Barry Hinklenton was born in West Vancouver in 1929 and, apart from a three-year stint in New Zealand, spent all of his life on the North Shore and Lions Bay. He died in March 2015. In this story, which was read at his memorial at Doc Morgan’s in May, he recounts sailing to Bowen Island to join the dance party that arrived on the Lady Alexandra on Saturday nights.
by Barry Hicklenton
What memories and many thoughts race back to those, what I would now consider, carefree days. Each new season brought its own adventures and treasured memories.
Which brings me to Snug Cove, Union Steamship Days and the Lady Alexandra. My first job, as clerk at the Bank of Nova Scotia, and pay of $98 per month, didn’t leave much for important things like fun.
My friend Grant owned a nice 16-foot day sailboat. We would leave our job at the bank at noon on Saturday, catch the streetcar to Jericho, stuff our work clothes in his small locker, change and head for Snug Cove. There were a few outboard motors, but they were very unreliable, expensive, noisy and smoky. All we needed was a paddle to get us away from the dock then a several-hour lazy sail to Bowen, drop our anchor among other boats and call the ‘shore boat’, which would bring fast service from a number of young people in their row boats to take us to shore for, I think, a dime each.
The dock would be crowded with holidayers awaiting the arrival of the Lady Alexandra, which left Vancouver after the department stores closed; all the clerks along with it and what seemed like hundreds of telephone operators who would race on board. As the ship pulled in, and the waving and shouting between friends, I am sure the ‘Alex” heeled over several degrees as all the passengers crowded to the dock side.
The anticipation of an evening was in the air. The orchestra, which played on the journey, now made its way to the dance pavilion and the aura of the ‘Holiday Isle’ was in full swing. Thousands would crowd to the dance floor, circular in shape, supported on springs to ease the feet, the bandstand in the centre. It could hold 800 dancers. Altogether too soon, the 30-second steam whistle of the Alex would sound at 12:30am; the youthful energy exhausted. Once again the dock was crowded to capacity, with the Alex backing out, the quiet waving, the orchestra playing an appropriate tune – it was over. The cabin people cleared the dock in a matter of moments, lights turned off. Except for the odd stray dog and the cry ‘shore boat’ for the next while, all was silent. The stars, you could reach up and pull them from the sky. The trail of phosphorous in the water from the oars of the shore boats gave them an ethereal look.
Grant and I would unroll our sleeping bags on the restricted space each side of the centreboard trunk, the floor boards our mattress, and we were soon asleep to the motion of the boat and water lapping the sides. The early summer sun, with its warming rays, soon awakened all but some determined souls. Back on shore for a breakfast, the only sound being a knife and fork on porcelain plate.
It seemed to be about noon when a decision was finally taken – we still had to get home. Most boats hoisted anchor, with paddle to clear the cove and hoist the sails; there always seemed a breeze to get back to Jericho. Another streetcar ride to the ferry crossing then a bus to 26th & Marine. Then the walk home ... if it was my week to cut the grass — an ugly reminder of the real world
