been tabled in the House of Commons and received support from the government, but was being scathingly attacked by Conservative newspapers and politicians. Bennett rose to add his voice to the chorus of those supporting the principles at the report’s heart. He was careful to say that the war must be won first. With victory, he said, will come the challenge of rebuilding and debt. But with these obviously substantial obstacles overcome, the principles of the Beveridge Report should be pursued through the creation of bold new social programs. He then outlined legislation that he had brought forward in Canada as proof of, and a model for, how a mature and modern state took responsibility for the well-being of its people.71 The Beveridge Report went on to become the basis of the British social welfare state.

Bennett also spoke a number of times of the need to create a civil air transportation system after the war. In February 1943, he drew on his experience with the Canadian railway system and what he had learned working with Britain’s Aircraft Ministry to thoroughly examine the challenges and opportunities. He argued that while there was agreement that an air transportation system should be established, serious discussions should immediately take place regarding whether there should be public or private ownership, and many companies or a monopoly. He said government should play a significant role regarding regulation and subsidization. In raising these and other issues in such a frank and thoughtful manner, he earned attention and positive press in Britain as well as in Canada and the United States, which at the time were wrestling with similar challenges.

The British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC) had been in existence for several years, having grown from a 1939 act of Parliament that created the company to operate all overseas air service. After Bennett’s House of Lords speeches on the future of civil air travel, he was invited to address leading members of the British air industry. He did so in April 1943. He so impressed those assembled that days later he was invited to assume the chairmanship of the corporation.⁷² Bennett turned the offer down, citing his many wartime commitments.

His interest in the matter remained, however, and he continued to raise the issue of civil air transportation in the House of Lords and to be involved in a number of meetings with political and business leaders discussing and planning for the future of the industry. He was part of the group that established the British Joint Air Transport Committee. It was this committee that determined the future of civil aviation in Great Britain.

REMAINING TIES TO CANADA

Bennett’s correspondence always included letters from Canadians as well as the Canadian schools and organizations to which he remained tied. Despite his dedication to his adopted country, his homeland was never far from his mind. He had company. In early 1942, with Hitler’s war in its third year but fortress Europe still impregnable, there were approximately 190,000 Canadian military personnel stationed in Britain. Bennett seldom turned down an invitation to speak with Canadians stationed in and around London. On one occasion he addressed a dinner celebrating the New Brunswick Regiment at a large London pub. He told the young soldiers how proud he was of their devotion to duty and how happy he was that they would soon be going home. Enthusiastic applause punctuated his words throughout his address. As he was wrapping up, he shouted over the din what he thought was a rhetorical question. He asked if there was anything else he could do for them. With testosterone-dripping soldierly camaraderie the young men bellowed in unison, “More beer!” Bennett laughed heartily and, despite his personal aversion to suds, gestured to the waiters and yelled, “More beer!”

Bennett’s remaining business interests also kept him linked to Canada. But they would soon end. By the winter of 1942, Bennett had grown frustrated by decisions being made at the Eddy company and with his inability to influence those decisions from so far away. In 1943, he sold his remaining Eddy shares to Willard Weston. Part of the deal placed Bennett on the Weston company board of directors, a post he retained for only a year. With that resignation, while some investments remained, his business dealings with Canada joined his political connections in that they were completely severed.

Those broken ties did not mean that Canada and Canadians were divorced from his mind, or, perhaps more accurately, from his heart. He was an exceedingly generous man who had made charitable giving a part of his life even before he had earned his wealth. His well-deserved reputation for selfless philanthropy resulted in his constantly being asked to support one cause or another, be it a symphony orchestra or a little girl in need of an operation. He once told a Calgary audience that he received letters every day asking for money. On a typical week he was asked for $10,000.

He obviously had to be selective about his giving. He was a softie when it came to churches, schools, libraries, and deserving groups from small towns. As before and during his time as prime minister, he was also quite often moved by personal appeals from individuals. He answered each request politely and sometimes with a cheque. To those who received nothing he offered his support but begged to be forgiven with an understanding that the number of requests that found their way to his desk each week was simply overwhelming.73

Bennett valued education and supported it with his money. At one point during the Depression, he was helping eighteen young men to complete their university education, some with the payment of their full tuition. Several did not even know their benefactor by name. Others were the children of friends such as Colonel D.G.L. Cunningham, whose son was studying at the Royal Military College. Bennett’s generosity grew even greater after his move to England. When in Calgary, he had started a scholarship grant to deserving secondary school students and he increased the value of those grants in 1940. Every June he provided cash grants to deserving students from each of Calgary’s secondary schools, and in 1942 he endowed $15,000 to support the Viscount Bennett Scholarship for a deserving Calgary student who would be attending the University of Alberta. He and Beaverbrook also endowed a number of scholarships supporting worthy students in England.

