The ghost garden of the O.A.C.

Today, Guelphites and University of Guelph students know Johnston Green as the large and pleasant lawn encountered while traveling to campus from the direction of downtown. Surveyed by the Johnston Hall tower, the green is a favourite spot for seeking verdant relief from the built environment of the campus. However, it has not always been simply trees and grass. Once, it was graced by a large, formal flower garden.

The old flower garden may be viewed in the postcard below, printed by The International Stationary Company of Picton, likely shortly after 1910. The photo was taken from the top of Massey Hall, next to the green.

The sepia hues are the card's original colouration and not due to aging.

The garden layout is formal and geometrical. It is roughly an oval, divided into quarters by gravel paths. In the middle is a round flower bed. Each outside quadrant features four flower beds: three arranged radially and one, triangular bed placed near the long ends of the oval. Each bed appears to feature a single variety of flower or, perhaps, one variety surrounded by another.

On the right-hand side is the north wing of the Main Building, the residence where the O.A.C. students lived during their studies. In the background on the left-hand side is the top of Macdonald Hall, across College Street, where the students of the Macdonald Institute lived during their studies.

Another postcard shows a reverse angle, taken from the Main Building with Massey Hall and the Biological Building (now the MacLachlan Building) in the background. To the right lies the garrison gun known as "Old Jeremiah", sitting in a graveled notch (hidden in the first image), pointing down the Green away from the Main Residence.

This postcard was printed by the Valentine & Sons Publishing Co. around 1910, and gives a more colourful idea of how the garden may have looked.

The placement and form of the flower garden were not the result of some last-minute decorative impulse. Kaars Seipesteijn (1987, pp. 38ff) points out that the garden played a central role in plans for the Green from its inception.

In 1882, well-known American landscape architect Charles H. Miller of Miller & Yeates, Philadelphia, was hired to create a master plan for development of the growing Ontario Agricultural College (O.A.C.). The Ontario Fruit Growers' Association, which had helped to establish a campus Arboretum, prompted the Provincial government to spring for a formal campus plan to be drawn up. Since the O.A.C. had been modeled on US land-grant colleges, it made sense to consult an American designer.

The Main Building had achieved its final form in 1880. So, the central concern of the plan for the Green was how to turn this field, which still bore the marks of Frederick Stone's plow, into a suitable lawn for this building. Miller's solution reflects many ideas of Frederick Law Olmsted, the "father" of American landscape architecture. Olmsted adapted the approach of the English Landscape school of architecture and had designed numerous American college campuses, though he remains best known for his work on Central Park in New York City.

(Frederick Law Olmsted/Courtesy of Wikimedia commons.)

Olmsted's influence is visible in the belt of trees that surround the Green and the semi-circular carriage driveway leading through it from Brock Road (now Gordon Street) past the front of the Main Building. The trees and driveway provide a little drama as the Main Building was "unveiled" only when travelers got quite close to it.

Another important influence on the design of the Green was the other "father" of American landscape architecture, Andrew Jackson Downing. Downing promoted the "gardeneque" style in which, among other things, flower beds were prominently featured. Downing advocated the use of formal flower gardens in the English style. Formal flower gardens could be used to designate important parts of the landscape such as the position of significant structures.

(Andrew Jackson Downing/Courtesy of Wikimedia commons.)

In his Treastise (1841, p. 364), Downing gives an interesting illustration of a set of English gardens along a circular walkway. In the illustration, flower beds are arranged "spottily" along the path and given blob-like shapes. The two exceptions are the beds behind the main structure in the lower left and the conservatory ("b") at the top. The latter beds, particularly, are round and highly regular in shape.

It may be no coincidence that the circular garden beside the conservatory bears a family resemblance to the O.A.C. flower garden. This garden was meant to provide a kind of transition or buffer, separating the relatively informal Green from the significantly formal Main Building. In short, the oval garden at the top of the Green was carefully designed to dignify the Main Building and mark it off from the more haphazard parkland below.

Perhaps Miller had this very illustration in mind when he designed the O.A.C.'s new flower beds.

