TAKE A WALK ON THE EAST SIDE: Commercial Drive

Commercial Drive, in Vancouver B.C. has been my neighbourhood since my family moved west in 1947. After the war, my father was the minister of the Grandview Baptist Church just around the corner from where this photo was taken. I attended Britannia High School, just down the street a few blocks. And I've lived near the Drive for over fifteen years so I consider it my neighbourhood.

This is a main roadway of the city through the neighborhood of Grandview-Woodland in the East End of Vancouver. It was originally a skid road for dragging logs to the harbour and was named 'Park Drive", but renamed "Commercial Drive" in 1911. Since 1891 it has been a main traffic artery, with an interurban tram line running downtown (now served by trolley buses and lots of vehicle traffic).

During the 1920's the area was the center of prosperity which declined during the Great Depression and didn't recover until after World War II. As a result, there are a great many heritage buildings in the area. After World War II many Italian immigrants settled in East Vancouver and the Drive became known as "Little Italy". There are still a number of Italian restaurants and businesses on the Drive, as well as Portugese businesses and the Portugese social club. By the 1960's Asian immigrants came to settle here. And now there are Latin Americans, East Indian and African residents. English has become a minority language in the area, according to the 2001 census, although it is still the most commonly spoken.

The Drive is popular for its many activities including an annual street festival and several ethnic celebrations such as the Parade of Lost Souls in October. It's also a popular place for the counter-cultures, with an annual Dyke March and the only queer spoken word and musician performance night in Vancouver. There are also venues for other literary events in particular the Slam Poetry night held every week at the Cafe d'Soleil. It even hosts a car-free festival in which 16 blocks are cleared of vehicles and thousands of people come to celebrate with walks, dancing and food.

The Drive is a mixed residential/commerical area with a high number of ethnic and vegetarian restaurants and businesses. There are Edwardian-style historic buildings alongside European-style cafes. As of 2007 there were 93 restaurants on Commerical Drive and 19 of those are coffee bars. So if you want a taste of Europe and a bit of variety, come and take a walk on the East Side. I'm sure you'll enjoy my neighbourhood as much as I do!

WELCOME TO VANCOUVER CHINATOWN

Vancouver has one of the largest Chinatowns in North America. Besides the many fascinating shops there are many designated heritage buildings and intriguing stories behind the history of this area.

In the late 1890's early Chinese immigrants settled in are area known as Shanghai Alley and Canton Alley. Canton Alley was createdas a Chinese style coutryard surrounded by two parralell rows of buildings and the two alleys were the site of a vibrant nightlife, opera music, shopping and political and cultural activities.The new gateway entrance to Chinatown was a millenium project, part of the testament tot he early Chinese's struggles and triumphs.

Most of today's Chinese residents live outside of the downtown core but Chinatown's centre is still a busy, interesting hug, situated around the Chinese Cultural Centre on Pender Street. The Dr. Sun Yat Sen gardens are located just behind the cultural centre.

GUNG HAI FAT CHOY is the traditional Chinese greeting to celebrate the Lunar New Year. If you look at my travel web site,
www.travelthruhistory.com you will find more pictures and stories of Chinatown including the colourful Chinese New Years celebrations.

ENJOY A ZEN MOMENT IN THE SUN YAT-SEN GARDENS

This beautiful garden and park in the midst of Vancouver’ Chinatown is an authentic reproduction of an age-old Chinese tradition. Classical gardens such as these were popular during the Ming Dynasty (1368 - 1644). Ming scholars had private gardens where they could live and work. The gardens followed certain traditional designs to provide the scholar with tranquility and spiritual energy.

This garden is dedicated to Sun Yat-Sen, the ‘father of modern China”. Like all Chinese gardens of that era, is based on the harmony of four main elements: rock, water, plants and architecture. Blended together they create a perfect balance -- the yin and yang.

The rocks used in the garden and park were imported from Lake Tai near the Chinese city of Suzhou. These limestone rocks, known for their rough beauty, are placed in various locations throughout the Garden, around a jade-green pond meant to inspire tranquility. (The softness of the water balances the hardness of the rock).

