s far back as I can remember Father's place was all made and in order. The house was large and well-built, of Californian redwood, the garden prim and carefully tended. Everything about it was extremely English. It was as though Father had buried a tremendous homesickness in this new soil and it had rooted and sprung up English. There were hawthorn hedges, primrose banks, and cow pastures with shrubberies.
We had an orchard and a great tin-lined apple room, wonderful strawberry beds and raspberry and current bushes, all from imported English stock, and an Isabella grape vine which Father took great pride in. We had chickens and cows and a pig, a grand vegetable garden--almost everything we ate grew on our own place.
The Book of Small by Emily Carr.
Image#: top: B.C. Archives C-03805; left: Private collection
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romise me that you will never build a Public House on the land," and Mrs.Lush said, "No, Mr.Carr, I never will." But as soon as the land was hers, Mrs.Lush broke her word, and put up one of the horridest saloons in Victoria right there.
Mrs.Lush's Public House was called the Park Hotel, but afterwards the name was changed to the Colonist Hotel. It was just a nice drive from Esquimalt, which was then a Naval Station, and hacks filled with tipsy sailors and noisy ladies drove past our house going to the Park Hotel in the daytime and at night. It hurt Father right up till he was seventy years old, when he died.
The Book of Small by Emily Carr.
Image#: B.C. Archives F-00023
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