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A long brown building stands at the southwest corner of Danforth Avenue and Gillard Avenue in the East Danforth neighbourhood in Toronto. Its official street address is 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue. While the structure’s size, dark bricks, and subtle design touches are notable, the most intriguing detail is the marker high up on the east side of the block. This ornamental plaque reads “G.W.L. 1922” and it is the launching point for quite a history.
The year in this marker is easy to explain: the block is from 1922. However, it also comes with some extra supporting context. Neighbouring buildings at 1335-1337 Danforth have a 1918 placard and 1346-1350 Danforth have a 1919 placard. Much of the surrounding street is built within this time period — during and after World War I and after the opening of the Bloor Viaduct in 1918.
In 1922, The Globe reported that Danforth was experiencing a “historical” building boom. Rows of shops and apartments filled the main street along with an accompanying residential housing stock on surrounding side streets. The Goads Fire Insurance Maps show a sparsely populated 1913 and a very busy 1924, telling a very visual story of the district’s development. Other notable local landmarks from the era include The Riverdale Technical School (now Danforth Collegiate & Technical Institute) and the Canada Bread Company (now demolished).
The “G.W.L.” is harder to decode. While other historical commercial and residential blocks in Toronto have included a name along with a year of construction, 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue includes only three initials – perhaps of its builder or an original occupant. An initial theory by the author pointed to the Catholic Women’s League, which got its started in this period, but there was no evidence connecting the two.
The OnLand Property Records start to uncover the story. The building occupies Lots 118 to 122 of Plan 463E. In 1921, the plots were granted to George William Lucas by the Monarch Realty Company. The real estate firm – full name Monarchy Realty & Securities Co. – operated in Toronto’s east end and notably sold the City the land that would become Greenwood Park in 1919.
The story of the owner, George William Lucas, is one of ambition, hardship, family, and prosperity. Although several George Lucases are listed in the Toronto City Directories (and indeed Lucas was a very common family name – including rather confusedly a pair of builder brothers surnamed Lucas who also worked in the east end), he appeared to have had various listed professions within the construction field: contractor, builder, and carpenter. In the 1910s, he and his family lived at 51 Harcourt Avenue, among other addresses.
Mr. Lucas’ first appearance in the Canadian Census in 1921 listed him as a “Builder.” He was born around 1879, making him about 42. He immigrated to Canada from England in 1912. His religious affiliation was Methodist. He lived with his wife, Sarah Ann, 43 years old. They celebrated 25 years of marriage in 1922, according to a Globe article, making their marriage in about 1897. Their children were Norman, Rupert, Daisy, Stainton, George, and Hannah. A later census noted his parents were Welsh, and he could not read or write.
The site of the “George William Lucas Block” was likely a very deliberate and convenient choice for the builder. It was around the corner from the family home at 98 Monarch Park Avenue. It is a handsome Edwardian residence that still stands today. The lot was also part of Plan 463E, granted to Lucas in 1917, also by the Monarch Realty Co. According to the City Directory, the Lucases first occupied the home in 1919 at address 98 Bathgate Avenue (Bathgate became Monarch Park in 1921).
Despite its 1922 construction, 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue was oddly vacant for its first few years. In 1925, its first occupants appeared, albeit with more than half the building still empty. Curious events during the in-between years may explain the oddity. A story in the April 21, 1925 Daily Star explains that George William Lucas did not own the building for long and might have been going through some financial difficulties. “In November 1923, he transferred [the building consisting of five stores and fifteen apartments] to Isabella, Harry H. and Row W. Bailey in exchange for a 540-acre farm near Brantford.”
In another odd development, Lucas then transferred the farm to his son Norman “‘in consideration of natural love and affection, and the sum of one dollar.'” George Lucas declared bankruptcy in August 1924. Unfortunately, the elder Lucas passed his debts to the younger Lucas, and Norman was also forced by a court to pay his creditors $600. Norman Lucas was noted as a disabled World War I veteran who was tending to his injuries at Christie Street Hospital. He later gave vocal performances at the hospital. He married Alma Florence Finnie, a Canadian Expeditionary Force Nursing Sister in the Canadian Army Medical Corps.
It’s not clear if G.W. Lucas was responsible for any other buildings in Toronto. In a 1945 Globe and Mail article, it was reported that he retired as a builder “25 years ago,” and he later moved from Toronto. This places the timeframe around the time of the construction of the Lucas Block, meaning it may have been his last (and possibly only?) project. The 1931 Census (which nearly counted him twice) listed him as renting at 304 Hillsdale Avenue East with Sarah Ann, sons Stainton (25), and George (20). He was a self-employed carpenter.
Beyond his profession as a builder/contractor/carpenter, Lucas had a hobby: horses. He was visible at Woodbine, Dufferin, Fort Erie, and other racecourses. He also exhibited horses at the Canadian National Exhibition, the Royal Winter Fair, and New York. Some of the Lucas children appeared as “young drivers” in competitions in the 1920s. The Lucas children were successful in other pursuits, too. In a benefit tournament at St. Andrews Golf Club in 1933, Stainton took first place, and Rupert came in second.
George William Lucas died from pneumonia on January 14, 1945, at St. Michael’s Hospital. He was about 66. Sarah Ann passed four years earlier. He was survived by all his children. Rupert moved to New York and Norman to Winnipeg. Stainton was noted as a former baseball player for the Toronto Maple Leafs. George William Lucas is buried at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.
As for George Williams Lucas’ surviving built legacy, 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue has lived a long life that has, in some ways, represented the transformation on and of Danforth. Among the earliest tenants was the Kingsley Manufacturing Co., makers of piston rings. The business lasted from 1925 to the early 1940s. The Directories show that the 1920s to 1960s saw occupants of a largely WASP-background, and businesses such as the Yolles L furn & stoves, Toronto Mower Service (lawn mower reprs), East End Auto Glass, Bissett Brothers carpet cleaners, Toronto Washing Machine Co., Mervyn’s Furniture, Peel J H Conservatory of Music, Butterworth & Co. (Canada) Ltd publishers, and Holman Leather Goods. These were entreprises that reflected the everyday needs as well the latest technological and cultural developments. Beginning in the 1960s, the area’s changing demographics were present in the structure. Establishments like the Bari-Puglia billiard hall and Italian Social Club reflected an Italian presence, and a few names of Greek and Chinese origins lend to the multicultural factor, too.
In 2021, the Danforth Cultural Heritage Resource Assessment identified 1351-1367 Danforth Avenue as having potential heritage value. Toronto City Council declared the building as a listed property in 2022. The George William Lucas Block’s existence reflects not only the building boom of the area during its construction but the societal shifts over the next century. The intriguing stories of the ambitious builder and his intriguing family are forever tied to it.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to those who reached out to offer their assistance, especially to Mary Crandall and Jeff Stewart for decoding the identity of G.W.L. Without your invaluable helping hand, this rabbit hole of an article was not possible. Thank you also to ever resourceful and knowledgeable Robin on Bluesky who aided in the mystery of George W. Lucas’ “Cancelled” entry in the 1931 Census and offered some supplemental biographical details on the Lucas family.
Windfields Park is an 83-acre park in the former city of North York in Toronto. Its history includes being part-golf course and part-equestrian estate, and it is an important chapter in suburban Toronto.
A short distance from the southeast corner of Bayview Avenue and York Mills Road, the park begins by following the course of Wilket Creek. The narrow and shallow watercourse was historically known as Milne Creek, named after the Milne family, who built a mill on the creek further south and east near Lawrence Avenue. The creek seems to have later taken on the current and lasting name Wilket Creek, which itself comes after the Wilcotts of Willowdale where the waterway’s headwaters stood.
To the centre of the park, the topography opens up into rolling hills to the east and the Canadian Film Centre (CFC) grounds to the west. This is where the land’s history and geography get interesting.
Historically, the park is made of parts of Lots 8 to 10, Second Concession East of Yonge — the majority being the Bell property on Lot 9. By 1930, parts of Lots 8 and 9 were part of the Glen Mawr Golf Club with an address on Bayview Avenue.
In the 1940s, the International Business Machines (IBM) Ltd bought the course for exclusive use of its employees. Its address was on Leslie Street and extended to Wilket Creek. The company had their headquarters nearby at Don Mills Road and Eglinton Avenue.
In 1932, industrialist and financier Edward Plunket (E.P.) Taylor bought twenty acres of land on Bayview Avenue, also on lots 8 and 9. An estate house was commissioned and built in the colonial revival style. A gatehouse, stables, workers’ cottages, and gardens were added in the Fourties.
In addition to his business pursuits, in the Fifties, Taylor became big-time stock-breeder – a connoisseur for racing horses and cows. He amassed hundreds of acres of real estate as part of his Windfields Farm — a name conceived of by his wife Winnifred while feeling the breezy air while walking through the open land — and turned it into “a top centre for thoroughbred houses and cattle.” In 1959, The Globe profiled Windfields as “the type of farm that doesn’t really exist.” The farm consisted of parcels of land on Bayview Avenue and on both sides of York Mills Road west of Leslie Street. In 1964, the Taylors’ Northern Dancer won the Kentucky Derby, the first Canadian-bred horse to achieve the accolade.
In the Sixties, several transformative events impacted the two landholdings. With surrounding farmlands beginning to be redeveloped in the decade prior, IBM sold its 103-acre club to Morenish Land Developments. The last year for golf was 1967. By the mid-1970s, new streets and houses replaced the greens. The rolling topography of the western part of the property near the creek seems to have remained as parkland.