The resulting layout of the Green can be seen in an aerial photograph apparently taken just after World War I. The caption reads, "Agricultural College, Guelph, Ont., taken from an aeroplane." The copyright notice attributes it to the Canada Post Card Co. of Toronto in 1919. Mills Hall appears to be under construction along the north side of the carriage way. The aeroplane's wing appears on the left edge of the photograph.

(Courtesy of rych mills.)

The significance of the flower garden at the apex of the driveway to the Main Building is readily apparent.

As the postcards above attest, the flower garden persisted through the early twentieth century. However, events finally overtook it. The first event was the adoption of the automobile. As more and more Guelphites drove cars, they demanded more and more pavement on which to drive them and park them.

The second event was the construction of the new Administration Building (now Johnston Hall) in 1931. When the old building was razed and the new one put up in its place, the opportunity was taken to install a paved road flanked with parking spaces, accessed by a lane from Moore Avenue (now College Avenue). The flower beds were torn out and paved over, and the cannon moved away to the south. Asphalt and automobiles—not flowers—now divided the building from the Green, as they continue to do to this day.

To be more precise, though, the flower garden was only half paved over. The half closest to Gordon Street was simply buried under sod. Thus, the gravel paths that once guided visitors around the beds still lurk under the grass. The result is that, during dry periods, the ghost of the O.A.C.'s flower garden returns to haunt Johnston Green.

In the postcard below, the gravel paths of the western half of the old flower beds are eerily visible as swaths of yellow grass in front of the Administration Building.

This postcard was printed by the Peterborough Post Card Co. around 1960.

These areas of extra-dry grass are known as parch marks. That is, the grass there can become parched quickly during a dry spell because of materials below the surface that prevent root growth or simply do not hold water as well as the surrounding soil. Aerial photographs taken during droughts can sometimes reveal subsurface features of archaeological interest, as they have recently at Stonehenge.

The summer of 2016 has also been a dry one. So, I was interested to see whether or not the paths of the old O.A.C. flower bed would return. Indeed they did, as you can see from this panorama taken on June 30.

(See "Old garden path"/Flickr.com)

The half-arc of the pathway can be seen sweeping to either side of Johnston Hall. In front of the arc is the gravel notch where Old Jeremiah used to sit.

So, if you are observant, and the conditions are right, you can follow in the footsteps of students and faculty from years gone by, walking on the paths of the ghost garden and standing where the cannon once stood guarding the end of the O.A.C. Green.

The Priory gets rebuilt—almost!

My previous posting left off with the demolition of the Priory in 1926. Salvageable logs from the main body had been hauled to Robert Stewart's Lumber Company on Cardigan Street and the side wings remained as an independent structure on George Sleeman's property on Waterloo Avenue. However, even this scattered state of affairs did not entirely end plans to reconstitute the Priory.

For example, the Public Works Committee recommended to the City Council of 1926 that they should recommend to the City Council of 1927 that a model of the Priory, 24 feet by 20 feet and built from the stored lumber, be constructed in Riverside Park, at an estimated cost of $2200 (Mercury, 21 Dec. 1926). This plan would enable the Priory to be present, in reduced form, for celebration of the Royal City's 100th anniversary in 1927.

Alas, though "considerable enthusiasm reigned" around this scheme, it came to nothing (Mercury, 14 June 1927). Perhaps, in the press of preparations for the city's centennial, the notion of building a miniature Priory from the remains the original structure were set aside. Indeed, one alderman went so far as to suggest that the old logs be sold off in order to save on storage costs. Although the councilmen had abandoned their rebuilding scheme, they were not yet prepared to part with the remaining lumber. The suggestion was turned down.

In the end, logs sitting in Stewart's shed did make their way to Riverside Park: They were dumped there in the 1930s to be used for firewood by Guelphites suffering in the Depression.

It appears, though, that not all of these logs were consigned to the flames. Ross Irwin noted that John Power made gavels from some of the salvaged wood. In the 1930s, he was head of Manual Training at Alexandra Public School, and a Mason. He presented a gavel made from Priory elm wood to each Master of Waverley Lodge No. 361 when they retired (4 Oct. 1954). It would be interesting to know if any of those gavels were still to be found!

Undoubtedly the oddest story connected with the logs of the Priory concerns the fate of the side wings taken by George Sleeman to his property in 1911. Connected end-to-end, the wings remained in place for decades after Sleeman's death in 1926.

