The Priory—a sad ending

In his essential History of Guelph, Leo Johnson remarks that the Priory—the first house in Guelph—came to a sad ending (1977, p. 317). I have outlined the history of the Priory in an earlier post but it is worth revisiting this particular event in some detail: On the eve of the 100th anniversary of the city and the building, how was it that this historic structure was hauled away in pieces, never to be seen again?

The sad ending begins many years earlier, in 1887, when the Priory was sold to the Guelph Junction Railway (GJR). The GJR was a corporation formed in 1887 by local merchants and the city to create a transportation link to Guelph to compete with the Grand Trunk Railway, thus lowering shipping rates and costs for Guelphites and their businesses. The railway built a track from near Campbellville through the city itself. Instead of running the railway themselves, the corporation leased it to the Canadian Pacific Railway (CPR).

There had been some discussion of using the existing Grand Trunk Station downtown as a depot, thus creating a Union Station. However, the GJR instead acquired the Priory, which had been a private residence owned by David Spence. The 99-year lease to the CPR gave them the right to modify the property as necessary for the purpose of operating a station. No thought was given to what would become of the Priory in the event that the CPR no longer wanted it. Although some citizens were concerned about the erosion of links to Guelph's past and its founder, John Galt, there was no sense that preservation of certain structures for posterity was a significant project or something that might be enshrined in the city's contractual relationships, much less public policy. That proved to be fateful for the Priory.

The Priory's previous owners had created quite a park around the structure. The grounds featured a variety of flower and vegetable gardens, with paths in between. In the gardens could be found gooseberries, apples and plums, including the "Glass seedling plum" developed by David Allan's gardener, Alex Glass (Mercury, 5 Feb. 1955). Iris, narcissus and tulips were grown beside the main path, and the greenhouse featured several rare plants, including Spanish grapes.

The Mercury records the suggestion that the grounds be maintained in order to beautify the station and gratify visitors to Guelph (4 July 1888):

The Priory Trees.—The attention of the directors of the Guelph junction might be called to the need of caring for the valuable trees on the Priory lot. Owing to the grove being completely open from the track, but secluded by the clothes fence, from the street, young vandals have taken advantage of this license and have stripped three white birch trees of their bark. No grove perhaps in the city for its size contains more valuable specimens of choice trees there being 15 varieties of evergreens alone. It is a beautiful spot and will make a very comfortable resting place for travelers, and if thrown open for the benefit of the public would give them a nice park also. A fence behind the station along the track, with footpath through and seats round would put it under the protection of every citizen, and all would feel a just pride in preserving the small but valuable park.

In the end, most of the gardens, paths, and other features were removed to accommodate the tracks, platform, and access to Priory Street. Although the CPR was not wantonly destructive, neither was it much interested in the maintenance of gardens or the provision a civic park. As a result, the Priory did not receive "the protection of every citizen."

During the "golden" age of postcards in the early 20th century, the Priory was one of the most popular postcard views of Guelph. One particular image, taken from the east where Macdonell Street meets the Speed, is likely the most common Guelph postcard ever made. Here is the version of this image as produced by the Pugh Manufacturing Co. of Toronto.

This view shows the building as it appeared around 1900. With its contrasting colors, it nicely picks up the details in the building, including the Virginia creeper growing over much of its exterior.

Although the caption on this card says only, "C.P.R. Station, Guelph", captions of many cards from other companies often note that it was also the first house in Guelph and once the home of John Galt. Messages on these cards often mention the Priory, as in the following example from a card printed by the A.L. Merrill Co. of Toronto, sent in 1908:

I know you like historic buildings. This is the first house that was built in Guelph. It is about one hundred years old now. The C.P.R. use it as a station on account of it being the first house. they are not allowed to pull it down. J. M.

(Courtesy of John Parkyn.) It is interesting that Joe Merlihan (J.M.) remarked on the possible demolition of the Priory, since that had already become an issue of much discussion.

Before proceeding with that matter, I want to put up an unusual postcard that shows the Priory from across the Speed. This postcard was printed in the format of a bookmark and thus provides a panoramic view of the building and its surroundings at another point in its career as a CPR station.

This card was published by Rumsey and Co. of Toronto, around 1910. The photo reveals the screen of trees behind the building that still separated it somewhat from the downtown behind it. Note also the locomotive on the tracks to the right.

It would also help to have a bird's eye view of the Priory and its surroundings. No postcard or other such image survives, that I know of. However, one can be concocted by taking a satellite view of the vicinity from Google Maps and overlaying an early survey of the Priory and neighboring lots done by Captain Strange (and copied in 1957 by Mr. Shoemaker, a surveyor; University of Guelph Archives XR1 MS A379094). The outline of the Priory is emphasized by a black box with its porch facing the Speed.

I adjusted the overlay by locating two fixed points: The first is the bend of Woolwich Street immediately east of Thorp Street (Woolwich used to bend south there instead of north); the second is the location of the bridge at Allan's Dam, where the railway bridge was later constructed. The result is a rough-and-ready map of the Priory. The bulk of the Priory's plan is now under Woolwich Street with the porch to the north of the sidewalk, facing the metal canoe in John Galt Park. The map helps to give a sense of the scale of the building and its grounds, the latter comprising all the lots between Priory Street and the Speed River on the map.

