Pioneer Days in the Cowichan Valley (Part 1)
I’ve long joked that I shuffle more paper in a working day than a civil servant.
That no longer really applies (to civil servants, I mean) since the arrival of the computer.
But nothing has really changed for me. Yes, I’ve computerized too, but I still work with paper—17 file cabinets’ worth. Which is the way I prefer to work and to archive the thousands of files I’ve been building over most of a lifetime.
But there is a downside. As a one-man band I’m not impervious to misfilings or mental lapses.
It’s one of the latter that inspires this rambling introduction to a fascinating 17-page typescript that was given to me some years ago by—I can’t remember who. I’d attached a note to the document: See email.
But which email? I have the typescript, thankfully, but nothing to tell me who gave it to me or when. Worse, “Pioneer Days in the Cowichan Valley” is obviously written as a talk. By whom, to whom, when—that’s the mystery!
I do vaguely recall the paper’s donor surmising that it was written by a longtime and prominent Duncan merchant but, because of the numerous spelling and grammatical errors, I don’t think so. I have an even vaguer recall of having seen it once before, no doubt after editing, in an early Cowichan Leader.
So there you have it; short of going through years of microfilms of the Duncan newspaper—providence unknown! It’s for that very reason, and my own culpability, that I’d set the manuscript aside, faintly hoping that I’d trip over its source and the identity of its author in the course of my never-ending researches. But, so far, no go.
All that said, I came across it recently and upon re-reading it decided that I simply must share it with Chronicles readers.
In its own way, it’s a priceless description of many of the men and women, most of whom are unnamed, alas, who literally carved their homes and farms—and, in the process, the Cowichan Valley that we latecomers enjoy—with the sweat of their labours.
Here then is one unidentified Valley pioneer as he recalls earlier unidentified Valley pioneers, some of whom he’d known personally. That’s an edge that no johnny-come-lately scribe such as I who only moved to Cobble Hill in 1974 can ever hope to match.
To maintain its original flavour, I’ve kept editing to an almost non-existent minimum. To correct the misspellings and grammaticals would take away much of its charm. Hence I’ve only interceded when I felt absolutely compelled to do so to maintain clarity.
So as you enjoy this ramble down memory lane, try to imagine the circumstances: there are clues to its having been read at a meeting of the Native Sons of B.C., which had a Cowichan Valley chapter, and the author alludes to the few years,1917-1921, that the province suffered under the oppression of the Prohibition Act. Our speaker is in his senior years because, obviously, he too is an early and longtime resident. A man who has spent his adulthood (and probably much of his later childhood) working on the land. A man whose education had had to be abbreviated in the name of helping on the family farm, a regrettable but common fact of life on the frontier.
I mentioned that the talk is typed; this, I take to be after-the-fact by a third party; perhaps even by my forgotten donor. Obvious care has been taken to maintain its authenticity. If, as I surmise, the talk was given in the 1920s, I’m guessing that our unidentified scribe wrote it originally in longhand. Whatever the case, here goes...
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I would like to tell you about the old times and the old timers and try to take you back a little into the past history of our Cowichan Valley. It will only be a little ways as far as personal experience goes, as we are still a long way short of being labelled that notable person, the oldest inhabitant yet.
36 years is quite a long time while when you look back or look forward to it in the life of an individual or the life of a community. One can go further back than that and tell you of an older generation, a few of whom are living with us yet. But most of them have gone west and are only a memory.
The old timers were the first to found the original pioneer society but I don’t think any of them clearly knew what it was all about. Certainly they were never bothered with much of a constitution or rules or regulations of any kind. The only thing I remember was that they had a big supper once a year and that was some supper you can believe me. Not like some lunches and banquets we get up to now a days, where you get a piece of this and a dab of that and a smell of something else. Then you are glad to get home afterwards and set down to a square meal.
They had wonderful healthy appetites these pioneers, especially the batchelors among them.
