Established a century ago, Telegraph Cove is one of Vancouver Island’s most visited tourist destinations. From the 1920s, Irish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Danish, Italian and English community members, along with other old and new Canadians, were neighbours in a place accessible only by boat. In her new book, Boom & Bust, Jennifer Butler — great-granddaughter of the founding family of the Cove — shares the stories of 25 women, such as Emma Wastell who lived at Telegraph Cove from 1929 to 1982, and faced down the effects of isolation, hazardous terrain, war, occupation, immigration, internment, social change, economic development, community decline and environmental degradation.
One of Emma’s primary roles was as Telegraph Cove’s medical professional. Getting to the hospital in Alert Bay was sometimes very difficult, if not downright dangerous. It was eight kilometres away across the strait, a more than 40-minute trip at the best of times, and could require travelling in the dark or in a storm. But no matter how tired she was, Emma knew she had to have a clear mind and capable hands. When faced with a woman giving birth and hemorrhaging, Emma was in complete control. If the mill suddenly stopped in the middle of the day after a series of staccato whistle blasts, she would grab her bag, and brace herself for what injury she would find, which could be anything from a gash to a burn to pneumonia. One man nearly lost his finger; it was hanging by a thread. Emma popped it back into place, bound it, and got him to the hospital and stitched up. The finger was always cold and rather numb after that, but it stayed on for as long as the man drew breath, which was many years. Her bag included bandages and gauze, iodine and Mercurochrome, and even a vial of holy water brought to Canada from Rome by a staunch Catholic woman up-Island. Emma carried it with her everywhere, not because she believed in its properties but because some poor unfortunate might. Patients also received occasional medicinal help from Tom Yui, who lived behind the bunkhouse, although Emma never knew it. If a wave of influenza washed over the working population of single men, Tom would dispose of one of his chickens and make a vat of soup for the stricken lads, which he delivered along with a bottle of his home-brewed whisky.
During the saltery days, Emma got used to seeing fish poisoning and bad cuts. Later, it was worry over pregnant women close to due dates. Pregnancy wasn’t talked about in polite society and was often concealed for as long as possible. Emma would have to try and guess how far along a woman was by oblique observation, without looking too openly. These families typically had no money to stay in Alert Bay for a day or two before getting to hospital, or had small children to look after, or didn’t speak English, so there was often a scramble when it was time. Emma always ensured there was a white enamelled box with basic first-aid items in case she had to deliver a baby in the boat. One night she, Fred, and Japanese parents-to-be set off in the Klinekwa, but engine problems meant they had to return to the house. They put the expectant mother in a baby buggy and wheeled her back along the boardwalk as fast as they could. The baby decided it was not fast enough and was born right in the millyard.
Early one morning, Emma found a man banging on the door and shouting that there was a woman in a boat about to give birth; they’d gotten lost in the fog and couldn’t get to the hospital. Emma went down to the dock and squeezed into the little gas boat. She had to straddle the engine in order to help deliver the baby safely. It was born with a rare caul, a thick membrane covering its face, which, to deflect anxiety, Emma told the new mother was a sign of good luck. Once baby and mother were deemed healthy enough, their boat was towed to Alert Bay.
On another morning, an employee ran over and told Emma to come quickly because his wife had just had a baby. Emma found that, yes, a baby had arrived safely into the world, but it was tucked so tightly in the bedclothes it had turned blue. Trying to make him breathe, she alternated cuddlings and slappings until Fred brought a stretcher and could take them all to Alert Bay. Emma kept up her ministrations for a little over an hour until, just as they were tying up by the hospital, the baby took a great big breath of air and was fine.
One man nearly lost his life on the mill deck when splitting logs. Another lost two fingers in the planer. There were few fatal accidents. One involved a man who fell over the dock when loading lumber and struck his head on the fender log, dying instantly. Another man committed suicide in the bunkhouse. A young boy playing on the logs — which was forbidden, but always attempted when adults weren’t looking — slipped through the logs that were rolling free within the boom of logs chained together on the water. The usual fear was that the logs would roll over the unfortunate person’s head, preventing resurfacing, but, as this boy was wearing his father’s heavy caulk boots, he instead sank straight down into the mud and drowned.
Both Wastell girls had narrow escapes. As a baby, Pat was left in her buggy on the boardwalk at the foot of the long flight of steps leading up to the Wastell house. It was a windy day and Emma, who had just walked back up the stairs to close her door after bringing the large buggy down, looked down to see the buggy being propelled toward the dock by a jaunty westerly wind. Emma ran down the stairs, fell, and badly skinned her legs, but was able to reach the buggy just before it hit the edge. When Bea was about 10 years old, she was playing on the outer float, which was also out of bounds, with Phyllis Henders, the daughter of one of the short-term bookkeepers. Reaching for something, Bea fell in, and tried to scramble out as the other girl grabbed her and tugged and tugged, successfully getting her back on the float. Both girls were chastised, but Emma hugged the other girl before seeing to a shivering Bea. Emma was generally a very protective parent, although the girls were allowed to row boats out on their own, with life-jackets, of course. There were few powerboats in those days, and most people rowed miles and miles in all weather. However, one had to be aware of the tides. If the tide change was ever missed, the best thing to do was just to let the water take the rowboat with it, and wait until the tide turned. Otherwise, every ounce of energy would be used to row against it, still resulting in getting nowhere.
The book launch for Boom & Bust is Thursday, July 18, at 7 p.m. at Bolen Books.
Excerpted with permission from Boom & Bust by Jennifer Butler, 2019, TouchWood Editions. Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Butler.
