The Evolution of Castle Frank Hill, Toronto

Note: This is the second article in a series which aims to describe the 230-year evolution of the Castle Frank area. The first part is available here.

“The Sugar Loaf hill stands alone in the Don Valley. It is still covered with woods that join with those of Castle Frank, a quarter of a mile off in the woods, between the two hills, is a pine-tree in whose top is a deserted hawk’s nest. Every Toronto school-boy knows the nest, and, excepting that I had once shot a black squirrel on its edge, no one had ever seen a sign of life about it. There it was year after year, ragged and old, and falling to pieces. Yet, strange to tell, in all that time it never did drop to pieces, like other old nests.”
E.T. Seton, Wild Animals I Have Known

In 1898, author, naturalist, and artist Ernest Thompson Seton released his famous Wild Animals I Have Known, a compilation of short stories from his time exploring Toronto’s wilderness in the 1880s and 90s. In particular, Seton spent a lot of time in the Don Valley and Castle Frank Hill. English-born Seton grew up in nearby Cabbagetown.

E.T. Seton’s tales recounted the stories of the certain wildlife inhabiting the district, including Silverspot the Crow, Red Redruff the Patridge. He also noted other animals such as the blue jay and rabbit. Prevalent in Seton’s characterization of the fauna of the area were the old pines, hemlocks, grapes, and berries, altogether painting a pristine picture of the hill.

Decades later, another Don Valley explorer, conservationist Charles Sauriol also recounted the hill:

“The visitor who glanced down from the ramp of the viaduct, sees the top of the hill almost level with the floor of the bridge. The C.N.R. line flanks the hill on the east. North-westwards, a panorama of woodland (Old Drumsnab), becomes in summer a vista of undulating waves of billowy leafage extending towards Rosedale Ravine.”
Charles Sauril, Tales of the Don

Sauriol spent his summers between the 1920s and the 1960s in a cottage in the Don Valley. He was an advocate for the preservation of the valley.

The Castle Frank that Seton knew and explored was during a period in which the hill was largely untouched since the activities of the Simcoes and others, but would be on the cusp of major changes. The last two decades of the 1800s saw a transformation of and debate over the future of the hill and valley(s) below. As history moved into the following century, it would see an intensification in housing, three major public works projects, and an institutional additional – all that would change the complexion of the hill snd its surrounding area forever.

A New…and Newer Castle Frank

Walter McKenzie was the Clerk of the County Clerk for Toronto. He was also a former soldier. By the 1850s, he had taken up residence on Castle Frank Ridge. Along with a house, which he also called “Castle Frank,” there was an orchard and vineyard overlooking the Don River, located north of the spot where Mr. Simcoe built his cottage. It was the first permanent home on the hill since the ancient Castle Frank burned down in 1829.

In 1857, McKenzie placed an advertisement in The Globe selling “About Four Hundred Standing Pines,” located on the forested hill. McKenzie was a well-connected man in Toronto, particularly in the law profession; his son-in-law John Hoskins, also a lawyer, lived in the nearby “Dale” estate. Drumsnab, the other neighbour 19th century prominent estate, was also occupied by lawyers, first William Cayley and then Mr. Maunsell B. Jackson. McKenzie passed away in 1890.

Albert Edward Kemp was a very successful businessman who founded the Kemp Manufacturing Co., metal located at Gerrard Street East and River Street. In 1900, he entered federal politics, rising to prominence as Minister of Militia, a role that led to his knighting. In 1902, as a member of Toronto High Society, he built “New Castle Frank” on the site of McKenzie’s Castle Frank. Kemp died in 1929; his mansion stood until the 1960s.

Castle Frank Brook & Rosedale Valley Road

“Immediately under the site of Castle Frank, to the west, was a deep ravine containing a perennial stream known and marked on plans as ‘Castle Frank’ Brook, which entered the Don at one of the ‘Hog’s Backs’ referred to, where also was a small island form in the river…”
Henry Scadding, 1895

The Don River tributary known as Castle Frank Brook ran in a northwesterly direction to its heads near Dufferin and Lawrence. It is also known by other names: Severn Creek and Brewery Creek after the Severn Brewery, formerly located where the stream crossed Yonge Street. It also has gone by Davenport Creek, possibly because it passed through the Davenport estate.

Plans for a road and sewer through Castle Frank Brook ravine began in the late 1880s. The reasons for its transformation were twofold. First, following a general public health phenomenon in the city which called for the burial of polluted open waterways and creeks, it was decided to put Castle Frank Brook into a culvert. The creek’s state had deteriorated as the “northern district” had developed. Second, the idea of the road gained traction following a general movement towards “park drives” or “parkways.” The eventual Rosedale Valley Road married the two goals.

The Globe reported:

The plan for the Davenport Creek ravine drive provides that it shall leave the road near the Winchester street bridge, on the way to the Silver Creek drive, and descending in the ravine follow near the line of the present creek. After passing St. James Cemetery, the drive will go through the property of Mr. Walter Mackenzie. After crossing the Castle Frank road it passes through the property of John Hoskin, S James, Margaret James, H J Clark, J L Thompson, R K Burgess, Alfred Chapman, William Croft, George and James Murray and F E Hodgson.”
The Globe, March 5, 1887

In 1887, Toronto City Council approved the expropriation of “a sixty-six foot roadway through it [Rosedale Valley] on the local improvement principle and the laid the sewer in the new street.” St. James Cemetery agreed to give the city any lands without any cost to the city. In the 1890s, the area was graded and the necessary construction took place. Awards were made to property owners by the city.

But the road construction was not without controversy. The City expropriated parts of the estates listed above — or so it thought. A clerical error did not properly register the expropriation, making it and the opening of the street illegal. The by-law outlining the expropriation was sent to the Registry Office to be registered in 1888. However, it should have been accompanied by a plan by Unwin Sankey and Browne, showing the land to be expropriated so that the affected properties could be identified. The plan was not sent, and the expropriations were not registered. The error was not discovered until a decade later. Rosedale Valley Road was opened without officially expropriated the needed lands.

The affected owners protested about their requirement to pay their share to open the road. The idea seems to be that Rosedale Valley Road was to be opened as a ‘local improvement project’, meaning that affected residents of the area were supposed to fit the bill to build the road. With this error, the courts quashed residents of any obligations – effectively placing the City of Toronto and its general tax base on the hook. In early 1899, the city registered a new bylaw regarding Rosedale Valley Road, and the lawsuits continued regarding the “debentures” of the street. It is unclear how the matter was resolved.

In 1897, the road was described as “…one of the coolest, shadiest and most beautifully picturesque roads in or near this city.” It is a description that holds today.

In 1905, it was briefly proposed by Alderman McBride to make Rosedale Valley Road into a ‘speedway’ for horses from Park Road to Winchester Street. St. James Cemetery stated they would have never donated the land for the road if this would be the plan.

The Cemetery & The Park

St. James Cemetery opened in 1844 across the ravine opposite Castle Frank on donated land from the Scadding estate (previously the Simcoe estate). By 1897, a proposal existed to expand the cemetery’s grounds north of Rosedale Valley on Castle Frank Hill. The plan proved to be very controversial.