The Garden and Park are is planted with a variety of symbolic plants, mixing native Chinese and local plants including bamboo, cypress, pine, flowering plum and miniature rhododendron.
The traditional architecture, found in all classical Chinese gardens, blends with the natural elements.

Adjacent to the Garden is the Dr. SunYat-Sen park which compliments the Garden. The entrance to the Park is free. There is a bust of Dr. Sun Yat-Sen , who visited Vancouver frequently, at the entrance gate. Next to the Park and Garden is the Chinese Cultural Centre, on Chinatown’s main street.

There is an admission fee for entry into the Garden, but the Park is free, and it’s well worth a visit at any time of year, a place to get away from the busy city streets where you can meditate on the beauties of nature in a serene setting.

THE BURNABY HERITAGE MUSEUM: Take a trip back in time.

The Tom Irvine House

Explore life back in the 1920’s at the Burnaby Heritage Museum, on Deer Lake Avenue in Burnaby B.C. Canada. This 10 acre site was built as a memorial to the B.C. centennial in 1958 and is a recreation of an early 1930’s community. Several original buildings and artifacts have been located here in the many interesting displays. Volunteers and staff dressed in period costumes will show you around and demonstrate at the various exhibits.

It’s a great place to visit at any time of year, but at Christmas, with the Victorian decorations and jolly holiday atmosphere, it’s especially fun. I went there with three friends for an exciting afternoon of exploring and reminiscing about the ‘olden days’.

Our first stop was the old school house where a ‘teacher’ explained the classroom routines of those long-ago days when kids of all ages shared the classroom which was heated by a wood-burning stove. Discipline was more rigid then than it is nowadays. Reading and ‘Riting and ‘Rithemtic were practiced diligently.

Next we visited one of the old bachelors homes. Tom Irvine who was a pioneer of Burnaby, and his house, built in 1911 features various items of interest including the pair of red flannel underwear laid over the bed.

The General Store

The ‘village’ includes a blacksmith shop, bank, church, general store, dentist office, pharmacy, barbershop, print shop, silent movie house and one of the most interesting places is the General Store. I’ve never failed to study in amazement the collection of items in this old store. A lot of them remind me of my own childhood, when my family lived on the prairies, such as the galvanized tin washtubs like the one I remember my Mom melting snow in for our Saturday night bath. Lots to keep you occupied in this store, a real trip down memory lane, and fascinating for modern youngsters to see what kinds of toys their Grannies and Grandpas used to play with!

The old interuban tram

The B.C. Electric Railway tram is the same one I used to ride from downtown Abbot Street to New Westminster back in the ‘50’s when it still rattled down First Avenue. I used to take it to school or we’d often take out to Royal Oak Station to visit my Auntie.
I got quite a thrill out of sitting in those antique seats again, remembering how the floorboards used to shuttle back and forth when the tram bolted down the hill on First Ave.

The highlight of the day, though, was a ride on the fully restored 1912 C.W. Parker Carousel. For two loonies ($2) you can have the thrill of a lifetime, recalling your childhood as you spin around up and down on these magnificent ponies which have been so lovingly restored. I remember this same carousel once was a featured ride at Playland, during the ‘50’s when I was in my teens. It was and still is my favorite ride!

Riding the carousel. Whee!

A VISIT TO THE BURNABY HERITAGE MUSEUM

The gazebo and old church
You can book the church for weddings. This day there was a
couple dressed in period clothes singing Christmas carols.

There was a street entertainer amusing the children with songs and funny chatter. Even the adults get into the game!

This beautiful 1912 carousel used to be a Playland on the Exhibition grounds but was rescued by the historic society and restored.
For two loonies you can have a fast, exciting ride and pretend you're a kid again!

There's lots to see and do a the Heritage park. Be sure and visit there, any time of year.

ONCE UPON A NEW YEAR'S EVE

"A guid New Year to ane an' a' and mony may ye see."
Traditional Scottish New Year's toast.

