The Laws

So the story goes, my Grandfather left his wife and job at a British railway in Yorkshire for the wild adventure that was Canada. The year was 1910, and you would think for a man of 30 he would have been far too long in the tooth to be setting off on some retelling of Robert Service. But he did!

Enroute to the west coast of Canada he ran out of money in Saskatchewan and decided to stay. Thus would begin his 30 year love of the North; hunting, fishing, farming, all those things people from Saskabush seem to revere!

Since the train ran through Swift Current about the time he ran out of money, this is where he stayed, finding work in a local hotel as a night manager. It was in Swift Current that he met Paul Schwager. Instantly a lasting friendship was formed, surrounding their shared love of shooting, skeet shooting in particular. Days off would find them, pipes billowing, broken 12 gauge nestled in the crook of an arm, traipsing about the countryside or hunkering down at the local shooting parlor.

But war was afoot by 1914, and Grandad answered Lord Kitchener’s call, returning to England where he spent the next four years training soldiers for the front lines. Because of his age at the time (34) he was kept to the rear in England, his only ‘war wound’ a broken arm from falling off his bicycle on the way to the pub!

When the war ended and Grandad was de-mobilized he returned to Canada and settled in the small town of Prairie River, just a hop, skip and a jump from the Manitoba border and just south of the North Pole. Quickly the entrepreneur that he was took hold and he bought into the general store, two farms and even for a time the local Ford dealership! But as much as he loved northern Saskatchewan, he found the winters and isolation long, sneaking off to Swift Current several times a year to visit the Schwagers.

It was at the Schwagers that he happened to meet a young, just out of school, teacher named Alice Smith, ‘Dolly’ to her friends and family. Miss Smith was recently engaged to teach at a one room schoolhouse in the tiny community of Maple Creek about 60 miles southwest of Swift Current in the Cypress Hills. The year was 1925 and my Grandad was smitten.

So the story continues, while dancing with Miss Smith my Grandad leaned over and asked her to marry him! Today that might be a bit shocking, her at 23 and him at 45! But Dolly just laughed, looked him in the eye and told him that if he quit drinking and carousing at the end of her year at Maple Creek she would marry him!

And so it was, he went back to Prairie River, threw away the liquour and lived a quiet, industrious life for the next year. With Paul Schwager’s attestation he returned to Swift Current exactly one year later and married my Grandmother!

Together they lived in Prairie River, raising three children along the way; my Father, my Uncle and my Aunt. And while my Grandad taught the boys the value of hard work and spending time in the outdoors, my Grandmother taught my Father the piano and all three to draw and paint.

It was a match made in heaven! Even though he was over 50 at the time my Grandad was completely in his wife’s grasp, sparing no expense for her happiness, even sending her and the children every Summer by train to White Rock to visit her family! My Grandad also never drank a drop of alcohol all the years they were married!

In 1938, when Laurelle was just two, Dolly was diagnosed with breast cancer, spending many months in hospital in Saskatoon. She returned home, still feeling tired but cheerful that the dread disease had been caught. Her time at home would be short, the cancer returning with a vengeance. On April 24, 1940 she passed away in Saskatoon, only 13 years after her marriage to my Grandad.

Grandad was inconsolable. My Father once told me that his Father did not take a sober breath for months, locking himself in his office at the store and speaking to no-one. Imagine being an 11 year old boy, the eldest of three, and responsible for your 8 year old brother and 3 year old sister! My Father grew up fast, perhaps too fast.

My Grandad aged rapidly after my Grandma’s death. He was 59 when she died and was suddenly not interested in the busy life of a shopkeeper, salesman and farmer in northern Saskatchewan. My Father went to work beside him, in the store, stooking wheat in the fields, hauling bales of hay with the tractor before his 12th birthday, whatever needed to be done. It was a hard life for my Father, losing his mother and his childhood in just a few months, and it would form his attitude for the rest of his life!

By 1943 my Grandad was ready for retirement. At 63 years old, the years in the north and three small children had worn him down to a shadow of his former self. Newly married to Louise, his former housekeeper, Grandad sold off the store, the farms, the dealership, in fact everything he owned in Prairie River (and some things he gave away!), loaded the family on the train and headed west.

My Grandad valued his privacy, so he went looking for property on Vancouver Island, near enough to a serviceable town yet far enough from neighbours for his peace and quiet. In the end he settled on a parcel of five lots, three on the ocean side of the Island Highway and to on the inland side about 15 miles from Courtenay and 10 miles from the smaller town of Campbell River.