I dare say some of them didn’t quite feel comfortable for a week afterwards. There was a great deal of tobacco smoked and some wonderful stories told, great quantities of tea and coffee and other things drunk, we had no prohibition act in those days, though we believe it would have been a blessing for many if we had. It is one of our painful memories to think of how many of these splendid men had there lives shortened and there lights go out suddenly or violently because this thing was to strong for them.
I could tell you some startling things along that line but will refrain because there was a humerous as well as the tragic side to this failing of theres, and it was on occasions like this annual supper that the humerous side was apt to come out very strong.
Such as the owner of the one and only plug hat which the settlement boasted for many years. The owner, I won’t tell you his name as he is still alive, was very proud of that hat. He had brought it from England with him and he wore it to all the state occasions and ceremonies and lunchions, though he was jollie[d] by the young men unmercifully. But this night unfortunately he was wearing the hat on the way home from some party with a lot of men who had been drinking not wisely but to well. What the altercation started about I don’t know, but it ended in Henry Leach under taking on a bet to jump ten feet and clear that plug hat if it were laid down in the road. So the hat was laid down and the distance carefully measured and Leach made a supreme effort but whether the moonlight was deceiving or his legs failed him in the crisis I don’t know, but he jumped short and sat squarely down on the plug hat. Result, the bet lost and the hat to. Long remembered and sadly missed.
Old timers we had them of every type, physically, mentally and moraly. Physically from four feet to six foot four. Some you could not call other than homely by any stretch of the imagination. One at least who was the most perfect specimen of physical manhood. I have even seen mentaly from one who really needed a guardian, to one who had been a college wrangler. Moraly all the way from the brutal wretch who twisted the tails of his oxen and gouged his horses eyes out in his fits of passion, up to the local preacher the window of whose shack blew in on top of him one night when he was praying, greatly to the delight of his children. But though it surprised a yelp out of him he never said a bad word.
But they had one thing in common in characteristic in that they were all strong men, strong with the greatness of which pioneers are made. Not afraid of hard work, nor of hardship, prepaired to work patiently for results, ready to deny themselves the luxeries of life and cheerfully go on in the hopes of that which was set before them. And they had their compensations.
Very independent they were, these old timers, they could well afford to be not all given to snobbishness on the use of letters or stand on their dignity, every man was Jim, Bill, Joe or Harry to his neighbour and it was rather startling to our old world ideas to hear even boys addressing old grey headed men by their first names in this way.
We have got to be a little more upish now with all the titles by courtesy and otherwise that have been dumped among us. But there is a rather good story told in the passing of that old democratic custom, when first the colonels and majors began to come among us. It is told of old Bill Jones who was out walking one beautiful morning and met his good neighbour, Major Brown blithely walking along the road. Morning Jones sang out the major when he got in hailing distance...Morning Brown replied Bill briskly. Major to you please said Brown startchly as he pulled up level, mister if you please retorted Bill as he passed on without batting an eye or turning his head. And I rather think old Bill took the honours with him.
I would like to give you a pen portrate of some of these old timers as I have known them, right in character and well worth discribing, but there is not time, so I will tell them over by name like Joe Richards, Hughie Drummond, Billy Beaumont, Michael Smith, Bill Chisholm, Bill Duncan, Joe and Bill Drinkwater or speak to you of old Brown, Mariner, May, Burk, Hubbard, and Lilly.
Common characteristices of these old timers they were strong, independent, democratic. One other thing in common they were not puzzled over the old question, who is my neighbour? One knew everyone else by name from Chemainus to Shawnigan and the kindly welcome, the friendly word and the helping hand were as freely given to the man who lived south of the river as to the man whose boundry touched your own. And this spirit of helpfulness and neighbourliness to my mind is one of the greatest and the finest things which was given us to experience in those early days. And one of the things which you never do experience except in pioneer life of a settlement like our[s].
One other thing many of us had in common, we were mostly batchelors and in trying to describe the way we “batched it” that would open up a wide field of the broadest kind and humour.