In 1968, Taylor agreed to sell 330 acres of its 390-acre Windfields Farm to Morenish Land Developments as well. The new subdivisions near York Mills and Leslie went up by the end of the Seventies. The neighbourhood now bears the Windfields name.
Taylor set aside 50-acres to North York of his equestrian estate for parkland. It was named appropriately named Windfields Park. The family immediately retained 20 acres, including the house, to live on. These lands were to be deeded to North York upon the family’s wishes or deaths. In 1987, Charles Taylor officially transferred the remaining property to the city. The Canadian Centre for Advanced Film Studies, now the Canadian Film Centre, was founded in the building by Norman Jewison in the following year.
Today, Windfields Park and CFC grounds mark a picturesque landscape in North York, one with interesting historical layers.
What is the first street in downtown Toronto recorded as a one-way street? The answer is not obvious – perhaps because the street itself is not very consequential for most travelers today. It was the first chapter in the history of Toronto’s uniquely directed roads.
On July 2nd, 1901, By-Law No. 4108 prohibited “the conveyance of traffic on Leader Lane, from the south to the north.” The street ran, as it does today, between King Street and Wellington Street just west of Church Street. The reason for the ban against northbound traffic was that the lane was “too narrow for the passing of one vehicle by another.” Vehicles were defined in the law as horses, carriages, wagons, or other vehicles (other than a bicycle).
The issue came about when Mr. George R. R. Cockburn raised a complaint to the mayor:
“The fact that vehicles of every description are entitled to pass up and down Leader lane causes great inconvenience both to those using them and also to foot passengers, and it would be in the interests of the city that the traffic of carts and vehicles should be constrained to pass only from north to south through the lane. I may say that already two panes of glass have been broken by vehicles attempting to pass one another in so narrow a space.”
Toronto Daily Star, October 9, 1900
Cockburn was a Member of Parliament in Toronto and educator, who was Principal at Upper Canada College and a member of the Senate at the University of Toronto.
By the spring of 1901, legislation was passed to allow Toronto to make the by-law and the Works Committee recommended the prohibition. It was given its readings in Council before being passed into law on July 2.
Leader Lane was named for the Toronto Leader Newspaper, which operated between 1853 and 1878 and had its offices at 63 King Street East and 40 & 44 Colborne Street. It had the previous names of “Old Post Office Lane” and “Berczy Street.” In 1909, Leader Lane was named by the Daily Star as the narrowest way in Toronto to be properly called a street.
While it is natural to think of the regulation in modern terms, this prescription of vehicles implies that automobile traffic was not the by-law’s first intention. But soon, it would be.
The “horseless age” was about to begin in Toronto. In August 1897, The Globe wrote of the interest derived from the presence “of an automobile vehicle, or motocycle, or autocar, the name being as yet unfixed.” In June 1901, the Toronto Automobile Club had its first rendezvous — a cavalcade of eight cars starting at Queen’s Park and driving around Toronto. Its president was John Craig Eaton — then Vice-President (and soon-to-be President) of the T. Eaton Company.
The following decades saw a growth in cars on the streets of Toronto and it was transformational for daily life in Toronto. In 1913, there were 17,000 cars in Toronto; by 1923, the number grew to about 50,000 cars. With it, Toronto refined its rules of the road and its technologies to manage traffic flow. The first version of the modern traffic light arrived in 1925.
On August 5, 1920, By-Law 8485 “To Regulate Traffic on the Public Streets” was passed. It focused on parking allowances and prohibitions, turning and stopping, obeying signals, and even regulated pedestrians (including bicyclists).
It also transformed a number of streets into one-way streets. The list included Leader Lane and many of its surrounding streets and lanes in the financial district: Victoria Street, Colborne Street, and Jordan Street. Other additions included Queen’s Park and Spadina Crescents, which were separated into north- and south-bound streets on either side of their respective islands.
The changes must have spurred a larger discussion about traffic measures. In a traffic conference in June 1923, more one-way streets were urged, including Yonge Street during peak times when parking provisions on the street were also reformed to allow the change. It was the first of nearly a century of schemes and ideas to make Yonge Street one directional. In 1928, the former Chief of Police Samuel J. Dickson raised the idea of making all traffic on Yonge Street travel south between Front Street and St. Clair Avenue. Conversely, strictly northbound traffic would travel along Bay Street, Davenport, and Poplar Plains Road.
Proposals and studies for a one-way Yonge Street arose in nearly every decade in the 20th century. Some, such as in 1968 and 1984, actually came with the idea of reducing the lanes on Yonge and improving the pedestrian arena with wider sidewalks and even pedestrian-only areas. In 1988, it arguably came the closest to a reality: Toronto City Council voted to turn Yonge Street into a northbound road (with Bay Street handling southbound traffic) on a trial basis. However, downtown businesses challenged the plan in court and won. The plan was killed in another council vote in 1989. Most recently, in May 2012, City Councilor and Public Works Committee chair Denzil Minnan-Wong proposed a one-way Yonge, but there was no follow-through. Interestingly, the counter-argument from a fellow councillor was similar to that of businesses in 1988: it would have been disruptive to local commerce.
Other major streets were also targets for traffic regulation reform in the 20th century — to more success. In 1946, the Civic Works Committee recommended one-way traffic on Adelaide and Richmond Streets. The former would apply from York to Jarvis Streets; the latter from Jarvis to University Streets. Unfortunately, while a trial period was proposed, the idea was seemingly forgotten for more than a decade. On Sunday, May 4, 1958, the pilot on Adelaide and Richmond finally began; it was filled with confusion and wrong-way turns. But by Monday, the test was already declared a success by city officials, the Toronto Transit Commission, and Toronto Police. By-Law No. 20418, passed on September 2, 1958, included Richmond, Adelaide, and roughly three hundred entries (that is, also including lanes and parts of streets) under Schedule VIII for one-way streets. The success seemed to have spurred further proposals to create a network of one-way streets in Toronto, which was layered with the movement for expressways as a means of allowing better and safer traffic flow. Today, vehicles in the downtown core travel uniquely west on Richmond Street and east on Adelaide Street.
Today, Toronto’s main streets do not follow a strict network of one-way streets as other Canadian and American cities have adopted. As with many civic improvement projects in Toronto, the approach to the one-way regulation seems to have been a gentle one: beginning small with narrow streets around the financial district and increasing to large changes like Richmond and Adelaide Streets when political appetite allowed it. In that way, Leader Lane truly was a leader.
A special thank you to Francesca Bouaoun of the Toronto Archives and Tony Masucci of By-Law Support for their assistance in retrieving archival by-laws.
“1-Way Yonge Street South from Davenport Recommended in Study.” Globe and Mail, 26 Mar. 1968, p. 5.
“A Downtown Essential.” The Globe and Mail, 1 Dec. 1959, p. 5.
“After Erring Autoists.” The Globe, 01 June, 1921, p. 9.
“An Automobile Club.” The Globe, 21 Jun. 1901, p. 10.
Baker, Alden. “Expanded one-way street system could be key to narrower Yonge.” The Globe and Mail, 27 Mar. 1984, p. M3.
“Bold Tactics Called For.” Globe and Mail, 5 Oct. 1951, p. 6.
Church, Elizabeth. “Wider Sidewalks, One-Way Traffic Floated as Ways to Improve Yonge Street.” The Globe and Mail, The Globe and Mail, 9 May 2012, http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/toronto/wider-sidewalks-one-way-traffic-floated-as-ways-to-improve-yonge-street/article4105527/.
“City Asks Changes In Municipal Act.” Toronto Daily Star, 18 Feb. 1920, p. 2.
City of Toronto, By-Law No. 4108, To regulate the traffic of Leader Lane (2 July, 1901)
City of Toronto, By-Law No. 8485, To regulate Traffic on the Public Streets (5 August, 1920)
City of Toronto, By-Law No. 20418, To regulate traffic on roads (2 September, 1958)
“City of Toronto Traffic By-Law.” Toronto Daily Star, 2 Mar. 1933, p. 12.
“Congestion of City Streets Demands Control of Traffic.” The Globe, 11 Jul. 1925, p. 13.
“Crosstown Project, One-Way Street Plan, Suggested For City.” Globe and Mail, 10 May. 1962, pg. 5.
“Deer Park Plan: One-Way Yonge St. Would Border Plaza.” Globe and Mail, 20 Sept. 1961, p. 5.
“Demanding Full Consideration.” The Globe and Mail, 1 Feb. 1949, p. 6.
“Discussion Begins Monday” The Globe and Mail, 24 Mar. 1972, p. 5.
Doolittle, Robyn. “Should Yonge, Bay Be One-Way.” Toronto Star, 9 May 2012, pp. GT1–GT2.
“Downtown One-Way Traffic Urged.” The Globe and Mail, 1 Nov. 1946, p. 25.
“Echoes 1968 Plan: One-Way Yonge, Church Proposed.” The Globe, 8 Feb. 1972, p. 5.
“Features About Toronto Streets.” Toronto Daily Star, 9 Jan. 1909, p. 4.
Georgiou, Bob. “A Quick Early History of Toronto’s First Traffic Signals and the ‘right on Red’ Rule.” Scenes From Toronto, 30 Jan. 2022, scenesto.com/2022/01/30/a-quick-early-history-of-torontos-first-traffic-signals-and-the-right-on-red-rule/.
