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fVesi Vancouver tiistorictil Society SEPTEMBER 2003 THE BREAD LADY OF HOLLYBURN RIDGE Barbara and Larry Hughes of West Vancouver sent in this fascinating story written by their cousin, Vincent Hernandez, about Vincent's life with his mother in the 30’s and 40's in West Vancouver. Many thanks to you both for thinking of us. We are sure some members will remember the "Bread Lady of Hollybum Ridge" - I believe the year was 1936, when I was seven years old, that my mother and father decided to separate. We had been living in West Vancouver, at Fifteenth and Palmerston, across the street from the Langleys. After the break up my mother and I went to live with my grandmother for a time, in the big brown house on the top of Sentinel Hill. For those few people old enough to remember, this was the house that could be seen so prominently from the West Vancouver Ferry as it forged its way through the First Narrows towards the Ambleside dock. 1 cannot remember how long we lived with my grand- mother, but apparently it was long enough for my mother to decide and act upon a few things. Remember, this was in the "Dirty Thirties", when jobs were not very plentiful. I guess she did not expect to receive any money from my father, or perhaps she would not touch it even if it were offered. Whatever the case, she decided to move to Hollybum Mountain where she could earn a living (she hoped) and at the same time keep an eye on her young son while he was growing up. To get started she borrowed money from my grandmother and, I believe, from my Uncle Larry, in order to build and furnish a cabin on the mountain. Toward the end of the nineteen thirties there was a small population of semi-permanent residents on Hollybum Mountain. At "First Lake", as it was called, there were "the Swedes" - 0.scar, Andrew, Ole and Steena who owned and operated the Hollybum Ski Lodge; Ted Russell, the municipal Ranger, his wife Ada, and daughter Evelyn; and Mr. Pogue, the elderly resident guru. At "West Lake", which I remember (perhaps incorrectly) as being about two miles south of First Lake, there were the Jones brothers, Fred and Harry, who were busy building the "new" West Lake Ski Lodge in a location that was outside the boundaries of the West Vancou- ver watershed area, (where the "old" one had been located.) Between West Lake and Hollybum Lake, and to the west, there were numerous cabins scattered around the mountain. I would guess there were at least fifty, perhaps more. Most of the.se cabins were owned by week-enders, but there was a small group of young men calling themselves "the ski bums", who worked when and where they could, pooled their re- sources. and lived there "year-round". The names I remember w'ere Jack Pratt, Bud James, Eddie Oakley and Fred Burfield. Two of these ski bums. Jack Pratt and Bud James, contracted to build my mother's cabin. Our new residence-to-be was a t^^pical Hollybum Mountain ski cabin with a bam style roof, one main room for living, and a ladder up to a sleeping loft that extended over the entrance porch. Later, my mother enclosed the porch and made it into a kitchen. I remember as a child, supposed to be sleeping, creeping forward so that 1 could look down into the cabin and listen to the fascinating conversations that were taking place below’ me. Unfortunately, unless I was very careful, the boards would creak and I would be caught. Once the cabin was built and the furnishings (such as they were) installed, my mother started on her new career as home bakery proprietor, Hollybum Mountain. Before I continue I should tell you how the furnishings, including a big iron woodstove, got to our cabin. In addition to his duties as municipal Ranger, Ted Russell was also the mountain's moving company. He and his horse Baldy would, for a pretty low price, undertake to carry w'hatever the mountain residents needed to keep them in the style to which they were accustomed. 1 do not remember what other goods we had, but I do remember the stove on Baldy's back, and wondering how it got there, how it stayed there, and if both the stove and the horse would make it all the way to our cabin in one piece. They did, and the bakery business started. Home made brown bread, white bread, buns and coffee rings were the items my mother Mrs. Hughes, (she dropped her married name after the separation) or "the Bread Lady", to everyone but me, made for sale. When fresh, they were delicious. Unfortunately my mother and 1 seldom ate them fiesh. Fresh was for the customers. Whatever did not sell was for us. We had two types of customers - the drop-ins and the residents. The drop-ins were mainly the people who came up for the weekend, and were lured to our cabin by the sign on the main trail:- "The Bread Cabin", with directional arrows every so often along our trail. The drop-ins were very important to us. Without them we could survive, but Just barely. With them we might have a few extras, like some jam on our bread. Most of the residents had standing orders for so many loaves of bread each week (or buns, or coffee rings) so my mother had some idea of what she would need to bake. Some of them came to our cabin themselves to pick up their week's supply of baking, partly, I believe to socialise, since a transaction might take two hours or more for a couple of loaves of bread. 1 would enjoy these sessions very much since they would break up the monotony of the week, take me away from my correspondence school studies, and if I was lucky, I would hear an interesting story or two. The mountain people were great story tellers. Our two main resident customers were the ski lodges. They would buy, among other things, coffee rings, which they cut up and sold in .sections to hungry skiers. My job was delivery boy. I would put about twelve loaves of bread into a pack on a Trapper Nelson packboard, with coffee rings carefully placed on top, and take off on my weekly routes which included the two ski lodges and some private cabins. 'West Lake Ski Lodge was my favourite destination. They bought the most loaves of bread, .so when I left there my pack would be substantially lighter. There was another reason why Vincent liked Fred Jones. That story, and much more, will be concluded in the next issue.