Progress soon made the Priory seem obsolete as a railway station. In 1904, the CPR began construction of the Guelph to Goderich Railway, at the behest of the GJR. It was proposed that Priory be razed and replaced by a larger and more modern building as a part of this project (Johnson 1977, p. 318). Although the cost of $40,000 proved prohibitive, the proposal brought the matter to a head. Many residents viewed the Priory as something of a relic, one that seemed increasingly shabby and out-of-place in modern Guelph. Others viewed it as a significant connection with the Royal City's past. Even the Mercury, normally a voice for progress, urged that the old place be preserved (Mercury, 4 June 1904):

And, by the way, now that C.P.R. extension is in the air and a new station is talked of, what is to become of the old Priory? If the citizens of Guelph have any respect at all for, and pride in, the city’s history, they will see that this historical building is preserved intact. Would it not be a good idea to place it on rollers and remove it to the Exhibition grounds, to be used as a museum, containing interesting relics of Guelph, and including such old pictures as are now available.

Since the CPR's lease seemed to give them a free hand, the obvious way to save the Priory was to move it to another site. Buildings were moved around regularly in that era, so the scheme raised no technical problems. However, the notion of a historic park where old buildings might be located was, so far as I know, a novelty. Would it attract much support?

One important supporter of preservation was brewer George Sleeman. In 1905, then-Mayor Sleeman received a letter from one Gilbert Campbell, a Scottish fan of John Galt. In the letter, Mr. Campbell asked for confirmation of a story that had reached his ear to the effect that Guelphites proposed to destroy Galt's old residence. He offered a photo of Galt's birthplace in exchange for a photo (perhaps a postcard?) of the Priory. The Mercury (16 Oct. 1905) printed the letter along with the following observation:

His worship the mayor is one of the many citizens who hope that the old landmark will not be disturbed. He will acquaint to Mr. Campbell of the present situation.

In 1908, the CPR agreed to deputations from Guelph City Council urging them to build a new, better station in the town (Johnson 1977, p. 318). Construction of the new station in Trafalgar Square by the Eramosa Road bridge began in 1910. Their plans for the Priory site no longer included the building. Instead, they had plans to construct a short spur line and some pens and storage sheds at that location.

The crisis point was reached in 1911, upon completion of the new station. A letter from Donald Guthrie, a local lawyer, addressed to the Board of the GJR explains the situation (8 July 1911; UoG Archives XR1 MS A801—box 16, file 10). He explains that, in his opinion, the Priory is the property of the GJR and the CPR's lease does not entitle them to demolish or sell the structure. He reports that Mr. Oborne, Superintendent of the CPR, did not agree and said that, notwithstanding this news, the Company would demolish the building if it were not removed within a week! Mr. Guthrie advised that while the GJR could sue the CPR, it might be more expedient for Sleeman to contact Oborne personally to discuss the matter, as Sleeman was a prominent local customer of theirs.

Sleeman and the other Parks Commissioners explored numerous options. One scheme was to transport the building to Riverside Park. However, the cost estimate of $500 was more than could be mustered without help from either the CPR or the City Council, both unlikely. Besides,the building might not even fit under the streetcar wires on Woolwich Street.

Another scheme was to move the Priory a short distance back into Priory Park (the current location of the Blacksmith Fountain). However, the City Board of Works would not issue a permit to allow the move, a decision that the police promised to enforce (Mercury, 19 July 1911).

The CPR refused another suggestion to allow the building to be moved to the empty southwest corner of their site.

The situation provoked much popular discussion, much of it negative. Consider the following reports in the Mercury (26 July 1911):

All kinds of opinions continue to be expressed regarding the old building. Mr. C.J. Eisle was of the opinion that if its disposition were referred to the people they would 99 out of every hundred vote for its destruction. Six or seven men passed him when the fire bell rang the other day, and for fun he told him the fire was at the old C.P.R. station. In each case they expressed the hope that it was. This was Mr. Eisle’s method of taking a plebiscite. These opinions are in accordance with that of a prominent manufacturer, said if the disposal of the building were left to him he would put a stick of dynamite under it and blow it up.

Another wag suggested that it be taken to St. George's Square, halved in size, and used as a comfort station for streetcar passengers there.

The City's Finance Committee recommended a grant of $500 for removal of the Priory to Riverside Park. However, this proposal was flatly rejected by City Council in a session that featured "fireworks" (Mercury, 19 Aug. 1911):

Ald. Penfold was not a bit backward in stating his objections to any grant, in fact he was very much opposed to it. “The idea,” said the alderman, “of spending that amount of money for the removal of a few rotten logs! Why the idea is preposterous, and not to be thought of at all.”

Others objected that the shabby building would discredit the city and its citizens if displayed prominently in a city park:

Aldermen Calvert came back with a remark that if it was erected on the Priory Park site it would look like a man with a black eye.

Finally, the controversy also revealed a division along class lines. Most of the advocates for relocation of the Priory were wealthy and prominent men. Many citizens found the whole scheme evidence of how misguided and out-of-touch their wealthy patricians could be:

Alderman Howard was decidedly opposed to the removal of the building to Riverside Park. ”It is ridiculous,” said the alderman. ”I have interviewed a great number of the ratepayers, and not a single man has said that he was in favor of the project. The majority of them had said to tear it down. Furthermore, the council has no right to be dictated to by a few people who have a lot of money.”

City Council refused the grant. So, the ball landed squarely in George Sleeman's court. Sleeman had in the meantime purchased the building from the GJR and spent $300 on preparations for its relocation. He now contacted Mr. Oborne again and convinced him to allow the Priory to be relocated at the back of their site. It was relocated behind the Priory Hotel, on a laneway from Woolwich Street (as it was then) to Priory Street, roughly where the Supreme Car Wash stands on Woolwich Street today. The CPR had no immediate plans for that particular part of the site. Their condition on this agreement was that the Priory would be removed within 30 days of the CPR notifying Mr. Sleeman at some future time (2 Sept. 1911; UoG Archives XR1 MS A801—box 16, file 10).