ONCE UPON A NEW YEAR’S EVE

December 31, the final day of the Gregorian year and the day before New Year’s Day, is also called Hogmanay (in Scotland) and Sylvester (in Germany, Israel, Hungary and Poland.) In the 21st century western practice, New Year’s Eve is traditionally celebrated with parties and social gatherings. Many countries use fireworks and other forms of noise making to welcome in the new year. Some countries have odd traditions associated with this eve.

In Brazil music shows are held, most famously at the Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro and in Sao Paulo they hold the Saint Sylvester Marathon, contested by athletes from all over the world. The Danes celebrate with family gatherings and feasts. In Ecuador they have elaborate effigies called Anos Viejos (Old Years) created to represent people and events from the past year. These are often stuffed with firecrackers. One popular tradition is the wearing of yellow panties, said to attract positive energy for the new year.

The French celebrate with a feast called Le Reveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre. In Berliin Germany, a huge display of fireworks is ignited at the Brandenburg Gate. There’s also fireworks in Hong Kong and in Japan the Buddhist temple bells are rung 108 times. Mexicans down a grape for each of the 12 chimes of the church bells and people who want to find love in the New Year wear red underwear (yellow for money)

Auckland, New Zealand is the first major city to see the beginning of the new year as it’s 496.3 kilometres west of the International Date Line. The Filipinos celebrate with a dinner party called Media Noches. They have a custom of wearing clothes with a circular pattern, like polka dots, to attract money and fortune.

In Spain families celebrate with a special dinner of shrimp, lamb or turkey and also wear red underwear for luck, and eat the 12 grapes synonymous with the new year. In Turkey homes are lit up and decorated with garlands and public celebrations are held. In Greece, while the adults gamble at card games, the children go around ringing little triangles while they sing kalendalas (carols) as this is the night that Agio Vassilis (St Basil) comes with gifts for them.

In the U.K. Big Ben strikes the midnight hour as the crowds count down the chimes to the hour. In London the London Eye is the centre of a 10 minute fireworks display illuminated with coloured lasers. In Scotland, the traditional son Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns, is sung and street parties are held. In the States the Bell Drop at Times Square in New York is broadcast through America and Canada.

I have both fond and melancholy memories of New Year’s Eves. In the old times it was one of the most anticipated holidays next to Christmas. You always had a new outfit to wear which was planned well in advance, something fashionable and spectacular to wear to the celebration which was often held in a night club or at a gala house party. I’ll never forget the year I’d made a gorgeous gold pois de sois two-piece dress. I looked fantastic. But when I arrived at the big party with several other couples, I was chagrined to find that another woman in the group was wearing a dress of similar style and material. I was crushed, but of course I had made mine myself so considered it to be more ‘original’.

I recall one New Year’s Eve when I was in my late teens, my girlfriend and I had been invited out by two American sailors to attend a show at a supper club. My girlfriend had a new dress but hadn’t time to hem it so she’d pinned the hem up with straight pins and all night long the pines scraped her legs until they were bleeding. After the show at the nightclub, we tottered over to the Catholic cathedral for midnight mass. I was in charge of holding the bottle of wine in a brown paper bag under my coat and I distinctly recall dropping it in the back pew!

Yes, New Year’s Eve was always a night of wild abandon and over-drinking. At clubs or house parties, when it turned midnight, traditionally you are supposed to kiss your partner or date under the mistletoe or wherever you happen to be, but all too often I’d find myself alone in a crowd of strangers while my significant other was off in a corner kissing someone else. I soon grew weary of these episodes. new Years eve began to lose it’s romantic appeal, and instead it became a lonely time, especially once I was single. Eventually, I decided I’d rather stay home alone, so I’d bring in some goodies: the makings for Welsh rarebit, oysters to fry, a few bottles of McEwan’s ale and a bottle of Heinken Trokel wine. I’d mention to a few close friends that I was staying home that night, and wait to see who’d show up. Usually a couple of friends would drop by to share the celebration with me. But one of my most memorable New Year’s Eves was one I spent all alone enjoying my own company, dancing to my favourite music.

