42 It Happened in Iona

sions the rum came to a somewhat secret spot in kegs to be bottled — and watered down — for distribution on the big day. Fortunately the influence of liquor, at least in my memory, was not a problem on voting days.

Cagey voters went to the poll on their own so as not to be labelled, or so they thought! More traditional voters, on the other hand, usually waited for a ride in their party’s official vehicle. After the election for some days there were always humorous stories of various antics surrounding the day itself and the polling house in particular. One such yarn was told of a Mrs. X, an elderly widow who was beginning to get somewhat senile. After receiving her ballot she simply sat on a chair near the curtained-off voting booth. After a while in an effort to break the log jam a serious-minded agent from the Conservative side went over to her and wondered out loud if she wished to vote for the Tories Mrs.X immediately began to stare at the ceiling but said nothing. When she had regained her composure, the gentle— man repeated aloud his former question, upon which she again stared straight at the ceiling in silence. The man returned to his place and a Liberal agent went over and asked if she would want to vote for Dougald MacKinnon. Mrs. X came to life at once and responded: “Yes, I’ll vote for Dougald.”

Only once did I have the opportunity of hauling voters to the poll, of being the official Liberal chauffeur. That was for the federal election of 1949, Louis St. Laurent’s first run as prime minister. It was an interesting experience for sure and all I had to do was drive, since the agent who accompanied me did whatever talking was required. In fact little talking was needed as the designated voters were usually ready and willing to climb aboard. Only one individual that day, a man with a minimum of formal education, showed a measure of belligerence and proceeded to preach a well-worded sermon on the uselessness of g0vernments, Liberal or Tory. His fire and brimstone preaching continued even as we drove out his lane. We were surprised but not discouraged by this turn of fate, both of us admiring the man’s perception of at least that campaign with its usual run of promises. As the day proceeded, my official rider and other party agents were keeping an eagle eye on the voting pattern at the poll and as a greenhorn I was quite amazed at their skill in determining almost exactly the way all were voting. Beyond this, I was equally surprised by the almost sacred manner in which the whole voting-day procedure was carried off.

Only once as well did I experience first hand the counting of