The Mercury heaved a sigh of relief. On 29 Sept. 1911, a headline read, "Fate of the old Priory at last determined." However, the old building had merely been granted a reprieve. Also, dismantling of the structure had begun. Oddly, George Sleeman had the two side wings of the Priory removed and taken to his property on Waterloo Avenue, there erected as an independent structure (Mercury, 28 Aug 1911). Is was only the remainder of the building that was moved to the rear of the CPR grounds. It is unclear why Sleeman made this move. Perhaps it was the only way for the building to fit into the space made available by the CPR. Perhaps, seeing that the Priory was not out of danger, he had removed as much of it as he could afford to. In any event, the signs were not good.

Without anyone to maintain it, the Priory fell into disrepair and increasingly became an eyesore. It acquired the bad habit of catching fire, which it did at least three times in 1922 (Mercury, 27 Sep. 1922). That same year, members the City Parks and Buildings Committee asked the Council for some money to purchase the Priory from Sleeman with a view to moving it to Riverside Park, apparently in connection with a dam to be constructed there to make a swimming pool. Once again, the money was not forthcoming.

In 1923, the Guelph law firm of Guthrie & Kerwin corresponded with the CPR, suggesting that the railway lease the land on which the Priory then sat to the city, so that they could make a small park around it (31 July 1923; UoG Archives XR1 MS A801—box 16, file 10). Although CPR Superintendent Rutter confirmed that the company had no plans for that location, they were not willing to lease it out. The building caught on fire once again (Mercury, 28 Sep. 1923). At that point, the Fire Chief Knighton expressed the view that the ruin had become a fire hazard to the other buildings around it.

In 1924, the City Council consulted with Wellington Thompson of Huntsville, an expert on log cabin construction, for his opinion on whether or not a memorial to the building could be built in Riverside Park with the salvageable logs from the Priory (Toronto Globe; 29 May 1924). He expressed the view that a small model of 18 by 22 feet might be erected. The work was never carried out but the incident shows that the Council had given up on the idea of saving the whole structure.

In 1926, George Scroggie, building inspector for the City's Public Works Committee, was instructed to assess the remains of the Priory (Mercury, 2 March 1926). He reported that it should be condemned:

I have examined the building as requested and found it to be in a very bad repair. The roof has fallen in, adding to the danger of complete collapse, as the pressure on some parts of the log walls is now outward. As there has been considerable talk about the restoring of this structure, I have hesitated up to this time to condemn it, but the time has come when something must be done, and I would urge that it be torn down as soon as possible.

The Mercury published the following photo of the old derelict (16 March 1926):

On 4 May 1926, the Priory was demolished (Toronto Globe, 5 May 1926). Salvaged logs were stored at Robert Stewart's Lumber Company on Cardigan Street (KW Record, 22 Feb. 1958), the idea being to use them to construct a model replica of the Priory in Riverside Park the next year for Guelph's Centennial celebrations (Mercury, 21 Dec. 1926). However, the scheme was not carried out. The Priory was then just a memory.

It is certainly curious that Guelph's oldest building, and one associated so closely with the city's founder, came to such a sad ending. It is especially poignant that it was demolished on the eve of its 100th anniversary, when there was to be a celebration of the city's history. To understand this outcome, it may help to compare the Priory to other buildings that have been preserved.

Consider Zavitz Hall on the University of Guelph campus. When slated for demolition, Zavitz Hall was occupied by the Fine Art Department, for which no other accommodation existed. By contrast, the Priory was an empty shell, and one slated for replacement by the CPR not long after the Railway occupied the building. Also, whereas Zavitz Hall contributed positively to the space of Branion Plaza, the Priory was widely seen as an isolated relic shorn of the gardens of its former residents.

Importantly, supporters of the Priory lost the political battle to save it. Prominent political figures such as George Sleeman worked to preserve the building but were unable to raise sufficient money to carry out their plans. Many of the Aldermen and much of the electorate saw the scheme as the pet project of an elite out of touch with the priorities on the man in the street.

This last point is perhaps crucial. In the case of Zavitz Hall, supporters could articulate a vision for the future of the University in which the building played an important part: in making Branion Plaza a pleasant space, in honoring the significance of Charles Zavitz, and in respecting the achievements of the Fine Art Department. By contrast, would-be saviors of the Priory had difficulty making a similar case for it. The Priory had become a "black eye" that evoked no sympathy. Its association with John Galt was of little moment because, I suspect, most Guelphites knew little of or cared very much for Galt and knew the Priory mainly as an inadequate railway building, recently deprived of even that function.

The concept of using the Priory as museum and a tourist attraction was perhaps ahead of its time. As Guelphites grew tired of the building, some out-of-town newspapers expressed admiration for it and its historical associations, suggesting that the scheme was not hopeless. However, it seemed to make little sense to citizens of the Royal City at the time. Things changed dramatically by the end of World War II, as evidenced by the development of the John McCrae Memorial Garden and house as tourist attractions at that time.

Indeed, the Priory was later resurrected in various ways for this purpose. However, that is a story for another time.

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Thanks to the folks at the University of Guelph Archives for help in locating documents for this post!

Who had a hand in the planning of Guelph?

If you did not grow up in Guelph, then, like me, you may remember in your early days trying to figure out the arrangement of streets downtown. There are several points where streets converge in an unusual way. Norfolk Street begins at a dog-leg intersection with Gordon St., Wilson Street, Waterloo Avenue and (formerly) Essex Street. It then meets Quebec Street, Yarmouth Street, and Paisley Street at its middle point. Finally, it is cut off at Norwich Street where it meets, and is continued by, Woolwich Street. Further east, when moving up Wellington Street, you pass under a railway bridge and find yourself veering left and on Woolwich Street.

