A Day on a Train – Canada 1985
2 September morning At the Gâre Central in Montréal on Friday morning I was given a fine taste of mis-directed Gallic temper. As I was gathering my pack to descend the stairs, an irate Québequoise accosted me with a steely glare and said, “To ze back of ze line, young man! I have been waiting for an ow-ware.” A bit shocked at her rudeness, not to mention her mistake, I did not say what I was thinking and merely pleaded my case in an offended tone. The Americans who had been waiting next to me for an hour backed up my story. She went down the stairs to board The Canadian in a huff, sure in her mind, I supposed, that she had been victimized once again by an American-led Anglo-Saxon imperialist conspiracy. I should have pointed out to her that two Francophone girls had indeed jumped the queue, but why stir up an international incident on such a fine Sunday morning, eh? Anyway, wasn't it true that an ancestor on my Dad's side had indeed participated in the ill-fated proto-A...