Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Heritage Days Cemetery Tour
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Chop Suey Stories: The Peace Region Chinese Community memories
From the Peace River Record Gazette, September 21, 1966:
"Funeral Service for the late Dan Soo Der, 73, of Grimshaw, was conducted at the Howard and McBride Funeral Chapel in Edmonton, September 17.
Mr. Soo, who died at his home in Grimshaw September 12, was a well-known resident of the Peace River District having operated restaurants in Grimshaw, Peace River and Dawson Creek.
He came to Grimshaw in 1928 and operated the Royal Cafe since that time except for a few years during World War Two when he operated his Dawson Creek cafe.
Born in Canton, China in 1893, Mr. Soo immigrated to Canada in 1910 and worked at Nelson, B.C. and other points in Western Canada. In 1916, he returned to China and married Miss Fong Kim Tai.
While in business in Grimshaw, he earned a reputation of being one who could always be relied upon to support all community projects...A service was held at the B.P.O. Elks Hall in Grimshaw September 14 and remains were forwarded to Edmonton for internment.
Officiating at the service in Grimshaw was Rev. W. Kranendonk. Nixon's Funeral Home of Peace River was in charge of arrangements."
Thursday, August 5, 2010
NEW Virtual Exhibit: Transporting Northern Dreams

The story of the steamboats is one that is essential to the development of the Peace Region. The rivers were the highways of the early days before the railway reached our area. Boats and scows were even used up until 1950 for freighting.
There are different ways to view the exhibit. Under the "Stories" category, you can read through the exhibit with all the text in order. If you are interested in browsing the photographs with only their captions, choose the "Gallery" option and if you are looking for a specific photograph, use the "Thumbnail Gallery" option.
Enjoy!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Peaceful Portraits of the Peace

Pierre loved Peace River and was quoted as saying:
“The lure of the north cannot be defined, suffice to say, but the oldtimer, the pioneer in every sense of the word, remains to watch the result of his work and faith unfold itself before his very eyes.”
Please join us with sturdy footwear on August 2nd at 11am-12pm or 2-3 pm to meet the fascinating figures of Peace River's past!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Shirlee Mattheson visits the Peace River Country
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Highlights of Our Collection
This photograph, from the Edward Whittaker fonds, shows the team of geologists who travelled north along through the Peace River region, the Northwest Territories, Saskatchewan and the Yukon between 1916 and 1921. This collection of beautiful photographs is available for researchers at the Peace River Archives.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
More Highlights of our collection
Thursday, April 29, 2010
More Highlights of our collection
This photograph of Jack O'Sullivan and what is likely his son ranks high for it's adorable factor as well as the fact that O'Sullivan and Stigsen was one of the last boat companies to freight up and down the Peace River. Their company was the end of an era in river transportation.
For anyone interested in this era, the Museum Gift Shop has a lovely little book, "Where Go the Boats?" by Evelyn Hanson for $5 that summarizes wonderfully, the boats on the Peace River from 1792-1952.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Archival Photograph Highlights
This is one of our Archivist's favorite: From left to right we have Brother Wagner, Philip Gerard and James St. Germain at the St. Augustine Mission school, ca. 1940s. James was a former student of the school who later worked for the school doing various things. In this photograph he appears quite James Bond-esque in his driving scarf, sunglasses and cigarette.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
PRADS African Night a Success: Part 2

Wednesday, February 24, 2010
PRADS African Night a Success!
Part 1: Dan Williams:(Source: Delayed Frontier by David Leonard, p. 124, 138-146)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Happy 90th Birthday Peace River!
1903 - The St. Charles is the first steamboat on the Peace
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Long Awaited Part II of the saga of the René and the Vic
René and Vic
Part 2
(Source: Northward Into the Bush and Snow 1919-1929; notes of Elmer G. Fullerton one of – Pioneer Flying in the Canadian Sub-Arctic, one of the pilots; files of the Peace River Museum, Archives and Mackenzie Centre)
As promised, this second in the series of René (G-CADQ) and Vic (G-CADP) – two versatile German Junkers all-metal monoplanes will feature the plight of pilots Elmer G. Fullerton and George Washington Gorman; mechanic William Hill; engineer S. (Pete) Derbyshire and others they met along the way.
We left the newly-named René and Vic and their crews on the tarmac of the Municipal Airport in Edmonton prior to their initial flight north to the sub-Arctic in 1921. The town of Peace River was their base.