I’ve had New Year’s Eves abroad, far from family and close friends, and these turned out to be fun in their uniqueness. I recall my first New Year’s Eve in Greece (which turned into one of my most memorable). My room-mate and I decided to go to the fabulous Intercontinental Hotel piano bar to spend the evening. On the way, we stopped by a pizzeria to have a bite to eat. I made a spectacular entrance by almost walking through the glass door which I didn’t realize was closed, and I got a standing ovation from a troop of merry Quantas Airlines flight attendants who were partying there. We ended up joining then for one of the craziest, most fun New Year’s Eves ever. And I even won the New Year’s prize -- a nice boyfriend who was around as long as Quantas flew into Athens every two or three weeks.

Nowadays on New Years, I will make plans to go out if friends are going along and the price is right. Being with close friends, dancing and dining, is quite a satisfying way to end the old year. Although it’s no longer the ‘romantic’ exciting night it used to be, it’s worth a little celebrating. This year I’ll go with my girlfriends to enjoy an evening of the Blues at the bistro where my son plays. I wonder if I should wear the red or the yellow undies?

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL MY FRIENDS AND FELLOW TRAVELERS!

CHRISTMAS MEMOIR #2: CHRISTMAS AWAY

Barry the Irish Troubadour

AWAY FROM HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Christmas in 1983 was the first time I had ever spent Christmas away from my family. I couldn’t have been any farther away from Vancouver than Athens, Greece. It looked as though it would be a dismal time.

I had been living in Athens since October and shared a two-bedroom sparsely furnished flat with another woman. My room-mate’s ill-humour didn’t add to my mood as I faced the holiday season. I had met Connie the year before when we were both tourists in Greece, attracted by her sense of humour which she had somehow lost during the months we shared our apartment and struggled to adjust to life in Athens. We both worked as E.S.L. teachers. What money we earned bought the barest necessities for our flat. I used an upturned drawer to put my typewriter on and bashed out travel stories for newspapers at home. After what we were accustomed to at homelife in Athens was bleak.

I made friends with two Irish men, Donald and Barry, who made their living busking on the metro enchanting the Greeks with their Irish songs. They were homeless, and as we had an empty salon, I invited them to stay with us. Donald and Barry became my saviours, cheering me with their Irish humour and lively music.

As Christmas drew near I searched for festive signs around town. Greeks don’t celebrate Christmas the way we did at home. There were few decorations and in the store windows no sign of Santa Claus, Rudolph or Frosty. A large tree with lights was erected in Syntagma Square, but I missed the cheery sound of Salvation Army bell-ringers and carolers.

I went to the street market where the gypsies sold holly, pine branches and flowers and bought a little laurel bush with shiny green leaves and little wax-like red apples spiked on the ends of the branches. I put it in a flower pot and hung gold garlands on it with three red paper birds for ornaments and a string of tiny coloured lights. Soon parcels arrived in the mail and I placed them underneath.

My room-mate’s Greek boyfriend, was opening a bar on Christmas Eve in the town of Chalkis on the island of Euboeia and he hired Donald and Barry to play there.

The cozy little pub was located near the sea. The opening night was disappointing as very few customers came. There certainly wasn’t a festive spirit. We felt abandoned by our host, especially Connie who spent the night pouting.

On Christmas day, we went for a stroll along the waterfront. As we walked, Barry played his guitar. Some seamen called us over so Barry and Donald sang Irish songs for them, and we all joined in singing Christmas carols. We found a little crèche with models of Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus surrounded by live goats and sheep. On our way back to the taverna, we stopped for a meal. The closest thing to turkey we could find was chicken, but it would have to do. At least it was beginning to feel a lot more like Christmas.

Christmas creche, Chalkis, Christmas 1983

That night we sat alone in the empty taverna and reminisced about Christmas at home, describing in detail the turkey dinners we remembered from past Christmas. We imagined the feast our families would be eating that Christmas day, savouring every vicarious mouth-full: the succulent turkey meat, the spicy stuffing, the cranberry jelly, the candied yams, mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, the variety of fresh vegetables and best of all, the delicious aromas that went with the food. We imagined the steaming plum pudding smothered in hot rum sauce, and how we would get the piece with money wrapped up inside. We felt comfort in each other’s company. We were a ‘family’. Because of Donald and Barry, Christmas became special after all, even though we were all so far away from home.