The proposal at heart looked to convert the land on Castle Frank Ridge into parkland and space for graves. The problem was the hill was subdivided with lots and owners by at least the start of the decade.

In 1897, Mayor Fleming and a contingent of politicians and ‘leading citizens’ toured Toronto by motorcar as they assessed potential park sites. They began at Queen Street and Logan Avenue. Reaching and crossing the Don, they scouted Sugar-Loaf Hill, a thickly wooded triangular hill that was said would make a picnicking area as part of the ‘Parks Plan.’ Next, they noted “the steep and wooded eastern side of Castle Frank, for the securing of which the Mayor is negotiating with owners of the St. James’ Cemetery, who have bought that whole district from Dr. Hoskin.” This latter point is important as it signaled a disputed future for Castle Frank Hill.

A NATURAL PARK

As one drives up the Ravine road on the right hand, as far east as the Don, all this territory, undesecrated by the end of man, with its three and a half acres of indescribably lovely side-hills and twenty-three acres acres of additional property on the summit, is to be virtually owned as a public park by the city of Toronto on certain conditions.

The three and a half acres is to be a gift to the city from Dr. Hoskin. The owners of the St. James’ Cemetery will control the flat at the top and provide for its beautification and maintenance. They ask that the city allow them to use the level land on the Castle Frank eminence as a burial ground, and that the city build a road from the drive to the top of the hill, so that a hearse can safely ascend the incline. This road will cost about $2,000 and a fence to enclose the whole cemetery park another $1,000. This is really the sole cost to the city for this magnificent park.
The Evening Star, July 17, 1897

In September 1897, the owners of lots 28 to 31 Castle Frank Avenue made a protest to the city about the cemetery extension, which they argued would destroy their property as it would be located adjacent against a cemetery.

Then, a Mrs. Mary Hebden, owning 10-13 Castle Frank Avenue of plan 686, filed a formal suit:

“…to restrain the city and the churchwardens of St. James’ from passing any by-law or resolution to permit burial on any of these lots, or to allow the churchwardens to enlarge the cemetery, or to perform any interments within the city limits, outside the limits of the present cemetery.

It also sought to prevent the city from amending any standing by-law as to burials within the city limits.”
The Evening Star, October 19, 1897

Mrs. Hedben’s suit against the city was heard several months later. Her lawyer, Mr. Hodgins, asked for an order to prevent the cemetery from adding more lands and for any agreement to exist between the cemetery and the city. This was denied as City Council could vote how it wanted. Hodgins then argued a statute that prevented cemeteries from being established within city limits but the law did not apply either.

In October 1897, the cemetery was anxious to have the by-law passed. Its trustees met with the City Board of Control to negotiate terms. City Council also met at the Castle Frank table to go over the boundaries of what would be park and what would be cemetery; property owners, led by Mr. Jackson of Drumsnab, were there to protest. By November, talks between the city and cemetery had broken off as the city found the trustees unreasonable in their terms. The cemetery in the meantime began to make arrangements with Dr. Hoskins to bury in the property they did own. Eventually the scheme was dropped entirely by the city. The matter was finally reopened in the following October with new negotiations.

In December 1898, the Globe reported the City had finally reached an agreement with St. James Cemetery to add forty-two acres of parkland in the Rosedale Ravine. At a special Board of Control meeting to discuss the plan, Mr. Jackson again argued his objections, stemming from a loss of taxes on would-be property, the need for a clause to compensate property owners, and a letter from medical men advocating that cemeteries should not be established within city limits. The agreement was referred to council.

By early 1899, it was advertised The McIntosh Granite and Marble Co. a mausoleum built on the Castle Frank section of the cemetery for a W.R. Brock, Esq. In July, the city and cemetery entered into an agreement for the city to lease some cemetery property for parkland in return for permission to bury in Castle Frank. It was opposed by a Mr. J. G. Ramsey who owned property at Castle Frank and Mackenzie Avenues and argued it would “render his property comparatively valueless.” A very animated Mr. Jackson also spoke against it. The plan was sent to council without recommendation as no consensus was reached.

Curiously, as the city moved into the twentieth century, the records are silent on what happened next regarding this contentious episode. It must be noted that by the end the decade and into the 1910s, houses began to sprang up on Castle Frank Avenue on the ridge and there are no references to the cemetery. The City of Toronto today lists the area south and east of the street as parkland.

The Bloor Viaduct

While the earliest mention of a bridge across the Don Valley joining Bloor Street and Danforth Avenue was in 1897, proposals on how to make it happen came about in the following decade. With the likely need to traverse Rosedale Valley as well, Castle Frank Hill would become an important part of the project. One idea involved two bridges running west and east from Castle Frank Crescent, connecting with Howard Street over Rosedale Valley and Winchester Street over the Don Valley, respectively. However, a prominent idea was put forward by City Engineer C.H. Rust which recommended a one mile-long bridge straight from Sherbourne Street to Broadview Avenue and another shorter viaduct extending from Parliament Street to meet it a “T”. Arguments over the impact it would have on Rosedale Valley by the Guild of Civic Art and Civic Improvement Committee as well as Rosedale resident concerns led to a “no” vote in referenda in 1910, 1911, and 1912.

Sources: The Toronto Daily Star, Nov 28, 1906; The Toronto Daily Star, June 6, 1917; The Globe, Dec 29, 1910; The Globe Dec 28, 1911; The Globe Jan 1, 1913

On January 1, 1913, the Toronto electorate voted to finally build the Bloor Viaduct. Construction began officially in 1915, although preliminary work was done in the years that preceded. The eventual design relied on two separate bridges to cross both ravines as well as the extension of Bloor Street between Sherbourne and Parliament Streets, which would be facilitated by landfill terraces. The bridges consisted of a ‘diagonal’ Rosedale section between Parliament to Castle Frank and a ‘straight’ Don section between Castle Frank and Broadview Avenue. Both sections were similar in aesthetic, made of concrete and steel, and highlighted by large arches. A lower level for a future streetcar line was added to both bridges. The bridge opened in sections with the entire structure – officially The Prince Edward Viaduct – being available on October 18, 1918.

The eventual changes to the geographic imprint of the area extended past just the additions of the new bridges and roads. In order to facilitate those additions, several losses had to take place. There were several residences razed for the Bloor Street extension, including the Castle Frank gatehouse at Parliament Street, its neighbour at 102 Howard Street, and other structures at Glen Road and Sherbourne Street. On the Castle Frank Hill, it appears that at least one or two residences on Castle Frank Road — such as number 87 — were lost where the new street was set to go in and parts of other lots gave way for the new street layout. In 1922, Castle Frank Road south of the Bloor Viaduct was renamed to Castle Frank Crescent (ironically, a name it once held before it was combined into Castle Frank Road).

Castle Frank, pre and post-Bloor Viaduct, 1913 & 1924.
Source: Goads Toronto

The Don Valley Parkway & The Destruction of Sugar Loaf Hill

The middle of the 20th century saw a string of major civic projects which would collectively change the local complexion of the Castle Frank Region. The first of these was a freeway through the adjacent Don Valley. Planning began in 1954. This would be a different kind than the parkway built through the Rosedale Valley nearly sixty years prior. In the lower valley, the project consisted of the main highway which would run on the east side of river and the southern extension of Bayview Avenue running parallel to it on the west side of the river beside the train tracks.

