As Edna Quock turns 100 years old, she stands as a living bridge between generations. Born in 1925 in Tahltan Territory, the eldest of twelve children, her life reflects the strength and resilience of her people. She delivered babies as a midwife, sewed dresses by lamplight, worked through a TB outbreak at Miller Bay, and raised seven children—alongside more than sixty grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. Through war, residential school, loss, and great change, Edna has remained rooted in hard work, humility, and love. Her story is a celebration not only of a life well lived, but of a culture and community carried forward through her hands and heart.

Edna Quock was born in 1925 in Tahltan Village, the eldest of twelve children born to Mary Brown and Belfrey Etzerza. As the firstborn, she carried a natural sense of responsibility from a young age—one that would define much of her life.

Her siblings were Ralph, Peggy, Irma, Carl, Alice, Ira, Bill, Joyce, Belfrey, Albert, and Rose. Among them, only Peggy, Ralph, and Edna herself were spared from being sent to Indian Residential School.

Edna was raised in a log cabin nestled in the heart of the community. She attended school in a modest building that also served as a church.

“We go to church there. And December month, on the 20th, the teacher made a Christmas party for us. Each one of us got gifts. Man, he was nice. He was a priest, and he was a teacher. And he was first aid.”

Education in those days was as much about survival as it was about learning. The priest-teacher was also the community’s healer.

“If any one of us got sick, we’d go to him. He’d give us some medication, but he’d also say, ‘You guys know how to make your own medicine. Well, go on and do it. But still, I’ll give you this to help the pain.’”

Her family practiced and passed down traditional healing, using Indigenous medicines like Hodzih klāne and Balsam bark tea.

“My mom would make that, and she’d make us drink lots. Within two days’ time, we’d all feel better. Just on that Indian medicine.”

Edna grew up in a self-sufficient and closely knit community where people lived off the land—fishing, hunting, gathering, and preserving food to last through the long northern winters. It was a lifestyle that shaped her values early on and grounded her in traditional knowledge and Tahltan ways of life.

At just 18 or 19 years old, in the early 1940s, Edna worked in Lower Post as a seamstress, hand-sewing dresses for the women in her community.

“I used to work all night sewing dresses. People would place orders, and I’d sew and sew, trying to get them done. Sometimes five dresses in a night!”

She mostly sewed for Indigenous women, creating beautiful garments that were highly sought after.

“It was hard work, but they were nice dresses. Everyone wanted them.”

This period in her life reflected her strong work ethic and her dedication to her community. She wasn’t just making dresses—she was helping women feel beautiful and proud.

Though far from the frontlines, Edna Quock’s life in Tahltan Village was shaped by the distant thunder of global conflict. From wartime blackouts to the pride of seeing local men in uniform, she witnessed how war reached even the most remote corners of the North.

World War II

During World War II, Edna was a teenager living in the village. She recalled the fear that settled over the community at night.

“As soon as it’s getting dark, we had a light set. Mom put heavy blankets all around. Sometimes at night, we wake up, we hear some planes going by. Oh, it was scary.”

People listened closely to the radio, following updates about the war with caution and curiosity.

“I heard it on the news. Radio. Yeah? I still have one of those radios. Battery-operated. Man, that thing comes just clear.”

Though none of her closest friends were sent to war, the tension of the time left a lasting impression.

The Vietnam War

Years later, during the Vietnam War, Edna was a mother with a growing family. While Canada did not officially join the war, some Indigenous men from northern B.C. volunteered or were recruited across the border.

She recalled Bill McPhee going to the war. She especially remembered how sharp he looked in uniform.

“Oh my goodness. When we saw that picture of Mr. McPhee. Almost all the women went crazy over him!”

Her memory is warm and proud—tinged with both admiration and a quiet understanding of the risks those young men faced.

Henry and Edna pulling net. Photos by Gary Fiegehen

In 1950, Edna met her future husband, Henry Quock, while he was working in Telegraph Creek.