“A Horrible Waterfront.” The Globe, 27 Apr. 1901, p. 26.
“If Yonge Were a One-Way Street.” The Globe, 10 Mar. 1928, p. 17.
MacKenzie, James. “One-way Street Scheme.” The Globe and Mail, 4 Oct. 1970, p. 5.
McIntyre, A. Lorne. “One-Way-Traffic Suggestion Would INclude Street Cars.” The Globe and Mail, 25 Aug. 1938, p. 1.
“More Study Required.” The Globe and Mail, 29 Apr. 1947, p. 6.
“Morning South, Night North Yonge Street One-Way Plan.” Globe and Mail, 17 Feb. 1954, p. 1.
“Motor Car Records Put Toronto Ahead.” The Globe, 28 Nov. 1919, p. 17.
“Old Habits Hard to Break.” Globe and Mail, 6 May 1958, p. 1.
“One-Way Roads For Downtown Urged.” The Globe and Mail, 11 Apr. 1963, p. 5.
“One Side of Yonge To Be Kept Clear.” The Globe, 6 June 1923, p. 13.
“One-Way Streets Speed Traffic in U.S. Cities.” The Globe, 23 Aug. 1947, p. 3.
“One-Way Traffic Experiment Given Sunday Sendoff.” Globe and Mail, 5 May 1958, p. 19.
“One-Way Traffic on Richmond, Adelaide Urged.” Globe and Mail, 5 Feb. 1958, p. 4.
“One-Way Traffic On Yonge Studied.” Globe and Mail, 2 Mar. 1954, p. 5.
Taylor, Paul. “City Votes to Make Yonge, Bay One-Way.” Globe and Mail, 17 May 1988, p. A1.
Taylor, Paul. “Toronto Council Rejects One-Way Yonge Street.” Globe and Mail, 24 Feb. 1989, p. A14.
“Telephone Agreement.” The Globe, 28 May 1901, p. 8.
“To Clear Taxis Off K.E. Stand.” The Globe, 10 July 1920, p. 6.
“The Horseless Age.” The Globe, Aug 28, 1897, p. 15.
“Toronto Motor Car Increase 305 Per Cent Since 1920.” The Globe, 16 Aug. 1938, p. 1.
“Traffic May Be One Way, Reverse on New Yonge St.” Globe and Mail, 14 May 1953, p. 29.
“Wagons in Leader Lane.” Toronto Daily Star, 9 Oct. 1900, p. 3.
“Watch One-Way Streets in City.” The Globe, 2 Oct. 1920, p. 20.
“When Toronto’s Mayor Planned to Make Yonge and Bay One-Way Streets | CBC.” CBCnews, CBC/Radio Canada, 17 May 2023, http://www.cbc.ca/archives/when-toronto-s-mayor-planned-to-make-yonge-and-bay-one-way-streets-1.5559508.
“‘One Way’ Streets Are Recommended.” The Globe, 27 Mar. 1920, p. 8.
Note: This article first appeared in Spacing Magazine, Issue 67. It has been reproduced here with permission.
When did Toronto become noisy? One indication might come from the reports of Toronto historic newspapers, which were commenting on the apparent noisiness of the city by the 1890s. The wording used by the Toronto Daily Star, the Globe, and the Toronto World was striking and uniform. They reported on “Anti-Noise Crusades” against “The Noise Nuisance.” And from an early stage, the matter was presented as being more than just an annoyance — it was an issue of public health. In 1894, the Toronto World complained about Toronto Railway Company streetcars, which “must have a serious effect on the nerves”.
In 1910, anti-noise proponents gained a new ally in the City’s Health Department. Dr. Charles Hastings, the new Medical Officer of Health, identified “the question of offensive noises” as being a matter of public health. It was the first time the connection between auditory pollution and wellbeing was made official in Toronto.
The Globe was elated, as now its “ineffective protests against unnecessary and hideous noises” would be heard. In early November, a Globe representative walked the streets of Toronto in the morning and observed several sources of commotion while interviewing citizens and businessmen. His findings identified factory sirens, railway nuisances, and streetcars as problems for Hastings to act on.
Another issue Hastings was asked to investigate: milk delivery in the morning. Dissenters to the status quo advocated for afternoon deliveries to avoid the rattle of the wagons during sleeping hours. But Dr. Hastings rejected the switch to midday milk, because he prioritised another health issue — clean milk. More than noise nuisances, pasteurised milk became an enduring part of Hastings’ legacy. It was personal to him, too – his young daughter had died from consuming contaminated milk nearly a decade prior. The lack of proper refrigeration made leaving milk sitting for several hours for afternoon deliveries a non-starter.
In his pursuit of noise reduction, Dr. Hastings instead began with another auditory irritant: the crowing of roosters in the morning. In 1912, Hastings proposed a by-law to banish the animal from the city, with the noted exception of breeders’ roosters. The Mail and Empire asked – perhaps derisively – how the top doctor prioritised bird noises over “whistles, bells, honking automobiles, and steam hammers.” Its cheeky answer? “The roosters make so much noise that the doctor can’t hear himself crow over the improvement in the public health since he took over the Health Department.”
The Globe noted the proposed ban would face opposition from citizens, “not only on the score of the danger to roosters, but because it contemplates charging a fee of a dollar for every domestic animal kept within city limits.” In 1919 and 1926, citizens still wrote to newspapers complaining about roosters in the city, indicating that the Health Department had not been very successful. A 1938 by-law finally prohibited noises by “any animal or bird,” such as a crowing rooster or barking dog, “which disturbs the peace, quiet, comfort or repose of any individual in the neighbourhood.”
In 1916, Hastings inaugurated an “anti-noise” campaign. The targets were motorists who wielded a heavy hand in sounding their horns, as well as anyone who made noises that “are not necessary for purposes of carrying on trade and commerce.” The doctor also professed that he could put an end to “unnecessary noises in the city” if he was given the power to do so. In response, Toronto Mayor Tommy Church brought in a resolution at the same meeting enabling proceedings against those who make noises. The Mayor’s resolution was endorsed by the Board of Health.
Dr. Hastings’ tenure in the Health Department often followed a theme of ambitious goals followed by unfortunately minimal results. A lively clash between the Officer of Health and Mayor Church in August 1918 pointed to a potential reason for inaction. The matter at hand was the noise emitted by the Gutta Percha and Rubber Co. factory in Parkdale and its impact on the denizens of West Lodge Avenue.
The mayor made “a rather scornful comment” about the department’s inability to deal with nuisances. After a protest from Hastings, the mayor doubled down, saying that Hastings had not “stopped a nuisance in the city yet.” Hastings argued he had to operate within the law – the Public Health Act – which the mayor conceded was a slow and cumbersome process. It was agreed the Criminal Code was a better tool. In January 1919, in the battle between Gutta Percha and Rubber Co. and West Lodge Avenue residents, Hastings admitted that the Ministry of Health was powerless to “abate necessary noises.” He would ask for reforms to the Public Health Act in 1920.
In the 1920s, calls from the City officials and residents to lessen the noise of the city continued. In 1921, Hastings identified idling motorists outside houses who honked their horns, especially between the hours of 10PM and 7AM, as a particular nuisance. He also targeted door to door fruit peddlers, although he was not as hopeful on this matter since peddlers were licensed.
In 1926, an “anti-noise crusader,” Grenville Kleiser of France, wrote a letter to the Board of Control advocating an “anti-noise” day or week with a set of seven rules to adhere to during the period. The proposal had the support of Mayor Thomas Foster as well as Dr. Hastings, who stated the city needed 52 anti-noise weeks. Hastings acknowledged that the increasing demands of life were having an impact on “the nerves.” Just as he had done five years before, he identified idling and honking motorists as contributors. “The whole tendency of modern life is destructive to the nerves,” he summarised.
Dr. Hastings’ tenure as Toronto’s Medical Health Officer ended in 1929 with his retirement – two years before his death. Although his efforts in abating the “noise nuisances” in the city had mixed results, his legacy as a dedicated public servant who steered the city in a variety of other key issues remains. As for Toronto’s noise nuisances, they continued beyond his tenure with a combination of prior annoyances and new nuisances, accompanied by ever-present campaigns to regulate and quiet the noise.
Special thanks to Ariella Elema and the Toronto Archives for their assistance in accessing historical by-laws
No. 1514.
A BY-LAW To prevent certain noises calculated to disturb the inhabitants.
[Passed November 3rd, 1884.]
WHEREAS it is expedient and necessary to prevent the unnecessary use of steam whistles within the limits of the City of Toronto;
Therefore the Council of the Corporation of the City of Toronto enacts as follows:
I.No person shall blow or cause to be blown, sound or cause to be sounded, the steam whistle of any steamer while lying at any wharf in the City of Toronto or when approaching or leaving such wharf, except when absolutely necessary as a signal of danger, or in the cases and under the circumstances prescribed by the Laws and Statutes of the Dominion of Canada and the Orders-in-Council (if any) passed in pursuance thereof requiring the use of such whistles.
Commentary: Toronto early bylaws regulated the use of whistles from steamers and trains as they were common in Toronto 19th– and earl- 20th century auditory environment. Later noise laws also included this prohibition.
No. 2452.
A By-law To prevent certain Noises calculated to disturb the Inhabitants.
PASSED 13th January, 1890.