A product of the creative destruction of the Don Valley Parkway was the removal of Sugar Loaf Hill, the conical mound located north of Castle Frank that the Simcoes, E.T. Seton, and Charles Sauriol all noted and explored. It would be levelled to make way for the Bayview Extension. Several lamenting articles appeared in newspapers over the event. In 1958, during the construction of the highway, Globe writer Scott Young wrote:

“Soon it will be gone and fast bright cars on the Don Valley Parkway will stream north and south over one more vanished place where boys once roamed alone, every step an adventure, and even the crows had names.”
Scott Young, The Globe and Mail, May 8, 1958

Young also spoke to Charles Sauriol about the loss:

“As he says, nobody seriously contends that a hill that few people ever even look at, or use much (although a worn path twisting to Sugar Loaf’s top ends now suddenly in the wake of a bulldozer) should stand in the way of a needed roadway.

Yet it is an item of history. Going, going, gone.”

Young, like Ron Haggart writing for the Toronto Daily Star, referenced E.T. Seton and Silverspot. Haggart was writing on the eve of the opening of the Don Valley Parkway in August 1961:

It will be open in time for the afternoon rush hour. And, not seeing with the same eyes as Ernest Thompson Seton, we can drive over the 137,000 tons of asphalt which now lay in the Don Valley, skirting the Don River bright with the chemicals of the paper mill under the 600 towers of the fluorescent lighting standards, which never will house an old hawk’s nest known by every school boy.

‘I’ll tell you what the Don Valley was,” Frederick Gardiner said once, when someone on his Metropolitan council, mourned for the passing of the woods by Castle Frank, “the Don Valley was a place to murder little boys, that’s what it was”
Ron Haggart, The Toronto Daily Star, August 30, 1961

Frederick “Big Daddy” Gardiner was the Chairman for Metro Toronto Council and was a bold and controversial figure who was involved in several public works projects, including the Don Valley Parkway and the elevated downtown highway which would later bear his name.

The DVP’s other impact was a long offramp for the Bayview/Bloor exit that would wind its way across the valley and down to Castle Frank Road. The ramp would absorb part of the Drumsnab property (the old estate house is visible on the right as one drives south on the ramp) as well as part of Drumsnab Road.

Castle Frank area, 1963.
Source: City of Toronto Archives

A New Subway

The next time a major infrastructure project touched Castle Frank was in the 1960s, when an east-west, cross-town subway line was planned for Toronto. With the Bloor-Danforth corridor ultimately chosen for the project, decisions would need to be made about how it would cross the Don and Rosedale Valleys and a location for the station itself. Construction began in 1962.

As a cost-cutting method, the route was chosen to run under the lower deck of the existing viaduct. At least, it would be on the Don section. The turns on the Rosedale section were deemed too sharp for trains. Thus, a separate structure – a covered bridge – ran between Castle Frank Station and the infilled Bloor Street over Rosedale Valley. The elevated tunnel was encased to minimize noise concerns for the nearby Kensington Apartments (which were incidentally built on the site of John Hoskin’s Dale, demolished in the 1940s or 50s).

The station itself was built on the northwest corner of Bloor Street East and Castle Frank Road. At least four residences were removed to make space for the station and a bus station. The station opened on February 26, 1966 along with the rest of the line.

The Castle Frank School

Lady Kemp passed away in 1957, twenty-eight years after her husband, Sir Edward Kemp. Their palatial Castle Frank was put up for sale; executors of her estate put a sale price of $1.2 million. The City of Toronto, Metro Council, and the Toronto Transit Commission turned down opportunities – likely because of the price tag – to turn the site into a park, a parking garage, or a subway station. The Toronto Civic Historic Society pitched to Ontario Premier Frost to turn it into a residence for the Lieutenant-Governor. It was also proposed as a museum for York County.

The emerging proposal came from prolific Toronto developer Reuben Dennis in late 1958. His vision was to raze the mansion to erect a 21-storey, 972-unit luxury apartment building. Residents of Castle Frank Crescent, whose homes backed onto the property, opposed the rezoning of the single-family residential area. The affected residents included some of Canada’s most prominent citizens, such as former Prime Minister Arthur Meighen, Mr. Justice Gibson of the Ontario Court of Appeal, Lew Haymen, the managing director of the Toronto Argonauts, and Mrs. H..J. Cody, the wife of the late former president of the University of Toronto. The residents – who called the plan “ghastly, revolting, and a great pity” – organized into the South Rosedale Ratepayers. The battle continued in 1959 with the Toronto Planning Boarding rejecting the application and the Ontario Municipal Board being asked to change the zoning.

By July 1960, Castle Frank was back on the market. The new plan was for a vocational type school for a “lower middle group of secondary school-age pupils and others who do not plan to go university.” The Kemp estate accepted a $700,000 offer. The Globe and Mail described:

In the beginning, Castle Frank will operate with an experimental program designed to build up an approved curriculum for its 500 students. The new Boulton Avenue School could become the second of this type in Toronto.

Castle Frank and the junior vocational schools are based on the concept that slow learning or emotionally disturbed pupils have a special place in a modern society with a rapidly changing technology.

Castle Frank also takes into account that there are many intelligent students who do not want to go to university and need some educational medium other than the existing academic, technical or commercial high school
The Globe and Mail, November 17, 1960

Castle Frank School was opened in 1963. It operated until the 1990s when “an organized abandonment” led to a change in model. A rebrand in name also came with the move: Rosedale Heights Secondary School, later Rosedale Heights School For the Arts. The institution that stands today, housing a salvaged piece of the Kemps’ residence and a plaque. The principal at the time of the shift hoped to name the new school after Elizabeth Simcoe.

Remembering Castle Frank

Today, the Simcoes’ 1790s summer residence is honoured in name by Castle Frank Road, Castle Frank Crescent, and Castle Frank Subway Station. In 1954, the Don Valley Conservation Authority (of which Charles Sauriol was a member) erected a cairn dedicated to Castle Frank in Prince Edward Viaduct Parkette on the south side of Bloor Street. The monument dons the image of the home and reads:

“Castle Frank

The country home of Lieutenant Colonel John Graves Simcoe first Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada 1791-1796, stood on these heights just south of this site 1794-1829. Named after Francis Gwillim Simcoe, son of Lieutenant Governor and Mrs. Simcoe, who died in the year 1812, serving under the Duke of Wellington.”

The Ontario Heritage Trust also erected one of their iconic blue plaques in honour of Elizabeth Simcoe. It stands inside the grounds of the Rosedale Heights School, which might have bore her name at one time. The plaque says:

“ELIZABETH POSTUMA SIMCOE 1766 – 1850

The wife of the first Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada, Elizabeth Posthuma Gwillim was born at Whitchurch, Herefordshire, England. Orphaned at birth, she lived with her uncle, Admiral Samuel Graves, and subsequently married his god-son, John Graves Simcoe. She accompanied her husband to Upper Canada where she travelled extensively. Her diaries and sketches, compiled during these years, provide a vivid description and invaluable record of the colony’s early life. In 1794, near this site, Mrs. Simcoe and her husband erected a summer house which they named “Castle Frank” in honour of their son. Returning to England in 1796, Mrs. Simcoe devoted her later years to charitable work. She is buried beside her husband at Wolford Chapel, Devon.”