Barry and Donald sing Christmas carols on the dock, Chalkis, Euboeia, Greece

MEMOIRS OF A CHRISTMAS AWAY: TWO STORIES ABOUT MY FIRST CHRISTMAS IN GREECE

CHRISTMAS WITHOUT SANTA CLAUS

Celebrating Christmas the Traditional Greek Way

This story was written in 1983, the first time in my life I'd ever spent Christmas away from my family. I had just moved to Greece and was getting accustomed to the Greek traditions and way of life, which was quite different from my own, brought up in a Welsh/English family with our own traditions. It was an unusual and sometimes lonely Christmas that year. But I treasure the memory of it and now that I look back, I realize how much I learned -- one thing, how much I missed my family at Christmas, the events at our church, the family dinners and gift-giving. And most of all, Santa Claus!
***photo: Aghios Vassilis greets the children at the Zappeion Gardens.

DECEMBER IN ATHENS
In the shops around Omonia and Kolonaki Squares there isn't a sign of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman or Santa's Helpers. On the streets the familiar bell-ringers with their red money pots for charity and the sound of recorded Noel carols is missing. Most of the window displays don't have festive decorations. Up on busy Patission Street, the big Minion Department Store has a mechanical children's display, a few plastic Santas and some small ornamental trees with tiny coloured
lights/ There is a big Christmas tree decorated with lights and bright cardboard packages in Syntagma Square. Although some of the main streets are strung with little bulbs, there isn't a sign of Christmas tree lights twinkling from apartment windows. And chances are, on Christmas Day, Santa won't find any stockings hung for him to fill. This is Greece, and except for those who have adopted the wetern customs of celebrating the Yule season, the traditions are different here.

For most of the western world, Christams is the central festival of the year. In Greece, Easter is of greater importance. Perhaps the long northern winters produce a need for a midwinter festival in the rest of Europe and in North America. Greece is farther south and the real celebration is the coming of spring. There may be pageantry and feasting here at Christams, but there is none of the pre-Christmas "hype" that is experienced in the western world.

GREEK CHRISTMAS
For those Greeks who religiously observe the Orthodox festivals, a short lent, The Fast of the Nativity, begins this season on November 17th and ends on Chrsitmas Eve. The Presentation of the Virgin Mary, on November 31st is the most improtant feast day, especaially for the Greek Orthodox Church in Jerusalem.

St. Nicholas isn't the Greek Santa Claus; he is the patron saint of seamen. On December 8ty the little churcheson the Greek Islands celebrate his day with the blessing of the "koliva" a wheat dish made to honour the dead. This is taken on voyages to be thrown into the sea to calm stormy waters.

When the short lent "Makree Sarakostis" ends on Christmas Eve, the Christmas bread, cakes and cookies are baked. These will be given to the children who come to sing the "Kalanda", the Greek carollers. Except in homes where famlies celebrate in the western custom, the stockings are not hung on the chimney with care. Gifts are usually not exchanged until New Year's Day. In the morning, to the greeting of "Kala Christouyenna: Merry Christmas" the family and often a visiting priest sit down to a traditional feast. The table is set with delicious Greek foods and sweets: roast turkey or boar's head soup with lentils, and sometimes a dish of white beans in memory of the dead. Of course there is wine, "retsina" and ouzo, but the most important feature of the day is the proportioning of the Christmas bread.

NEW YEAR'S EVE
The real celebration begins on New Year's Eve. It is a social evning when men play cards and gamble the night away and the children and families visit other homes to sing the Kalandas. As they stop at nearby homes, the children sing their carols accompanied by the chiming of little silver triangles. Their favorite song is about Aghios Vassilis (St. Basil). The children chang that St. Basil is coming, bringing paper and quill pens. It is St. Basil, not St Nicholas who is the Santa Claus of Greece. St. Bail was one of the founders of the Greek Orthodox Church. He was famous as an educator and buildger of hospitals and homes for the sick and friendless. The children singing about the benevolent saint are rewarded with money and sweets.

