Editorially speaking…
I must shuffle my Current Affairs files more often. Too late for last week’s feature article on Second World War explosives that continue to threaten life and limb in our own backyard, I noticed two overlooked clippings.
The first, and more apropos to the Chronicles, was a small Canadian Press article in the Victoria Times Colonist, headlined, Surrey RCMP office evacuated after grenade turned in.
If you’re into collecting military collectibles you can buy this WW2 grenade online, sure that it has been disarmed—unlike some of the armaments that have turned up in B.C. homes over the years. —bbmilitaria.com
The grenade was found in a local park and turned in to the Guildford office which, unsure whether it had been deactivated, cleared the detachment and the immediate neighbourhood until experts could dispose of it. An RCMP spokesman acknowledged that anyone finding a suspicious device or possible explosive should report it to the police.
But not to handle it, to keep their distance, and to simply call 911—not to carry it into their local police station.
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The famous Kinsol Trestle would never have survived to be restored if it hadn’t been for the late Tom Walker. —vrSmith, Wikipedia
Former North Cowichan mayor Tom Walker passed away, March 7. Best remembered for his 17 years’ service on municipal council, as mayor and councillor, the popular retired forester had previously worked 35 years with the B.C. Forest Service.
It was in his role of district manager of the Duncan Forest District, he reminisced some years ago, that he found himself faced with a major challenge—an arsonist had set the 600-foot-long, 12-storey-high Kinsol Trestle ablaze. Then in a semi-derelict condition, its 1000s of cubic yards of tinder-dry, creosoted timbers were sure to ignite the surrounding forests on both sides of the Koksilah River.
How were local firefighters to extinguish the fire before it got out of hand and created untold devastation?
There was only one way, Walker was sure: call in the Martin Mars water bomber stationed at Sproat Lake. But—there’s always a but—he was new in his job, not 100 per cent confident of his authority, and calling in the Mars would mean a bill to BC Forestry of $125,000—a big chunk of the Department’s budget.
If the number crunchers in Victoria later balked at paying for his expensive call, his job could be on the line. What to do?
He made the call. With a single pass, the Mars extinguished the blaze, the trestle was saved, albeit damaged, for an eventual restoration as the Cowichan Valley’s crown jewel of tourism that draws more than 100,000 visitors each year.
None of the obituary notices mentioned Tom Walker’s unsung role in what would not only have been a disaster if the fire had spread, but his having saved the Kinsol Trestle for posterity.
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It seems that we live in an age of increasing uncertainty. Nothing seems assured any more. Besides wars and natural disasters, almost every day, the news is filled with stories of economic crises: tariffs, increasing inflation, corporate cutbacks, increasing unemployment...
Now we’re about to lose our oldest business of all, the fabled Hudson’s Bay Co.
How the commercial landscape has shifted in my lifetime. Growing up in Victoria, I’ve shopped at Eaton’s, Woodward’s, Sears, Fields, Woolworth’s (later Woolco), K-Mart and the Bay. All are now gone, with the latter soon to follow by all appearances.
All are the victims of changing times, changing buying patterns. How ironical it is that, thanks to American economic pressures, we’re reclaiming our Canadian identity with “Made in Canada” labels, red ensigns on our grocery shelves, and shopping locally, something we should have been doing all along.
The almost legendary Hudson’s Bay Point blanket. —thebay.com
Many a time, as a kid, Mom sent me to fetch something at Christie’s, our neighbourhood corner grocery store. For me, a 30-minute walk there and back—if I didn’t get distracted along the way.
I can picture almost every square foot of that crowded store in my mind’s eye as I write this: Mr. Christie wrapping purchases in brown kraft paper and tying them with string. Slicing cold-cuts by hand, drawing gas, also by hand, from a glass pump outside. (He’d set the amount of gas desired, the bowl would fill, then he’d work the lever back as the gas flowed into a customer’s tank. Often $2 worth!
Letting us kids choose, oh, so carefully, from his stock of penny candy that he kept secure in a drawer of his counter. Select our own bottle of pop from a cold, water-filled red chest emblazoned with the Coca Cola label. Watch the mobile vegetable and ice men make their deliveries, the latter giving us chips from his blocks of ice to chew and suck on.
In short, shopping at Christie’s store was a natural part of growing up. Yes, we still have some neighbourhood stores, but nothing like in the good old days. Now, the last of our iconic Canadian department stores is headed for the dustbin of history.
Besides trying to support local merchants, I’ll treasure Granny’s HBCo. Point blanket which is still in excellent condition—and warm—despite being 80 years old if it’s a day.
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