We probably have more monkey puzzle trees in BC than in all of their native Chile. The quirky trees started arriving in gardens in the 1920s.
In 2012, I wrote a book called Sensational Victoria and one of my favourite chapters was Heritage Gardens. I visited and then wrote about large rich-people’s gardens like Hatley Park, and smaller ones like the Abkhazi Garden on Fairfield road built on the back of a love story. There was Carole Sabiston’s beautiful garden on Rockland Avenue anchored by a 100-year-old purple lilac tree, and the garden Brian and Jennifer Rogers created around their century-old Samuel Maclure designed horse stable. (Brian is the grandson of BT Rogers, the Vancouver sugar king, and another ardent gardener).
Nellie McClung at her Ferndale Road home in 1949. Courtesy Saanich Archives
On the back cover of the book, there’s a photo of Nellie McClung standing in front of a giant monkey puzzle tree at the house she retired to at Gordon Head in 1935.
Lurancy Harris, the first female police officer in Canada, built her house on Venables in 1916. When I went to photograph it, the now two-storey house was dwarfed by a monkey puzzle tree that she’d planted in her front garden.
Lurancy Harris built 1836 Venables in 1916 and planted herself a monkey tree.
I’ve always had a thing for monkey puzzle trees—they seem to go particularly well with turrets, old houses and great stories. But I’ve never given them much thought until I was chatting with Christine Allen this morning about her upcoming talk for the Vancouver Historical Society next month. Christine—another Australian transplant—is a master gardener. She tells me that there was a huge craze for monkey puzzles trees here in the 1920s and 1930s.
“People were very proud of their monkey puzzle trees. It was so Victorian, they loved that kind of odd ball stuff,” she says. “There is a tiny post-war bungalow in my neighbourhood (Grandview) where somebody planted two massive ones on the south side of the house. That house gets no sun ever.”
Christine says the trees got their name because even a monkey would find it a puzzle to climb.
Bowen Island Inn in the 1930s with a massive monkey puzzle tree. Courtesy Vancouver Archives
Christine says that another reason why these Chilean pines were so popular is because of Vancouver’s mild climate that allows us to grow anything from arctic tundra plants to palm trees.
But it’s not just people, towns are proud of them to. The tiny town of Holberg on Vancouver Island boasts the world’s tallest monkey puzzle tree. I have no idea how tall it is now, but in 1995 it was measured at 77 feet—that’s higher than a seven-storey building.
Nellie McClung’s home was known as Lantern Lane after the books she wrote in her upstairs study. Courtesy Saanich Archives, 1960
Ever stood in front of an old house and wondered what went on inside those walls? Who lived there, how they lived their lives and what events happened behind the front door? I admit it’s a weird kind of voyeurism, but I’ve spent a lot of the last decade skulking around in people’s hedgerows asking those questions. Because in my view, a house has a genealogy, much like a person, and comes alive through the stories and mysteries that took place inside its walls.
Alice Munro, 1968
I’m fascinated by the deep connection people have to their houses. David Foster grew up with his six sisters in a modest house in Saanich that his father built. Spoony Sundher built a house on Bellevue Road before going on to open the Hollywood Wax Museum and found a family dynasty. Alice Munro wrote two of her best selling books from her Rockland house, and Susan Musgrave’s North Saanich house has a 190-foot Douglas Fir tree growing out of the living room. Susan says she doesn’t understand people who move into “key ready houses devoid of personality.”
I’ve talked to home owners who have unearthed everything from a murder in the family kitchen, to resident ghosts and celebrities. Others have found evidence of brothels and bootlegging, and one woman found that her house was once a Chinese sausage factory.
My father’s childhood home in Ballarat, Australia had its own odd history. My eccentric grandmother physically had the bedrooms lopped off the house when her children left home. I never found out why, but at least the current owners eventually learned who left them a number of doors that led nowhere.
I’m delighted that Sensational Victoria is getting a good reception with the locals. I hoped it would, but I really wrote it with mainlanders in mind, people like me who are not from there, but love the city, love history, old houses and Victoria’s quirky characters and eccentricities.
Clarence Street, James Bay
Emily Carr figures prominently in the book. That wasn’t intentional she just kept getting in my head, and I was intrigued with her Oak Bay cabin, a tiny house that she kept to herself for all those years. It’s Emily who shows readers what James Bay would have been like in 1913 and she shares another chapter with other formidable women from Victoria’s past. There’s a chapter on madams and their brothels, another on gardens, murders that span a century, haunted houses and some of the writers, entertainers and artists who come from Victoria.
Much of the information comes from their relatives and the current owners, who are all fiercely proud of their homes. They are the custodians—sometimes for just a few years, other times for decades—who add their own stories to the homes and in turn play a vital part in the ongoing story of Victoria.
Capi Blanchet was found dead in 1961, slumped over her typewriter while writing a sequel to The Curve of Time. For a writer, that’s not a bad way to go. The tragedy in Capi’s case is that she died without ever having an inkling of the success her book would enjoy. There was no way for her to know that a half century into the future, her book would be republished in a 50th-anniversary edition and be a regional best-seller.
