Here is the second part of my Harrison Street memories:
Many a day I waved to a college student cycling from Craigdarroch Castle (then our college) to Vic High for chemistry classes.
It was about this time that the tragic death of John Penketh occurred. He died as a result of a head injury during a rugby game between Victoria College and Oak Bay High School. He was a fine athlete and at the time of his death had been accepted by the RCAF for air crew and was to have left for training at the close of college term.
We all had our heroes at that time and some of the better known ones were the Chapmans, the Pedens, the Bakers, the Ovcharicks, the McKeachies, Busher Jackson, Austin Cullen, Arnold Ferguson, Duff McCaghey, Art McKim and of course, Hank Rowe. Hank returned from Dieppe as Victoria's hero with a Military Medal and was presented with the city's Ceremonial Medallion.
I remember stopping off at the Fernwood Meat Market on the way home from school to pick up some sausages or hamburger (minced beef we called it then) for my mother for the evening meal...the trips I made for my mom to the corner store (still there) on Begbie street, the old Chinaman and his vegetable truck which went door to door and with whom my mom ran up such a bill that in the end neither of them knew what was owing! She ended up paying him a dollar every time he arrived! I also remember the baker and his horse-drawn wagon and the fun we had giving the horse a treat. And I remember the ice-man and his delivery truck. He sawed huge blocks of ice into small sections at the back of the truck, grasped the big blocks he'd cut off with a large set of tongs, slung it over his back and made his way to the appropriate house. In his absence, we quickly scraped up the left over bits of ice and popped them into our mouths, alternating the icy chunk from side to side until we could stand it no longer.
I remember my girfriend Pat, who lived next door, being called for by her young Romeo, who tooted the car's horn which played the popular 'You Are My Sunshine', to announce his arrival. Once Pat's mother gave us both a big treat - a banana split at the Topper restaurant, then located on Yates Street near the Standard Furniture Company. It was my first banana split and I was very excited.
Every year Pat's mom planted out forget-me-nots and wall flowers in her front garden. At the time it seemed such a huge display, but now I realize it was a small area. I loved to garden and still do. I spent hours pulling weeds and setting out plants and then mother would come out and admire my handiwork.
I remember how we used to play jacks or hopscotch until it was time for supper and then you'd hear all the moms calling out their kids' names': "Beh.....tee" and a few minutes later the same call, as the first had been ignored but now the call was much firmer "BETTY!" then a pause and finally the answering all "Coming". You don't seem to hear that much any more. Maybe the kids these days all have digital watches and don't need to be reminded it is time to come home.
I recall an embarrassing moment when I breathlessly waited for the red-haired paper boy at the end of each day. The observant and cheeky man across the street sang out "Oh Mama, the paper boy for me" (the popular song at the tme was "Oh Mama, the butcher boy for me".
Many was the time my girlfriend, Margaret, and I chattered away on the phone deciding what we were going to where, then we'd meet somewhere between her place and mine on Fernwood Road. We boarded the streetcar in front of the old Emmanuel Baptist Church (now the Belfry). The streetcar trundled us into town where we window shopped, took in a movie or just had a coke with friends.
Often we went to the 'cheer-up' evening concerts held in the old bandstand at Beacon Hill Park. I can still hear the strains of 'When The Lights Come On Again All Over The World' drifting over the park. There were hundreds of people gathered there, you usually recognized most of them and certainly knew a great many. In those days you always seemed to be saying hello to someone on the street - now they are all strangers.
Often we were trailed home by lonely sailors, eager but harmless. On a few occasions we attended Robert House, which was a type of Stage Door Canteen for the boys in uniform.
One of my fondest memories is meeting my husband for the first time in a line-up at the old Dominion Theatre on Yates Street. He had just returned from military service in Burma and was accompanied by a boyfriend of mine, who introduced Ken and I. The rest is history. Many hours Ken and I spent on the porch of my home on Harrison Street and in front of that romantic fireplace!
My father paid $25/month rent for our home which had a full basement, four bedrooms and was on a quiet street close to schools and town.
Recently I saw a rezoning notice in the paper stating the house was to be torn down and an apartment building erected in its place. This sparked my desire to see 1426 Harrison Street once more.
I should not have returned. Gone was the bannister leading up to my bedroom, replaced by a blank wall. An entrance had been knocked through from the porch to a separate suite upstairs, where my treasured bedroom had been. The whole house had been turned into small units - the pantry was now a bathroom. The surrounding homes were obviously slated for demolition as they were sadly neglected. No more manicured lawns, no signs of loving care. I returned home rather despondent.
A few months later my husband and I drove by, just to see if the house was still standing. A pile of rubble greeted us.
My house is gone forever, but my memories of it linger on.
