The Lone Prairee
By DESMOND E. HENN The last time the Spectator published an article from Mr. Henn it received a number of unfriendly letters, some of them from Canada. So it wishes to emphasise, before the next con- signment arrives, that Mr. Henn lives in Saskatchewan, that his opinions are his own, that he has a right to them, and that they don't commit anyone else—not even the Spectator.
Regina, Saskatchewan.
SANDWICHED in between Alberta and Manitoba, the other two prairie provinces of Western Canada, lies a rectangular block of land rather more than two-and-a- half times the size of the. United Kingdom, and with a popu- lation considerably smaller than that of Birmingham. This is known officially as Saskatchewan. and unofficially as the Wheat Province, a term that is undeniably accurate but hardly one calculated to set the tourist's pulse racing with excitement. Travellers who are cbmpelled by the combined exigencies of business and geography to journey over or across this humble portion of the Dominion either remain resolutely asleep until the ordeal is over or gaze out of the window in pained aston- ishment that so large an area can present so uniformly unin- teresting an appearance. To dismiss it thus out of hand is to do the province a grave injustice. Granted that its landscape is dull, its towns unlovely, its climate impossible, its liquor laws intolerable and its roads 'a mockery; nevertheless, Saskatchewan has several claims to distinction. For one thing it produces over sixty per cent. of the wheat grown in Canada; for another, cattle out- number human beings by a ratio of three to two; and, for a third, its population has been decreasing steadily for the past eighteen years. Most of the people who live in Saskatchewan do so either from habit or out of necessity; and the majority of those who for one reason or another find themselves in this unhappy pre- dicament are sustained only by working ceaselessly on plans for their own private Drang nach Westen, to be put into effect as soon as circumstances permit. Almost everyone who has languished in Saskatchewan for more than three months cherishes a dream of some day " moving to the (West) Coast," where there are reputed to be trees bearing apples and other exotic fruits and where flowers occasionally bloom unassisted by man. That many of its inhabitants have already achieved this understandable ambition can be inferred from vital statistics crediting the province with the lowest mortality rate in Canada. The province's governmental seat is located in Regina, a purely ad hoc city of some 70,000 souls, which, except for the necessity of establishing an administrative centre somewhere, would logically have not the slightest excuse for existing at all. It is a courageous little town trying desperately to overcome the disadvantage of being situated nearly five hundred miles from the nearest metropolis of comparable size and similar nation- ality. With tireless ingenuity its citizens have provided them- selves with a symphony orchestra, two radio stations, and a newspaper. There is also the provincial Legislature whose portentous deliberations provide alternative recreation on a slightly lower level than Bugs Bunny or the Western Hit Parade.
On week-ends civic pride is subordinated to the imperative necessity of getting out of Regina, however briefly, and local residents think nothing of climbing into their cars and driving 250 miles south across the border to Minot, North Dakota, there furtively to indulge in the delicious wickedness of sipping a Martini in public—a form of depravity which their own inspired Solicitude for provincial morality has made illegal in Saskatchewan. This fearless realisation of the evils attending the consumption of Strong Drink has had the happy effect of discouraging the populace from attempting to combat the cumulative depression of prairie life by sitting on the front porch with a pink gin in each hand, brooding darkly over the enigma of Sin and going generally to pieces.
It is really a great pity that no objective observer has made a detailed survey of the various infirmities to which the human spirit succumbs on being exposed to the wide open spaces. One feels that an instructive parallel could be drawn between the precognitions of Eternal Torment so rife in rural Alberta, and the impulse which in the neighbOuring province to the east has given birth to a Socialist party mouthing manifestos that would make Lenin tremble with alarm and which are con- scientiously implemented only in so far as they are not incon- sistent with a wholly capitalist economy. Of course, even in Saskatchewan one may walk past a church on Sunday morning and see metal plaques marked " Jesus Saves ! " attached, to a substantial number of car licence plates, but by and large the impromptu hysteria of the revival meeting has been replaced by an aberration more exclusively political in character.
This is not by any means to deny that the Socialist regime is a phenomenon deserving of respect. It has proved suffi- ciently adroit to remain in power for nine years, and the normal business of government is carried on with a degree of incom- petence and corruption not perceptibly higher than that pre- vailing elsewhere on the continent. It has modestly taken the credit for introducing social reforms that had long since been accepted elsewhere by the most reactionary champions of laissez-faire, and in consequence now finds itself firmly installed in the affections of the electorate. That it has not so far succeeded in transforming Saskatchewan into a particularly agreeable place in which to live is perhaps not altogether the Government's fault; this was until quite recently the Cinderella Province, poor and neglected, and many farmers recall with bitterness the pre-war days when markets for wheat were scarce.
Britain's recent refusal to sign the International Wheat Agree- ment, and the' resulting implication that she is betting on a fairly marked drop in grain prices, has sent a faint, cold breath of misgiving rustling across the prairie. People here, who have themselves been uneasily eyeing the enormous wheat re- serves left over from last year, were banking on the minimum price guarantee to maintain their profits in the event of a second record-breaking crop this year. While acknowledging a smart business move, they feel that Britain's decision may portend, if not disaster, at any rate a painful recession for those at the producing end. In southern Saskatchewan such fears afflict only those unfortunate enough to own just the, surface of their land. The lucky majority, gleefully auctioning off their mineral rights to the hotly competitive oil companies, have come to regard farm- ing as a. rather dull sideline. Drilling activity is increasing daily, and, although nothing comparable to Alberta's fabulous Redwater field has so far been discovered, there are at least three established fields of moderate size and a number of scattered producing wells. Probably ninety per cent. of the freehold mineral rights have now been leased, and in favoured areas a half-section of 320 acres may fetch as much as $10,000.
The other day I met a farmer who somehow typified the transformation from a marginal existence to sudden prosperity that is taking place all around. He was dressed in an old boiler suit, and looked as though he had slept under a hedge for the past three nights, except that they don't have hedges in Saskatchewan. Carrying an improbable pigskin briefcase, he was climbing into one of two brand-new Cadillacs he had just bought, on the way into town to wind up the business of lease- broker which he had been running as an enormously profitable hobby. In a few weeks' time he was going to move to a ranch in California and settle down to raise chinchillas.
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