Fullerton writes in his notes that they decided on a route along the Peace River to within 40 miles of Fort Vermilion – north-north-westerly across country to the Upper Hay River; along the Hay River to Great Slave Lake; across the south-western portion of Great Slave Lake to the mouth of the Mackenzie River; thence along the Mackenzie River to Fort Simpson and Fort Norman. The total distance was a little more than 800 miles.
The availability of fuel was in question. Thus, no advanced arrangements could be made for refueling. There was, however, credible information to suggest that trading posts along the way would have an adequate supply of motor-boat gasoline and oil. The concern, though, was for the first part of the route as far as Great Slave Lake. Consequently, the crews established a fuel cache about midpoint on the Upper Hay River.
As they were about to take off, an RCMP officer approached them with a note from Imperial Oil’s head office to take Sgt. Thorne, who had “mushed” out by dog team with a prisoner and was not looking forward to mushing back. He hitched a ride with them as far as Fort Simpson.
The two planes and crew took off from the Peace River aerodrome at 9 a.m., March 24, 1921, for ‘points north’. The day looked promising, but about 100 miles out it began to deteriorate. This meant a route change, which took them to Fort Vermilion. A short while later, they landed in a field near the Hudson’s Bay Company trading post where they were able to fill the planes’ tanks, but were unable to take off because of a blizzard. They were forced to stay the night.
A couple of days later they continued their journey, eventually making it to Fort Providence where they encountered snow so deep they could not gain enough speed to take off. After a couple of attempts, they returned to their starting point from which the five men and some locals on snowshoes tamped down the snow sufficiently to support the aircrafts’ skis. They were off now for Fort Simpson.
“Here, real trouble was encountered,” writes Fullerton. The violently uneven ice on the Mackenzie precluded their landing on that surface. They sought an alternative on a field at the edge of the settlement. “The Vic landed satisfactorily, but as the René was landing, one of her skis suddenly broke through the heavy crust of snowdrift, smashing the skis and breaking the propeller.”
No one was injured.
The pilots and crew later confirmed that about a mile south on a small subsidiary channel or “snye” of the Mackenzie, the ice was free of hummocks and would likely afford better landing conditions. They flew the Vic there to take off for Fort Norman alone with René out of commission. But, on the way, the Vic did not sound quite right. The conclusion – she would need a major overhaul before continuing.
The situation – the René had a broken propeller and ski – the Vic had engine problems. Plan – transfer the propeller and skis from Vic to René and fly René to Fort Norman. Changes were made – aircraft loaded – ready for takeoff – on their way. No! The René stalled at about 50 feet in the air. Crashed. People aboard were shaken.
The René, on the other hand, was damaged – broken propeller, slightly damaged wing and damaged undercarriage. “By an amazing bit of luck, the Vic’s ski was found to be the only part of the undercarriage which was practically undamaged.”
What to do?
The next in the series will tell about how the men and planes escaped from this dilemma.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Part 1
(Source: Northward Into the Bush and Snow 1919-1929; notes of Elmer G, Fullerton, one of the pilots; files of Peace River Museum, Archives and Mackenzie Centre)
This is the first in a series of articles compiled by Beth Wilkins, Peace River Museum, Archives and Mackenzie Centre, pertaining to the two Junkers aircraft, which pioneered flight in Alberta’s North
The saga of two German-built Junkers and the Canadian North begins in 1920. One author wrote about the personal affinity – pride and affection ‘you might even call it love’ airplane pilots have for the aircraft they entrusted with their life. ‘For all I know, it might have worked both ways. Certainly there were some machines in the early days that seemed to have a personality – even a soul of their own,’ the writer surmises.
The wife of the vice–president of Imperial Oil Company Ltd. christened the two large monoplanes René and Vic – call letters (G-CADQ) and (G-CADP), respectively. The oil company obtained the aircraft to more expediently reach its experimental oilfield on the fringe of the Arctic Circle. They were especially necessary during the winter months. At the time, the only means of transportation from Edmonton to a site 60 miles north of Norman (later Norman Wells) on the Mackenzie River was by railway to the end of steel at McMurray. Then in the summer it was by steamboat on the Athabasca River, Lake Athabasca, Slave River, Great Slave Lake and the Mackenzie River, approximately 1,200 miles. Usually, the ice on Great Slave Lake did not depart until July and started its return in October. The navigation window was, at most, three months. This, coupled with the fact that the journey took two to three weeks, including an 18-mile portage from Fitzgerald to Smith meant irritating delays. Following freeze-up, travellers used dog teams on this route, extending travelling time to up to six weeks.