Trying to form a mental map of the area takes a while. Sometimes, it helps to make a drawing. That is what one newcomer to Guelph did on the back of a postcard sometime around 1910, as you can see below.

The front of the card has a picture of the MacDonald Institute at the O.A.C. However, it is the back of the card that matters here. The message reads:

Peg/ This is the McDonald Institute in Guelph. No relation to the College in Montreal. This is a funny little town but fairly busy. I slept in the park for a few hours last night. The constabul [sic] thought I was a bum and was going to throw me out. This is the way the streets run.

(Actually, the Macdonald Institute was funded by the same Sir William Macdonald who funded the MacDonald College in Montreal but that is another story.) Besides the vigilance of the constabulary, our unnamed author was clearly impressed by the street layout while walking around the downtown. The result looks a little like a spider web. If you are familiar with the city, see if you can identify the streets.

Frankly, I cannot quite make it out. Not having the scale, orientation, or any street labels does not help. Certainly, I would not use it to give directions. In any event, the general impression is enough: Downtown Guelph is both circular and triangular at the same time.

One of the reasons for this unusual layout is that the streets were designed to radiate outwards from a focal point, that being the site where John Galt and his party chopped down the maple tree to launch the town. That site is near the current intersection of Wellington, Macdonell and Woolwich Streets. At the time the postcard was written, Wellington had not been extended to that point. Instead, Woolwich Street began at Priory Square, where it met Quebec Street, Macdonell Street, the Market Square, and Waterloo Street (now Fountain Street). Check out this detail from the 1892 map posted in the Main Branch of the Guelph Public Library. Priory Square is in the lower right corner, bisected by the railway line.

With a little imagination, the map looks almost as if someone had traced the fingers of their left hand to make up the street layout, with Woolwich as the thumb. In fact, this idea was a long-standing myth about the founding of the Royal City. Guelph was officially founded on April 23, 1827 (St. George's Day) when John Galt, in the presence of a party from the Canada Company, chopped down a maple tree near the banks of the Speed near the present day intersection of Wellington and Woolwich Streets. The Annals of the Town of Guelph relates the rest (Burrows 1877, p. 12):

It has been stated that after the tree was felled Mr. Pryor laid his hand upon the stump, and stretching his fingers as far apart as possible, indicated the direction in which the streets of the new town were to be laid out.

Charles Prior was a builder that Galt had hired to oversee construction of the first buildings of the town. If the story about Mr. Prior's hand seems implausible to you, then the author agrees:

... it is scarcely reasonable to suppose, either that a man of Mr. Pryor's well-known intelligence and scientific attainments would adopt so rude a method of laying out what was intended to be a large and important city, or that Mr. Galt would have countenanced such a proceeding.

Gilbert Stelter points out that the real story of Galt's town plan for Guelph is more complicated. Among other things, Galt wanted the streets to converge on the site of the tree stump in order to emphasize the importance of the Canada Company buildings, such as the Priory, that were to be located around it. Immigrants to the town, arriving across the Speed from York to the east, would perceive the centrality of the place through the very lay of the land.

In fact, as Stelter notes, Galt's original plan was more fan-like than hand-like. However, after his departure, the Canada Company changed the plan, selling some of the space designated as public by Galt and thus making Woolwich Street look more like a thumb. Later, the site was bisected when the city sold some of it to the Grand Trunk Railway for a bridge abutment.

Today, if you would like to see the site of the town's founding, you can look at the side of that abutment:

The plaque on the side of the abutment reads:

This tablet marks the spot where John Galt, general agent of the Canada Company, cut the first tree in founding the city of Guelph, April 23rd, 1827.

As the Square was reduced and bisected, the rationale for it became obscure. Thus, its configuration, and the radial plan of the streets seemed increasingly arbitrary, perhaps lending credibility to the myth of Charles Prior's hand on the stump. Stelter notes that the story was repeated for years at the Guelph Civic Museum, which perhaps helped it to live on. In any event, the curiously configured streets of downtown Guelph live on also, somewhat to the puzzlement of new arrivals to our funny little town.

The Speed River

This postcard provides a picturesque view of the Speed River, the main waterway of the city. This seems an appropriate subject for a posting of Guelph postcards on the anniversary of its founding, that is, St. George's Day (23 April).

The text printed at the top of the face says, "No. 461 View on River Speed, Guelph, Canada". As far as I can tell, the expression "River Speed" was never common but was used in writing to lend a poetic air to the name. On the back, the card identifies itself as "Published by Stedman Bros., Brantford, Canada. Made in Germany." The postmark is dated May 26, 1908. Stedman Brothers were a leading publisher of postcards in Canada, as you can see from this little video.

Views of the Speed were popular subjects for postcards of the city. Postcard publishers and buyers liked views of "beauty spots", of which tree-lined rivers were a prime example. Guelph, founded on the banks of the Speed near its confluence with the Eramosa, is well endowed with such places.

This picture reveals how cities were viewed as places where elements of nature could be combined with, and domesticated by, man-made structures. On the right edge of the photo is the spire of St. George's Church on Woolwich St., that towers above the river. In the center of the picture is the old Heffernan St. footbridge that spans it. Both represent people's ability to civilize the wilderness without banishing it, an ability that Edwardian postcard images of Guelph often celebrated.

The city's relationship to the Speed River was central to its founding. One of the reasons why John Galt selected the site for his city was the presence of the river. The native American name for it is not recorded (to my knowledge), but Galt named it, apparently, for the force with which it flowed. A fast river promised plenty of energy to power the gristmills and sawmills that would drive Guelph's growth. Also, being an author with a romantic disposition, Galt simply liked a good river.