THE Municipal Council of the Corporation of the City of Toronto enacts as follows :
1. No person shall advertise any sale of merchandize, furniture, or other article, or matter, by the ringing of a bell, blowing of a horn, crying, hallooing, or creating any other discordant noise, in the streets of the City, or on the step of a house or other premises open to the public street, whereby the public are liable to be subjected to inconvenience and annoyance: Provided always, that nothing contained in this section shall be construed to extend to any person duly appointed and authorized by the Council to follow the calling of Police Crier or City Bellman
Commentary: An amendment in 1892 excused milk dealers on weekdays from the ‘ringing of a bell’ clause.
No. 14913.
A BY-LAW Respecting Noises
[Passed March 14th, 1938.]
The Council of the Corporation of the City of Toronto enacts as follows:
II.
For the purpose of Section I, the following noises or sounds, among others, shall be deemed to be unnecessary noises which disturb the inhabitants:
(3) The sound or noise from or created by any radio or phonograph, or any musical or sound-producing instrument of whatsoever kind when such radio or phonograph or instrument is played or operated in such manner or with such volume as to annoy or disturb the peace, quiet, comfort or repose of any individual in any dwelling house, apartment house, hotel or other type of residence.
Commentary: This was part of Toronto’s most extensive noise law to date as the city wished to eliminate any ambiguity from older regulations regarding unnecessary noises. The provision on radio noise reflected the medium’s rise as a commercial sound machine. By-Law 14193, requiring approval from Queen’s Park, was initially rejected by the Province as being too “drastic”. The bill was reintroduced and passed in 1939 after persuasion from city officials. In a separate event, Toronto City Council also amended the law to exclude the Salvation Army from the law, to allow it to hold street corner meetings.
This is the third article in a series explaining the origins and histories of “Old”-named streets in Toronto. Here is Part I and Part II. You will find an interactive map of the title image here.
Year rerouted: 1922
Kingston Road once followed a “tortuous” route into the Highland Creek valley, also called the ‘West Hill Hollow’. After it passed through the village of West Hill at Morningside Avenue, it took “a sharp, twisting drop down the bank of the valley.” It then followed the floor of the valley in a straight line and crossed over the creek on “a small, concrete bridge.” Up the eastern side, the hill was straight, but with its heavy level of traffic in the summer and its steepness and low visibility, it made for a dangerous drive.
In early 1922, tenders called for a high-level bridge. Construction began with the expectation that the road would be ready the next year. Fortunately, the project was completed quickly and was ready in November 1922. The new route, located south of the old one, added 6,000 feet of new road.
Today, the old route – Old Kingston Road – passes several heritage structures and offers a neat, rural drive. It is a reminder of old Scarborough.
Year “rerouted”: 1927
The present Forest Hill Road and Old Forest Hill Road have convoluted histories and geography, which involve the absorption, deletion, and renaming of other roads. The story of Old Forest Hill Road is unlike any of the other “Old” Streets as its changing from old to new (or new to old) did not seem to correct an inconvenience in geography.
In short, a 19th-century largely diagonal road ran through the Baldwin Estate north of St. Clair Avenue to Eglinton Avenue. In the early 20th century, a second road, which may or may not have been part of the old road, grew concurrently with it. While these were both Forest Hill Roads, in the 1920s, the ‘ancient’ road was formalized Old Forest Hill Road.
The Baldwin footpath of the 1800s was originally called the “Trespass Road” (albeit likely not officially). Later, John Wickson (or someone else of the time) named this Baldwin road as ‘Forest Hill’ as it led to his 1860 summer home (or possibly one of Wickson’s pasture) of the same name.
South of Killbarry Road, this road either followed the present Dunvegan Road or a street to the east which aligns to the present Forest Hill Road — or possibly followed both at different times. Whichever is the case, another Forest Hill Road developed south and east (and later north and east) of the older Forest Hill Road beginning in the first or second decade of the 1900s. This meant that, at one time, there were two unconnected Forest Hill Roads. To ease (or complicate) matters more, the older road was sometimes referred to as Forest Hill Road North.
In the 1920s, the matter was cleared as the street grid filled out, and the neighbourhood gained a formal identity. In 1923, the area was organized into the Village of Forest Hill, borrowing its name from the old Wickson home. Old Forest Hill Road began to gain more use, and by 1927, it was the official name for the old road.
North of Eglinton Avenue, Old Forest Hill Road later absorbed part of Whitmore Avenue east of the present Allen Road (the highway bisected the street and its eastern section joined with Old Forest Hill Road). Whitmore was previously Second Avenue. This area is known as Forest Hill North and has the oldest house in the region as a whole: the William Moore House.
Today, Old Forest Hill Road is a beautiful street with some of the most exclusive addresses in Toronto and Canada.
Note: A HUGE Thank You to Kiki M and her amazing resourcefulness and knowledge of Forest Hill . Follow her Toronto History offerings on Instagram and TikTok.
Year rerouted: 1930
Gerrard Street once ran an awkward course where it crossed Carlaw Avenue. The Canadian National Railway curled northeast through the intersection and made for an indirect east-west path. An eastbound traveler needed to jog southeast onto Carlaw under a 19th century rail subway and then northeast again on Gerrard before continuing straight east towards Pape Avenue.
In 1929, the plan was to straighten Gerrard under the CNR bridge. It would cost $312,000. The idea was as old as the beginning of the decade. In 1930, a second subway was built on Gerrard Street, which finally eliminated the need to jog through the intersection. In 1931, the original subway was also reconstructed to match the new one, giving us the imposing infrastructure we see today.
When the intersection was reconfigured, the old diagonal stretch of Gerrard remained. On old maps, the old jog largely went unlabelled, and in city directories, there was no distinction between the two Gerrards as the street numbering did not have to change when the subway was built. Although it never formally became “Old Gerrard Street,” there were some references to it in name.
In 2002, its northern opening where the two Gerrards crossed was closed to through traffic. Today, the former jog creates navigational issues for motorists who turn too early onto Gerrard and end up in a residential neighbourhood instead of the “main” Gerrard Street.
Year rerouted: 1970
The old Concession II was the root of the present Burhamthorpe Road. According to the Etobicoke Historical Society:
“In 1846, it [Concession II] became the Etobicoke and Mono Sixth Line Plank Road, a toll road that began at Dundas Street where Burnhamthorpe Crescent is today, and ran west on Burnhamthorpe Road, then north on Mercer Road (now Elmcrest Road) and west on Base Line East (now Eglinton Avenue West.)”
Etobicoke Historical Society
Burhamthorpe ran northeast from the Etobicoke-Mississauga townline and then dropped southeast before continuing straight east to the Village of Islington at Dundas Street. The route possibly followed old property lines and roads.
By 1970, Burhamthorpe Road was realigned via a new road which offered more direct route between Etobicoke Creek and Renforth Road. The older section was renamed Old Burnhamthorpe Road.
Today, Old Burhamthorpe Road blends into the surrounding post-war neighborhood. The 1820 Mercer House stands at 72 Old Burhamthorpe as a reminder of the route’s former history.
Title Image: 1919 Scarboro Beach, Toronto, Ont., from an aeroplane. Credit: Toronto Public Library
From the late 19th century to the middle of the 20th century, almost half a dozen waterfront amusement parks entertained Torontonians, offering a lost layer of the city’s social life and geography. One of those fun resorts was Scarboro Beach Park, formerly located in the east end of Toronto, on the south side of Queen Street east of Woodbine Avenue. While the story of the park itself is interesting, the evolution of the property it sat on is a story in itself, consisting of at least three major redevelopments.
It started with 40 acres located on Lake Ontario in Lot 3 east of the Don River. In the 1860s and 70s, the property consisted of two equal plots to William Whitten and W. R. Graham. Thomas O’Connor came to own both plots, having an address of 2301 Queen Street East and operating the House of Providence Farm on the large plot.
Upon his death in 1895, the property passed to the Sisters of St. Joseph, of which O’Connor was a benefactor. In 1906, Harry and Mabel Dorsey purchased the waterfront property, earmarking it for a very different purchase.
The Dorseys formed the Toronto Park Company in late 1906. In March of the following year, the company ran a naming contest. The Toronto Park Co. was creating a ‘superb pleasure park’ and offered $100 to the individual who could offer the best name. G. Turner won the contest, in which thousands entered. The winning name was “Scarboro’ Beach.”
The name was an interesting choice. The property did indeed include a beach, but while the new park was located less than a kilometre from the town line, it was not actually in Scarborough itself. The Scarboro’ Historical and Old Boys’ Association raised its objection to the name to The Globe in April 1907, citing:
“In the first place, it forms no part of the beach in front of the township of that name, while near enough to be misleading as to location; also the derviation of the word Scarboro’ from scaur, a hill or cliff, as in Tennyson’s ‘Echo’:
‘Oh, sweet and far from hill and scaur,
Like horns from Elfland faintly blowing’-and ‘borough’ a town, suggests no connection between the topography of the place and the name. Again it is misleading, as possible patrons might be led to suppose that the bold bluffs which form such an interesting feature of our lakefront, and from which our township derives its name, would be one of the attractions.”
The Globe, April 13, 1907
The park opened in June of that year. Lights, music, people, and ‘entertainment in abundance’ marked the event. There was also a vaudeville performance, daring bicycle riders riding in the inside of a lattice-work globe, and an exhibition on head balancing by a troupe.