On New Year's Eve, as the bells chime in the new year, the head of the house slices a special traditional loaf of bread. In this ceremony, the finder of the coin buried in the bread will be blessed with good fortune. On New Year's Day gifts are exchanged and the family sits down to a banquet more sumptuous than the Christmas feast: the more abundant, the better the prospects of the comin gyear. Wine glasses are clinked in the traditional toasts - agreeting common the world over: Eftikhismenos oh Kaynooyio Kronos! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

IN MEMORY OF A FELLOW TRAVELLER

Icons, Tinos Greece

I am writing this from the point of view of a traveller who has often landed in countries where I did not speak the language. Often times the airports can very intimidating and especially for a solo traveller as I so often am, a bit frightening. I have memories once of landing in Istanbul, with only five English pounds in my pocket and no return ticket. I'd come there to meet my Turkish boyfriend and had no idea of where I was, having left England quickly on his request, and hoping he'd got the cable telling him I was on my way. I knew nothing of the country let alone the language, and a woman alone arriving there (in the mid '70's) was a dodgy affair. All I can remember is all those men's eyes looking at me and realizing I was in a totally foreign place. Not only that it was the early days of terrorism and the Istanbul airport (which was mostly a collection of quanset huts) was completely surrounded by armed tanks and soldiers. (Remember "The Midnight Express"? That episode had taken place not long before this so they were not only looking for drugs but for arms as well as a plane had recently been hijacked. Fortunately for me, my friend was waiting for me. Otherwise I have no idea what else I'd have done. The closest Canadian embassy was in Ankara, some miles away. And I didn't even have enough money on me to get into the city let alone find a hotel.

That was only one of my many travel adventures. But I can say this, nowhere in the world was I abandoned, left alone in the airport without someone offering some help, or at least someone who I could ask for help (for somehow there is always someone around who might speak a little English.)

Monument, General Cemetaria, Santiago Chile

I have been on long, long flights and know the exhaustion you feel when arriving at your destination. So when it's a completely foreign destination, and you don't speak the language or know the customs and routines, it can be very daunting.

For this, I could relate in many ways to the unfortunate Polish man, Robert Dziekanski, when he arrived alone, after his very first long, long plane trip from Poland to my city, Vancouver B.C. Canada, so very far from his home, and got here to find nobody could speak to him (where where the interpreters that should be at an International Airport), nobody offered a helping hand to guide him, nobody offered him food, water or assistance while he waited for hours and hours stuck inside the arrivals and immigration control while his poor desperate mother looked for him in the arrivals lounge. Nobody offered her any help either, and in fact told her that he hadn't arrived so after more than 10 hours of fruitless waiting, she returned to her home in another part of the Province. Meanwhile, her confused, frightened and desperate son grew more and more agitated until airport Security was called. Did they help him? No. They turned their backs on him. So the R.C.M.P. were called and the rest has been recorded on a video camera by another traveller and by now has been viewed around the world. Instead of helping the man, who was clearly in a state but threw his hands up submitting to the cops, they tasered him several times, jumped on him (four of them) and in a very few minutes he was dead.

This horrifying scene has been played out time and time again on the T.V. and pictured in the newspapers. Every time I've seen it or read about it I cry. What a terrible thing to have happened. What a disgrace. This man was immigrating to Canada hoping to start a new life. His suitcases were full of geography books and atlases. He had high hopes of finding employment and enjoying a new start with his mother who had waited for so long for him to come. He was not a terrorist. He was not a dangerous person. He was not drunk or on drugs or mentally ill. He was simply over-tired, hungry, exasperated, unable to communicate in English and nobody employed at the airport tried to help him except one woman who spoke quietly to him and had him calmed down just before the police arrived and tasered him, not once, but perhaps four times. And not only that, the airport did not call their own medics but phoned out so there was a long gap in time. Nobody tried to resusitate him. They left him to die.

Is this the kind of welcome you would want or expect when arriving in a foreign country?
Certainly not. And we should be ashamed of what happened to this man and make sure this never happens again.

Sunset over English Bay

There have been memorials for Robert Dziekanski. One was held in his mother's city, Kamloops, and another was held at the Vancouver International Airport. Hundreds of people came to remember him and grieve over what happened. I couldn't be there, so this is my memorial. Rest in peace, dear Robert. And may your mother somehow find comfort knowing how much we all cared.