Castle Frank, in its post-contact era, began as a beautiful hilltop locale, hand-picked by Toronto’s top administrator to house his residence. The layers of activity over the next two centuries continued to prove its desirability, facilitated in part by its central location and unique situation between two valleys. These commemorations mark a place and people important to the early colonial history of Toronto. The events that point in time added intriguing layers which together tell an interesting story.

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“‘Never Wanted to Do Anything Else’: Toronto Principal Marks 40+ Years at the Helm.” Toronto, CTV News, 2 May 2023, toronto.ctvnews.ca/never-wanted-to-do-anything-else-toronto-principal-marks-40-years-at-the-helm-1.6380455.

“New Homes in Toronto.” The Globe, 18 Jan. 1913, p. A1.

“The New Market.” The Globe, 13 July 1893, p. 7.

“New Plan to Bridge The River Don.” The Toronto Daily Star, 17 June 1907, p. 6.

“Now The Market.” The Globe, 14 July 1899, p. 6.

“Opposes The Park.” The Evening Star, 14 Dec. 1898, p. 1.

Osbaldeston, Mark. Unbuilt Toronto a History of the City That Might Have Been. Dundurn Press, 2008.

“The Parks Plan.” The Evening Star, 17 July 1897, p. 5.

“Parks The City Should Have.” The Toronto Star, 17 July 1897, p. 4.

“Parliament Buildings of Ontario.” The Globe, 30 May 1893, p. 4.

“Plan for the Proposed Bloor Street Viaduct.” The Globe, 1 Jan. 1913, p. 8.

“Preparation Are Made For Bloor Street Viaduct.” The Globe, 2 June 1914, p. 9.

“Ravine Bridge Scored.” The Globe, 22 Dec. 1909, p. 5.

“The Ravine Drives.” The Globe, 5 Mar. 1887, p. 16.

READ, D. B. Life and Times of Gen. John Graves Simcoe: Commander of the “Queen’s Ranger’s” during the… Revolutionary War, and First Governor of Upper Can. FORGOTTEN BOOKS, 2018.

“Real Estate Now Is Satisfactory.” The Toronto Daily Star, 19 Jan. 1901, p. 7.

“Revised Subway Plan Approved by Board.” The Globe, 29 Oct. 1960, p. 3.

Robertson, J. Ross. Landmarks of Toronto: A Collection of Historical Sketches of the Old Town of York from 1792 until 1833, and of Toronto from 1834 to 1898. Mika, 1974.

“Rosedale and the Cemetery.” The Globe, 18 Sept. 1897, p. 20.

“Rosedale and The Cemetery.” The Globe, 25 Sept. 1897, p. 6.

“Rosedale Valley Drive.” The Globe, 11 Nov. 1898, p. 4.

Sauriol, Charles, and Vivian Webb. Tales of the Don. Natural Heritage/Natural History Inc., 2016.

Sauriol, Charles. Remembering the Don: A Rare Record of Earlier Times within the Don River Valley. Consolidated Amethyst Communist Communications, 1981.

Scadding, Henry. Supplement to Rev. Dr. Scadding’s Story of Castle Frank, Toronto. 1896.

“Seeking A Route For The Viaduct.” The Globe, 29 Jan. 1912, p. 9.

Senter, James. “Vocational-Type School Planned for Castle Frank Site: Estate Accepts $700,000 Offer.” The Globe and Mail, 10 Nov. 1960, p. 5.

Seton, Ernest Thompson. Wild Animals I Have Known. Gibbs Smith, 2020.

Simcoe, Elizabeth, and Mary Quayle Innis. Mrs. Simcoe’s Diary. Dundurn, 2007.

Smith, Anne. “‘Let’s Keep What’s Left of Rosedale.’” The Globe and Mail, 24 Dec. 1958, p. 6.

“Special Committee Approves: Replacement Planned for Boulton.” The Globe and Mail, 17 Nov. 1960, p. 5.

St. John, J. Bascom. “THE WORLD OF LEARNING: PROGRAM FOR DROPOUTS.” The Globe and Mail, 14 May 1964, p. 7.

“Story of Castle Frank.” The Globe, 8 May 1895, p. 6.

“That New Hotel.” The Globe, 1 July 1899, p. 32.

“Three Proposals to Cross Ravines to North-West Section.” The Toronto Daily Star, 28 Nov. 1906, p. 8.

Toronto of Old, by Henry Scadding – Gutenberg, gutenberg.ca/ebooks/scadding-torontoofold/scadding-torontoofold-00-h-dir/scadding-torontoofold-00-h.html. Accessed 4 Jan. 2024.

“Two Contracts For Subway Are Awarded.” The Globe and Mail, 16 Jan. 1963, p. 4.

“Two Streets, But One Name.” The Globe, 26 Sept. 1922, p. 13.

“Under Rough Roof, Gay Days: Cairn to Mark Site Of Simcoe’s Castle.” The Globe and Mail, 6 Mar. 1954, p. 10.

“W.A. Murray & Co.” The Globe, 2 Jan. 1899, p. 7.

Westall, Stanley. “Metropolitan Toronto: A Castle on Bloor St.” The Globe and Mail, 28 July 1960, p. 7.

“Will Fight Rezoning Of Castle Frank Area.” The Globe and Mail, 11 Feb. 1959, p. 5.

“A Winchester Viaduct.” The Globe, 3 Feb. 1912, p. 6.

“Would Buy Land For Viaduct.” The Globe, 26 Mar. 1912, p. 9.

“Writing the Environmental History of Toronto’s Don Valley Parkway.” Jennifer Bonnell, jenniferbonnell.com/writing-the-environmental-history-of-torontos-don-valley-parkway/. Accessed 3 Jan. 2024.

YEIGH, FRANK. Ontario’s Parliament Buildings: Or a Century of Legislation, 1792-1892. FORGOTTEN BOOKS, 2018.

“York Pioneers.” The Globe, 1 Feb. 1870, p. 1.

Young, Scott. “In the Road: Sugar Loaf Soon Thing Of Memory.” The Globe and Mail, 8 May 1958, p. 27.

A Quick Early History of Toronto’s First Traffic Signals and The ‘Right on Red’ Rule

In the first half of the twentieth century, automobiles had quite an impact on the streets of Toronto. In 1913, there were 17,000 cars in Toronto; by 1923, the number grew to about 50,000 cars. New rules and technologies were adopted to better manage and regulate how motorists behaved, especially concerning the other users of the road and their safety.

Traffic Lights: A Most Beneficial System

On August 8, 1925, Torontonians were introduced to their first set of automated traffic signals. The new ‘semaphores’ were set up at the busy intersection of Yonge Street and Bloor Street on a trial basis and changed the history of Toronto’s streets forever. It was at least three years in the making, with Toronto Chief of Police Samuel J. Dickson advocating for and finally receiving the system in that time.

Before traffic lights, intersections were regulated by traffic policemen. In the 1910s, this was done largely through hand signals, whistles, and yelling. In 1920, a new ‘semaphore’ was piloted (again at Yonge and Bloor) which consisted of the officer controlling a staffed sign with the words “STOP” and “GO” written on them. The officer rotated the sign to control the flow of traffic. If one peruses archival photos of highly trafficked Toronto intersections, it is common to see a police officer amid the action.

