The Man who killed Canada. Post this. W.L.M.K. by Frank Scott, son of Canon Scott. How shall we speak of Canada, Mackenzie King dead? The Mother's boy in the lonely room With his dog, his medium and his ruins? He blunted us. We had no shape Because he never took sides, And no sides Because he never allowed them to take shape He skilfully avoided what was wrong Without saying what was right, And never let his on the one hand Know what his on the other hand was doing. The height of his ambition Was to pile a Parliamentary Committee on a Royal Commission. To have "conscription if necessary But not necessarily conscription", To let Parliament decide - Later. Postpone, postpone, abstain. Only one thread was certain: After World War I Business as usual. After World War II Orderly decontrol. Always he led us back to where we were before. He seemed to be in the centre Because we had no centre, No vision To pierce the smoke-screen of his politics. Truly he will be remembered Wherever men honour ingenuity, Ambiguity, inactivity, and political longevity. Let us raise up a temple To the cult of mediocrity, Do nothing by halves Which can be done by quarters.