Remembering the Bunkhouse
My parents came to Canada in 1929 from what was named Romania after The First World War.
Within a year, they bought a derelict bunkhouse on St. Paul Street. It had previously housed workers for the Occidental Cannery on Ellis Street.
These workers came from the coast as the population in Kelowna could not provide the required workforce.
As European immigrants arrived and sought work, the bunkhouse became obsolete.
Somehow, my Dad, who barely spoke English, decided to buy the run-down building.
I never did know the selling price but Dad was promised a “regular” job at the Cannery and was apparently pleased with the arrangement.
He did many jobs as required to keep the “peeling lines” full of produce, keep cans and containers available, and eventually became the ketchup chef.
These huge vats, along the lane behind the Cannery, were filled with the dregs of the tomato crop, spices and sugar added, and the stirring began.
The vats were lined with copper heating coils, so the stirring was non-stop, or the ketchup might burn.
Many nights, I had to carry a hot supper to my father, as he still had another vat of ketchup to finish and could not leave his position.
Our family, Mom, Dad, sister Elizabeth and newborn me lived in what had been the community kitchen and dining room for the imported workers.
The 20 individual rooms were rented for $5.00 per month.
These rooms were often rented by transients who had “ridden the rails” from their homes in search of jobs.
Our “Bunkhouse” was now a “Rooming House” and was only a few doors south of the train station.
These were the years when my mother fought a valiant battle to rid the building of bedbugs.
As time went on, young men from local families rented our rooms.
We rented to East Indians and even Japanese evacuees during The Second World War. All honest people were welcomed.
As time went by, Dad cut a door between the north and south side rooms to make little apartments.
In 1938, the outhouses had been replaced by proper indoor facilities for men and women.
Toilets, bath tubs and laundry facilities were added to the building, both upstairs and down.
A vegetable garden was available and a root cellar was built with locked sections for each rental. It was a great community for younger families with limited finances.
When Dad bought the bunkhouse, it had very limited furnishings in each of the 20 rooms which were about 12 feet x 12 feet.
A small cast iron stove, a single cot with mattress, a table about the size of our card tables, two wooden chairs and a wash stand.
An enamelled dish served as container for water for personal washing, for washing dishes, and for laundry.
Water was obtained from one of two taps in the yard and carried to the room in a bucket.
A second bucket held the “slop” water which was poured on to the gardens.
A single light bulb hung from the center of the ceiling. Coils of fly paper also hung from the ceiling.
A single window and door had screens but flies still invaded at will. Hooks were on the wall behind the door – that was your wardrobe!
The backyard held two huge piles of wood — all wood purchased from the Simpson Mill.
One pile had quick burning wood that could be chopped into kindling which would start a quick fire.
The other bigger pile had larger wood which was slower burning and kept the room warmer as needed.
A chopping block and axe were always kept by the woodpile. Sometimes Dad would chop the logs so they could be stacked and save room.
This wood was included in the price of rent.
Each room also had a homemade shelf unit about five feet high and three feet wide.
It was made of “V-joint” and painted dark green enamel. The two top shelves were ten inches deep, while the two lower shelves were fourteen inches deep.
This was used for groceries, dishes, pots and pans, and whatever else a person owned. I still have one of those units!
It must be almost 100 years old. It is now painted dark brown and holds a series of school binders. It sits in my dining room and holds collections of civic news clippings, family histories, and memoirs I have written.
Another shelving unit holds loose leaf binders with the history of my start in business and details of that growth.
My living room holds a 300 year old armoire to display collections of glass and china, my sofa and chair are about 1930s Eaton Catalogue stock, and a couple of small tables are relatively old, with carving and claw feet.
My home will never be featured in Better Homes and Gardens.
I love collecting — mostly trivia, but all connected to some special memory.
But the piece that gives me the most pleasure is my shelving which has been salvaged from the Bunkhouse that Mom and Dad bought in 1929, and where I was born.