To be useful, the river had not only to be tapped but also bridged. The immediacy of this challenge is made clear in the "Annals of the town of Guelph" (p. 29):

For the remainder of the summer [of 1827], he [Mr. Strickland] was employed in superintending the erection of several houses, and in building two bridges, one over the Speed, and the other over the Eramosa branch. That over the Speed, where Allan's bridge now is, appears in a painting executed in the fall of 1828, to have been a very substantial and not inelegant structure, built on piles, the superstructure being partly of squared timbers. This was of great convenience to the settlers, as a good number of farms had been cleared on the other side of the river, and the farmers had hitherto been compelled to cross on a rude ferry, consisting of a raft of logs lashed together; and as the stream, especially in the Spring, was very swift, this was frequently attended with considerable labor and frequently also with some danger.

Though rafts can make for great sport, a sturdy bridge does sound much more convenient, and civilized.

The use of boats to cross the river did not cease entirely, however. The Rev. Arthur Palmer, rector of St. George's, used to commute to work by boat, as Florence Partridge notes in "Slopes of the Speed" (1992, p. 18):

During the time that Palmer lived in the Arthur Street house, there was no footbridge, so he kept a rowboat which he used to cross the Speed River to his church in St. George's Square. The original footbridge was built in 1881 to provide pedestrian access across the Speed River between Arthur Street north and Woolwich.

Too bad for Rev. Palmer that he had moved away by the time the footbridge was built!

Here is a Street View image resembling that of the postcard, taken from yet another bridge over the Speed:

View Larger Map

This photo was taken from the Eramosa Bridge, just a little upstream from St. George's Church. It displays roughly the same scene the postcard photo, although it shows the new, and higher, footbridge built in 1918 and the blank side wall of the River Run Centre. It seems likely that the postcard photo was taken from this bridge (or, more accurately, an earlier version of it). It is remarkable how much remains the same between the two images.

The postcard is addressed to "Miss Ida Fissette, Simcoe, Ont." and conveys this very charming message:

Think I will make up for lost time now & write to you nearly every day. I am homesick today. Can you wonder at it? Are you tired? Clare

Poor Clare! She does not say what brought her to Guelph, but many young women from the region came to the city at that time to study Home Economics and Domestic Science at the MacDonald Institute (now part of the University of Guelph). Doubtless, many felt homesick during their studies. I wonder if Clare found any solace walking in the city taking in the many views of the Speed.

Happy St. George's Day!

The Guelph Treasure

This postcard presents a picture of the Horn of St. Blasius, from the John Huntington Collection of the Cleveland Museum of Art. It dates from the 11th century, and is described on the back of the postcard as "Byzantine", in style if not in origin.

You may wonder why this postcard appears in this blog. The answer is that this horn is part of a collection known as the "Guelph Treasure". The treasure has never been in the city of Guelph, but there is a connection. Let me explain.

Before it was a city, Guelph was a family, a royal German family named the Welfs (more on the spelling later). The Welfs were initially Frankish nobles who expanded their influence through some shrewd marriages, as MacKinnon explains (vol. 12, no. 10, 1973):

The founder of the House was Graf von Altdorf—Graf Welfe. His daughter married Charlemagne's son and his son headed eight generations of Guelphs. The family intermarried with princesses of Bavaria, Saxony, and with the D'Este family in north Italy.

Being political heavyweights, the family got involved with the big international controversy of the time—The Investiture Conflict—over who got to appoint Church officials: nobles or popes. The Welfs sided with the Pope (although they changed sides a few times). This allegiance put them at odds with the other party, the Waiblingens. Naturally, this dispute was carried on in many corners of Europe, including Italy, where the names of the two parties were rendered as the "Guelphs" and the "Ghibellines". The Italian name "Guelph" became applied to the whole family.

One of the more famous members of the Guelph family was Henry the Lion, who was the Duke of Saxony and of Bavaria in the mid 12th Century. Henry was apparently a pious man. In 1173, he had the old church of St. Blasius torn down and a new one built, now known in English as Brunswick Cathedral. He was buried there on his death in 1195. Here is a picture of the cathedral with a bronze lion commemorating Henry outside (courtesy of Djmutex/Wikimedia commons):

Here is the connection with the Treasure: The Guelphs contributed many works of sacred art to a collection associated with the Church of St. Blasius. Henry the Lion was one of the biggest donors (although the horn in the postcard does not appear to have been contributed by him).

Henry also began an association between the Guelphs and England. During a dispute with the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry was temporarily banished from Germany and fled to England. While there, he married Matilda, daughter of Henry II. Skipping ahead a little, some of their descendants became the Dukes of Brunswick-Lüneburg, with their capital at Hanover. In 1714, George Louis, the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg (Hanover), became George I of Great Britain, since he was the closest male and protestant relative of Queen Anne. So, England became a Guelph dominion!

Now we come to the city. John Galt founded the city in 1827 and was concerned that its creation should be noted with favour in high places. Here is how Galt describes his reasoning, on the occasion of the felling of the maple tree that marked the city's beginning (Burrows 1877, p. 11):

... Dr. Dunlop pulled a flask of whiskey from his bosom and we drank prosperity to the city of Guelph. The name was chosen in compliment to the Royal family, both because I thought it auspicious in itself and because I could not recollect that it had ever before been used in all the king's dominions.

In brief, Galt wanted to flatter the king. And so, a British town in the middle of North America was given the Italian version of the name of a medieval German royal family. It was also the name given to a collection of sacred artworks by the same family, which explains the connection with the Horn of St. Blasius.