Bennett served as Rector of Queen’s University from 1935-37. He supported other Canadian universities through numerous and substantial donations, with special attention to Dalhousie in Nova Scotia and Mount Allison in New Brunswick. His greatest concern was for Dalhousie. In 1920, he had joined its board of governors. He was a member of the library committee that established a new library, and he made a munificent donation to allow the purchase of more books than had been planned. He followed this with annual donations to the library for yet more books.

Believing that young women deserved support in order to fulfill their educational aspirations, Bennett also involved himself in the planning and financing of the Shirreff Residence for Women at Dalhousie University. He was on the fundraising committees that saw the erection of a fine new residence for the university president.

Typical of the manner in which Bennett arranged the donations was that in April 1943 Alice Millar and his brother Ronald arrived unannounced at the office of Dalhousie president Stanley with a cheque for $725,000 and with a promise of more to come. Bennett believed that while buildings and facilities were important, a university’s strength was in its faculty, so he asked that the money be used to create an endowment to pay the salaries of four new professors. He asked for a Dean Weldon chair of law, a Harry Shirreff professorship in science, a Mrs. E.B. Eddy professorship of medicine, and a Viscount Bennett professorship in law. Millar was clear on Bennett’s insistence that there be no publicity as to whom had donated the funds. Stanley respected Bennett’s wishes to the point that he did not even tell his board chair.

In 1944, Bennett donated another £230,000 to Dalhousie and Mount Allison with no strings attached. Mount Allison’s board elected to use its share to endow a chair of history and five scholarships that were named after Bennett’s mother and each of his siblings. Dalhousie’s gift was the larger of the two. The board used the money to bolster their endowment for the library and the women’s residence and to create new endowments for chairs of epidemiology, law, and chemistry.

Bennett’s donations often took the form of bank loan guarantees to those trying to scratch out a start in business. He also made material gifts, such as the purchase of a stained-glass window for his sister Evelyn’s Vancouver church with a plaque in her honour. He donated funds to allow the restoration of the church that he and his family had attended back in Hopewell Cape. From the day he had become prime minister, Alice Millar was responsible for seeing to it that any child born in Canada and christened with the name Richard Bedford received an inscribed Birks silver mug. He also gave generous annual gifts to the Canadian Council on Child Welfare, the Protestant Infants’ Home and Hospital, the Ottawa Welfare Bureau, and, although he never attended a performance, the Ottawa Symphony Orchestra. The Calgary Stampede was also the recipient of his generosity, and every year the event’s Best All-Around Cowboy won the R.B. Bennett Trophy.

THE END

Bennett continued to fulfill his duties in the House of Lords and his responsibilities to the war effort, but he was beginning to feel his age. The winter of 1942–43 was long and difficult. Hitler learned the same lesson as Napoleon when Russia’s bitter cold and endless snow again became its saviour. While not as harsh in England, the winter at Juniper Hill never seemed to end and Bennett’s health suffered.

When buds finally found the trees, Bennett was a different man. He was seventy-three years old. Letters were frequently left unanswered and, while never missing an appointment, he often failed to take the initiative in meetings or ask probing questions. He turned down more speaking engagements than he accepted. He began to enjoy longer trips to London where he would visit doctors and spend afternoons attending theatre performances. He walked alone down London’s streets and sometimes saw two plays a day.

Back at Juniper Hill, on March 15, Bennett called Alice Millar to his study. He dictated a long memorandum explaining that he wanted all his remaining stocks, bonds, and shares to be sold and, except for his home, all assets of any kind to be liquidated. He then outlined more donations and gifts that he would like made in his name. He instructed her that there must be no publicity regarding any of the gifts. He wanted no newspaper coverage or brass plaques. The list was extensive.

