Editorials

I’ve never had the patience for filing.

Almost in spite of myself, my personal archives is probably equal in size to the Cowichan Valley Museum. But the unavoidable filing is such a drag...

On the plus side, when I do give filing the time and attention it deserves—needs—I’m sometimes pleasantly surprised with the nuggets that turn up: newspaper clippings, as a rule, that I’ve forgotten about.

Some things never change. As sure as summer you have heat, swimming...and tragedy. 

In July 1921, it was that of 12-year-old Donald Smith Hawkins, a student of Duncan Public School and the adopted son of James Hawkins, foreman of the James Logging Co., Cottonwood Creek. 

While his father worked in camp, Mrs. Hawkins and Donald lived at Tyee Siding; but she was away so, Donald was staying with his dad in a floating shack at Youbou, downstream from Cottonwood Creek on the north shore of Cowichan Lake. 

Home 2, Visitors 0

Our winters are mild but they do tend to drag their heels a little.

But this spring was mild. I can attest to this by the fact that—I have witnesses—the “Luftwaffe” was out as early as mid-February. I did manage to down two of the beggars at South Wellington which, experience has taught me, is home to the biggest, fattest, loudest airborne pests on the Island. 

They’re nothing like when I was a lad, of course. 

The results of a study of the differences, perceived and real, between Canadians and pre-Trump Americans were once published in the Victoria Times Colonist. Apparently, we're more alike than we think. Oh, we're more polite, more restrained (I'd like to think, ‘mature’ and ‘refined’). But when it comes down to the nitty gritty the study suggests, heaven forbid, that we're more akin to Americans than we care to admit.

The results of a study of the differences, perceived and real, between Canadians and pre-Trump Americans were once published in the Victoria Times Colonist. Apparently, we're more alike than we think. Oh, we're more polite, more restrained (I'd like to think, ‘mature’ and ‘refined’). But when it comes down to the nitty gritty the study suggests, heaven forbid, that we're more akin to Americans than we care to admit.

R.E. Gosnell, pioneer tourist promoter, fired as provincial librarian and archivist, he fought back with sharpened pen.

“One of those tree wheeling, Jack of all trades who made British Columbia colourful at the turn of the century,” to quote one historian, R. Edward Gosnell has been called the father of today's Provincial Library and Archives.

A sample of TW Paterson’s stories

Old Photographs that have something to say

You see them all the time. At garage sales, flea markets and thrift stores, they stare back at you from over the years.

How do these family photographs, so very personal and, one would think, so meaningful to their owners, find their way to a sales table?

The Mechanical Beast
Brian A. Wright – Guest Contributor

While she is washing the dishes, arms up to elbows in soapy water, she hears it. The Mechanical Beast.

By now longtime readers realize that I never kid around here on the Chronicles where history is sacrosanct if not, well, always 100 percent accurate. Usually, on those happily rare occasions, I can count on readers to point out errors or inconsistencies. 

Generally speaking, a man just flat out tells you—not always in the Queen's English, but at least you know where you stand. Women are more subtle. Rather than a 2x4 between the eyes, it's more like surgery—they can leave you with such a warm feeling that it takes half an hour for you to realize that it's blood. 

By now longtime readers realize that I never kid around here on the Chronicles where history is sacrosanct if not, well, always 100 percent accurate. Usually, on those happily rare occasions, I can count on readers to point out errors or inconsistencies. 

Generally speaking, a man just flat out tells you—not always in the Queen's English, but at least you know where you stand. Women are more subtle. Rather than a 2x4 between the eyes, it's more like surgery—they can leave you with such a warm feeling that it takes half an hour for you to realize that it's blood. 

On Saturday we attended the annual Times Colonist book sale in Victoria. Organized and operated by a small army of volunteers, the money raised (well over $6 million since the first sale in 1998!) is matched, in part, by provincial government funds. 

The money goes towards promoting and improving literacy on Vancouver Island. 

For reasons I’ve never understood, we Canadians don’t seem to want to honour our heroes.

I don’t mean “celebrities”—our overnight adulation for, say, rock stars—or notoriety. I mean lasting fame and remembrance for achievements that were above and beyond the call of duty or the norm. Personal acts of heroism and accomplishment that have contributed to the very making of Canada.