With the rapid development of oil resources, it was imperative Imperial Oil reached the fields as expeditiously as modern equipment would allow. Thus, the purchase of the two all-metal Junkers, which could be adapted to wheels, skis or pontoons. As well, a 175 h.p. engine powered each plane, which could carry five people or an equivalent weight.
The agent for the German-manufactured planes was in New York. That necessitated the contracting of pilots and crews to ferry them to their base in Edmonton. The company chose as pilots Captain Wilfrid R. ‘Wop’ May and Lieutenant George W. Gorman and S. (Pete) Derbyshire as engineer. The men journeyed by train to New York at the end of November 1920. By the time the three started back to Edmonton, winter was well on its way making it a long, cold flight.
When May arrived in Edmonton, Jan, 5, 1921, the temperature was -50F. Gorman’s plane, however, succumbed to the icy conditions and was forced to land at Brandon, Manitoba, where he and his plane remained for several weeks before being able to continue to Edmonton.
The author says, ‘the flight of the two machines across two-thirds of the North American continent in mid-winter drew little publicity or tribute, but it was a great achievement.’
On his return to Edmonton, ‘Wop’ May ended his association with the oil company. In his stead, it retained the services of Lieutenant Elmer G. Fullerton and mechanic William Hill. The new arrivals joined Gorman and Derbyshire to fly to the well sites. It was prior to the flight north from Edmonton that the Junkers were formally named.
The next in the series will feature the plight of Fullerton, Gorman, Hill and Derbyshire and others they met along the way.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Million dollar bridge spans Peace River
Construction of the superstructure of the $900,000, or Million Dollar bridge as media were want to call it, began the latter part of May 1918, but not before the substructure was completed with some ice-related delays.
It was noticed during the high water in the spring of 1917 that the blunt ends of the deep water caissons offered such a resistance to the current that erosion was apt to result. It was decided to point the upstream end of piers 6, 7, and 8 of the 10 piers holding the bridge’s 11 steel spans in place. Other modifications were made to make the now 90-year-old steel structure sound.
The throughspan of the steel bridge provided a clearance of 65 feet above low water and 48 feet above extreme high water – high enough to allow river navigation by even the largest of sternwheelers, such as the D. A. Thomas, which required hinged stacks to allow its passage. The deckspan, on the other hand, offered only 19 feet clearance above high water.
Work, by up to 250 men, on the much-anticipated bridge was a 24-hour a day enterprise, accompanied by the inevitable noise associated with heavy construction.
For its first half century, the first bridge across the world-famous Mighty Peace River served several purposes – railway, vehicular, and pedestrian traffic. Its multi-purpose use caused some concerns and provided many interesting anecdotes, but served its users well. It does to this day, although vehicular and pedestrian traffic cross the river by way of the transportation bridge completed in 1968, which is just north of it.
The railway bridge is 1,736 feet long with 11 steel spans set on concrete piers and abutments. The structure had no guardrails or decking to enable horse teams and vehicles to cross safely until successful, vigorous lobbying by the Peace River Board of Trade encouraged the approval of the Government of Alberta for the additions.
It is said that the Million Dollar Bridge is the most important single item of construction to be brought to a successful conclusion in Western Canada during 1918. Its importance cannot be emphasized enough. At the time of its building, land suitable for soldier settlement was being sought. The transportation facility connects the markets of the world to the wonderfully rich Peace River Basin and as importantly, the Peace River Basin resources – agriculture, mining, lumber and oil to the rest of the world. During the Second World War, it provided a vital link to the West conveying men, equipment and goods.
(From: Peace River Museum Archives and Mackenzie Centre notes; Ribbons of Steel, by Ena Schneider; Sense of the Peace by Roberta Hursey; Peace River Remembers)
Keep an eye out in the Record-Gazette for more historic articles from Museum writer, Beth Wilkins!