The property itself consisted of a middle road from Queen Street through which led to large entrance gates. Beyond them were rides and games and a boardwalk by the water. Close to Queen Street, the property had two open spaces: Athletic Grounds for sports like lacrosse and another, which seemed to host the farmhouse.
While the first season was successful, the following two seasons proved ‘burdensome’ for the Toronto Park Company. By late 1909, a receiver was appointed, and the company’s assets were sold. The buyer was the Toronto Railway Company. The move made sense: the transit company operated the streetcar line on Queen Street that took riders to the park.
The new owners continued to entertain guests for the next decade, making improvements to property. In 1921, the company ended its thirty year franchise. While its successor, the newly formed Toronto Transit Commission, took over its transit lines, non-transit assets — including Scarboro Beach Park – were liquidated. The park’s final season was in 1925. The park’s fate was in the air, with some talk of the city buying it, if only for the waterfront lots.
In the end, the Provident Investment Company purchased the land to turn into a subdivision. Park equipment and building materials of all kinds were put up for sale. Among the attractions and property put up for sale were: the Circle Aerial Swing, Carousel, Cascade, Scenic Railway, Chutes, Joyland Fun House, Whirl of Pleasure Fun House, Rifle Range, Penny Arcades, arcade games, a Laughing Gallery, and 500 wooden park benches.
The first advertisements were released to attract prospective buyers in 1926, with the emerging vision for the area came from local builders, the Price Brothers. The family enterprise consisted of Joseph Price, President, and his sons, E. Stanley Price, Secretary-Treasurer, and Leslie Price, Vice-President. The elder Price had been erecting houses in the East End since about 1902.
The layout of the new $3,000,000 subdivision included the southern extension of Wineva Avenue, Hammersmith Avenue, and Glen Manor Drive, and new streets Avion Avenue, Bonfield Avenue, Selwood Avenue, and Hubbard Boulevard (named for Frederick Hubbard, the manager of the park and son of prominent politician William Peyton Hubbard). There was also a Scarboro Beach Boulevard, which although present in earlier fire insurance maps of park may not have been a formal road as much as it was a path to the park. The streets were laid out by 1926 and drainage was put in the following year.
The subdivision was populated with a mix of housing styles indicative of 1920s Toronto — with one special focal point: duplexes and double duplexes (ie. fourplexes). The distinct facades (dubbed ‘unusual’ and ‘attractive’ by The Globe) were made in the Spanish and Colonial Styles. The houses’ designer was Harry Stevens, a longtime figure with the Prices.
In the July 2, 1928 edition of The Globe, the Prices and the new subdivision were profiled. Among the notes of the new neighbourhood were:
“The beach is as clean and free from debris as if it were 100 miles from Toronto.
Some of the fine old tress that belonged to Scarboro’ Beach still stand in majestic beauty along the waterfront.
It will take over 100 carloads of coal to heat the buildings this winter.
Every single house has automatic heat control. This gives the tenant the heat he desires, even if he wants it at 90 degrees.
All the rooms except the kitchen and bathroom and all the halls are hardwood.
About 1,000,000,000 (one billion) nails are being used to construct the various duplexes and the apartments.”
The Globe, July 2, 1928
Other stunning figures reported to go into the development included 10,000,000 bricks, sixty-two miles of lumber, 6,600 doors, and 3,300,000 shingles.
Today, a stroll through the area and its unique duplexes may pique a curious mind on why such distinct structures exist in this area. A deeper look, of course, reveals the layers of geographic evolution which led to this point. While the road organization on a street level seems to blend in with the surrounding Beach area on a street level, a look from the sky yields distinct rooflines and division of the original O’Connor and Scarboro Beach’ Park property.
“At Scarboro’ Beach Park.” The Globe, 4 June 1907, p. 14.
Barc, Agatha. “The History of the Scarboro Beach Amusement Park in Toronto.” blogTO, blogTO, 21 Sept. 2020, http://www.blogto.com/city/2011/05/nostalgia_tripping_scarboro_beach_park/.
Bateman, Chris. “The Lost Amusement Parks of Toronto.” blogTO, blogTO, 5 July 2014, http://www.blogto.com/city/2014/07/the_lost_amusement_parks_of_toronto/.
“The Beach and East Toronto Historical Societytbeths.” The Beach and East Toronto Historical Society (TBETHS), tbeths.com/sb-park.asp. Accessed 4 Nov. 2024.
“Building and Supplies.” The Toronto Daily Star, 27 Nov. 1926, p. 38.
“City General News.” The Globe, 9 Oct. 1895, p. 10.
“City Tore Up The Rails.” The Globe, 18 May 1907, p. 5.
“Company Refuses to Sell Scarboro’ Beach Park.” The Globe, 17 Apr. 1920, p. 8.
“Council Wrangles Over Money Spent in Vain Education.” The Globe, 24 Mar. 1925, p. 12.
“Executors’ Notice to Creditors.” The Globe, 2 Nov. 1895, p. 17.
“For Sale Amusement Park Devices and Equipment.” The Globe, 3 Sept. 1925, p. 12.
“For Sale Scarboro’ Beach Amusement Park Devices and Equipment.” The Globe, 5 Sept. 1925, p. 27.
“Happy Children Spend A Full Day’s Pleasure.” The Globe, 15 July 1925, p. 9.
“Kew Beach Presbyterians Issue Call to Rev. G.M. Dunn.” The Globe, 9 Oct. 1925, p. 39.
“Notice to Prospective Buyers.” The Toronto Daily Star, 16 Mar. 1926, p. 30.
“Ontario.” CEC, cec.chebucto.org/ClosPark/ScarBech.html. Accessed 4 Nov. 2024.
“Park To Disappear at Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 24 Oct. 1925, p. 15.
The Price Family – Beach Builders, tbeths.com/pdf/Price-Family-May-1-20.pdf. Accessed 5 Nov. 2024.
“Receiver Appointed For Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 23 Dec. 1909, p. 7.
“Sale of Toronto Park Company Property.” The Globe, 30 Apr. 1910, p. 26.
“Scarboro’ Beach Opens Its Gates.” The Globe, 17 May 1920, p. 8.
“Scarboro’ Beach Park Subdivision.” The Globe, 18 Mar. 1927, p. 19.
“Scarboro’ Beach to Reopen in May.” The Globe, 18 Mar. 1911, p. 8.
“Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 2 July 1928, pp. 10–12.
“Scarboro’ Beach.” The Globe, 30 Mar. 1907, p. 13.
“Scarboro’ Park Sold.” The Globe, 30 Nov. 1910, p. 8.
“Scarboro’s Clever Help.” The Globe, 11 June 1912, p. 8.
Shackleton, Al. “Deja Views: Scarboro Beach Amusement Park Memories.” Beach Metro Community News, 3 Oct. 2024, beachmetro.com/2020/11/22/deja-views-scarboro-beach-amusement-park-memories/
“The Street Railway Muddle.” The Globe, 21 July 1921, p. 4.
Taylor, Katherine. “The Last Ghost of Scarboro Beach Park.” One Gal’s Toronto, 5 Sept. 2021, onegalstoronto.wordpress.com/2021/09/04/the-last-ghost-of-scarboro-beach-park/
“Tenders Wanted.” The Toronto Daily Star, 11 Oct. 1926, p. 31.
“This ‘Want Ad’ Offers.” The Globe, 2 Mar. 1907, p. 8.
“Topics of the Markets.” The Globe, 2 Apr. 1925, p. 6.
“The Toronto Railway Company (In Liquidation).” The Globe, 16 Feb. 1925, p. 14.
“Toronto Railway Company Sells Remaining Property.” The Globe, 6 Apr. 1925, p. 6.
“Toronto’s New Play Ground.” The Globe, 27 May 1907, p. 5.
Warner, Paul. The Prices, 6 June 2020, pricefamily.ca/.
“Why Is It Called ‘Scarboro’ Park?” The Globe, 12 Apr. 1907, p. 3.
Williams, Lorraine O’Donnell. Memories of the Beach: Reflections on a Toronto Childhood. Dundurn, 2012.
“You’ll Like These Homes and Location.” The Toronto Daily Star, 30 Sept. 1926, p. 20.
Note: This article first appeared in The York Pioneer and Historical Society Journal 2022 Volume 117. It has been reproduced here with permission, with minor edits.
Cover image: Plan shewing the Survey of part of the Park East of the Town of York into 1/2 Acre Lots by Command of His Excellency Sir John Colborne, Lieutenant Governor &c By James G. Chewett Surveyor York June 21st 1830. Source: Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, Office of the Surveyor General: SR394 [via Distillery Historic District]
For nearly a century, a pentagonal plot of land existed at the foot of Sumach Street on the east side of Toronto. Its odd shape was created by a bend in what is now Eastern Avenue to the north, Cherry Street at its western edge, and a smaller street framing its southern and eastern sides. This space went through multiple uses before disappearing altogether from Toronto’s street grid.
This uniquely shaped lot of about 12 acres was laid out by at least 1830. Before this, the area east of Parliament Street to the Don River was the “Park Reserve” — government land originally intended for ‘other’ uses. South Park Street, the old name for Eastern Avenue, takes its name from this historical locale. An 1830 Plan (see cover image) for the area earmarks its potential original use as “Reserved for a Market”. Few details exist about this history, but it must be noted that the smaller street along its south and east was originally named Market Street.