The new traffic lights were an overall success. Automated signals were installed on major junctions along Yonge Street, Bloor Street, and Danforth Avenue, and in suburbs such as East York within the next few years after their introduction. As an example of the new semaphores’ impact, The Globe reported in December 1929, the intersection of Bloor Street and Keele Street had an average of 4 or 5 accidents a day before automated signals were installed there in 1927; there were no accidents after that point.

Police Chief Dickson even dreamed of a master tower at Yonge and Queen to control all the lights in the city. The idea became a reality at the end of 1926. There was even synchronicity within the lights: a motorist travelling straight on Danforth Avenue between Main Street and Broadview Avenue in 1928 was able to meet all green lights if he travelled at 19 or 20 miles per hour; any slower or faster, the driver would hit a red light (the speed was 18 miles per hour downtown).

Of course, several early reports indicated that the new lights were not all good. Even the Mayor weighed in, saying to the Police Chief in October 1925 that officers were still stationed at the Yonge and Bloor ‘experiment’, seemingly defeating the Chief’s goal of having the technology free up more policemen from traffic duty. Sometimes they did not function properly or at all, as The Globe reported in July 1928 of the new, often “stuck” Dundas Street East signals. But despite these complaints, the lights were there to stay; 96 signals were installed in Toronto by the end of the 1920s.

The ‘Right on Red’ Rule

One of the most interesting impacts of the rise and success of traffic lights was a ‘new’ law that permitted a motorist to make a right-hand turn against a signal that would otherwise make him wait at the intersection. This is the ‘right on red’ rule. On March 22, 1927, Police Chief Dickson announced the reinstatement of the permission, indicating that it was actually in effect “some time ago” and the success of the new lights could now allow for it once more. It is unclear what period the rule was previously in place or why it disappeared, although reckless driving at unmanned intersections is a theory for its removal.

The ‘right on red’ permission was not without controversy, even with the police itself. The organization vowed to watch right-turning drivers and warned them to prioritize the safety of pedestrians who had the right of way to cross the street.

In July 1928, new Police Chief D.C. Draper reiterated motorists were allowed to turn right at a “hostile” light, having “regard” of other cars and pedestrians who have the right of way. However, in March 1929, Draper advocated against the rule. In a report by the Traffic Committee, which monitored Toronto streets for more than a month for traffic improvements, the Chief suggested, among other items, the discontinuance of “the present practice of motorists making a right-hand turn against the red light” or “otherwise give them a warning that the pedestrians have the right of way, and that right-hand turns against a red signal are only allowed when care is exercised”. The Board of Control ultimately went against the Chief and retained the rule while reiterated motorists were responsible for pedestrian safety.

Interestingly, in Hamilton, which was the setting of Canada’s first traffic lights just two months before Toronto’s semaphores were installed, the Traffic Committee wanted to abolish the rule which allowed right-hand turns on red lights in 1933. Oddly, it was met with disapproval from the Ontario Department of Highways. The by-law ultimately remained.

Despite many calls in Toronto in the decades since to remove the permission for good, the Highway Traffic Act currently upholds it in Ontario:

s. 144 (19) Despite subsection (18) and subject to subsection (14) [Green Arrows], a driver, after stopping his or her vehicle and yielding the right of way to traffic lawfully approaching so closely that to proceed would constitute an immediate hazard, may,
(a) turn to the right; or
(b) turn to the left from a one-way street into a one-way street,
without a green indication being shown.

To Stop or Not?

Another interesting question arose on the requirement to stop before turning right. In November 1927, a person writing into The Toronto Daily Star‘s “Voice of The People” section was puzzled by the different standards of when there was a stop sign at an intersection (which he interpreted as ‘stop means stop’) and when there was a policeman with a semaphore (which he interpreted as ‘stop means stop sometimes‘). The editor replied that when an officer was holding the semaphore, he supervises traffic and allows right turns without stopping. When there is no officer, all cars must stop.

Within Toronto City Hall, the issue of drivers legally passing through a red light to turn right was debated for several years. In July 1929, Toronto’s Traffic Committee suggested an amendment of certain by-laws to protect pedestrians, including motorists were to come to a stop before making a right-hand turn against the red light. It did not seem to have made an impact. In December 1933, the idea was raised again, this time proving more successful. The Board of Control favoured a change to the by-law so that every driver must come to a full stop before making a right turn at an intersection controlled by automatic traffic signals. The change seemed to be spurred by complaints that motorists were not heeding the way to pedestrians and “showing no consideration for the pedestrian”. City Council adopted the change on December 12th of the year, subject to approval by the Department of Highways.

Inexplicably, the rule was changed back only four months later. In April 1934, the by-law requiring motorists to make a complete stop before a right turn at a red light was rescinded. The Board of Police Commissioners instructed police officers to safeguard the rights of pedestrians once more.

It is unclear when exactly the law reverted once again, but it seems the matter was not closed. The idea seemed to be backed in other circles, too. In a February 1934 meeting of the Ontario Motor League, a suggestion was advanced that those turning right in the province should come to a full stop at both a red land green light. In 1938, a reader of The Globe and Mail expressed his displeasure in the lack of pedestrian rights in motorists not having to stop before right turns. A decade later, in July 1948, the same newspaper rode along with Toronto Traffic Safety Council Inspector Vernon H. Page in a motor car as he pointed out traffic infractions, including those failing to come to a full stop before a right turn, meaning by this point the law was reinstated.

Today, of course, a red light does indeed mean ‘stop’ in all contexts, as the Highway Traffic Act so states:

s. 144 (18) Every driver approaching a traffic control signal showing a circular red indication and facing the indication shall stop his or her vehicle and shall not proceed until a green indication is shown.

Works Referenced

“24-Hour Operation Of Traffic Signals Proves Successful.” The Globe, 28 July 1928, p. 13.

“24-Hour Police Service, East York, Authorized; Other Changes Urged.” The Globe, 18 Jan. 1929, p. 13.

“Allow Right Turn Against Red Light.” The Toronto Daily Star, 22 Mar. 1927, p. 3.

“Automatic Control Of Central Traffic Assured InToronto.” The Globe, 20 Mar. 1926, p. 14.

“Automatic Control Of Toronto Traffic To Be Inaugurated.” The Globe, 5 Nov. 1926, p. 11.

“Automatic Signals To Be Installed At Fifty-Five More Intersections Controlling All Main Street Traffic.” The Globe, 10 Mar. 1928, p. 8.

“Automatic Signals Will Operate Today At Bloor And Yonge.” The Globe, 8 Aug. 1925, p. 13.

Bateman, Chris. “A Brief History of the First Traffic Lights in Toronto.” BlogTO, BlogTO, 3 Aug. 2013, https://www.blogto.com/city/2013/08/a_brief_history_of_the_first_traffic_lights_in_toronto/.

“Canada’s First Traffic Lights at Hamilton’s Delta.” Thespec.com, 8 May 2021, https://www.thespec.com/life/local-history/spec175/2021/05/08/canadas-frist-traffic-lights-at-hamiltons-delta.html#:~:text=On%20June%2011%2C%201925%2C%20the,lights%20was%20meant%20for%20them.

