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(?) to the fog hom. There was a small coal oil stove to cook on and a canvas bag sort of affair with a single sized spring fitted into it and a mattress and bedding. In the day time, this was pulled up to the ceiling and at night, if I remember rightly, it rested on part of one of the engines and the small table father had to eat on. If it was foggy, the bed couldn't be pulled down at all and father used to cat nap sitting in an old wooden, high backed rocking chair, his feet propped on whatever was handy. My mother made some sort of a pad to go on the back of the chair because my father was so thin the wooden rungs made his back sore. Late in the summer of 1913, my mother, brother and I left Anvil Island because the plant closed down. We spent the winter and following spring in an apartment on Woodland Drive before moving into the newly finished lighthouse. I was working part time then but was laid off at the end of the summer and from then on all I did was row back and forth to 17th Street wharf, trolling for fish. When I look back, I wonder how I put my time in. While my brother attended Hollybum School, I spent most of the time messing around the engines with my father and I knew how to start them and make the horn go. One time, I was left to hold the 'fort' alone. This particular day, I saw this dark cloud out towards Vancouver Island. I knew it was fog and I kept a watch on it. Gradually, the fog came closer and I knew the horn would have to be started soon. I had never done it without my father being there but this time I had to depend on myself and what I knew. I got one engine going and then there was this long belt to get on the fly wheel. That done, now to get the other belt back to the compressor. That done, then to let the compressor run for a minute and then two or three tap affairs to open for the hom. When any of us were coming home on the ferry, the captain would give a little toot as he passed the lighthouse and that gave somebody time to row to the point and pick up whichever of us it was and bring us home. On this day, the ferry tooted just as everything was ready to go. (Unless the wind was blowing from the west, one could not hear the horn east of the house.) My father heard the hom as the ferry passed the lighthouse. I didn't think much about what I had done because it was just part of my life being around the engines but my father was so proud of me that it was painful. I have forgotten all about the Light! It was a lovely brass lamp that was kept polished like a mirror. It was reached by climbing a ladder from the engine room and then dropping a trap door affair down, to stand on. The lamp held a certain amount of coal oil that would last so many hours and around its outside was very thick glass. I don't know how to describe that, though. If I remember rightly, there were 4 sections to these lenses and they were connected to a gadget that had to be wound up and it revolved slowly to make an 'on and off appearance. All this had to be set down into a sort of log - the time lighted and the time turned off. A separate book was kept for the 'on and off of the horn. Around the top, outside the light, there was a platform and the thick, plate glass there was cleaned every day for when the wind blew, the salt coated it and when it rained, it got streaky. In 1922, my brother was drowned from the Princess Louise* on her return maiden Alaskan trip and not very long after that, - about Armistice Day - if I remember rightly, my father took to his bed. He knew his time was limited but kept going by sheer will power. That was in 1924. In March, 1925, he passed away at the lighthouse with only my mother there. The funeral people came. I don't remember who rowed them over. They had a basket thing to carry father in. While mother and I watched from the window, they got the basket to the davit to lower it but none of them knew how to tie a knot that wouldn't slip. I must say that the rope was very thick and hard to tie. It ended up that I went