The Sleeman family fortunes took a turn for the worse in the Depression (Mercury, 15 Jan. 2011), when they fell afoul of the law for alcohol smuggling. In 1957, the family estate was sold to Al Watson, who turned the residence into a hotel. The ground where the Priory wings sat was destined to become a parking lot, so Watson was looking to get rid of the extraneous logs (Mercury, 4 May 1956).

By a curious coincidence, there was a party on the prowl for just such a collection of lumber, the Ontario Pioneer Community Foundation (OPCF). (This story is related in detail in "Identifying the local past, the Waterloo Historical Society, part 2" by Mary Tivy, Waterloo Historical Society, v. 99, 2011, pp. 111–164.) In the years following World War II, there was a surge of interest in the province's pioneer era. Perhaps this interest was, in part, a reaction to the upheaval of the war. In any event, Ontarians became quite interested in the history of early settlement of their province.

In addition, the philosophy of historical museums was changing. In prior years, historical museums functioned as a kind of "community attic", a repository of curios left over from elder days. The new philosophy involved "living history", that is, engaging visitors in the pioneers' lives more than their things. To carry out this idea, historical museums were to be places where pioneer life was reenacted as accurately as feasible. To add authenticity, museums were to include actual, representative pioneer buildings. In other words, the "pioneer village" as we now know it was born.

In 1953, Kitchener radiologist Dr. A.E. Broome and the Waterloo Historical Society began a movement to put together a pioneer village in Waterloo County. A suitable site was identified at Doon, southwest of Kitchener. The OPCF campaigned for its proposal against other contenders, including a proposed village beside the Ontario Agricultural College in Guelph. In the end, the Doon site won out and the Ontario Pioneer Community Museum officially opened on 19 June 1957.

Despite the ceremony, the Museum was not yet open for visitors. In fact, it was still unclear exactly what buildings would be featured and why. In their initial rush of enthusiasm, the OPCF accepted any sufficiently old building from the region that seemed interesting and was not nailed down. As luck would have it, Al Watson in Guelph happened to have part of a very historic building that he would be happy to part with.

On 5 December 1957, Guelph historian Verne McIlwraith published an article entitled "Historic Priory wrecked, stolen" in the Guelph Mercury:

In an action that is reminiscent of the cloak and dagger activities of the old days, someone slipped into the city in the style of the commandos of World War II and carted off Guelph's number one historic relic—a portion of the old Priory.

The raiders in this case were the OPCF, led by their secretary, Dr. Andrew Taylor. Taylor had recently visited the structure on the Sleeman property and noted that it should be removed for the purpose of preservation. In the event that it could not stay in Guelph, he suggested that it would be perfect for Doon.

Professor D.B. Schutt of the Wellington County Historical Research Society had applied to Guelph City Council for funding to move the structure to Riverside Park (of course!) where it might be replicated in its entirety by combining new timber with the remaining old logs. Before the Council had publicly responded, Taylor's raiders had swooped in and moved the logs to the Doon site!

As McIlwraith later found out, the City Council had, a month earlier, declined to contribute to any reconstruction. The Council had written a letter to the local and Ontario Historical societies to say so but had not made any general announcement. Instead, Council had accepted Taylor's proposal to remove it, which Taylor promptly did. So, the 100 or so logs were removed to Doon much to the surprise of concerned Guelphites like McIlwraith (22 Feb. 1958; KW Record).

The removal was accepted with resignation among fans of the Priory. "Better Doon than dust," quipped William Cowan, who had been involved with the effort to save the Priory back in the 1920s.

The OPCF was thrilled with their acquisition. Louis Jones, an American museum curator consulting for the foundation, absurdly called it "Ontario's Ellis Island and Plymouth Rock all poured into one!" Taylor made grand plans for the Priory. Like Schutt, he proposed to stage a full-scale reconstruction of the Priory at Doon. The new Priory was to sit at the center of the pioneer village, with a cluster of streets leading away from it towards the other buildings like the "sun's rays."

Then, as rych mills aptly put it, "reality hit." The OPCF was told that a full-scale reproduction of the Priory would cost upwards of $40,000. With a total annual budget of $25,000, Taylor's dreams were clearly unaffordable. The project was shelved—forever. Its rescued logs were stacked in a secluded corner of the Doon site and quietly allowed to rot away. The long struggle to preserve Guelph's original house finally concluded in another county.