We had them of all kinds, young and old, clean and dirty through all graduations from, the old fellow who slept in one corner of his shack while his old pig slept in the other corner. And all that each of them had was just a big bundle of fresh straw to lie down in. Report has it that on a cold winter night the old man would turn the pig out of her corner after she had warmed it up and lie down in it himself. But that might not be true. Then there is a story of the two old batchelors who invited the parson to lunch one day. The old fellows were the soul of hospitality and the lunch excellent in quality. Prime boiled mutton, potatoes boiled in there skins, bread and butter, milk and tea. The parson thought on entering that the shanty did not look overly clean and the table looked in need of a good scrubbing. But the light was bad so he let it pass. On setting down his host caught him eyeing his plate a little queerly and remarked cheerfully, “oh that platter is alright, I had my breakfast on it.”The parson quite agreed and by the looks of it thought, “yes, and a great many other breakfasts, besides.”
When it came to serving up another revelation was in store for the parson, when the old man grabbed the pot of potatoes, heaved it up and dumped the whole thing in the middle of the table. [Then] each reached over and helped himself. While a circle of four or five dogs sat round them expectantly, watching every mouthful as it disappeared. When it came to cleaning up there was another surprise awaiting the guest. The old man calmly dumped all the leftover scraps of meat, bread, peeling, potatoes onto the table, scraped them all into a pile in the middle then with a great swing of his arm swept the whole thing onto the floor. The dogs did the rest. It was so simple, there was the floor clean, the table set for the next meal, no time lost or energy wasted. Now if some of you ladies are getting tired of cleaning and scrubbing and polishing and want to get back to the simple life and near to nature, that is one way of doing it.
There was the funny batchelor who was caught cleaning his shack one day with a garden rake and simply remarked, “it isn’t difficult to keep a house clean when you get the right tool.”
To off set these we had the old batchelor who kept his house with all the trimmings and fussiness of an old maid. With every thing in its own place and a time for everything, without allowance or variation. And the two young batchelors who had the distinction of keeping the cleanest and neatest shanty in the settlement, but modesty will not let us mention names in this communication.
But we were not all batchelors and that brings us naturally to speak of the women of the early days. I do not feel that I can do them justice. In thinking over what I would say in this regard there comes over my mind a great wave of respect and admiration for there memory. If I could put the thought into a few words I would simply say “Hats Off!!” to the women of early days.
They were not all young or beautiful and they weren’t all saints, maybe just the ordinary average of woman hood, but opportunity was theirs and they rose to it grandly. Their memory is linked with all that went to brighten our homes and lighting our social life.
We talk of woman chores and womans work, but anything that needed doing was the literal application of womans work. In these days the time limit was about the same. Some men contended their day was done after working fourteen or sixteen hours, but the woman kept on long after that. Some tasks of coarse were particularly theirs, as caring for their homes and caring for their children and no little life came into the settlement but they were there, and no tired soul ever left it but they were there. Where sickness or sorrow came you found them, as well as in the place of rejoycing and mirth. And the friendly cheering word and the helping hand was theirs. Even while they carried their own burdens and cheerfully made light of the things they had to do.
I do not wish to idealize them but we do recognize they were the one great factor that went to make life livable and success possible in those early years of toil and sacrifice. They were not all old or married or mothers of families either. We had many a little romance lived out among us to. The young girls were just as sweet and attracktive and the young men were just as galant then as they are today. Many a beautiful love story was lived out among us. Some that did not end in marriage bells and some that blossomed and bore fruit, and are still a very tender memory to the old settler who had an eye for beauty and a soul for sentiment.
Our social life, some of you modern young folks would say flippantly that we didn’t have any! Oh but we had. And it centered partly around our churches and schools with all the interests these stand for.
I cannot speak with authority about Balls and Dances. These were never in my line of experience. But I can remember there use to be a batchelor ball and an Agricultural ball once a year, which were the feature of the seasons and always proved a tremendous success, socialy and financially. We even invited the [Lieut.] Governor and the Premier and other honorable persons of account and were often honoured with their presence.
End of Part 1 - To be continued…