More money was given to schools, including $5,000 to the University of New Brunswick, $5,000 to the New Brunswick Normal School, and $100,000 to the University of Alberta for scholarships for students living near the university. A gift of $200,000 was awarded to Mount Allison University for the establishment of what became the Bennett-Stiles Chair. Dalhousie University received another $25,000. In gifts to his old profession, Bennett donated a hundred shares of Royal Bank stock to the Law Society of Alberta, and a hundred shares of both Royal Bank and Bank of Commerce stock to the Canadian Bar Association. He gave $5,000 to the Law Society of Upper Canada and another $5,000 to the Law Society of New Brunswick for prizes for young lawyers. In nods to towns in which he had lived, he sent $17,500 to the Hopewell Cape Church and Library; paid the mortgage of Calgary’s Central United Church, his old place of worship; and $50,000 to the city’s Protestant asylum. He also gave money to individuals including friends, business associates, his brother, and each of his fifteen godchildren.

Signing the cheques may have warmed his heart but it could not strengthen it. Bennett’s health continued to deteriorate and in early 1944 he was diagnosed with diabetes. He came to know the stresses of monitoring his diet with fastidious care and the pains associated with that dreadful disease. But as he continued with his many responsibilities, few knew of the physical strains he was facing with such quiet courage.

In May 1944, while in London to attend a war conference with Churchill and other Commonwealth leaders, Mackenzie King met Bennett at a luncheon at Guildhall. They had not seen each other in years. The prime minister spotted Bennett across the room. When they finally met, all they could muster was a wan handshake as they each asked, “How are you?” Neither answered. Neither smiled. Neither said another word. The prime minister wondered if Bennett had even recognized him. He noted that Bennett had aged dramatically and had what he called a “cut to pieces appearance.”74 The two men would not see each other again. It is easy to believe that Mackenzie King did not regret that fact, for even as late as New Year’s Eve in 1942 he had been reflecting in his diary over the good blessings the previous years had bestowed upon him and on the short list was that Bennett was safely out of the country.⁷⁵

Later that spring, Bennett welcomed his brother Ronald’s two sons to Juniper Hill. He was happy and proud that they’d followed their father’s lead and enlisted in the Canadian army. He was later shaken when told that both nephews were killed in the fighting at Normandy on the Caen-Falaise Road. The deaths made a sad man even sadder.

At the war’s conclusion many of his responsibilities were wrapped up and he was awarded the gift, or perhaps curse, of leisure. While still taking his responsibilities in the House of Lords quite seriously, Bennett allowed himself to slow down. More invitations were declined than accepted. After spending the Christmas of 1946 at home, he moved to a hotel in Sidmouth, Devon, where he could be closer to a doctor. But his health did not improve. In March, he returned home and the domestic staff noted a loss of weight and vitality.

Bennett continued to rise early and dress the part of the country gentleman. Millar continued to arrive each morning and together they waded through his still-considerable correspondence. He enjoyed most afternoons in his garden both directing the gardener and, from time to time, getting his own hands dirty. His aging old dog Bill remained a faithful companion.

He continued to receive many invitations to speak and to write but he accepted fewer and fewer. His enduring interest in the future of the Commonwealth inspired him to pen an article for the Imperial Review that was published May 1947. In it, Bennett expressed many of the principles and ideas that had guided his political career. He also related his abiding faith in the ability of well-meaning people to sit and make valuable decisions and again proposed a conference as a way to address international challenges. In the last article that he would write, Bennett argued,

It is quite clear that it is impossible to maintain the partnership relation unless the policy is one supported by all the nations of the Commonwealth. It is obvious to every citizen that we cannot have a partnership with the other nations of the Commonwealth and promote and support separate policies. There must be united action for a common purpose. . . . In these critical days, is it not the duty of the senior partner to call an Imperial conference for the purpose of dealing with the difficult and complex problems connected with the maintenance of the British Commonwealth of Nations?76

Bennett rallied himself to attend certain functions, such as the City of London lunch for Princess Elizabeth on June 11, 1947. It was there that he spoke briefly with the future queen, who presented Bennett with the City of London’s Medal of Freedom for his work during the war. He remained in London for the week following the ceremony and again passed solitary afternoons seeing plays and movies. Six days later he attended one of his last speaking engagements. Ironically for a non-drinker, but appropriately for a Canadian who had once done quite well through investments in the Calgary Brewing and Malting Company, the meeting was the annual dinner of the Institute of Brewing.