The tale reveals how much the Priory continued to exercise people's historical imaginations. Initially, it was seen as a kind of outsized curio, a noble survivor of Guelph's earliest days. Although this view clearly gripped Guelph boosters like George Sleeman, it gained too little hold on residents of the Royal City in general to motivate them to save it.

In the 1950s, the Priory fit into a new historical perspective in which it could serve as a stage for reenactment of pioneer life. Authentic structures would lend verisimilitude to ways of living that seemed increasingly quaint but strange to modern audiences. The old Priory did not even need to be in Guelph to perform this function.

Both efforts foundered on the reef of economy. The notion of preserving an old building for posterity was somewhat novel in Guelph's earlier days, so no provision was ever made to keep up the Priory. Instead, the building reached an advanced state of decrepitude before any action was taken. At that point, funding needed to accomplish grand plans for its revival exceeded what Guelphites were willing to pay.

The OPCF partially overcame this problem by involving the provincial government, an institution with deeper pockets. Unfortunately, the Priory proved still too expensive to revive when there were other buildings in much better condition available for the pioneer village at Doon. Had Wellington County succeeded in founding its own pioneer village, perhaps matters could have been different. However, it was just not in the cards.

---

Yet, the cards are not completely unkind. Old postcards of the Priory may be used to make a virtual reconstruction of the old building.

In the previous posting, I constructed a map to show where the Priory used to stand near John Galt Park. Below is a composite photograph combining an old postcard view of the building imposed on a photo I took from roughly the same vantage point (on the Downtown Trail just west of Macdonell Street) as the postcard. I used the map to figure out what part of the photo's background the Priory should overlap. As before, the result is rough-and-ready but suggestive, at least.

Thanks to rych mills for help with research for this post. See
his Flash from the Past column for a synopsis of this quirky tale.

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!

Zavitz Hall

Zavitz Hall, on Branion Plaza at the University of Guelph, has come a long way, in spite of not having gone anywhere. Not going anywhere actually has been an important part of its history, since it was once slated for demolition. Zavitz Hall provides an interesting illustration of how some buildings survive in the long run while others do not.

Zavitz Hall began as the Field Husbandry Building at the Ontario Agricultural College (O.A.C.), then just outside of Guelph. The term field husbandry—or agronomy—refers to the study and improvement of crop agriculture. It was a natural field of study for the O.A.C. Research in field husbandry there began in 1874, although it was not until 1904 that an academic unit for it was organized within the Department of Agriculture (Lawrie; OAC Review, v. 47, n. 6, p. 348).

The College took some time in erecting a building for the unit. Lawrie remarks that the original, wood-frame field husbandry building on campus burned down as a result of celebrations that marked the end of the Second Boer War in 1902. Finally, in 1913, the College began the design and construction of a new building for this research, aptly to be called the Field Husbandry Building. It was officially opened on 12 January 1914.

This postcard was published by the Valentine & Sons United Publishing Co., Ltd., Toronto, from a photo taken sometime around 1920. It seems to have been taken in the early spring, before leaves had emerged on the vines covering the walls of the structure.

Here is a similar vantage point of Zavitz Hall today. Trust me, it is there!

Charles Zavitz took a leading hand in design of the structure. He had graduated from the O.A.C. program in 1886 and joined the faculty as a junior chemist (Moore, "Historic Guelph" 2013). Zavitz quickly rose through the ranks and assumed leadership of the Field Husbandry unit when it was formed. He and Professor William J. Squirrel helped to draw up plans for the building (Globe & Mail; 28 June 1937). It was a picturesque building, designed in the English Cottage style, though quite a large cottage at 146 by 64 feet (ca. 45 by 20m) and three storeys high. The rural look was undoubtedly considered appropriate for a rural college. The main floor was clad in brick, with the top floor in rough cast. The attic was covered with "Asbestolate" a confection of asbestos and Portland cement, in order to help make the structure fireproof. The fire concern arose because the attic contained a dark room and was used for drying grain, which was inflammable.

(Charles Zavitz/Courtesy of the University of Guelph.)