Friday, October 3, 2008
Final Recollections of Jean Cameron Kelly
"When I met H.A. George's children the first things Bertie, a boy of nine, wished to know was if I could speak Cree. I told him no, and he said that was O.K., then they could be saucy to me in Cree and I would not know what they were saying. I gathered that when Miss Anderson had reproved some of them, they would answer, "Kip-a-ha-Kea-toon" which meant "Shut your mouth!" I remember once when little Alice George chimed in with a somewhat naughty version of a little Cree song I had heard, her mother turned on her with a shocked Wah! Wah! Kip-a-ha! This song, sung to the tune of heel-to-toe polka was:
Kispin kea sakahin, (If you love me)
Semack pe-O-che min (Quickly kiss me)
Kisipin kea Pakwa sin (If you hate me)
Semack ke waya wan (Quickly leave me)
Many of the old-timers were fluent in Cree, notably Mr. George and T.A. Brick, both of whose wives were Metis; but while few of us new-comers could handle the language we all used Cree words in our colloquial talk. For instance, we would say, "Are you coming to our Waskeagan (house) tonight?" or "Give this a wepaemow (look)." Billy Smith, a mail carrier who had a homestead somewhere out the Shaftesbury Trail was called "Apsis monnagen napec," meaning little (on account of his short stature) letter man. I am afraid Billy was a bad little man. He sang me a Cree song one day, knowing I did not understand it, and thinking I could not learn it. But when I repeated it word perfect, he gave me a look of shocked horror. When I said, "Wasn't that right?" he said with a sheepish grain, "Yeah, it's right, but don't ever let anyone hear you sing it!"
The suffix "Sis" was a diminutive, so that while the word napeo meant man, nape'sis meant a boy. Similarly, isquao (a local pronounciation of Squaw) meant woman, and isqua'esis (which the young men delightedly mispronounced "Squeeze us") indicated a girl.
The Crees belong to the Algonquin family, and it was easy to see the resemblance between their words and the words used in Longfellow's poem Hiawatha. Nokomis was the word for grandmother, though it was locally pronounced No-Kimis; wapoose meant rabbit, (wabasso) Mis-te-hay of missou meant large and see-pee was water. The Crees called the Peace River Mis-te-hay See-Pee or Missou Seepee, and the phonetic resemblance of the latter to Mississippi can readily be noted. Kisemente, the Cree words for God shows its derivation from Gitche Manito, while muchimento (devil) is a variation of Mitche Manitou.
Mr. George told me that the Cree have no special word for muddy, but instead used the same word as for Smoky. Thus Smoky River simply meant muddy river. He also said that Cheepi Seepee, the Cree name for Spirit River meant Ghost River, because in its mists they believed the spirits of the departed could be seen. Having no word for thank you they used the French word merci.
The word for money was soonias, and pay-ak soonias was one dollar. I recall an amusing anecdote about a native woman who brought in a pair of moccasins to the Revillon Freres trading post and demanded a pay-ak soonias from Jimmie McCashin, the accountant. Being overstocked with moccasins at the time her refused to take them; but she sat there doggedly all afternoon, at regular intervals flapping the moccasins on the desk and reiterating "Pay-ak soonias!"
In exasperation he finally took the moccasins and gave her a note to take to the clerk-cashier which read "Give this S.O.B. one dollar." The clerk was an innocent lad who racked his brain as to the meaning of the note, and finally decided that S.O.B. meant soda biscuits. So he gave her a dollar's worth, whereupon she departed highly satisfied.
In playing cards the king was oki-mow (big chief), the queen was merely the woman, isquao, while the Jack was mounted policeman, (smoggens.) Mustus meant an ox, and Buffalo Lake was Mustus Lake on old maps. Atim was the word for dog, but a horse must-atim literally cow-dog or cow-chaser.
The Cree word for daughter is Tannis, and I used to love to hear Allie Brick address his daughter Emma as Ne'Tannis, (my daughter). I still think Ne'Tannis is a lovely name for a girl. According to J.H. MacGregor, the name Cree is from the name the Crees called themselves, Kenistenoag, "Men of the Forest." The French pronounced this Kinistino or Kristinaux, and then shortened the latter into Cris or Kris, which was pronounced like Cree in English."
Thus completes Jean Cameron Kelly's recollections from "I Remember Part I". She continues with more recollections in "I Remember Part II" and it is available at the Peace River Museum library if you are interested. We hope you enjoyed this short series and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. We can be contacted at museum@peaceriver.net or 780-624-4261.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Recollections of Jean Cameron Kelly
Across the Peace on the north west is the George Hill, where H.A. George had his homestead, while directly west of the Town lies Mount Misery. On this hill a great many homesteads were filed when it became known that the advent of the railroad was at hand. Most of these were filed, not with any idea of making a farm out of the land, but in the hope that the land would appreciate in value. The attempts of the "homesteaders" to put in anything approximating a legal term of residence in wretched shacks, cabins and even tents were frought with so much misery that this was so named.
