The Chronicles

Tragedy was an inevitable part of pioneer life and the Alberni Valley had its share.

The late Charles Taylor, introduced in last week’s Chronicles, was the first person I ever interviewed—initially at the urging of my employer, the Victoria Colonist, then, when he and I became unlikely friends, by choice.

Where are they now, those wonderful patent medicines that promised to relieve every ailment, human and otherwise, from “female complaints” to fallen arches and falling hair?

Alas, they’ve gone, gone the way of the old-fashioned drugstore and the dinosaur. Victims, for the most part, of advances in medicine and tightened drug laws, they’re now part of our vanished heritage.

As a lifelong practitioner of the written word, it galls me to have to admit the truth of that old expression, “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

But, as that more modern saying goes, “It is what it is.”

This French-American character was right out of a dime novel—or a 1930s movie script.

In his less than 60 years he was everything from dishwasher, pimp and Foreign Legionnaire to the friend of British royalty and the fifth richest man in the United States.

Pioneer British Columbians could be a weird and wonderful lot, as the Chronicles have often illustrated in the past.

Perhaps it isn’t surprising then that some of the earlier chroniclers who recorded for posterity the exploits of our more colourful pioneers were every bit as intriguing—sometimes even more so—than many of their subjects.

Men wept unashamedly, women swooned and young gentleman about town through kisses and flowers when Madame Anna Bishop, the toast of three continents, sang.

With her wistful Home Sweet Home, the heart-rending My Bud in Heaven, and the carefree Dashing White Sergeant, Madame Anna captivated thousands from London to Melbourne to San Francisco for half a century. Honours, fortune—and tragedy—formed the remarkable career of this remarkable lady—a true prima donna.