Читать книгу Life is an Adventure - R. J. Manion - Страница 16

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In this, my first trip to Europe, I found certain rather surprising conditions, many of which have changed in the intervening years. One peculiarity was shown in the mannerisms displayed by the shopkeepers. In Canada and the United States at that time “the customer was always right.” When one went into a shop the clerks were all politeness whether one purchased or not, and it was a studied policy to avoid giving anyone the impression that he offended in any way by putting them to a great deal of trouble, even if he did not purchase. But in Scotland and in England thirty years ago the whole attitude of the shopkeepers and their assistants was entirely different. There was an air of “take-it-or-leave-it” about them which was a little shocking to the visitor. Fashions in clothes and shoes were a good deal different in the British Isles then from those prevailing on the North American continent, and it was not always easy for the visitor to obtain at reasonable prices styles or fittings which pleased him; and necessarily, in some cases at any rate, he gave the shopkeepers a good deal of trouble, much to their quite obvious distaste.

The same habit was common among the British generally in trade solicitation through their commercial travellers who came out to Canada. They took the haughty attitude that if you wanted their goods you could purchase them, but they were not chasing after your custom, and on many occasions they lost valuable orders because of this unwise policy. In view of this abrupt, somewhat discourteous treatment of people whom they wished to be their customers, one used to wonder how they still succeeded in being such a marvellously successful “nation of shop-keepers,” maintaining their high position in world trade. I came to the conclusion that it was largely due to their honest and fair business dealings—perhaps through a realization on their part that honesty is the best policy. My conclusion has been strengthened in this matter through American business men telling me that the British dealer is the most honourable in the world.

Another peculiarity particularly applicable to the English thirty years ago, but which has been corrected to a large extent since then, was their natural “offishness” toward strangers. The old joke about the Englishman never speaking to a stranger until he was introduced held good to a large extent, whether you met him in his own island or on a train or ship in Canada. To Canadians and Americans, with their somewhat free and easy sociability, this was sometimes a little annoying. Some thought it due to a superiority complex, and a few of those who came from south of the Tweed undoubtedly did look down on all Canadians as “Colonials”—leading to misunderstandings, and even to the “no-English-need-apply sign” that was on some occasions displayed. This attitude was regrettable, because the English people have so many fine qualities that, when one gets inside that crust of pride or shyness or superiority (whichever it is), he usually finds that they are not only delightful companions, but honourable and loyal associates. It should be added that most Englishmen who come out to Canada, of whatever class, provided they are willing to take their place as Canadians, and are willing to live the life of the Canadian people in work and play, fill their niche worthily in the life of the community—as the Scotch and the Irish have always done.

It is true that the English habit of reserve toward strangers is as common among themselves as it is toward outsiders. An amusing incident illustrating this point occurred on one of my transatlantic voyages just before the War. An English electrical engineer who had been in South America for some years, and was as sociable with his fellowmen as any American or Canadian, became a daily companion of mine. He was an interesting conversationalist, had practised his profession in various parts of the world, and possessed a wide knowledge of world conditions. He was much amused at one of his countrymen, who was placed at the same table in the dining-room, and who insistently and offensively avoided conversation with him, though they were in adjoining seats. Each day after they met at table he would recount in amusing fashion his futile attempts to get inside the guard of his fellow-countryman. Finally, a couple of days out from Liverpool, he told me of his last attempt.

“After a number of efforts at dinner this evening, all of which were unavailing, to converse with my companion at table, I said to him, 'If it is not a personal question, what nationality are you?’ and his reply was, 'It is a personal question.’ I give up,” he added, though in giving up he missed a good deal of fun which he had been indulging in rather freely.