Inside, the first floor housed offices, a seed laboratory, and a 120-student classroom. The second floor featured a 300-student classroom and an agronomy museum. The basement was used for grain and seed storage, and the building was heated from the O.A.C.'s central heating plant ("Recognition Banquet", 14 Apr. 1980; RE 1 OAC A0228).

As with any picturesque building, its siting was crucial, as explained by Ross Irwin (At Guelph, 4 Jan. 1989):

Charlie Zavitz was an important person on the OAC campus as superintendent of experiments and head of field husbandry. He lived in the stone cottage, built in 1882 for the college farmer, that is now Raithby House—named after its last resident.
The present Winegard Walk was originally a well-worn pathway from College Avenue to a row of pine trees that acted as a screen for the Zavitz house; the remnants of the screen still exist. The walkway veered west around the screen to near the front door of the University Centre, where it turned south to meet the old dairy lane.
The field husbandry building, now Zavitz Hall, was built in 1913 and opened in January 1914. It was sited to be in line with the old Horticulture Building on the McLaughlin building site and this old pathway.
Charlie Zavitz had much to say about the design and location of Zavitz Hall. One of his decisions involved the location of the south door [on the left in the postcard image], which was the entry to his office. It was surveyed to be in a direct line with the front door of his stone cottage.

The building must have looked impressive in its largely rural setting.

Charles Zavitz enjoyed a stellar career with the O.A.C. As an academic, he was a careful and meticulous researcher who developed many new crop varieties. As an agriculturalist, Zavitz pursued research with an eye on practical benefits for farmers. He valued rural life and developed a rapport with the province's farming community. As a result, he was highly successful in directing the Experimental Union, an association of Ontario farmers—largely former students of his—who participated in crop trials under his direction.

Perhaps the best-known crop that Zavitz developed was a high-yielding barley variety labelled O.A.C. 21, which became the main barley variety grown in the province from about 1910–1950. Interestingly, O.A.C. 21 was well adapted to malting and was thus favored in beer production. The Canadian Brewers Association decided to give Zavitz an award for his service to their industry. However, as a Quaker, Zavitz was opposed to alcoholic beverages. The award was quietly delivered to him in the mail.

The association between Zavitz and the Field Husbandry Building that he helped to design remained strong. At its dedication, the Federal Minister of Agriculture, Martin Burrell, remarked that (Mercury; 13 Jan. 1914):

This building ... was erected as a tribute to the sterling worth and loyal service of Professor Zavitz, who is still with us though he has had for many years flattering invitations to leave and go across the line [i.e., to the United States]. He is here, and here I hope he will remain.

Indeed he did. Charles Zavitz retired from the O.A.C. after an eminent career in 1927. Ten years later, the O.A.C. named the building after him during a ceremony featuring 500 alumni and graduates and a bronze plaque (Globe & Mail, 28 June 1937).

The rechristened Zavitz Hall seems to have remained more-or-less the same until the formation of the University of Guelph in 1964. The transition from agricultural college to independent university brought with it a major change to ideas about the campus and its buildings. For Zavitz Hall, three significant changes on the use of the campus were (Kaars Sijpesteijn 1987):

1. The new University of Guelph saw itself as an urban—not a rural—institution. Thus, the new look of the campus would be that of a small city rather than a rural farm.
   
2. The focal point for the new campus was to be Branion Plaza, south of Johnston Green, the former focus of the O.A.C.
   
3. The University of Guelph devised a master plan for its building project but did not develop a policy for its heritage buildings.
   

The new master plan called for the erection of large, modernist buildings around Branion Plaza and, thus, implied the demolition of the old structures there, including Zavitz Hall. So, the old Horticulture Building was replaced by the McLaughlin Library to the north, the Physical Sciences building (now the MacNaughton Building) was built to the west, and the University Centre to the south. Remodeling of an expanded Branion Plaza would be complete when Zavitz Hall was razed.

In the absence of a heritage buildings policy, Zavitz Hall seemed to be doomed. However, events conspired to delay its demolition. Zavitz Hall provided crucial space for the new Wellington College of Arts and Sciences while the new structures were being put up (Colbert 1989). By 1970, with no room available in the new buildings—and no immediate prospect of more construction—the Fine Art Department remained in Zavitz Hall.