By the 1850s, the marketplace became “The Pound”. More specifically, it was the City Pound. The City Pound was a very important piece of civic infrastructure in mid-19th century Toronto. The area was reserved for stray animals, namely cattle, which had wandered off from their owners. The related governing law was “The Pound Law,” which outlined the powers and provisions for municipal pounds. It set out which parts of the city were subject to the law, how many pounds were required in the city, the powers of pound keepers, and more. It was amended many times in the 1850s and 1860s. For example, in June 1858, it was proposed: “it should not be lawful for any person to drive cattle to the Pound between the hours of seven o’clock in the evening and six in the morning.” This was to combat cows being taken out of stables during the night and brought to the Pound, which was much to the chagrin of ‘many respectable people’. In April 1863, it was moved that the fine for allowing pigs to roam on the streets be increased from sixty cents to one dollar. In 1876, an alderman motioned to convert the city pound to a cattle market. It was referred to the Committee on Public Markets, but nothing appears to have resulted from the proposal.
By 1880, South Park Street was renamed “Eastern Avenue”. The Eastern Avenue City Pound was relabeled the “East Pound” in the city directories. Curiously, two other entries were also present: at 75 Eastern Avenue: Lackey Jas, caretaker (City stables); and at 77 Eastern Avenue: Corporation Stables. The directories later in decade labelled the stables at 95 Eastern Avenue. An October 1886 Globe article mentioned police horses were “stabled in the city’s old building at the foot of Sumach Street.” Fire Insurance Maps from 1889 show that the plot was built on in the decade, including “city weigh scales.” Other maps from the time also show several buildings on the site at the time.
In 1888, Market Street was renamed Worts Avenue. The Gooderham and Worts Cooperage was located on the south side of the street, east of Cherry Street and north of Front Street. In 1901, George Gooderham built three semi-detached houses on the south side of Worts Avenue.
By the early 1890s, “The Pound” was made a public park. This park seemed to have several names in the records: St. Lawrence Square/Park (named for its ward), or Coatsworth Park, which is said to be the original name for the park. In June 1894, a large open-air meeting was held in the park for a Labor candidate in East Toronto. In the 1900s, the park hosted concerts from the Cadet Battalion Band, the Governor General’s Body Guard Band, and the Queen’s Own Band. Interestingly, by 1910, the city stables and city pound were moved further east on Eastern Avenue between Cypress Street and the Don River.
In March 1906, it was announced that the Canadian Northern Railway was looking at the eastern central district of Toronto as the site of their new freight shed to serve its James Bay Railway. The railway purchased a large property bounded by Beachall Street, Trinity Street, Front Street, and Eastern Avenue, which included St. Lawrence Square. The sale price of the park was $14,000. The move would have perhaps the most transformative effect on the space.
It does, however, look like St. Lawrence Square endured into the 1910s. The Toronto Playground Association opened the C.N.R. playground in the park in the summer of 1911. The city finally reported the closing and sale of Worts Avenue in 1917 to the Canadian Northern Railway (Canadian Northern merged with Canadian National Railway in 1923). The park no longer appeared in the directories by the end of the decade. In the 1920s, the Dominion Wheel and Foundries Co. occupied the site. With Worts Avenue gone, it spelled the end of the pentagonal plot that once housed the market, city pound, and corporation stables and yard.
In the 1960s, the complexion of the corner changed again, partly to accommodate the new Don Valley Parkway. Sumach Street was rerouted to curve and align with Cherry Street to the south. Eastern Avenue was rebuilt with a new alignment between Sumach and Lewis Street (located east of the river), curving northeast at the former location of St. Lawrence Square. It effectively removed the distinguishable northern corner of the former city pound. The move also closed the old Eastern Avenue Bridge over the Don River (the causeway still stands today, leading to nowhere).
In the late 1980s, as Toronto as a whole moved into a post-industrial era, the area south of Eastern Avenue and east of Cherry Street was earmarked for redevelopment. The industrial and railway lands were to be rezoned for residential use. The original name of the project was “St. Lawrence Square”, later renamed “Ataratiri”. It eventually failed. In the 21st century, the lands finally became the new Canary District development, part of the West Don Lands mixed-use community. The history and geography of the former market, pound, and park is now hidden under an eco-friendly self-storage facility.
On September 14, 1878, The Globe reported on “The Great Rainstorm”, a phenomenon that overwhelmed Toronto and the Don River. A view from the Necropolis Bridge, the crossing near the cemetery, described the water swelling gradually in the morning, but overflowing by eight o’clock. By mid-day the bridge had been completely swept away. The river was a wild scene of flowing water and debris. Fortunately, the newspaper reported a week later that the bridge was re-erected and travel was resumed. The dramatic event is one episode in the life of the bridge and road, which would come to be a notable, lost part of Toronto’s history and geography.
The crossing at Winchester Street and the Don River was an important one in and out of the City of Toronto. And potentially one of the oldest. A bridge has existed in some form since the days of John Graves and Elizabeth Simcoe. That latter wrote in her journal of “Playter’s Bridge,” a crossing made of a fallen butternut tree. Later versions of the bridge included sturdier constructions, albeit were prone to washouts as per the 1878 storm and another storm in 1894, which resulted in its “almost complete destruction.” They were also variously named: The Necropolis bridge as mentioned, the Winchester Street bridge which was the most common name, and simply the Don Bridge (albeit this was more famous as the crossing at today’s Queen Street).
In a pre-Bloor Viaduct Toronto, the Winchester Street Bridge and the road extending from it was the most northern path to and from the city on the east side. Its origins lay in the 1840s, likely as an alternative to the Queen Street bridge for travelers heading into market. Its location at this junction points to its prominence as a stop on the way into and out of town — and an ideal spot for a tavern. The Don Vale House stood on the west side of the Don River near the bridge from the late 1840s. It was noted as a popular yet rowdy locale, particularly for gambling activities. It was torn down in 1876. There was also an old toll-gate house which “stood for so many years at the foot of the hill close to Winchester Bridge,” which was removed in 1882. It was reported as an “eyesore” and “tramps who have lodged there free of cost will miss the old shanty.”
Over its history, numerous repairs have been made to the Winchester Street bridge, including rebuilding it altogether. In addition to a new causeway built after the 1878 storm, it was reported in October 1885 that the “new Winchester-Street bridge” was almost ready; it was already planked, and the approaches were just about complete. In late 1888, the idea of erecting a high-level bridge was being explored. In 1894, the bridge was described as “long been regarded as unsuitable and unsafe during floods,” as proven by the storm that decimated the bridge that year. In 1902, a proposal was endorsed to fit the bridge with $10,000 of lumber to repair the bridge. In March 1909, the bridge was condemned and majorly repaired and rebuilt at a cost of $15,000. It was reported that during this time, travelers on the Danforth would have to use the Gerrard Street bridge as an alternative until the bridge opened several months later. This somewhat regular need to repair or rebuild the bridge might reflect its frequency of use and its proneness to disaster caused by the Don River.
The winding road on the east side of the bridge was curiously not also named Winchester Street. Rather, it took on several monikers throughout its history. It must be noted that it is not easy to track the changes as its naming in maps and directories does not appear to be consistent — that is, sometimes it is not named at all or concurrent sources will name it differently. The first names identified in the 1800s seem to have been the similarly related Don Road, Don and Danforth Road, and Don Mills Road. After the turn of the century, it took on Winchester Drive (or Road), which is likely its most famous name. Its final evolution was as Royal Drive.
It must also be noted that Winchester Drive was related in name and geography to the modern Broadview Avenue, but that connection and timeline is somewhat murky. An old aboriginal route lent itself to a new road in 1799, running east from the Don Bridge at Queen Street northwards to the saw and grist mills on the Don at about Pottery Road. It would aptly be named “The Mill Road”. In an 1884 annexation, The Mill Road was split in name north and south of Danforth Avenue into Don Mills Road and Broadview Avenue, respectively, possibly reflecting the odd, angular path taken by modern Broadview as it crosses Danforth Avenue.
However, in somewhat conflicting evidence, the 1856 Directory splits the two roads into The Mill Road, from Queen Street to Danforth Avenue, and The Don (and Danforth) Road, from Winchester Street to north of Danforth into Todmorden. This meant that for a time, the road leading northeast from the Winchester Street bridge and the road northeast of The Danforth was the same continuous road, even if their origins may not reflect that. Both roads were named Don Mills for a time as well.
Winchester Drive would run along the river before turning east to pass under the Canadian Pacific Railway subway (appropriated also called the Winchester Street subway). In 1918, a flood caused by an ice-filled Don River made the road impassable, pointing to the low-lying situation of the southern part of the street. As it curled northeastward, it was positioned between two ridges, with Broadview Avenue overlooking on the east side. This followed the topography of the former Dallimore Creek, a tiny Don River tributary. At the top of the hill was the Taylor Tollgate, which was situated on the south side of Danforth Avenue in the corner between Winchester and Broadview Avenue.
In 1901, the Swiss Cottage Hospital for smallpox was built on the west side of Winchester Drive. The isolation hospital was formerly located near the Don Jail and moved to a more remote area north of Riverdale Park when life around Gerrard Street grew busier. Winchester Drive had very few dwellings on it — if any at all. The Globe reported on its opening:
Constructed for its estimated cost, $5000, it is a picturesque structure of brick and stone, in the Swiss style of architecture. Bosomed in the precipitous cliffs that overlook the eastern banks of the Don, it is ideally situated. Looked at from the river flats it occupies a commanding height, yet behind and beside it to a height of 40 feet above it rise the steep banks of the Don. Taylor’s road winds up the cliffs just south of the hospital, but separated from it by a deep ravine. The hospital is practically in the centre of 150 acres of natural park land, and far from habitations.
