The Royal Savary Hotel - Early Days

(Excerpts from the Savary Island Heritage Society's collection of writings by Bill Ashworth)

June, 1928. 

The hotel was finished, ready to open. World economy was booming, building up to the peak of prosperity it would reach in 1929. People had money to spend. Reservations came in at a good rate. 

I made an arrangement with my employers to take my annual vacation in the form of long week-ends; i.e. I would take every Friday off. I could catch the Thursday night steamer at six o’clock, reach Savary early Friday morning, and return to Vancouver on the Sunday night boat. That would give me three full days at Savary every week-end, the busiest period. 

When the week-end boat arrived at Savary on Saturday nights, the scene was hectic on the pier head, crowded with women and children waiting to greet husbands and fathers, as they poured down the gang-plank mingled with the arriving guests for the Royal Savary. Whereas the island husbands brought nothing but the latest newspaper, our guests could be identified because they had baggage. They were ushered, in a courtly manner, over to the cars while I made sure no baggage would be left behind on the wharf.

The Franklin in its day was one of the most distinguished cars in America, more expensive than the Packard. Its air-cooled engine was also used in aeroplanes. My mother had chosen it as a fitting vehicle to represent the Royal Savary Hotel. The car had a hickory-wood frame for resilience, 33-inch wheels, full-elliptical springs for easy riding on the rough highways of its day, roller blinds on all the windows, mohair upholstery and silver-plated flower vases.

Royal Savary Hotel Car, the Franklin, on the Savary wharf

It had only one drawback. Its capacity was highly inadequate for the purpose to which it

was being put. My mother in choosing it had not considered the fact that most of the hotel guests would arrive together, all at the same time, on the Saturday boat, about midnight.

Each Saturday when all the hotel guests were off the boat and gathered round the car, Bill Valentine, our driver, politely ushered the older ladies into the front seat, leaving the smallest possible space for himself. Fortunately most of the guests were young. Of necessity they organized themselves in the back seat, men first, girls sitting between their legs and on their laps. There was a lot of instant togetherness.

The slowest or least aggressive passengers climbed aboard Jim Spilsbury’s Model “T”

Ford truck, which would follow the Franklin car with the baggage, milk, and ice in a cloud of dust. Nobody wanted to be left behind on the wharf in the dark after the steamer had gone on her way.

The sandy road, five miles long, which led to the hotel had never felt the touch of a power grader. Winding around between the big trees it was nowhere more than ten feet wide and could not be seen by the lads and lasses in the back seat of the car. To them it felt as if they were floating gently through a forest of all trees whose upper branches met overhead allowing occasional glimpses of bright stars and sometimes the moon.

The picture changed dramatically at the end of the road, as the vehicles rounded the last of the innumerable curves and pulled up in front of the Royal Savary Hotel. To the right lay a lovely beach, white under the stars, with two lighthouses in the distance across the water, twinkling at each other. To the left stood the big hotel, brightly lit, into which everyone staggered, choking from the sandy road dust in their throats.

My mother Kate Ashworth, met them at the door and welcomed them into the brightly lit

lounge, where a crackling driftwood fire burned in the great fireplace. A big round table stood to one side, loaded with food and a large white jug filled with hot tea. Nothing clears a dusty throat like a cup of hot tea made with madly boiling water over an open fire so that some of the smoke gets into it. The refreshments were handed around by previous guests who had stayed up to meet and greet the new arrivals, who stretched themselves among the soft sofas and easy chairs. They had already acquired a feeling of togetherness on the way up the road in the car and truck. No matter how shy, each new guest was already part of the group. No one was a stranger. Everyone felt at ease. 

Someone propounded the doctrine that “Only the best people come to the Royal Savary, because only the best people have the fortitude to get here.” And it was to prove to be so indeed. In all the years of the Royal Savary, never would a cheque be dishonoured, nor a bill left unpaid, nor did a theft of any kind occur, nor did any table silver disappear.

Published 2026