Two weeks later he appeared as lead counsel before Westminster’s Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, representing the Canadian Bankers Association. He looked tired, pale, and a little weak, but nonetheless presented a spirited case arguing the constitutionality of the Alberta Bill of Rights Act, which had been passed by the Social Credit government. Upon the case’s conclusion, and while awaiting the final decision, E.J. Chambers, with whom he shared the case, was so confident of their efforts that he suggested a celebration. Bennett said no; he was feeling quite tired. He begged off and made his way home to Juniper Hill.

The next day Beaverbrook paid him a visit, but again Bennett said he was fatigued. Beaverbrook cut his stay short and promised to return the next day to look in on his friend. That evening Bennett took a slow walk through his garden accompanied only by the ever-faithful Bill. He then repaired to his favourite room in the grand house—the library. He sat in silence with an unopened book on his lap and gazed out a window at the darkness, or perhaps his reflection. At ten-thirty, as usual, he made his way to the elevator that took him to his room. He slowly undressed and as he climbed into his large bed, Bill, as was his custom, curled up at the end. His long-serving butler, Mr. Epps, wished him good night and saw him turn to his Bible as he did each night.

Epps found Bennett the next morning in his bathtub, with the water running over the sides. He had a peaceful look on his face indicating that he had died without pain or trauma. Dr. Thomas Cotton later confirmed that the cause of death was auricular fibrillation. His heart had simply stopped beating. It was June 26, 1947. The next week he would have turned seventy-seven.

On June 30, Bennett was laid to rest in the local churchyard down the hill at Mickleham. There was a short and private funeral. The next week a grand memorial service was held at Westminster Abbey. The king and queen were there, joined by dignitaries from Britain’s political and business elite, a number of distinguished Canadians, and representatives from a number of the world’s governments. Mackenzie King, conspicuously, stayed home. The next week another memorial service was held at Lincoln’s Inn Chapel, specifically for members of the British law society.

A good number of pleasant things were said about the man, as is only right under such circumstances. Canadian newspapers eulogized him with kindness. But perhaps Bennett himself had written the most honest epitaph of all nearly thirty years before. In a letter to Prime Minister Borden, written in 1918 when he thought his public life was over, Bennett had observed,

I have corrupted no man. By no man was I corrupted. I have expressed my opinions on public questions with some degree of candour. . . . I am fully conscious of my own limitations. I have not the disposition that enables me to readily compromise my opinions or accommodate my views to mere expediency. I might almost say with the first Lord Westbury ‘From my youth up I have truckled to no man and I have been independent to a fault.’ Measured by the standards of the hour my public life has been a failure. Yet I am comforted by the thought that one of the greatest thinkers has pointed out that one of the real perils of Democracy is the readiness with which men sacrifice principles for place and power. Nor have I forgotten the value that so great a philosopher and statesman as Lord Morley attaches to fidelity to conviction. . . . I can say with a clear conscience that I have at no time sought honours: But I have desired useful and honourable service. I can challenge the criticism alike of friend and foe as to the disinterested character of my efforts to serve my day and generation to the best of my ability. At the end of long years of struggle I am discredited. My experience is wasted.77

At his death, and after all taxes and expenses were paid, his estate’s net value was pegged at $1.2 million. In the couple of years prior, he had given more than that away. The bulk of his estate was divided between his sister’s two sons, who were his only living relatives. He also provided for the Royal Empire Society, the Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, the New Brunswick Museum, his favourite charities and schools, and members of his staff.

Upon Bennett’s death, nearly every letter of condolence streaming in from around the globe was addressed to Miss Millar. She received and replied to all of the kind notes, many of which mentioned her personal grief and sorrow after such a long and dedicated service. She continued to arrive at work each morning to tie up Bennett’s business affairs, as many with legal and financial concerns forwarded their letters not to lawyers handling the estate but to her. Millar then began to gather and organize his papers so that the future might not forget the man to whom she had dedicated so much and expressed so little.

The papers offer a glimpse of the man but as through darkened glass. He personally burned those that could have been most revealing. So we are left with the political and ideological values that had remained so consistent throughout his life expansively and publicly expressed, but his deepest personal beliefs, as always, well hidden. The secrets are gone. He took his private thoughts with him to the grave, which itself reflects the life he led. The stone sarcophagus marking the spot stands before a humble church, proud but apart from the people and country he served. It stands unvisited. It stands alone.