“Car May Turn Right Against Red Signal.” The Globe, 20 May 1933, p. 2.

“Cars In Toronto Now Number 50,000.” The Globe, 1923 Sept. 1AD, p. 8.

“Chief Draper Asks Co-Operation of Pedestrian And Motorist Of Solving Local Traffic Problem.” The Globe, 10 May 1929, p. 15.

“Chief’s Suggestions In Tabloid Form.” The Globe, 5 Mar. 1929, p. 15.

“City of Toronto Traffic By-Law.” The Toronto Daily Star, 2 Mar. 1933, p. 12.

“Civic Police Force To Be Augmented With Hundred Men.” The Globe, 9 Feb. 1928, p. 13.

“Flashing Lights Operate Traffic Bloor And Yonge.” The Toronto Daily Star, 8 Aug. 1925, p. 1.

Guillet, Edwin C. “Teeth in Traffic Laws.” The Globe and Mail, 13 Oct. 1938, p. 6.

“Highway Traffic Act, R.S.O. 1990, c. H.8.” Ontario.ca, 19 Nov. 2018, https://www.ontario.ca/laws/statute/90h08.

“More Semaphores Soon.” The Toronto Daily Star, 14 July 1920, p. 19.

“More Traffic Signals.” The Globe, 8 June 1928, p. 17.

“Needs Larger Force, Says Chief of Police.” The Globe, 5 Nov. 1925, p. 12.

“New Traffic Signals Are Very Effective.” The Globe, 5 June 1920, p. 16.

“Of Interest to Motorists.” The Globe, 24 Oct. 1925, p. 9.

“Operate Semaphores.” The Toronto Daily Star, 31 May 1920, p. 2.

“Over 100,000 Ontario Cars.” The Globe, 22 July 1919, p. 9.

“Planning Scheme Will Be Discussed By Central Body.” The Globe, 5 Dec. 1929, p. 15.

“Police Chief Wants Automatic Control In Downtown Areas.” The Globe, 24 June 1925, p. 13.

“Police to Safeguard Against Right Turns.” The Globe, 26 Apr. 1934, p. 4.

“Police Traffic Squad Readjust Signal Systems.” The Globe, 10 Aug. 1928, p. 13.

“Remembering Toronto’s First Automated Traffic Lights: August 8: Snapshots in History.” Local History & Genealogy, https://torontopubliclibrary.typepad.com/local-history-genealogy/2019/08/remembering-torontos-first-automated-traffic-lights-august-8-snapshots-in-history.html.

“Return To Old Rule Of Right-Hand Turn.” The Globe, 22 Mar. 1927, p. 11.

“Says Light System As Traffic Signal Is Toronto’s Need.” The Globe, 10 July 1925, p. 9.

Schrag, Lex. “Camera Catches Motorists, Pedestrians Breaking Rules.” The Globe and Mail, 20 July 1948, p. 13.

“Semaphore On Trial.” The Toronto Daily Star, 1 June 1920, p. 1.

“Signal Set Against Police Chief By Board Of Control.” The Globe, 16 Mar. 1929, p. 18.

“Speed Limit Stays Unchanged At Present.” The Globe, 27 Feb. 1934, p. 4.

“Stop Before Right Turn.” The Toronto Daily Star, 12 Dec. 1933, p. 5.

“Stop Before Turn Against Red Light Urged In Report.” The Globe, 29 July 1929, p. 16.

“Stop Recommended Before Right Turn.” The Globe, 7 Dec. 1933, p. 11.

“Traffic Report By Chief Draper Goes To Control Board.” The Globe, 5 Mar. 1929, p. 15.

“Traffic Signal Urged For Danforth And Victoria Park.” The Globe, 16 Oct. 1928, p. 13.

“Traffic Signals Called Obsolete.” The Globe, 15 Feb. 1935, p. 11.

“Voice Of The People.” The Toronto Daily Star, 29 Nov. 1927, p. 6.

“When Lights Get Stuck.” The Globe, 7 July 1928, p. 6.

When Taddle Creek stank: Why the river was lost

Note: This article first appeared in Spacing Magazine, Issue 56. It has been reproduced here with permission.

In the late nineteenth century, Taddle Creek between Bloor and College Streets was a risk to public health. The waterway was then known as University Creek, since it passed through the grounds of the recently formed University of Toronto. It was considered a nuisance by everyone who commented on the unpleasant situation.

Once part of a picturesque natural landscape, by 1873 the state of University Creek had begun to decline, and it worsened over the next decade. Although arguably not the filthiest waterway in Toronto at the time (the Don River or Garrison Creek may have taken that title), the stream was essentially an open sewer.

Watercolour by Lucius O’Brien entitled University College, showing McCaul’s Pond on Taddle Creek, 1876. Credit: University of Toronto Archives.

The cause of the filth was sewage flowing from the nearby Village of Yorkville. The Toronto suburb was its own independent political entity at the time and, in the 1870s, its water supply and drainage were proving inadequate. Consequently, residents on Prince Arthur, Elgin, and Lowther Avenues, as well as on the north side of Bloor Street West, discharged their waste directly into the creek. There were also reports that McMaster College (now the Royal Conservatory) draining “refuse water from the sinks and water closets” into the stream as well.

Citizens called on the University of Toronto and City of Toronto to close the creek and hold Yorkville accountable, but little was accomplished.

And so, University Creek stank. McCaul’s Pond – the connected man-made pond named for the school’s first president – was a cesspool. Winds carried the stench as far north as Bloor Street, south to College Street, west to St. George Street, and east to North Street (now part of Bay Street). Above all, the University Creek nuisance posed a danger to the well-being of the approximately six hundred students and faculty at the University, the residents living around Queen’s Park, and visitors to the park.

University of Toronto Campus Map of area bounded by College, St. George, Bloor and Surrey Place, 1859. Credit: University of Toronto Archives.

The mismanagement of University Creek had consequences for the health of Torontonians. According to The Globe, dwellers close to the waterway had become “accustomed” to the odour, but their sense of smell had been “deadened” as if they were working in a “soap boiling factory.” A former alderman of the city was said to have been “laid up” by an unspecified illness caused by the creek.

Ultimately, however, an even greater fear grew out of the University Creek debacle. The impacts of wide-spreading diseases like cholera were well-known in Toronto by this time. The Town of York had experienced a bout of cholera in 1832, which took the lives of several hundred residents from a total population of 5,000. Two years later, another epidemic of the same kind hit what was by then the City of Toronto. These events led to greater awareness of sanitation and the creation of a municipal public health board. When Dr. John Snow uncovered the disease’s water-born roots in England in the 1850s, Toronto was, in theory, better placed to understand and respond to the disease.

McCaul’s Pond, present site of Hart House, circa 1880. Credit: University of Toronto Archives.

But a cholera outbreak swept through Europe and Egypt beginning in 1881. By 1883, the outcry over the state of Toronto’s waterways and the tangible possibility of an epidemic heightened concerns even more. At least two news articles unceremoniously likened University Creek to the ”River Styx” of Greek mythology. Another commentator argued in The Globe that cholera resulting from the stream would have been a ”blessing in disguise” as it would have spurred officials into action after a decade of inertia.