(As an aside, the British royal family are no longer Guelphs. King George V changed the surname to Windsor in a Royal Proclamation of 1917 to avoid the Germanic associations of Guelph as well as his family name of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha.)

You can find out more about the Guelph Treasure from this catalog of an exhibition of the Treasure at the Art Institute of Chicago in 1931. The catalog describes the Horn of St. Blasius as follows:

Hollowed out of an elephant's tusk, with three carved ornamental bands both on the mouth-piece and on the bell. The larger frieze has griffins, lions, stags, two nude and two draped men, the others have foliage patterns.

Maybe someday the Treasure will make its way here.

The Church of Our Lady

Actually, the full title is The Church of Our Lady Immaculate, but the label is often shortened to just "The Church of Our Lady" for purposes of conversation. Here is an image of the Church of Our Lady from an unused postcard in my collection.

As the postcard was not used, there is no date or postmark, but you can just see the tail of a slab-like car from the around 1970 on the extreme right, dating the photo to that period. The postcard was produced by "Mutual Wholesale Stationary Limited" of London, Ontario, and finished in "Prismaflex color" by Wilson, Dryden, Ont.

The basic facts about the Church are summarized nicely by Anderson and Matheson (2000, p. 181), which I will excerpt briefly here:

Like traditional European towns, Guelph's Victorian skyline was defined by its church spires, most of them the product of a church-building fever in the late 1860s and early 1870s. The most commanding was the Church of Our Lady (1876–1888), the third Catholic church built on that site, succeeding the original St. Patrick's which was burned, and St. Bartholomew's [which was torn down]. Designed by Joseph Connolly, the leading Catholic architect in Canada, it was consciously modeled on medieval French Gothic precedents even though it was never a cathedral. The towers and interior were not completed during the 19th century.

I will save more background material for other postings.

The theme of this post is the "commanding" nature of the church, especially due to its siting. The downtown core of Guelph is overlooked by three drumlins, hills left over from the retreat of the glaciers. The closest is the site of the Church. So, the Church towers over the local scene through its lofty perch. Also, the Church anchors Macdonell St., a main axis, which stretches between the Church and the site where John Galt founded the town with the felling of a maple tree. How did a Catholic church end up on a premiere site in a planned, British town?

Briefly, the answer is that Galt was friends with the region's Catholic bishop, Alexander Macdonell, a fellow Scotsman. Macdonell was of material help to Galt in gaining access to the land. Galt reciprocated by naming a main street after the bishop and designating the choice site for the Catholic church, as Galt explains himself (Johnson, 1977, p. 113):

... a beautiful central hill was reserved for the Catholics, in compliment to my friend, Bishop Macdonell, for his advice in the formation of the [Canada] Company.

Also, it seems that Galt hoped Guelph would become the seat of Cardinal Weld and thus add to its importance. This ambition was never realized.

The vertical thrust of the building's facade makes it an impressive capital for the hilltop. With its two towers, central spire (somewhat in the background in the postcard), and tall pointed front gable, the church reaches heavenward. The only way to do it justice is with a portait-oriented picture. The oddity of the other option, that is, landscape orientation, is evident in the postcard below.

This postcard is also unmarked but appears to be from a series produced in the mid 1950s by "The Photogelatine Engraving Co. Ltd" of Toronto using the Kodachrome process. Although it is taken from a similar perspective as the first card, it illustrates the awkwardness of trying to capture the rather vertical facade in a horizontal frame. Our Lady appears like a weird, limestone toad squatting on a lily pad.

Here is a view of the Church from Google Streetview, from roughly the same perspective as the postcards above. Of course, it is available only in landscape orientation, so it appears a little different than the top view.

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To illustrate the dominance that the church enjoys by virtue of its site, I will include some further Streetview sightings here. This view is from near the foot of the drumlin, at Gordon and Surrey Streets.

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The view below is from the opposite direction, at the intersection of Yarmouth, Quebec, Paisley, and Norfolk Streets.

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The view below here is from near the crest of another drumlin across the downtown, on Eramosa Road. This view is more impressive in real life than it seems possible to capture in Streetview.

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I do not want to belabour the point, but I think that one more perspective will be of interest. In this case, the Church tower-tops can only be glimpsed in a gap in the tree-tops along Wellington Street. Yet, it is there, and more visible in the winter when leaves have fallen away.

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The value of these views is shown by the fact that the City passed a by-law in 1974 limiting the heights of buildings and towers along sight-lines to the Church. These views, like the building itself, are a part of the City's charm and heritage.

The floral clock

The city of Guelph has a fair number of parks, each with different attractions and amenities.  One of those attractions is the Floral Clock, located in Riverside Park.  Have a look:

What time was it?  I make it out as 3:32pm.

On the back, the image is credited to "L. F. Charter, R.R. 4, Picton, Ontario", while the printing process is described as "Spectrome color, Wilson, Dryden Ont.".  The label correctly identifies the image as that of "The Floral Clock, Riverside Park, Guelph, Ontario, Canada".

According to Paul Lavoie's "The Floral Clock in Riverside Park" (vol. 19, 1980), the floral clock is the work of John "Jock" Clark, who was the Park Administrator and servant of the City from 1948 until his death in 1973.  He was born at Crail Fife in Scotland on September 3, 1914, which would account for the nickname "Jock".

Besides his talents as a public servant, Jock was also a determined clock enthusiast.  The article notes that he had a hobby of collecting old clocks from various places while he was a young sailor.  Three years in the planning, the Floral Clock was installed in 1954.  The clock's face is 28' or about 8.5m across and requires the planting of about 6000 flowers and other plants, which are renewed each year.