Many a day I waved to a college student cycling from Craigdarroch Castle (then our college) to Vic High for chemistry classes.
It was about this time that the tragic death of John Penketh occurred. He died as a result of a head injury during a rugby game between Victoria College and Oak Bay High School. He was a fine athlete and at the time of his death had been accepted by the RCAF for air crew and was to have left for training at the close of college term.
We all had our heroes at that time and some of the better known ones were the Chapmans, the Pedens, the Bakers, the Ovcharicks, the McKeachies, Busher Jackson, Austin Cullen, Arnold Ferguson, Duff McCaghey, Art McKim and of course, Hank Rowe. Hank returned from Dieppe as Victoria's hero with a Military Medal and was presented with the city's Ceremonial Medallion.
I remember stopping off at the Fernwood Meat Market on the way home from school to pick up some sausages or hamburger (minced beef we called it then) for my mother for the evening meal...the trips I made for my mom to the corner store (still there) on Begbie street, the old Chinaman and his vegetable truck which went door to door and with whom my mom ran up such a bill that in the end neither of them knew what was owing! She ended up paying him a dollar every time he arrived! I also remember the baker and his horse-drawn wagon and the fun we had giving the horse a treat. And I remember the ice-man and his delivery truck. He sawed huge blocks of ice into small sections at the back of the truck, grasped the big blocks he'd cut off with a large set of tongs, slung it over his back and made his way to the appropriate house. In his absence, we quickly scraped up the left over bits of ice and popped them into our mouths, alternating the icy chunk from side to side until we could stand it no longer.
I remember my girfriend Pat, who lived next door, being called for by her young Romeo, who tooted the car's horn which played the popular 'You Are My Sunshine', to announce his arrival. Once Pat's mother gave us both a big treat - a banana split at the Topper restaurant, then located on Yates Street near the Standard Furniture Company. It was my first banana split and I was very excited.
Every year Pat's mom planted out forget-me-nots and wall flowers in her front garden. At the time it seemed such a huge display, but now I realize it was a small area. I loved to garden and still do. I spent hours pulling weeds and setting out plants and then mother would come out and admire my handiwork.
I remember how we used to play jacks or hopscotch until it was time for supper and then you'd hear all the moms calling out their kids' names': "Beh.....tee" and a few minutes later the same call, as the first had been ignored but now the call was much firmer "BETTY!" then a pause and finally the answering all "Coming". You don't seem to hear that much any more. Maybe the kids these days all have digital watches and don't need to be reminded it is time to come home.
I recall an embarrassing moment when I breathlessly waited for the red-haired paper boy at the end of each day. The observant and cheeky man across the street sang out "Oh Mama, the paper boy for me" (the popular song at the tme was "Oh Mama, the butcher boy for me".
Many was the time my girlfriend, Margaret, and I chattered away on the phone deciding what we were going to where, then we'd meet somewhere between her place and mine on Fernwood Road. We boarded the streetcar in front of the old Emmanuel Baptist Church (now the Belfry). The streetcar trundled us into town where we window shopped, took in a movie or just had a coke with friends.
Often we went to the 'cheer-up' evening concerts held in the old bandstand at Beacon Hill Park. I can still hear the strains of 'When The Lights Come On Again All Over The World' drifting over the park. There were hundreds of people gathered there, you usually recognized most of them and certainly knew a great many. In those days you always seemed to be saying hello to someone on the street - now they are all strangers.
Often we were trailed home by lonely sailors, eager but harmless. On a few occasions we attended Robert House, which was a type of Stage Door Canteen for the boys in uniform.
One of my fondest memories is meeting my husband for the first time in a line-up at the old Dominion Theatre on Yates Street. He had just returned from military service in Burma and was accompanied by a boyfriend of mine, who introduced Ken and I. The rest is history. Many hours Ken and I spent on the porch of my home on Harrison Street and in front of that romantic fireplace!
My father paid $25/month rent for our home which had a full basement, four bedrooms and was on a quiet street close to schools and town.
Recently I saw a rezoning notice in the paper stating the house was to be torn down and an apartment building erected in its place. This sparked my desire to see 1426 Harrison Street once more.
I should not have returned. Gone was the bannister leading up to my bedroom, replaced by a blank wall. An entrance had been knocked through from the porch to a separate suite upstairs, where my treasured bedroom had been. The whole house had been turned into small units - the pantry was now a bathroom. The surrounding homes were obviously slated for demolition as they were sadly neglected. No more manicured lawns, no signs of loving care. I returned home rather despondent.
A few months later my husband and I drove by, just to see if the house was still standing. A pile of rubble greeted us.
My house is gone forever, but my memories of it linger on.
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