South of the Crossing the barracks of the old Royal North West Mounted Police occupied the site of the present R.C.M.P. barracks. The O.C. was a massive block of Icelandie granite whom we knew as Sergeant Anderson - his real name was said to be unpronounceable. When it was time to exercise the horses a number of constables used to canter through the village on horseback, each leading a second horse. The contrast of their scarlet coats against the surrounding snow made one of the most unforgettable pictures I had ever seen, and I never failed to get a thrill out of it, even when the background of the picture changed from white snow to green foliage. Along the south side of the Heart just before it reached the Peace bloomed a line of tents and shanties which in the light hearted mood of the day was nicknamed Rotton Row. Nothing of Rotton Row survives; but in line with its former site, though pre-dating it by many years, on the back of the Peace was a forlorn little enclosure in which surrounded by a weather-beaten picket fence, were a number of what looked like equally weather-beaten chicken coops. I was told that this was a cemetary where a number of native children were buried. The coop effects were to keep the rain off the graves so that the bodies would not decay so soon, since Mr. George said, there was an old belief among the native people that so long as the body remained intact, the soul of the departed would hover around their old homes. Today the chicken coops have vanished and the fence is neatly whitewashed. The graves are carefully tended to and the sign of the Cross is raised above them.
Besides the Heart River, another tributary of the Peace colloquially known as Pat's Creek, enters town from the northeast, from between the Kaufman Hill and Grouard Hill. On the township plots it is more formally designated Wesley Creek, and was named after Patrick Wesley, and Metis whose Half Breed script covered the present Anglican Church property. When he was afflicted by small pox he was cared for by a devoted and courageous woman, Mrs. Robert Holmes, wife of the Anglican minister. For this act of Christian charity she paid dearly, for one of her own children contracted the dread disease and died.
Poor Pat died too, but in his gratitude he made a grant of his lands to the Anglican Church, asking only that his bones be laid to rest in the shadow of the church which was to be built on the land he had given. Pat lies there to this day, God rest his soul."
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Recollections of Jean Cameron Kelly, Part IV
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Recollections of Jean Cameron Kelly, Part III
call the Museum at 780-624-4261.
"...Past the Hudson's Bay Post we drove west until we came to the River, passing on the way the Hudson's Bay residence, presently the home of Mrs. Ann Cambridge, which then stood fairly close to the present CKYL building, and just across the road from it stood the whitewashed log building which was the house of the fabulous Captain John Gullion, a riverboat captain, widely known as the strongest man on the Peace River, and tales of his feats of strength were unbelievable. A little farther down the river we passed the little log Anglican church which was then the only Protestant church in the Crossing. The minister was the Reverend Robert Holmes. Captain Magar's handsome Siwash wife (a Dudeward from the British Columbia Coast) was the organist, and often a soloist.
Crossing the river on the ice we drove up the George Hill to Mr. George's homestead. Until recently, when it was purchased by the Department of Highways, it was the Percy Eyre place, and was owned by John Lang-Hodge prior to that. We were welcomed by Mrs. George, the former Louise Auger from Wabasca, and her four children. Three of them Bertie, Alice and Ethel, were pupils of mine, but Emma was a baby in the mossbag.
The next night being New Year's Eve, we all went to the dance, which was held in the dining room of the new log hotel. Mr. George had had his piano moved there for the occasion, and there was a fiddler, also a large crowd of people, both white and native, all of whom seemed to be having a wonderful time. There was a surplus of men so there were no wall-flowers. My foot being too painful to dance, I ended up at the piano accompaning the fiddler for the evening. [NOTE: Miss Kelly's foot had been burned on her way to Peace River by a foot warmer]
At the stroke of twelve, there were twelve revolver shots from outside, whereupon everyone kissed the ones nearest him or her. Mr. George had prepared me for this and also told me that on account of this custom, New Year was called "Kissing Day" by the natives. Some of the ladies I remember at that dance were Mrs. Allan MacKenzie, Mrs. Pierre Gauvreau, Mrs. Anderson (wife of the O.C. of the R.N.W.M.P.), Mrs. H.A. George, Mrs. Willie George, Mrs. Gullion, Mrs. M.R. Upton and Mrs. W.J. Doherty.
On New Year's Day we drove to the home of the M.L.A. for the constituency, Mr. T. Allan Brick, a son of the Reverend Gough Brick, an Anglican missionary who founded the Mission at Shaftesbury about twelve miles up the river. We had a wonderful New Year's dinner there. There was stuffed turkey with vegetables and cranberry sauce and a real English plum pudding. We spent the night there, and I learned the local meaning of the word "camp." It did not mean roughing it in the open or in a tent, it simply meant that you spent the night somewhere. So, we camped at Bricks' that night and the next day drove home and moved across the Peace to Mr. George's town house, a large story and a half house which was destroyed by fire in 1966.
