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Easter on the Mountain

I always remember the week- end of Good Friday to Easter Sunday, because of  the hot cross buns that mom used to heat up and serve, buttered. They tasted really good.   Then of course there was THE big day Easter Sunday.  If the weather was nice, we all got up very early and hiked up Mt. Tolmie just before sunrise.

About 1928, a new illuminated cross had appeared on the mountain.  It was six metres high with a four- metre crossbar, and outlined by single red neon tubing, built by Bill Bayliss of Bayliss Neon.  The modern age had come to the Easter Sunrise Service.  Bayliss built a home on the mountain  many years later.

  

As kids we used to watch for the cross to go up.  Suddenly, one day it was there and someone would cry ‚ "The cross is up!‚"  It was an eye-catching and inspiring sight, as it glowed in the night, 125 metres above the city.  On Easter Sunday everyone dressed in his/her Sunday best, as the saying goes, and, some who could afford it actually bought, or made,  new outfits.  Young and old came to the mountain in droves from all areas of Greater Victoria. 

Many of the youngsters climbed the mountain by a more precarious route, scrambling up the rugged side, enjoying the challenge of forging a new trail.  On exceptionally fine Easter Sundays, many carried blankets and picnic baskets intending to make an outing of it. 

It was somewhat like a pilgrimage, although many on the scene could well have been agnostic or even atheist. All were drawn by the magnetism of the day and the beauty of the mountain.

The B.C. Electric Company arranged for their streetcars to depart terminals at 6:15 a.m. running to Mt. Tolmie.  Because of this special [streetcar] service, a double Tickets were normally six for 25 cents.

When all were assembled, barely a square foot of mountain remained uncovered by human form, waiting quietly for Dr. Davies to speak from the highest point, where he stood facing the East.  Below the cross, on the lower ground, sitting or standing on the uneven terrain, people of all denominations would wait for his words.  The Easter Service touched all of us in one way or another. Even hard-nosed reporters, obviously moved by the occasion, revealed their feelings in their comments:

"The distant sound of a church bell...echoing against the ridge of rocks....was an index of the call Easter was making to the worshippers‚  With Spring flowers in bloom and the buds of the broom turning to gold among the verdant foliage.  The waters of the straits and the gulf, shimmered in the early morning sunshine.  The Olympics were palest blue, capped with banks of snow."

In order to reach his audience spread out around the mountain top, Davies installed an electric amplifier.  Frank Hall was quoted in the Times in 1975, as saying, "We had a Magnavox unit with a vacuum battery set, and horns something like the horns on His Master Voice Victrola, for a loud-speaker system.  Jack MacKay set the unit up, with Leo Main giving advice.

  

"Just as Dr. Davies was ready to start, someone tripped over the connecting wires and we had to work like blazes for a few minutes to get the thing going."

The Mt. Tolmie Sunrise Services continued for nearly 20 years.  The largest crowd gathered was estimated to have reached 8,000.    The smallest crowd was the result of torrential rain that didn't  let up all morning.  Only a few hardy souls stayed around to listen to the service that was shortened to 30 minutes.  In 1937, Dr. Davies spoke to the gathered mountain worshippers for the last time.  He died in 1951, at the age of 61, in Los Angeles, California. 

When World War Two was declared the services were stopped when the mountain was put off limits by the Dept. of National Defence.

Through the subsequent decades, time, tourists and residents have taken their toll on the mountain.  Progress has encroached where songs of many birds filled the air, in those halcyon days, when one could barely step without crushing a beautiful peacock flower, Easter lily or chocolate lily.  Nearly everyone who went up the mountain came down again, boarding the streetcar bearing a bouquet of these freshly picked wildflowers.

Rock-a-bye Baby

Ken Stofer-My Life.

FOUL BAY, VICTORIA, B.C. AS A WEE BABY

The telling of this story is not by me, but from memories of my mother's story telling.  It was 1921. At the time my parents lived in Foul Bay, in a rented house right above the beach, on the bank.  Times were tough.   Dad used to go out in a row boat and fish for just about anything he could catch.  He was actually fishing for our next meal. Mom deserved "a break" so I [just a wee baby] always went along with dad in the boat, all tucked up in blankets, practically at dad's feet. 

I was told in later years that the rocking of the boat put me to sleep immediately.  At one time, years later when I could understand, mom told me that I was considered dad's lucky charm.  On one hand I was someone he could talk to, or rather mumble to about the good or bad fishing days, even though my response, if I was awake, was generally just a sort of gurgle.
Whenever I heard that story [and I did hear it many times], I realize what a wonderful experience it was for me, and what a wonderful sleep with rocking of the boat and breathing in of fresh sea air.  It is a wonder I didn't take to the sea and become a sailor. Interestingly enough, I never was fond of the ocean and I never did learn to swim. Many, many years later, as an adult I have never driven by that spot on the Victoria waterfront without recalling all of the story of that time in my parents' life when they were really struggling and I an innocent wee baby in a rocking boat was totally unaware of how desperate they were to make a life for us all; myself and my older brothers, Eric and Reggie.
  