The Globe, November 27, 1901
In 1927, it was reported that the hospital would close as it was deemed inadequate to deal with recent smallpox epidemics. The Swiss Cottage stood until 1930 after facing its unfortunate end by fire.
Winchester Drive took on its final life in 1939. It was renamed Royal Drive to coincide with a visit by King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. Their motorcade traveled down the road into Riverdale Park for a demonstration by schoolchildren. Royal Drive would be used again in a similar manner in a subsequent royal tour in 1951 by Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh. It was reported at the time that the street would need to be completely resurfaced as it was covered in potholes. Princess Margaret traveled down the street in 1958, the last time a British Royal would do so.
Royal Drive met its end via the Don Valley Parkway project in the late 1950s. On the west bank of the river, the road descending down from The Necropolis was removed near the river to make way for the Bayview Extension. Today, Winchester Street ends at the top of the hill near Riverdale Farm and the cemetery. The Bayview Extension also necessitated the removal of the now-orphaned Winchester Street Bridge.
On the east bank of the river, the roadbed for Royal Drive was also removed and replaced at its north terminus by an onramp to the northbound Don Valley Parkway. Eastbound travelers on the Bloor Viaduct might note that a sign for Royal Drive hangs over the entrance to the ramp. According to the City of Toronto, this marker does name the highway entrance as Royal Drive. Interestingly, however, Royal Drive does not appear on the city’s Road Classification List as a street.
To compound the issue, a trail running on the table of land adjacent to it and the former Danforth Lavatory and City Adult Learning Centre is marked on Google Maps as Royal Drive. This path continues down into the valley, crossing over the onramp via a bridge and continuing into Riverdale Park.
Whichever is the case of the “real” Royal Drive, the lack of complete erasure of the name is likely intended to honour the royal tours of the past decades. It also aids in keeping alive the history of an early and prominent Toronto street.
Attachment No. 4 Historical Chronology – City of Toronto, http://www.toronto.ca/legdocs/mmis/2015/pb/bgrd/backgroundfile-85136.pdf. Accessed 24 Mar. 2024.
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Axon, Elizabeth. “Some Memories of Old Don Mills Road.” The Globe and Mail, 4 June 1955, p. 19.
Bonnell, Jennifer. Reclaiming the Don: An Environmental History of Toronto’s Don River Valley. University of Toronto Press, 2014.
“Bridge Condemned.” The Globe, 18 Mar. 1909, p. 4.
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“Debris Strewn in Don Valley.” The Globe, 27 Feb. 1918, p. 11.
“Don Vale House.” Don River Valley Historical Mapping Project, maps.library.utoronto.ca/dvhmp/don-vale-house.html. Accessed 23 Mar. 2024.
“The Earth Trembled.” The Globe, 1 Apr. 1896, p. 12.
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“Must Raise The Money.” The Globe, 13 May 1909, p. 7.
“New Smallpox Hospital.” The Globe, 27 Nov. 1901, p. 9.
“Notes.” The Globe, 5 Apr. 1894, p. 5.
“Old Swiss Cottage May Be Closed Soon.” The Globe, 16 Dec. 1927, p. 14.
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In the annals of Lost Toronto, Sayer Street is a very colourful chapter. It is an interesting case if one only starts from the fact that the name only existed for about thirty years and no longer lives on in any capacity. It gets even more intriguing when we consider that the current version of the street is about a third in length of its older self at its longest in history. Finally, it is most fascinating when we learn that its modern geography contains very few remnants of its historic character.
Sayer Street’s history ultimately begins in the the first half of the 19th century. John Beverley Robinson was the Attorney General of Upper Canada, and owner of approximately 50 relatively empty acres extending east from today’s University Avenue between Queen Street and College Street. In 1828, Robinson donated 6 acres on its south end for the Law Society Society of Upper Canada, a landmark we know today as Osgoode Hall.
Robinson continued to develop and sell off parcels of land north of Osgoode Hall in the 1840s. One of these developments included a street that straddled the lot line. Robinson named this street ‘Sayer Street’ — a variation of his mother’s — Esther — maiden name — Sayre. In 1842, Sayer Street ran from Queen Street to just north of today’s Dundas Street and had several buildings dotted on it. East of Osgoode Hall towards Yonge Street was Macaulay Town, a neighbourhood which came from the holdings of James Macaulay centred around todays Albert, James, Bay, and Elizabeth Streets. The new residential areas that grew out of the Robinson and Macaulay lands — including Sayer Street — came to be part the administrative district of the St. John’s Ward — which was commonly shortened to The Ward.
Although it is difficult to paint a full picture of life on Sayer Street, a few details emerge about its layout and landmarks. Structures were of modest constructions, usually one-storey and wooden. In 1853, 682 yards of sewer were laid under the street from Queen to Elm along with 14 culverts and “200 rods of eight-feet wide sidewalk” on Sayer’s east side to the College Avenue. In 1855, a petition from R.W. Abbott and others to the Standing Committee on Fire, Water, and Gas recommended a street lamp on the street between Queen and Albert. A year later, the Committee authorized the Gas Company to add three lamps. Some more street improvements were added in 1857 in the form of a bridge and culvert at Christopher Street (the purpose of these were unclear).
Sayer Street School was located on the northeast corner of Sayer and Albert Streets. The schoolmaster was a Samuel Coyne. There are not many details known about this school. In January 1855, its attendance was reported at 105. In May 1854, five churches, including the Primitive Methodist Congregation, applied to use the school as a part of their Sabbath observances.
The 1856 Directory provides names of residents of Sayer Street and their professions. Some repeat jobs include boot and shoe makers, watch makers, labourers, carpenters, grocers, bricklayers, and whitewashers. There were a number of widows listed as well. Some notable names are John Andrews, keeper at Asylum, Edward Stacey, city constable, Jeremiah Taylor, Methodist Minister, and Charles H. Pearce, minister of colored.
Listed at the head of the street was “Aston, John, Burton Ale Brewery”. There was an odd occurrence in March 1859 in which the mentioned tavern keeper John Aston was brought up with a charge of cruelty to animals in an apparently gambling game. There seemed to be “a machine” in which a cat and a dog were tied to it and the dog was made to chase the feline. Another dog was then made to “intercept” the cat. The cat fought off the dogs valiantly and scratched them badly. This did not seem to please Ashton and others, who then placed a dead rat with the cat “with the double expectation that the dog when he saw two of his enemies in the field would renew his assault”. This did not happen. The visiting police officer did not see any bets but noted that “heavy sums occasionally changed hands on the contest.” In his defense, Aston replied, in a very impertinent tone: “I have done it and intend to do it again. it is just for my amusement. You may fine me if you like, but if you do, I shall go home, get my dinner, and just do the same thing again.” The judge fined him $5 and advised he will have the police sharply watching him.
Related, a 1869 Globe article of Toronto’s saloons and taverns lists at least four registered establishments at 118, 135, 206, and 228 Sayer Street.
In 1845, from land bought from John Beverley Robinson, some community members opened what would become the British Methodist Episcopal Church at 94 Sayer Street — a small wood frame place of worship that would house its congregation. It was a humble structure that would match the character of the street. The church would come to play a big role in the neighbourhood and in the history of the Black community in Toronto.
The gatherings of the community were well documented and start to tell a lively story of life on Sayer Street. In September 1858, two hundred and fifty coloured electors met in Aston’s tavern at the head of Sayer Street to elect a candidate. All but seven votes went to a Mr. Romain.
And there were, of course, happenings at the church, too. The Globe reported in 1852 of an assembly at the church — referred to as the Sayer street Chapel — on Monday August 2 for “their celebration”. The event was, of course, Emancipation Day and included prayers, speeches, and a procession through downtown with stops at Holy Trinity Church, City Hall, St. Lawrence Hall, and back again. Around the time of the 1854 Emancipation Day, prominent activist and newspaper editor Mary Ann Shad attended the church to form the Provincial Union, an alliance of community members with “the common purposes of self-help, racial uplift” and abolition. In the 1858 iteration of the event, the congregation and others marched with music to St. James Cathedral, the University for lunch, and then down Queen and Church Streets to the wharf. There was an excursion to the island and then a final soiree at St. Lawrence Hall (some also ended up at a tavern on Adelaide Street). In 1860, the procession went down Sayer Street to Queen to Bay to King to St. James Cathedral and St. Lawrence Hall. The afternoon continued at the University Park with speeches calling for the end of slavery in the United States before returning to the Sayer street Chapel and ending at St. Lawrence Hall for a soiree. This celebration of the abolition of slavery in the British empire and the denouncing of the continued existence in the United States falls with the renaming of the church to fall in line with support of Britain.
On April 19th, 1865, a crowd filled the Sayer Street Church to mourn the death of Abraham Lincoln. The Globe reported:
“The people assembled appeared much distreesed by the calamity which has caused their meeting, and as the various speakers alluded, in touching terms, to the untimely fate which had overtaken Mr. Lincoln in his efforts on behalf of their enslaved race, there was not a dry eye in the congregation.”