Capi with Pam on the beach near her house. Courtesy Tara Blanchet
Born in Montreal, Muriel Liffiton married Geoffrey Blanchet, a banker when she was 18. In 1922 the family drove out west and bought Clovelly, a house designed by Samuel Maclure near Sidney. Soon after moving in, the Blanchets bought a boat called the Caprice. In 1927 Geoffrey took the boat out and never returned. That left 33-year-old Capi to raise five kids aged between two and 14, and to wonder if it was accident or suicide.
The resourceful Capi rented out her house, packed up her kids and Irish setter, and set off for what would be the family’s annual journey around British Columbia’s rugged coastline. The rent supplemented her income, and the trips provided the basis for her book.
Blanchet, M. Wylie. The Curve of Time (50th anniversary edition). Whitecap, 2011.
Gwen Cash (1891–1983)
Gwen Cash portrait by Myfanwy Pavelic appeared on the cover of Off the Record. Jack Cash photo.
When Gwen Cash went to work for Walter Nichol at the Vancouver Daily Province in 1917, she was one of the first women general reporters in the country. Gwen and her husband Bruce settled in Victoria in January 1935. She was the public relations officer for the Empress Hotel and wrote three books including her memoir, Off the Record. In 1954 she had John di Castri design a house to prove that small didn’t have to mean a box. Called the Trend House, it was one of 11 built in Canada and sponsored by BC forest industries to boost retail lumber, plywood, and shingle sales. At 835 sq.ft. Gwen’s house was the smallest, but also the most talked about. “Conventional Victorian viewers, addicted to pseudo-Tudor or modern box construction, were puzzled and vaguely angered by its unique design. Like modern painting it was something that they couldn’t understand,” she wrote. The house was opened to the public for three months and more than 34,000 people trekked through.
Cash, Gwen. Off the Record. Stagecoach, 1977.
Sylvia Holland (1900-1974)
Sylvia Holland at Disney in the 1940s. Courtesy Theo Halladay
Sylvia Holland met her Canadian husband at architectural school in London, England. They moved to Victoria in 1925 and designed their house. Two years later Frank was dead and Sylvia was left to raise two babies on the eve of the Depression. To make ends meet, Sylvia rented out her house and moved to Metchosin, where Frank’s parents had a farm. Even during those lean times, she managed two architectural commissions. When Boris was diagnosed with the same infection that had killed his father, Sylvia moved to Los Angeles and was hired by Universal Studios and then by MGM as a background artist. Walt Disney hired her as one of his first women animators, and she worked on productions such as Fantasia and Bambi. She worked for Disney for several years, bought an acre of land in the San Fernando Valley and designed a large two-storey house where she set about developing the Balinese breed of cat. She never married again. “All the single guys at Disney were courting her, but she chose to retain her independence,” says her daughter Theo. “She said, ‘If I had a man, what would I do with him?’”
Nellie McClung (1873-1951)
Nellie McClung in th garden of her Ferndale Road home ca1949. Courtesy Saanich Archives
When Nellie retired to Gordon Head in 1935 and made sauerkraut and dill pickles from her garden, few neighbours realized how famous she was until her image came out on a 1974 postage stamp. Nellie fought for women’s rights and her accomplishments are long and awe inspiring. In 1900 a woman’s salary was legally the property of her husband. He had control of their children, and of her. The law defined an eligible voter as “a male person, including an Indian and excluding a person of Mongolian or Chinese race.” And, if that wasn’t clear enough; the Election Act went on to say: “No woman, idiot, lunatic or criminal shall vote.”
Nellie raised five kids in rural Manitoba. By 1908, she had written the first of 16 books. That novel, Sowing Seeds in Danny sold over 100,000 copies—outselling Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, which came out the same year—in a country where 5,000 is still considered a best-seller.
In 1928, she was one of five women who went to the Supreme Court of Canada to insist women are “persons,” and eligible to be named to the Senate. She campaigned for the Liberals in 1935, was the first woman to sit on the CBC board of directors the following year, and in 1938, represented Canada in 1938 at the League of Nations in Geneva.
McClung, Nellie. The Complete Autobiography. Broadview Press, 2003.
Helen Gregory MacGill (1864-1947)
Helen was the first woman to graduate from Toronto’s University of Trinity College, and she was the first woman judge in B.C. From 1917 she presided over Vancouver’s Juvenile Court, fighting for the rights of women and children. Her husband was a sketchy lawyer and their finances went up and down with the times. The MacGill’s bought a house in Vancouver’s West End in 1908, and lost it five years later when they couldn’t afford the taxes.
By 1926 Helen’s judge’s salary had increased to $100 a month, she received $3,000 in damages from an accident settlement and they bought back the Harwood Street house. The house withstood the apartment blitz of the 1950s and is a strata conversion painted a regal red.
The MacGill’s younger daughter Elsie (1905-1980) became a trend setter like her Mum. She was the first woman to receive an electrical degree in Canada and the first woman aircraft designer in the world. She earned the name “Queen of the Hurricanes” for her work on the Hawker Hurricane fighters during the Second World War.
MacGill, Elsie Gregory. My Mother the Judge. Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1955.