There were four bedrooms upstairs, and the greater part of the downstairs was in one large room, originally used as a sort of ball-room when the factor gave a dance for his trappers in the spring at the conclusion of the fur buying business of the winter. This large room was also my schoolroom, where I taught by day, and at night rolled down my bedroom on the floor behind the stove and slept there. In a couple of weeks one of the upstairs rooms was furnished and set up for my bedroom.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Recollections of Jean Cameron Kelly
"In the morning I was awakened by a tall Métis who brought me a cup of coffee...He reminded me of Pierre of the Plains. We were soon on the road and at the next stopping place I slept in a bed. A pretty young Métis gave up her own bed to me, with its new rabbit paw robe, a quilt with a filling made of pieces of rabbit paw skins, instead of wool, very cosy (sic) and warm. She told me her name was Pelage Stoney, and that she was sixteen and would soon be married. She asked me if I were married and when I told her no, she asked with great concern how old I was. When I told her twenty-five, a look of distress came over her face and she said commiseratingly, "Oh, that's too bad! But maybe you will find somebody at the Crossing."
The next day we started out on the last day of our trip, out of the unholy Grouard trail, which I later heard described as one of the worst roads in North America. We arrived about dusk December 30th, at the top of the Grouard Hill just east of the Crossing. We slid down the hill into the little community with Bell hanging desperately to the wheel and yelling all the way, "I can't do it! I can't hold it!"
Despite his fears he did it and held it, and the car came to a stop at the telegraph office. Our actual travelling time from Edmonton was twenty-six hours, which was considered good, since we had no lights and could travel only in daylight, of which we had about five and one half hours daily. Also, we were so overloaded that at ever little incline we had to get out and walk...
The telegraph office, the present residence of Mrs. Henry Miller, then stood in very much the same location as the one which was recently removed to become the Friendship Centre. A crowd was waiting to greet the arrivals, interest being equally divided between the car and the new teacher. After looking me over, Harry Coombs (later Captain Coombs, who died of war wounds received in World War I) collected a bet from somebody. He had bet that the new teacher would have blue eyes, as it was his theory that the blue-eyed people were the explorer and adventurer type, and he pointed out that the only white person in this pioneer community who had dark eyes was a young Englishman named George Matthews.
Just east of the telegraph office was the Revillon Freres trading post (later the United Church and presently the Elk’s Hall), whose manager was then William John Doherty. South across the road from these buildings was Johnny Gaudet's pool hall and stopping place, a store and a half log building which occupied approximately the site of the Motor Car Supply Building. As I recall it there were no other buildings as we proceeded west until we came to the Hudson’s Bay Post, the building which was recently wrecked to make way for the Campsall Block. The Hudson’s Bay factor at that time was Mr. Gamlin, the first of the two Gamlin brothers who successively served as factors here.
North across the street from the Hudson’s Bay Post a three story log building was under construction on the present Firestone location. This was H.A. George’s “New Peace Hotel.” There was nothing but woodland north of this on Main Street. Turning south, the Old Peace Hotel stood where the Eaton Building now stands, and on the south side of the present location of the Stedmans store was a rambling frame building which was the store of the third trading company in the Crossing, the Peace River Trading and Land Company, colloquially known as the “Diamond P” from the brand placed on their freight – a Capital P enclosed in a diamond shape. The manager of this company was then Phillip Godsell.
Behind the Diamond P was the Maple Leaf Restaurant, where Jim Lonsdale was the chef, and in this building was [where] the first telegraph set had been set up on a packing case. However, when I arrived it had been installed in the regular telegraph office, Pierre Gauvreau being the first operator.
Farther south and east, out on the point where the Heart [River] joins the Peace stood two old log buildings, which I heard referred to as the old Revillon warehouses; however, at a later date Jim Cornwall told me that they had been the warehouses built by his own company, Bredin and Cornwall. At the time of my arrival they were housing the first bank in Peace River, the Canadian Bank of Commerce; the manager was Allan MacKenzie, whose first customer had been Pierre Gauvreau.
South across the Heart from these buildings stood the tower of the Government Ferry. As well as I can remember, this was the extent of the business section at this time – there was nothing at all on the east side of Main Street that first day I came down the Grouard Hill.”
Recollections of Jean Cameron Kelly: Part II