THE ADMIRAL'S ISLAND #4

This is the view from Campfire Rock where every evening campers would sit around a fire and sing camp songs.

Keats Island is forested and there are many beautiful trails through the woods. This is the trail going to Salmon Rock.

Salmon Rock is well known as a popular fishing spot. We used to go on my father's little boat around the point and fish for salmon.
This day my son and I and our friends (also former islanders) had a little picnic and reminisced about all our happy times on the island.

THE ADMIRAL'S ISLAND #3

When my parents were involved in the Keats Island Baptist Camp, they met a 12 year old boy, Jimmy, who had cerebral palsy. He was a ward of the Social Services and lived in a home, like an orphanage. He had been sent to the summer camp along with several other children who were in the care of welfare. My parents invited Jimmy to spend a weekend with our family in the City. He never went back to the Home again and lived with us as a foster child until his untimely death at the age of 21 of cancer. With money from his small estate, my parents purchased an old shrimp-fisherman's cottage on the island. The house was later renovated and a porch and patio added, all the flagstones laid by my parents, the electricity and plumbing and other amenities done by my husband. My parents took great pride in the house and planted gardens and shrubs all around. Their intention was to retire there. It was unfortunate that my mother died of cancer when she was only 53 so they never realized their dream and eventually (and unfortunately) the cottage was sold.
On a recent visit, my son and I were delighted to meet the new owners and to see how well the house has been kept over the past years. We were invited inside for a look around and were amazed to find many of the furnishings the same, just as if my parents were still there (as I'm sure their spirit still is).

There are many deer on the island and they are not shy of human intruders. This day several deer were munching wind-fall apples under the trees on the slope. The apple trees are what's left over of the old orchards that were planted by the early homesteaders.

Our cottage was up on the hillside with a beautiful view of the wharves and the water.

THE ADMIRAL'S ISLAND (contd)

In the early days of Keats Island, there was only a sternwheeler making regular stops at Gibsons Landing, across the from the island. Eventually a passenger service was started and the population of the isalnd began to grow, especially when the Union Stemaships started a run. Some of the homestead property was bought by the Baptist Church and lots were sold on lease with 12 acres set aside for a camp. In 1926 a man named Will Read came to the island and became the camp caretaking. He built himself a sturdy home called Readhurst which had asupurb view of the harbour. Later this house was sold to the camp and used for visitors and campers.

The provincial government built a large wharf and the camp built floats which formed a swimming pool for the campers.
My children and I have spent many happy summer hours swimming or fishing off this wharf.

When I first moved to British Columbia, my father, a Baptist minister, took an active part in the camps during the summer. My mother also worked as camp nurse. I attended summer camp for several years. And eventually my family bought a small cottage on the island where my parents planned to retire.

THE ADMIRAL'S ISLAND

On a quiet July evening in the year 1861 a British 74 gun ship, the Superb, under the command of Capt. Richard Keats, broke from the rest of the British fleet and set out on a mission that was to become unparalleled in naval history. In 1860, the MMS Plumper, under the command of Captain Keats, arrived off the west coast of Canada on a mission to survey the coast for England. One of their ports of call was a little cove in one of the small islands of what is now called Howe Sound. He named the island "Keats Island". The cove where his ship lay anchor was named "Plumper Cove".

In the late 1950's, when my family had a cottage on Keats Island and were involved in the Baptist camp there, I wrote a self-published booklet about the history of the island titled "The Admiral's Island". Since then various copies of the text have shown up, one portion of it on this sign-board for the camp; another on a realtor's ad page; another in the Keats Island newsletter.

After Admiral Keat's discovery and survey of the island, for the following twenty-seven years, til May 1886, the island seemed forgotten and uninhabited. It was then that a retired naval lieutenant, George Gibson, dropped anchor off the beach at Keats. A year later he returned to the little bay and founded the town of Gibsons, across from Keats Island. The following year the first settlers came to Keats to homestead. It was the beginning of an exciting future for the Admiral's Island.