In 1883, public health reports on University Creek finally spurred action. Toronto’s medical health officer in commenting on the state of the polluted stream and its ”effluvia,” suggested the only effectual remedy was the construction of a sewer and, in the short term, the use of ”disinfectants.” In an interview with The Globe, Dr. John Oldright of the Provincial Board of Health echoed those recommendations. With that, the matter was turned over to the Board of Works, which solicited tenders for a University Creek sewer. The City Treasurer quoted a total cost of $11,200.

In 1884, the City Engineer received orders to proceed with the project, and the stream was encased underground. By May, the southern section of the University Creek sewer was completed first, connecting it to the existing Murray Street sewer. This portion ran through the grounds of “Sleepy Hollow”, the estate of Lieutenant-Governor John Beverley Robinson, on the south side of College Street between University Avenue and McCaul Street, “so that surplus water that may collect at the approach will be carried away”. The northern section was completed later that year.

Hering & Gray: Plan of the City of Toronto, Proposed Intercepting Sewers and Outfall, 1889. Credit: Fort York and Garrison Common Maps

Just as University Creek disappeared underground, references to the waterway’s name faded in the decades following the construction of the new sewer. Today, Taddle Creek – the common name for the stream since about the 1920s — lives on in the legends of lost Toronto. The ravine-like landscape of Philosopher’s Walk hides the north end of University Creek while Hart House and Hart House Circle sit over the former McCaul’s Pond. With some recent calls to daylight this portion of Taddle Creek, perhaps one day this long-buried creek may live again, only now, its fresh, clean water will be a public health benefit rather than a curse.

Andy Warhol: Revisited

The idea of a popup gallery is neat. It’s impermanent and for a limited time – a chance to take in something that one wouldn’t otherwise have a chance to see. That, in of itself, is a buzz creator. To make it about Andy Warhol is just icing.

In the case of the Andy Warhol: Revisited Pop Art exhibition, which makes its temporary home in a vacant store at 77 Bloor Street West, there isn’t a showcase of the famed artist’s works in Toronto, so it makes for a very cool initiative by Revolver Gallery.

Going into this, my own exposure to Andy Warhol was pretty limited. I’m aware that he was an odd artist from New York who employed a very distinct, colourful style, and himself became an identifiable figure in Western popular culture. Oh, and David Bowie was into his work. But the rhyme or reason behind his work? I couldn’t tell ya.

That started to change when I was at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC earlier this year. Two of his iconic pieces gave me an inside to him: the famed Campbell’s Soup Cans and Gold Marilyn Monroe.

They reveal two themes that play out in much of his artwork: growing commercialism and the obsession (his own and society’s) with the notion of ‘celebrity’.

So now, literally revisiting Warhol here in Toronto, I get a chance to learn more. Walking into the gallery, the first thing I encounter is a fun play on the soup cans.

Aesthetically and functionally, the space itself really works. It’s a nearly all white room with the works lining the walls. There’s lots of seating, many of them positioned in front of the pieces. In the centre of the room is a media area with walls of hundreds of self-portraits.

The back of the gallery notably features a wall of ‘Socialites’ – people that asked Warhol to capture them in his art, thereby offering them a kind of immortality.

Near that is a row of the recognizable soup cans. I’d like to know what Hot Dog Bean tastes like. Warhol himself must’ve known very well because at one point that’s all he ate.

There’s a wall of shadowy figures (including Warhol himself, who I didn’t make out at first and needed to ask a gallery docent)…

…and historical icons! The simple, yet powerful ‘Red Lenin’ might be my favourite piece in the entire exhibition. Its simplicity speaks to how compelling and bold a figure he was.

There’s plenty more to see beyond what I’ve shown, which definitely warrants a first hand look for yourself, reader.

All in all, Andy Warhol: Revisited really works as the ‘museum-style exhibition’ it presents itself as. It’s even got a tiny, yet tempting gift shop. It is on until December 31 of this year, and the works within the exhibit rotate throughout that duration. That’ll certainly warrant at least a few repeat visits!

Scenes From Yorkville

Before I can start my stroll, I note the taste for coffee developing in my buds. I opt not for Starbucks and not for Timmies, which hang beside each other in competition, but for the Toronto Reference Library. Yes, it may be closed on this Easter Monday, but Balzac’s isn’t. The customer in front of me in line tries to pronounce the name of the brew she’s ordering; the barista has to correct her. Me, I don’t bother with the given name of my amber roast; I grab it and am on my way. Now I can start.

Yorkville is about as quintessential a Toronto neighbourhood as you can get. It also has a deeply layered past and an ever evolving future, some of which I am already aware of and eager to see the evidence of. While its borders have expanded and contracted over its long history, it’s my thought that the part east of Yonge doesn’t get a lot of consideration.

And so, that’s what I intend to do to start things off.

I don’t get very far on Asquith before I see my first discovery. Although I’m hugging (not literally) the Bell building on the opposite side of the street, my eyes spot a pathway beyond the library across the way. The street sign reads ‘Sherlock Holmes Walk’. Literary giants next to one another! Having read Mr. Conan Doyle’s biography years ago, I imagine he would approve of the tribute – he loved Toronto and Canada (and hated the States).

At the end of the way is Church Street, whose curvy route between Bloor and Yonge Streets is the result of a project to relieve traffic congestion in the 1920s. Even without this knowledge, the odd meeting of Church, Collier, and Park streets and the island it forms in the middle just looks unnatural. I look towards Davenport, spotting the famed Masonic Temple, 1917, but opt to head in the opposite direction.

Goads Atlas 1884, Yorkville east of Yonge — Yorkville, east of Yonge Street. Source: Goads Atlas, 1884.

My next stop, situated beside a singular Victorian house (no doubt once part of a row), is Asquith Green, which sadly is more muggy brown than green. Still though, I remind myself of the parkette’s potential in the summer and give it points for the animal cutouts and accenting structure in the middle. I don’t know the source of what I think is a quote, but subsequent Googling has produced ‘We Rise Again’, an Eastern Canadian music classic. Here’s a moving version with the great Maritme songstresses, Anne Murray and the late Rita MacNeil.

Following Park Road up, I come to Rosedale Valley Road. This quiet throughway marks the border between Yorkville and its upscale residential sister, Rosedale.

It is also built on top of the now completely buried Castle Frank Brook. It is particularly important in shaping the modern geography of Yorkville, but also to its history – particularly in its brewing and brick making past. Located southwest of me near Sherbourne Street, for example, was Joseph Bloore’s brewery. Bloor Street, of course, is his namesake. (Mr. Bloore also holds the distinction of having the freakiest portrait of any figure in Toronto’s history.) Parkland marks the intersection, and trudge through it to arrive at Severn Street.

Joseph Bloor Brewery, 1865. Source: Toronto Public Library.

The tiny dead end street is anything but inconsequential. For one, it’s named after John Severn, another 19th century brewer. His establishment stood at Yonge and Church. Moreover, Castle Frank Brook’s alternate name is Severn/Brewery Creek.

Severn's Brewery, 1870s — Severn’s Brewery, 1870s. Source: Toronto Public Library.

Severn's Brewery, 1912 — Severn’s Brewery, 1912. Source: Toronto Public Library.