MOBILE SIGNALS UNIT #5836 BECOMES OPERATIONAL

The tank was always kept topped up.  All auxiliary batteries were kept charged and topped up.  While we were near camp we had a long land line that supplied power direct from the camp diesel generators, but we could operate efficiently on our own.   AND THEN! -  one day we were in business, that is, totally operational.  We could go anywhere at a moments notice, and we did, but for now we were located on this high point of ground amid the rice fields about a 20-minute walk from our basha.  We were Mobile Signals Unit # 5836 and from here we commenced to operate three Beaufighter squadrons, 27, 177 and 211, from our own strip, and any other aircraft requiring assistance. 

A small ditch about ten feet wide, which was actually one of the winding little tributaries of the Irrawaddy river, came very close to our tender.  We had to build another little bridge across it on the top of large empty fuel drums.  When the tide was out, miles and miles away, the drums rested on the ground.  When the tide was fully in, the bridge rode high on the drums in the water.  On shift in the still of the night it was quite eerie to hear the gurgle of water as the tide slowly "crept" in.

The airstrip was about a ten minute walk away. Our actual living quarters bashas, were on the other side of the airstrip and were made entirely of bamboo.   We didn't have windows as such; just open areas that could be filled as required with drop-down bamboo windows, but open in the hot season.  There was no electricity, just lamps, candles or flashlights.  We were about eight miles from Japanese lines, but between us and them was a very, very thick, almost impenetrable jungle. 

Some chah wallahs (tea & goodies) who could freely roam the camp were bribed by friends of the Japanese [Indian or Bengalies], to toss grenades in the open-windowed bashas. During my time there I didn't hear of any deaths as a result of this.  It didn't happen to me in my basha.  Some lads elected to sleep on the ground between the bashas and take their chances with snakes.  This (grenade) situation was short-lived and soon corrected.

One nice feature of the camp was that there was practically nothing on which to spend money.  It was easy to save.  If you didn't need,  or didn't want to go on pay parade you didn't  A list was put up in the cookhouse, the Tuesday before parade.  If you wanted some money  you just wrote your name on the list with the amount required.  Then you went and got it,  just like you would at a bank and without all of the coming to attention bullshit, "SIR! Stofer, 801"  It was great.

To begin with we went on a four-watch system, which gave us plenty of time off to write letters home, do our washing etc.  There were quite a few new guys here and I only list their names, so that they will not be forgotten:  Les Warren, Len Baxter, Sid Clayton, Arthur Godfrey, Dick Hawkes, Frank Laundon, Pete Humphreys and Ron Hinton.  It wasn't long before Arthur Godfrey got ex-Burma on medical grounds, then Les Warren was posted on a Combined Ops course.   Then Dick Hawkes left ex-India medical grounds.  Pete Humphreys was posted home to UK as he was nine days over his four year tour of duty.   As a result, our time on shift became more frequent. 

I think this is a good time to tell you what I was doing. Our Mobile Signals Unit was required, at a moments notice to service any aircraft in need at any time. From our airstrip we operated three Beaufighter Squadrons, 177, 211 and later 27.  A squadron consisted of 12 aircraft each when all were fully operational.  

Depending on the age of each aircraft and what damage it had received in action, we were generally operating only about nine of the 12.  This would be about 27 aircraft at one time.  We were a sort of control tower working in conjunction with the operations room that was located right on the air strip.  Missions for the day or night, would be discussed and planned in the Ops room.   We would be given the orders of the day, or night, squadron numbers involved, departure times and approximate arrival times.  We were never given the target destination of our aircraft.

Every squadron had a name and each flight of three or four aircraft in each squadron had a colour, such as BLUE, GREEN, YELLOW or RED.  So if a flight consisted of three,  there would be a Blue One, Blue Two and Blue Three.  Same for the other colours.   Each squadron would also have another designation such as FOXTROT or WITCHCRAFT or TOMAHAWK.  Names were chosen that had a sharp and distinct sound on the R/T.  When an aircraft was about to take off and become airborne, the pilot would call us.  We were called BENTON, while at Chiringa.  The pilot would simply say, "Hello Benton this is Foxtrot Blue One, about to Scramble."  This was his way of telling us his squadron,  his position in the squadron, and that he was taking off on his mission.  Each aircraft would follow this procedure.  When they were all airborne the flight leader would usually be the No. 1 man and on spotting all of his mates, he would chat with them getting them to fall into line and off they would go.  TO BE CONTINUED