The clock mechanism itself testifies to careful design.  The hands have (still?) an aluminum base balanced by a hidden steel plate and weigh 420 lbs (ca. 190 kg) when laden with 120 or so plants and soil.  The clock is set at a 27 degree angle, requiring the weight of the plants to be carefully balanced if the hands are to be able to turn through a full circle.  The challenges of running an accurate clock out-of-doors in all weather were also carefully considered (p. 74):

Jock's clocks were made to withstand climatic changes and Guelph's floral clock runs continually, summer and winter. The hands of the clock are run by a small one-quarter-horsepower motor. They are supported by a granite centre base to keep dirt off and the whole clock face is tile drained to prevent washout. To adjust the time, the motor is simply speeded up or slowed down accordingly.

To serve as an accurate timekeeper the clock has a reduction drive from an electric motor to the hands. This drive comprises a belt drive to a double reduction gear box, a worm wheel reducer from the gear box to a shaft which directly supports the minute hand and a first spur gear reduction train from the second shaft to a hollow shaft co-axial with the first shaft, the hollow shaft supporting the hour hand. The minute hand is twelve feet six inches in length and the hour hand is nine feet six inches.

Although it was inspired by a floral clock constructed in Edinburgh, Jock's design had the distinction of being much larger and was indeed patented (No. 64741) at the time.


Every spring, the clock face is re-planted to a special theme.  For example, in 1976, it was planted to honour the Montreal Olympics that took place that year.  In 1977, it commemorated the 150th anniversary of the City of Guelph.  The rim around the clock face often carries a slogan at the bottom and the current date at the top.  Neither feature is visible in the postcard above, but they can be observed in this Flickr photo by Victor Mazar:

The slogan is, "Making a difference" and the date of the photo was "June 9, 2008".  The then-new City of Guelph logo is visible on the clock face.  Note that the clock has gone from Roman numerals (in the postcard) to Arabic ones.

Because of tree plantings, it can be a little difficult to see the clock from Woolwich St.  Here is the best Google Streetview image that is available at present:


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The postcard has a smudged cancellation mark of June or July of 1964 and is addressed to "Miss Jaclyn O'Dell, 9 Dewey St., Sayville, N.Y., USA", Sayville being a small town on Long Island.  The message, scrawled in a broad hand, appears to read as follows:

Hi Sweethart,
hop this card find you in fine helth and good cheer as I am fine.  Wish you where here to help me out.
Uncle [?] Marshall

The "I am fine, wish you were here" expression is a standard sentiment for postcards later in the 20th century (and today), as explained in this British "Phrase finder":

'Wish you were here' has long been expressed in letters home by people on holiday. It is most often associated with postcards though. ...
The 'wish you were here' sentiment soon became a cliché and appeared on a high percentage of cards, often preceded by 'having a lovely time'. So much so that cards became available with the text pre-printed.

The text may be somewhat clichéd, but Marshall has added some personal touches, addressing his niece as "sweethart" and wishing for her help with some task that had apparently taken him to Guelph from New York.  I imagine that she was happy to have her uncle connect with her this way.

On April 23, 1827, John Galt and company founded the city by felling a maple tree near a bend in the Speed River.  On the next day, Robert Thompson relates how a clock, in the form of a sundial, was placed on the stump of that tree (p. 2):

The stump was afterwards fenced round, neatly leveled and dressed on the top, and a sun-dial placed on it, which answered as the town clock for several years.

So, I think that the floral clock is a very suitable centerpiece for a Guelph park as well as an appropriate monument to "Jock" Clark.

The Priory

Here is a postcard of what is arguably Guelph's most historic structure, namely "The Priory".  Also, it seems to have been Guelph's most popular early postcard subject, to judge from the number of different printers that used this photo and colourized it in different ways (more on that topic another time).

The back of the card has the title "Private Post Card" but no maker is listed.  The text in the lower, left-hand corner says, "First house in Guelph (now C.P.R. station), Guelph, Ontario."

The Priory was the first permanent structure built in Guelph, after its founding on St. George's Day, April 23rd, 1827.  The structure got its name from its builder, Charles Prior, who was one of the party that accompanied John Galt, the founder, to the site where the city was to be located.  It was intended to be the residence of the Canada Company officers in the district, and so had to be of a dignified appearance.  Thus, Galt saw to its design and construction himself, as noted by Charles Burrows in Annals of the town of Guelph, 1827-1877 (p. 6):

The house, which is beautifully situated on the south bank of the river Speed, was built of squared logs, was large and commodious, and with the rustic porch, presents a very fine appearance, though somewhat rough, imitation of Ionic architecture, and stands to this day as a witness of the practical skill and artistic taste of Mr. Galt, who drew the plans and superintended the work.

Given the lack of buildings in Guelph's early days, it is not surprising to learn that the Priory served a number of purposes.  For example, the south wing, the lean-to structure on the closest side of the building in the picture, served as a tavern and a post office, even as it was being finished.

The Priory also had a variety of owners.  In 1838, for example, it was bought by William Allan, builder of Allan's Mill nearby on the Speed river.  On his retirement in 1847, the building passed in to the possession of his son, David Allan, until 1876 (Allan 1939, p. 29).  David Allan was the architect of some of noteworthy local structures, such as the distinctive Court House and St. Andrew's Church (Coulman, n. 10).  The Priory was then owned by David Spence until 1887, after which it became the  local Canadian Pacific Railway (CPR) station, which it remained until 1911 (Coulman 1976, n. 11).

As you can see from this picture, the Priory initially had a beautiful view of the Speed river.  It was also conveniently located next to Allan's Mill (far left in the picture) and Allan's bridge over the Speed.  When it became the CPR station, that connection seems to have remained palpable, according to message written on the back of the postcard:

This is the first place we came to in Guelph and the first house that was was [sic] built in Guelph; it was so pretty it was all green and the river is on the other side of the line.

