On a rainy spring day back in 1971 my parents and I climbed into our Buick Skylark and headed west, leaving Montreal and heading for Highway 401, to a new life in Toronto. It was a journey made back then by many families, part of the so-called anglo exodus.
My parents had grown weary of exploding mailboxes and the longstanding resentment displayed by Quebec’s majority toward those who did not speak French. They were relieved to be starting over in a city that seemed to welcome all comers. As for me, an 18-year-old leaving behind friends and my studies at McGill University, I wept all the way to Kingston.
As things turned out, Toronto was just fine. It was a big, convenient city that “had everything.” And to my amazement, even the bus drivers spoke English. While the urban landscape lacked any mountain in its midst or a river coursing around it, it boasted some pretty ravines and had a lake at its south end. And, quite wonderfully, no one discussed language...
Barbara Yaffe is a longtime columnist at the Vancouver Sun, writing on national political issues. As a journalist, she has resided in six of the ten provinces, in Vancouver since 1988.
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