“We got more closer in 1950, and in 1952,” she said.

They were married in July 1952, just months before the birth of their first daughter, Bernice.

“Just think, on my wedding night, I danced all night with that baby. I never even feel it.”

Before her marriage to Henry, Edna had her first child, Eugene, in the mid-1940s. After marrying Henry, together they had Bernice, Daisy, Isaac, Lynda, Clarence, and Claire. From their children, Edna and Henry’s family has grown to include over 60 grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren—a legacy as vast and vibrant as the land they called home.

Dancing was a cherished part of their life together.

“Did grandpa know how to dance?”
“All night. Two-stepping,” she replied.

One night, their daughter Lynda Palmer woke up in the middle of the night and went downstairs. What she found was something she’s never forgotten—her parents, alone in the living room, dancing together. That memory, of quiet love and joy, remains one of the most beautiful gifts her parents ever gave.

Together, Edna and Henry built a home and raised their children in Telegraph Creek, surrounded by extended family and community. Life was not easy—it was filled with long days of fishing, hauling wood, sewing clothes, and preparing food.

“I used to work on everything. Work on fishing when I’m pregnant. And it was those kids that helped me when they got older.”

But motherhood also brought heartbreak. Edna miscarried three sons and gave birth to one stillborn son, losses that were later linked to an undiagnosed thyroid condition that went untreated for too long.

“I didn’t know that I had that, what do you call it, thyroid? Too late before I went to see the doctor. After I lost four boys.”

Despite the losses, Edna’s love for her children, her strength as a mother, and her devotion to family never wavered. Her home was always full—with work, with laughter, with music, and above all, with love.

Though Edna never attended residential school herself—nor did her siblings Peggy or Ralph—the rest of her brothers and sisters were taken. She isn’t sure which schools they were sent to, but she remembers the absence.

Later in life, Edna experienced that same pain more personally when one of her own children was taken away.

Though she later recalled that the child eventually came home and did not return to the school, the experience left its mark. Edna never forgot what it meant to have a child taken.

This chapter in Edna’s life speaks to the larger legacy of residential school—how it fractured families, disrupted cultural knowledge, and left generations coping with loss and silence. For Edna, it was a story of grief, strength, and the longing to protect her children in a time when so many parents could not.

Fishing was a central part of Edna’s life. Not only did she process fish for food, but she also made her own fishing nets by hand—a skill that few carry on today.

“Where did you learn how to make nets?” she was asked.

“Oh, we had to learn. I started off with one end, then I come back and do the same thing. And when you think it’s long enough, you join it in the middle.”

This meticulous process was vital to sustaining her family.

“Because our nets set, nobody gets past them. That’s why they work.”

The loss of such skills in younger generations concerns her.

“Kids these days don’t know about hard work. I try to teach younger people, but when they try, they get tired.”

When asked what message she would like to pass on to future generations, Edna was clear:

“Take care of yourselves. Eat traditional foods. Too many poisons have come into our food now.”

She also encouraged learning from elders and keeping traditional medicine alive.

“Traditional food and traditional medicine should be your life.”

She hoped young people would value the wisdom of their ancestors and take better care of their health.

Edna Quock’s story is one of perseverance, love, and dedication. In her life, hard work wasn’t a choice—it was survival. Whether it was sewing dresses through the night, making her own fishing nets, working long hours at the TB hospital, delivering babies as a midwife, or raising 7 children, Edna did what needed to be done. But over time, hard work became more than just a necessity—it became a way of life, a value she still holds close as she approaches 100 years old. Even now, she believes that staying busy and putting in the effort is what builds strength, resilience, and a good life

Her life is a testament to the strength of Indigenous women, the importance of community, and the wisdom of traditional ways of life.

As she celebrates her 100th birthday, her story continues to inspire generations to come.

TCG’s Dept. of Fisheries provided the archival photos by Gary Fiegehen.
Culture & Heritage funded digitization of the old slides.