The postcard is not addressed or postmarked, suggesting that it was used not as a message to someone else but as a kind of aide memoire for the author when passing through the city.

According to Stewart (Vol. 1, p. 48), the photo in this postcard shows the station as it appeared around 1910.  (You can view the original photo here.)  Note the two ladders that appear in the scene.  On the far left is a short ladder placed up against a lamp stand.  I would guess that the lamp ran on coal gas and needed to be lit by a lamplighter each evening.  (I should have more to say about lighting in a later blog.)

Near the middle of the picture is a taller ladder leaning against the roof of the Priory.  Like the smaller ladder, this one is not present by chance.  Note that the ladder rests on a special pad in front of the railing and is secured to the roof by a bar.  Beside the top of the ladder is a pole that projects past the eve of the roof.  From the end of the pole is suspended a metal disk with two holes through it.  It appears to be a railway switch (or signal?)!  That is, it must be rotated in one direction to connect track A with track B, and in the opposite direction to connect track A with track C.

Have a look at the photo below.  It shows the Priory with a train in front of it but with no switch on the roof.  Instead, the switch is at the south end of the platform, in front of the camera, where the three tracks meet (courtesy of the Guelph Historical Railway Association).

It appears that the original switch (note: also accessed by a ladder) was later moved to the roof of the Priory.  Why would anyone move a switch to the roof of the building?  It seems horribly inconvenient to have to climb a tall ladder to change a switch!  The only reason that I can think of is that the location on the roof is easier for the train engineer to see than the location further away and lower down at the crossing in front of Allan's bridge.  Was there an accident that prompted the change?  (A search of the city newspapers might turn that up at some point.)

The new switch installation appears to have evolved over time.  This photo in the Guelph Public Library collection (ca. 1905) shows a ladder that is secured by simply being stuck on the ground and then having its top wedged under the eves.  (Also, the vines have been trimmed back, the gas lamp is present, and the railing in front of the station is of a simpler design.)  Hardly a robust setup!  Even though the ladder bottom appears to be painted, being wooden, it would eventually rot from moisture absorbed from the ground, and the whole thing would probably topple from time to time.  No wonder it was later shortened, placed on a stone pad and clamped to the roof.

You may be curious to know what the Priory looks like today.  Here is a Google Streetview picture, taken from roughly the same perspective as the photo in the postcard.


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The Priory would be on the other side of the railway tracks, in the vicinity of the tall utility pole that stands beside Woolwich St. in the middle background.  What happened?

Sadly, after 1911, the Priory fell into ruin and its carcass was dispersed.  Johnson (1977, pp. 317-321) relates the story in some detail, which I will summarize here.  At the urging of the City Council and Board of Trade, the CPR decided to construct a new railway station in the city.  This was completed and then opened in November of 1911.  After that, the Priory stood vacant.

George Sleeman, the brewer and former Mayor of Guelph, purchased the building and had it moved further away from the river to a vacant lot while trying to muster support for a preservation scheme.  However, there was not enough support from the community and the building deteriorated and was condemned by the City building inspector in 1926.

Sleeman moved the two lean-to sections to his own property.  (Why not the whole thing?) They were apparently donated to the Doon Heritage Village in Kitchener in 1957 (Stewart 1976, p. 48), a move that was described in the Guelph Mercury as "high-handed" and a "disappearance".  For all I know, they remain there still, like the Avro Arrow, crated up and waiting for the time of their return.  The logs of the main section were stored for a time and then dumped in Riverside Park in the 1930s, where they were cut up and used for firewood.

The final blow fell in the late 1970s, when Woolwich St. was moved east toward the river, so as to connect with Wellington St.  In the process, the site of the Priory was partially regraded and paved.

However, not all memory of the Priory has been lost.  Two models of the structure were made by Mr. W. A. Cowan from measurements of the original (Allan 1939, p. 32, n. 5).  A large one was stationed in Riverside Park, where it can still be seen (suitably restored).   A smaller model was given to the Guelph Civic Museum, where it still resides.  If you are in the neighbourhood sometime, you can drop in and have a look.

It is too bad that the Priory did not survive longer but 99 years is a long time for most structures.  If it were around today, it would likely be a central part of the Civic Museum, perhaps a National Historic Site and interpretive center.  In any event, its history serves as a reminder of how Guelph got its start, and how it adapted to changes in times and technology over the years.

Update (12 March 2013): In looking through my collection, I see that I have a postcard featuring the same picture of the Priory above with a post mark of 9 Oct. 1905.  Thus, the dating of the picture to ca. 1910 is too late.  The photo probably dates to ca. 1900.  In that case, this photo dated to ca. 1905 should probably also be dated back, to ca. 1895.

Update (20 March 2013): Ron Brown's book "The train doesn't stop here anymore" clarifies the nature of the disk hanging from the pole on the Priory roof.  It is an "order board"!  Here is how it worked (pp. 11-12):

They gave the locomotive engineer his instructions on whether to stop or to proceed without stopping.

Originally, there were no train order boards. Engineers were required to stop at each station and sign for their orders. ...

Oval in shape, the boards pivoted on a spindle and were controlled by a chain that was attached to a lever inside the agent's office.  When the board was parallel to the track, it was a "clear board" and the engineer could proceed without stopping.  When the board was perpendicular to the track, the engineer must stop. ...

With the introduction of the order board, the engineer no longer had to stop the train and enter the station to receive his orders.  Instead, he simply slowed the engine while the agent handed them up on the end of a long hoop or fork.

It would appear that the mechanism on the Priory roof is a (crude) version of this device.