The Japanese Tea House.
In the 1920′s and 30′s, Victoria’s Gorge Waterway was the place to be in the summer. Along with swimming and boating, one of the most popular attractions at was what was then B.C. Electric Gorge Park and is now Kinsmen Park, was the Japanese Tea Gardens. The Garden was built in 1907 by Isaburo Kishida, and operated until 1941, when the Takada family who ran it were sent to an internment camp in the Kootenays and it was destroyed by vandals.
Islander author Les Priestly describes the tea gardens.
The Japanese Tea Gardens was a concession of B.C. Electric Railway Co., operated by a Japanese family, approximately where the Kiwanis Park is now.
It was a popular place, with oriental shrubs, little arched bridges over trickling water, and tables where customers could enjoy the tea and sandwiches.
On an upper level, at the back were games of chance, including crown and anchor.
Outside the enclosure trails wound among the trees, one designated “Ladies” another “Gents”.
The Path along the water was illuminated at night by lights strung through the trees which seemed to twinkle to anyone in a passing car on the other side of the Gorge.
In August of 1929, Priestly and his family had a memorable day the park.
The Gorge Streetcar made a loop at the park entrance, about opposite the Gorge Hotel, but Dad decided on a more interesting way of getting there. He rented a clinker-built in the inner harbour and rowed along the waterway.
The first part of the route wasn’t very attractive, what with sawmills, rusting whale boats, and some wharves already in need of repair.
It must have been a slack tide when we glided through the Gorge itself as we were scarcely noted by the few people on the bridge above.
At the small sandy beach beyond the gardens, we tied the boat to a tree and stretched out a beach blanket. Lying there looking up at the canopy of blue and the odd white cloud, we chatted casually and almost fell asleep.
Someone suggested tea and we got to our feet and sauntered along the path to the garden entrance. We spent some time walking around, admiring its features, then chose a table and sat down. After tea there was desultory adult conversation that seemed to bore [my younger brother] Kenny who wandered off toward the bridge. He soon returned exclaiming “The river’s running quite fast under the bridge. Thats funny ’cause it was slow when we came through.”
The Gorge Bridge.
The words galvanized my dad into action. He took off in the direction of the bridge, but quickly returned saying: “We’d better get the rowboat through as soon as we can. The tide’s coming in and the currents getting swifter.”
He found a dead sapling and trimmed it with his pocket knife to make a pole. As people began to realize what dad was going to do, a crowd gathered on the bridge, including a policeman who gestured to him not to attempt what he thought was a foolhardy act. Dad, however displaying his usual stubbornness, was determined to try, and, with [my sister] Kay at the oars and he manipulating the makeshift pole, they made it through the gorge.
I remember attributing this at the time to dad’s courage and twenty odd years of river experience. Later when I was older, I realized there was another factor, dad’s frugality. He had rented the boat at a rate, which I think was 25 cents an hour…Perhaps he felt the day had cost enough.