And that, in a nutshell, is how my family came to live at Oyster Bay!

Over time my Father and siblings drifted off into life, my Uncle to Vancouver for a career with BC Telephone Company (now Telus), my Aunt to teachers college in Vancouver and Father to driving truck in the woods building roads. Along the way Father married my Mother in 1947 and out popped seven children in the next 10 years (one passed on, sadly, just after being born), in an undersized bungalow on Cedar Street in Campbell River.

When my Grandad passed on in 1958 (I was about 6 months old) his will stipulated that the small property at the south end of the parcel, with cottage would be for my grandmother Louie, the two parcels west of the highway were to be sold, as was the property at the north end of the beachside parcel (this became the home of Jack Torrance and his wife). All that remained was the main property, 400 feet of prime waterfront with one bedroom on the main floor and two large dormitory style rooms on the second floor. This property was to be decided on by my Father and my Uncle, for the price of $3500, a princely sum in 1958!

Since my uncle lived in Vancouver he had little need of a house in Oyster Bay and after some jiggling of finances received his $3500 and off he went back to the city.

And that, in a nutshell, was how I came to live at Oyster Bay!

The main property was bordered on the west by the Island Highway, the only highway from Victoria to Campbell River, later Port Hardy. The highway had undergone many transitions, from cart track to tidal road where passage was only possible at low tide, to the two lane paved highway of the 1950’s. My Grandfather (Pop, my Mother’s Father) once said that it took two days to travel from Victoria to Menzies Bay, north of Campbell River during the 1920’s when he was bringing his new bride to the Stewart-Bloedel-Welch boom camp where he worked! And I have heard other stories of cars marooned by a high tide, stuck on a sandbar until the tide receded again! Today a freeway runs down the middle of the Island, and a trip from Victoria to Campbell River takes less than three hours!

Perhaps now would be as good a time as any to properly introduce the rest of the Law family.

My Father, Clifton Smith, generally called ‘Clif’ was a truck driver, then trucking company owner, then a millwright, and during our years at Oyster Bay the resident expert at all things construction at our local building supply.

My Mother, Margaret Kathleen, generally known as ‘Peggie’ or ‘Peg’ was a stay at home Mom until I came along, which probably made her consider a new career choice. A whiz at budgets and numbers once I was able to start school she went to work as a bookkeeper at the same building supply as my Father, which eventually had some disastrous effects on our lives.

My oldest sibling is my sister, Penelope Elizabeth, generally known as ‘Penny’ or ‘Pen’ is almost exactly 10 years older than myself (minus 1 day actually). She graduated high school when I was in Grade 2 and headed off to the University of British Columbia to study microbiology. Growing up in Oyster Bay Pen was often the babysitter for the rest of us clowns and it was her that gave me the nickname I am known by in the family (and which shall remain nameless).

Three years younger than Pen was my oldest brother Richard Smith, generally known as ‘Rich’ or ‘Dick’ by my Father or ‘The Dick’ by myself and friends. Rich was just a bit different from the rest of us, often grumpy and standoffish. He and my next brother in line had a long standing enmity of unknown origin.

Two years younger than Rich, Jonathon Edward, or ‘JL’ was the ectomorph of the family, extroverted to a fault and the life of the party. For a number of years at Oyster Bay JL and I shared the south dormitory style bedroom much to his chagrin, until he moved out at 16 (which is a whole other story!). Five years older than myself, JL was (possibly still is) an incredibly gifted cartoonist and it was trying to emulate his style that first started my journey in art (don’t tell him, I will never live it down!).

Pamela Joan or ‘Pam’ came next in line, 14 months after JL. Pam was always very studious, sort of the diametric opposite of JL. When my Mother went to work as a bookkeeper it was Pam that took over the cooking duties – at a mere 10 years old! To this day she is a phenomenal cook, though her main claim to fame is as an accountant and owner of a jewellery business.

And then you have the Terrible ‘Twins’.

Doralyne Mary, or ‘Dodie’ or ‘Dode’ is 2 years younger than Pam but only 14 months older than myself. Do you see the twinning? Jl and Pam are 14 months apart as are Dode and myself.

Like Pam, Dode has always been studious, taking care to make sure her school assignment were best quality and on time. She worked hard for her success in life and often looked at me with a face palm or shake of her head.

And then I came along, the youngest, the brat of the family, probably far more Huck Finn than I realized at the time…