The Globe, April 20, 1865
The congregation and the Black residents of the street were not without unfortunate incidents. In 1854, during a Sabbath day worship, a “band of rowdies” disrupted the congregation. The Globe described it as “Disgraceful Conduct.” Fortunately, some of assailants were caught by Police. In December 1862, a “coloured man,” Washington Carey, was accused of disturbing the congregation. In 1851, a “coloured woman” was found dead in an unoccupied house. While no marks of violence were found on her, the death was mysterious. Her husband had died nine months before, and she was described as “not above reproach.” In 1856, a William Knowles appeared in court while charged with robbing Taswell Robinson, a Black man, of $55.
In its history, Sayer Street had several and somewhat frequent dangerous and criminal episodes. Crimes have included trespassing, larceny, assault, robberies of houses and persons, and generally being a nuisance (such as one tale of disposing one’s litter outside their house). It is unclear if Sayer Street was any more perilous than any other street of the time, but there are notable events.
In an odd episode in February 1856, a Mr. Wiggins was robbed of £200 in the house of a Mary Anne Fawcett (sometimes spelled ‘Faucett’). The woman appears several times in the records, but on this first occasion, she is listed as employing a young man ‘Power’ and other ‘maids.’ Fawcett denied Wiggins was in her house. In September of that year, Fawcett was charged with the robbery. She had some cabmen aid her in the act. At this point, she was described as having a “house of ill fame” and Wiggins ended up in their after having a few drinks. From here, the story diverges of whether she knew he was there, if she had divided up the money with the cabmen, and even if Wiggins was even robbed at all. In the end, Fawcett was discharged. As an odd side story, while detained, Fawcett apparently overheard the escape plans of unrelated criminals. Fawcett was charged again in December 1859 for running a disorderly house; several men and two women who were in the house were arrested. The case was dismissed. Fawcett, immediately after being let go, advised that she had been assaulted by two of the men who were arrested. The group were brought to the bar again, and two of them were fined.
It was not the only brothel in the street’s history and the crime of ‘keeping a disorderly’ arose several times. In February 1863, a William Fraser was charged with running a disorderly house; others were found in the house at the time officers arrived. Later that year, Jane Mathers, a ‘dissolute character’ who kept a ‘den’ (which was possibly a disorderly house’ was arrested for being drunk and disorderly.
There were also references unfortunate references to death, such as a coloured woman Mary Ann Blinden found dead in an occupied house in 1851. She apparently was widowed with no home. She had no markings on her body and the verdict was “a rather undefined one”. In December 1859, a woman, Mary Sheppard, froze to death on the street. She was part of the Brooke’s Bush Gang. The woman had spent the day drinking and was ready to set off to one of the gang’s haunts on Stanley (Lombard) Street when “she got benumbed by the cold” and laid down on the street. She was found and brought to a police station where she breathed her last breath.
In 1870, Mary Lewis, of 112 1/2 Sayer Street, was found to have made “three very determined attempts to destroy herself.” She tried to throw herself in an used well. She was said to have “chronic suicidal mania” after three weeks ago trying to throw herself out a window. Later that year, a Black woman was stopped from throwing herself into the lake at Bay Street. She was married to Richard Lewis, a Black man, who “abused her so much lately.” She was under the influence of alcohol. The individual may have been the same woman — Mary Lewis — in both stories as the surname, suicide attempts, presence of alcohol, and lack of marital cohesion run through both tales.
In the early morning of December 13 1858, two women — Ellen Rogers and Mary Hunt — were assaulted and raped by a gang of twelve men in Rogers’ home on Sayer Street between Osgoode and Agnes Streets. Several men went to the door and demanded entry. When Rogers objected and told them she had no girls there, they burst down the door. Hunt stated that two men held her down while five violated her. The Globe stated that Hunt herself was “not of good character” and the house was of “bad repute”, but both those facts did not “lessen the crime.” Hunt was staying with Rogers, who was violated at the same time in another room. The women fought them off valiantly but the men searched the house before scattering; Rogers had also escaped. A passing officer entered the house following the events.
Four men — Robert Gregg, William Ross, Alexander Diog, and John Hellem — were charged with “committing an atrocious outrage” and subsequently held at the bar in Police Court and tried the Winter Assizes. Testimony was provided by Rogers, Hunt, the prisoners, and witnesses. Gregg was the lead man, indicted for the rape of Rogers. Mr. Eccles, representing the prisoners, argued that the womens’ reputation meant they could not be relied on and “how easy it was for women to seduce misguided young man and then turn upon them and charge them with one of the most repulsive crimes known to the law.” Mr Cameron, representing the crown, iterated there was sufficient evidence, but should the jury not believe it, the charge of assault was adequate. Gregg and the others as accessories were found not guilty; there was cheering in the room. There was an unsucceful attempt to prov breaking and entering and buglary. In being called as a witness, an angry and crying Ellen stated she did not see the point if “she was not worthy of belief”
Ellen Rogers and Mary Hunt were interesting characters. In May 1858, Rogers was charged with running a disorderly house on York Street. She seemingly later moved to Sayer Street were she ran another brothel. Only month after the trial above, a man reported a robbery at the house of Rogers; her, Hunt and other “women of bad repute” were arrested. The next year, Rogers and Hunt were charged with defrauding a man, farmer Obadiah Rogers, of $100. The complainant accompanied Hunt to the house and his pockets were rifled through during the night. Hunt pleaded guilty to theft and Rogers was found guilty of receiving. Rogers was sentenced to four months in prison and Hunt to 3 months and two weeks; the complainant received $65 back. In 1860, Rogers — listed as a woman of abandoned character – was charged with bigamy, after marrying John Irwin, while her first husband, David Rogers, was alive and in Kingston Penitentiary. The first marriage was in Kingston in November 1856 while the second in January 1860. It must be noted that it unclear if this is the same Ellen Rogers from the Sayer Street Outrage as Rogers is listed as having a companion named Irwin — but this is a George Irwin. Also, her husband a year prior to the outrage left her. Nonetheless, she is listed as not of the greatest character in both. An Ellen Rogers appears in 1861 Census as living on Parliament Street and is listed as 38 years, married, and Roman Catholic.
On the morning of April 15, 1863, the body of Catherine Walsh was found in her home at 156 Sayer Street. She was strangled to death. A novel, “The English Country Gentlemen” was found in the house with the name “William Greenwood.” An inquest was conducted at Mr. James Ramsay’s tavern and the man was brought in but denied his involvement. Another dead body – the child of Walsh – was found in a cupboard.
William Greenwood was 26 years old, a gardener, and worked for George Leslie’s Nurseries in modern day Leslieville. He was then employed as gardener of J.H. Cameron. Greenwood knew Walsh when she was servant and nurse for the Camerons. Walsh, 32 years old, came from Ireland to Canada about 10 years ago. Following the Camerons, she left to work for Mrs. Shanly and others on Sayer Street.
Greenwood knew Walsh and co-habited with her, but stated he did not kill her. He found her dead in her house. He moved her body to the bed and accidently knocked a candle under the bed, which started the fire.
Greenwood was found not guilty of killing Walsh but was culpable on the arson and received jail time of seven years. But in the midst of the murder proceedings, it was revealed that Green committed infanticide. This was the child of Agnes Marshall, who was working for Cameron and was intimate with Greenwood. Marshall seemed to have an illegitimate child and Greenwood help her hide it. He hid it in a water closet where it died and then wrapped it in one of Marshall’s aprons and threw it an apron.
He was sentenced to hang for it. In a twist, Greenwood ended his own life by hanging himself in his cell with a towel and cell bars.
In 1870, Sayer Street was made into Chestnut Street. The reasons for the renaming is unclear, although other renamings have occurred to alter the public perception of a street. And it appears the renaming was somewhat controversial.
Someone writing to The Globe after the announcement complained of the change:
“Is it possible that the Corporation is not aware that Sayer street was so called by the late Chief Justice Robinson who wished to perpetuate a beloved mother’s maiden name in connexion with a property he owned, and many acres of which he presented to the city in the shape of the streets — reserving to himself and trifling and necessary privilege of naming them? It is not unseemly to wipe out from our city map the name of that mother who gave to Canada one of her most distinguished sons — of her who resided in Toronto from its earliest settlement and who has within it now upwards of fifty descendants?”
The Globe, April 12, 1870
Famed Toronto historians Henry Scadding and John Ross Robertson echoed this lament:
“But the modern Chestnut Street has nothing about it in the past or present associated with chestnuts of any kind. The name “Sayer” should have been respected.
It is unfortunate when persons, apparently without serious retrospective thought, have a momentary chance to make chances in local names. Chancery might well be invoked to undo in some instances what has been done, and to prohibit like inconsiderate proceedings in the future. Equity would surely say that a citizen’s private right should be sustained, so long as it worked no harm to the community; and that perplexity in the registration and description of property should not needless be created.”
Henry Scadding, Toronto of Old, 1878
“Chestnut Street was originally Sayer street, and there was no call for the change as it never had any association with chestnut trees.”
John Ross Robertson, Landmarks of Toronto, 1894
Today, nothing remains of the old Sayer Street. Its southern end was absorbed and removed by the new city hall and civic square and its northern end by the hospital district. The remaining street with its residences eventually gave way to parking lots, hotels, condos, office blocks, and new businesses.
At the current foot of the street, however, the new provincial courthouse stands over the former locale of the Sayer Street Chapel. In the excavations to the prepare for the building, artifacts were found related to the site and The Ward, including a former inscription stone to the church. On Google Maps, as of this writing, an entry appears for the British Methodist Episcopal Church on its former site.
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