Perhaps even more notable to the street is that one can find the Studio Building. On the way here, I passed through Lawren Harris Park; Mr. Harris lived and worked in the Studio Building, 1914, along with other members of the Group of Seven.

The Studio Building holds double distinction as a National Historic Site and a Toronto heritage property. The Toronto Historical Board plaque in particular informs me that the Harris in Lawren Harris is of the Massey-Harris industrial empire. Learn something everyday. The Studio Building was designed to be a secluded quiet spot where artists can work their creative process. As I move around the building I hear the periodic screeching of the Yonge subway and somehow I think that doesn’t completely hold true today (although the surrounding parkland does help a bit).

I continue on my way, this time following Aylmer up. I stop for a moment to watch the trains roll in and out of Rosedale Station and then cross Yonge. The street becomes Belmont and I’m liking the streetscape on either side of me. Other than admiring the charm, however, I do have another purpose for being here.

Belmont House is a retirement home and long term care centre built in the 60s. More interesting to its story is that it is built on the site of an Aged Men’s Home, Aged Women’s Home, and Magdalen Asylum & Industrial House of Refuge.

The latter establishment is most fascinating. On first glance at the name, it doesn’t sound like a particularly good place – asylums generally don’t provoke the best connotations and the Biblical character it’s named for isn’t always portrayed in the best light either. The ever trustworthy Wikipedia tells that Magdalen Asylums are not just a Toronto thing. Its history, however, promotes it as a place of care for homeless women and I suppose I will take it as such.

This detour completed, I circle back to Yonge Street and walk north. I turn onto Ramsden Park, the former site of 19th century brickyards. Castle Frank Brook ran through here too, the riverbed making for rich clay deposits. The park’s uneven, dug-in landscape is the only remnant of its industrial past. (And here I’ll shamelessly plug my Industrial Heritage Map). There’s also a few stubborn remnants of winter in a file snow piles that refuse to acknowledge the existence of spring.

Yorkville Brickyards Goad's, 1884 - Copy — Yorkville Brickyards. Source: Goad’s Atlas, 1884.

Yorkville Brickyards, 1880s. Source: Toronto Public Library.

Pears Street, which runs adjacent, is named for one of the brick makers. A cat lounges on the sidewalk and soaks up the sun. He has the right idea. I eventually hit Avenue Road. Across the way is 174 Avenue, otherwise known as the Village Corner in the 1960s Yorkville folk scene. The Village Corner gave the first break to Ian & Silvia and a young Gordon Lightfoot in 1962. For more on Gordon Lightfoot’s Toronto, look here please.

With a skip down the street and a turn onto Hazelton Avenue, I’m onto more familiar settings when it comes to the neighbourhood of Yorkville. Hazelton is considered part of the heart of the Village and is pretty much an architecture lover’s dream. Bay and Gable, Gothic, Worker’s Cottage…it’s hard not to dream while being here. Alas, I stop myself from getting too ‘in the clouds’.

The southern end of the street has a more commercial character. It features Heliconian Hall, the second National Historic Site of the day (and, like the Studio Building, also holds dual heritage recognition). The Hall is the counterpart to a place like the Arts & Letters Club on Elm Street in that it was originally a professional association for women when they were excluded from Arts & Letter Clubs. Today it is an event space.

Across the way are a line of boutiques and neat little street art. I lament at the sight of one characters wearing a Leaf jerseys. Somehow the ‘maybe next year’ saying isn’t appropriate. They are also the lead in to Hazelton Lanes, the premiere mall of the Village.

Yorkville Avenue marks the end of the street. At the corner is the Hazelton Hotel, which represents everything Yorkville is today – fashionable, luxurious, and expensive. The Hotel replaced a series of rowhouses after the heyday of the bohemian village, one of which housed the Riverboat Coffee House. This was the most famous of all coffee houses and another venue Mr. Lightfoot got his ‘chops.’

I follow the street east, passing the first Mount Sinai Hospital (1922) and the Sheriff’s House (1837) on either side of the street. I peek down Bellair and inwardly judge the patio-ers. I know it’s a sunny day and there’s a certain desperation for more welcoming climates, but it is still very chilly and not quite patio weather. Moving on, the wideness of Bay Street to me breaks apart the neat, quiet street vibe. It’s no wonder that, like Church Street, it didn’t always run through Yorkville. Bay was extended north to Davenport in 1922.

In any case, I cross it and pass the shiny and blue Four Seasons Hotel (which might be my favourite tall towers in the city) and its adjoining parkette. Beside is Fire Hall #10, 1890, which displays the Yorkville Coat of Arms. The emblem was once located a stone’s throw away at the now lost Yorkville Town Hall on Yonge Street. Decked on the coat of arms are symbols of early industrialists that built the Village, including our friend Severn the brewer.

Beside the fire station is Yorkville Library, 1907. This Beaux-Arts gem is one of the famed Carnegie Libraries. Adjoined to it is Town Hall Square Park, which, and I know parks come in different forms and sizes, but isn’t too park-ish too me. Maybe users of the park, like the woman promenading around with her dog, disagree.

I leave the area and head down a laneway to Cumberland. Cumberland Terrace is to my left. It’s a bit of an oddity within its surroundings. It might have fit in well in 1970s when Yorkville was beginning its gentrification, but now it’s a bit of a tacky sour thumb.

Village of Yorkville Park (doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?) is a bit of an oddball park too. It’s meant to represent the diversity of Canadian landscapes from coast to coast. I wouldn’t have known this if I had not read it. The highlight for most people is the giant rock which represents the Canadian Shield (and actually the hunk of rock really did come from the Canadian Shield!). I take a seat on some nearby rest points, and, as the subway rumbles under me, I recognize that park does it’s job. It’s well used and a meeting point for people. It’s excellent for people watching, for example the people lining the other side of the street and sitting in the patio of Hemingway’s (more internal judgement).

Down Bellair I go and I’m at Bloor Street. Needing to cross the street, I head towards Bay. The Manulife Centre, 1974, presides over the intersection and its ill-fated scramble crossing. From mynew location, I get a good view of the ‘Mink Mile’ that is Bloor. A noted spotting is the Pottery Barn, whose facade alludes to its prior incarnation as the University Theatre.

I take a little detour down St. Thomas and catch a look at the sophisticated Windsor Arms Hotel, 1927. It actually reminds me of a fortress. This area wasn’t part of the original Village of Yorkville, but as mentioned earlier, borders have expanded and contracted, and somehow the area south of Bloor is lumped into Yorkville. The Windsor Arms fits in well with the swankiness of the neighbourhood anyways. As I’m admiring and snapping pictures, a UPS driver buzzes the door of the adjacent University Apartment. He doesn’t find who he’s looking for.

I have to let out an internal weep at what I see at the construction site on the opposing corner. There are Victorian facades fronting an empty pit, and I realize we’re about to get a facadist (ie, cop out) approach to preserving the heritage elements to whatever development is on the way. Shame.

Back on Bloor, I make a mental cue for Pink Floyd because I’m off to Yonge to end things where they began. It’s actually a sad note, because, like the site of Sultan and St. Thomas Streets, I note with a frown at the ‘progress’ on the Stollery’s site and how poorly the demolition unfolded. Across the way, One Bloor inches closer to completion.