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Page 10 HERITAGE - Barbara Johnson Sitting here, in the old West Vancouver Ferry Ticket Office at the foot of 14th Street, I am steeped in memories. This is Heritage Week and, as a member of the Historical Society, I am helping to man the recently restored building. I never spent much time in this office in the old days. It was too smelly, smokey and mouldy. Only the warmth of its big, pot-bellied stove was appreciated. If it had looked then as it does now - relined, painted, well-lit and clean, I would have enjoyed much more the frequent forays searching for lost umbrellas and raincoats - the usual reason for being there. In my mind's ear, I can hear the ferry blowing its warning whistle and know the sound of its diesel engines. I can hear Captain Smith calling out as I race down 14th Street, "Hurry up. Barb, can't wait all day!" - though he did wait some days as he knew I had to get back to St. Paul's Hospital where I was in Nurses' Training. And it's easy, as I shut my eyes, to be carried back to my first trip to West Van with my Dad when I was five years old. Dad was coming from Burnaby to clear our acreage at 11th and Mathers and I was being taken along for the day. I got a big thrill out of our half-hour trip on the "Doncella" and looked forward to playing in the woods as Dad worked. I couldn't realize at that time that West Van was to be my home for most of the rest of my life. I can picture my Dad sixty years ago, resting in the office here - in this room, on his way home with two additions to our animal population for our place on Mathers. Dad had two young piglets in a sack and he was glad to set them down for a moment. The sack tipped over and the two lively porkers gave Dad and others assembled, a real chase before they were captured. Then Dad had to pack them that long way up the hill. Occasionally, Mother would have tea in the Tearooms next door and my sister and I would enjoy the rare treat of an ice cream cone as we waited here. Sometimes, we would mark hopscotch squares on the old floor with chalk filched from our classroom at Hollyburn School. This old building was a part of the excitement of going to town - an unusual occurrence in our lives. Usually only at Christmas, would we travel to Vancouver to attend the pageant at the old Pantages Theatre where Woodwards sponsored a wonderful vaudeville show. We would sit here and talk about the coming treat as we waited for the ferry. Those times sometimes seem readier than today to me as I bring myself back to the present with a start and rise to meet interested visitors. EXCERPT FROM A 1987 ANN lANDERS COLUMN "DEAR ANN: I would like to comment on the letter from a reader who found the reminiscing of old folks 'tiresome and repetitious'. I loved your reply but have a suggestion that will make these journeys into the past invaluable. WTien they get going on the old stories, turn on the tape recorder and you will have a priceless piece of history to pass on to your children and grandchildren. Tennessee celebrated "homecoming '86" last year and one of the projects was to seek out older folks and tape interviews. Someone said, "Wlien old people die, it is like a library burning down".