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mEmORIES OF CHRISTinflS DURDRRRVE1922 By : Vlxid (Re^d) Vdly VJhpn my f*amily moved from Vancouver to Dundarave in West Vancouver in 1919i where we lived until 192^, I was not really old enough to remember all events that took place in the dim past. However, some of my memories are vivid, and have lingered on to remind me of the almost dream world of bygone days. In late December on a day filled with snow and sunlight my sister and I were sent to collect the mail, each hoping our fabulous English parcel would arrive. It was the highlight of our Christmas when we opened the large boxful of exciting gifts ^hat came a"* 1 the way from Britain, Warmly dressed in our leather gaiters, up to our knees in deep snow, we made our way toward the local drugstore. The post-office was located in the back corner of the Dundarave Pharmacy, and the mail was doled out by the druggist himself. It was less than a week until Christmas Day and our mother was fretting about the parcel, because it always contained a wondrous plum pudding in a bowl wrapped in a white cloth, knotted on top, "Auntie Kathleen does make such a good pudding, I do hope the parcel arrives before Christmas, or 1*11 have to whip up a pud'^ing myself. I*m. far too busy this week," Mother fussed each day. We lived in a tiny house (everyone called it the Green House) on 25th and Bellevue, just below thef'P.G.E, Railway tracks. Next to our house on the corner was a fairly large wooden building that ooerated as a store - just a stone* s throw from the Dundarave Pier, It was pale yel"ow and the windows were large, andthe door dingled when opened. We had a boardwalk from the back porch to the gate at the entrance to our lot. It was raised up a few feet off the ground, and my Dad always called it the duckwalk. I recall how I used to stand on the rung of the gate to see over the top a^d wave to my Dad as he climbed aboard the train each morning on '^is way to work in Vancouver. xhe F.G.E. ran the workers into North Vancouver, where they took the ferry across Burrard Inle^ to Vancouver City. Barbara and I finally reached the pharmacy on the south-east corner of 23th Street and Marine Drive. Inside it was dimly lit and spooky with all those shelves full of teetering bottles and jars of magic potions and noisons. "Get in Line, Shrimp," (my nickname) Barbara whispered. We always whispered in that dark old building, as if it was the p"ace of a holy healer of dreadful maladies. We kept our- elbows in tight to our sides and squeezed into the crowded lineup in front of the post-office wicket. There was Mrs. Lang with Billy - my best friend- and Cyril and his Vhm - he vras old like my sister - and Gordie and Mrs. Dickie Stemson. Mrs. Dickie had T.E. because I*d heard my mother telling a friend in a hushed voice that Dickie was consumptive. Most of the children were with their mothers but vre were grown up enough to get the mail by ourselves. When our turn arrived, by standing on tiptoe, I could just peek over the ledge o"^ the wicket, and I was just about to stutter my m.em.orized question "Is there any mail for the Reids?" when my sister beat me to it with a loud request for m.ail for Mirs. Lestock Reid. The iost-master-druggist lifted a great brown-paper parcel off a shelf and was just able to squeeze it thmuph the wucket opening. At last our cherished package had reached us all the way from England. We were so excited that we both grabbed it, fumbled, and drooped it upon the snow-v:et floor, spilling the contents among the feet of the waiting people. Everyone helped stuff the spevred gifts into their cru’T'rl ed tissue wrappers. There were woolen socks, scarves, ke\q:)ie dolls, games, tops, and a wonderful rubber ball with a painted face which, when I clutched it, a red tongue popped out of its mouth. But alas*. The Christmas pudding! The brown "^unp lay among a bed of broken china from the shattered bowl. Embarrassed and devastated, we rushed home vith our tattered gifts, "Mummy, everything fell out a"1 over the floor and the pudding broke," we sobbed, as if there would never be ano*:her Santa Claus. "Oh bother*. Now I’ll have to make a nudding. Mine are never as good as Kathleen*s."