Anonymous

I was waiting for Wendy outside a Starbucks on Government Street in Victoria, British Columbia when I noticed something odd. There was a little indentation in the side of the building, like you’d see for an urn at a memorial site. In the niche sat a crown of concrete. Beneath it, a plaque that read:

FIRST

DOMINION GOVERNMENT

CROWN ERECTED IN

BRITISH COLUMBIA

SURMOUNTING THE

POST OFFICE BUILT ON

THIS SITE IN 1873

Well, of course I took pictures.

Then: a firm tap on my shoulder. I turned and looked around, then down. An old, hunchbacked woman with a red and white scarf tied around her head peered up at me. Her small self was bundled in a black coat buttoned up to her neck. She wore black gloves and her white hair peeked out of the scarf. Her eyes were clear and bright.

In a right British accent she said, “I’ve lived here for 30 years and never noticed that there, what you’re taking pictures of. Let’s have a look.” We stood at the bronze inscription together. I felt compelled to explain, “I have a – um – thing – for post offices.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes, I remember when this building still was a post office. A grand old thing it was. See this?” She gestured to the end of the block, past the Starbucks and Eddie Bauer stores. “All of this was the Post Office, the whole thing,” she sighed. “Beautiful inside. You could go in and never wait in a queue, and everyone was friendly and helpful.” I could practically hear the footsteps echoing across the old marble floor tiles.

Can you believe one of these women is 90?

I smiled at her encouragingly. That was all it took. As Wendy joined us (looking just a little puzzled), my new friend shared a bit of her story. Nostalgic for the old P.O., she showed disdain for the influx of chain shops on Government, the so-called march of progress. The new P.O. was relegated to a nondescript storefront where “nobody knows what they’re doing and the lines are just dreadful.” In a spurt of off-topic verbosity, she revealed that she was 90 and had moved to B.C. at 60 to be nearer her children. “I think people your age – you’re about my grandchildren’s age, I think – you’re the ones who appreciate things like this old building. The generation before you ruined things like this.” 

When I asked her name, she smiled coyly. “Oh, I never tell anyone my name. I say, ‘Call me Anonymous. Annie, for short.'” When I said I wanted her picture in front of the crown, she would only relent when Wendy posed with her.

Oh, Annie. If you weren’t so private, we might be pen pals.