In 1986, a study group led by Al Brown, Director of Physical Resources, issued a report on renewal of the UoG campus. In line with 1964 master plan, the report concluded that at least $60 million would be required to deal with the University's older buildings, either for demolition or repair (At Guelph, 23 Jan. 1986). Zavitz Hall had been allowed to run down somewhat, on the assumption that it was going to be demolished anyway. It had, for example, no viable, mechanical ventilation system and the attic had been abandoned to pigeons and student frolics. It was no surprise, then, that the report called for its removal.

Controversy swiftly ensued. An editorial in The Ontarion expressed disappointment among some UoG students (Jan Sheltinga, 28 Jan. 1986):

Is it possible to put a price tag on atmosphere? Zavitz Hall may become a test case at the university of Guelph to determine whether the almighty dollar is more important than a sense of history and student opinion. ... However the potential demolition of these buildings are not as near and dear to the students collective heart as Zavitz Hall is. Although it is mostly used by Fine Art students, it is prominently located on the quadrangle of Branion Plaza formed by the concrete monsters of the Library, the University Center and the McKinnon building. It hides the sterile ugliness of the Physical Sciences building—indeed, Zavitz Hall could be considered as an obstruction to the clean, cold lines of modern architecture (or lack of it). No one can dispute the fact that Zavitz Hall embodies atmosphere. The building feels different from the other classrooms or seminar rooms on campus. It makes the student want to create, to relax, to think, to realize that the world need not be hostile and fast-paced and gray. It’s façade is not imposing and “modern”; granted, it may be a bit breezy in the chill of winter, and its staircases and ceilings are bent under the weight of old age, but it feels like home. Fine Art students seem to unanimously agree that Zavitz Hall's atmosphere is conducive to the creation of art. Although the general sentiment is that certain repairs are vital, most indicate that its demolition would be an abomination. For once, students and professors agree on something: Dr. George Todd, chairman of the department of Fine Art says, “you’d be hard pressed to find any faculty members here who want Zavitz to be demolished.” He indicates that additional space is still required, but does not think that a wrecking ball is the solution.

Several important themes emerge in this response. First, the small scale and homeliness of Zavitz Hall recommended it to its occupants, in distinction to the larger scale and institutional design of its new neighbours. The matter of Zavitz Hall was a focus of tension between clashing visions for the character of the UoG campus.

Second, Zavitz Hall was central to the dignity of the Fine Art Department. The Fine Art Department had been set up by Gordon Couling and Kenneth Chamberlain from the Macdonald Institute on the formation of Wellington College in 1964 (Colbert 1989). In the ensuing years, the department developed both studio work and art historical scholarship, acquired an excellent art collection, and grew to national prominence. It also proved attractive to students, with over 300 Fine Art majors enrolled at the time. The suggestion that the department should be turned out to an as-yet undetermined location was seen as a denial of its accomplishments and importance to the University.

Third, the practical rationale for removal of Zavitz Hall remained unclear. The report included no cost estimates for repair versus replacement. Instead, the argument was based largely on the view that Zavitz was simply obsolete:

... although the building is structurally sound, the final recommendation to demolish it is based on economical and administrative whims: “It would be difficult and costly to modify the building to comply with current fire safety regulations and to make it readily accessible to the handicapped; provision of a ventilation system required to improve conditions in the studio areas would be costly”. Furthermore, the study suggests that Zavitz Hall must be demolished in order to allow completion of the central quadrangle, namely Branion Plaza, which would reduce vehicular traffic in the area.

In other words, the Physical Resources department remained committed to the 1964 master plan, which mandated an enlarged Branion Plaza, and which would help to separate pedestrian from vehicular traffic.

In the absence of any concrete plan to replace the space provided by Zavitz Hall, the issue lingered. Members of the Students Administrative Arts Council (SAAC), the association for College of Arts students, appealed for Zavitz Hall to be officially designated as an historic site. The Local Architectural Conservation Advisory Committee, which advised City Council on such matters, was receptive and ultimately recommended the move (Mercury, 20 March 1987). (The designation was never made.) Historical designation would not prevent the University from razing the building but would make it more difficult.

In addition, the SAAC sponsored a referendum on the fate of Zavitz Hall. Nearly 80% of students who voted expressed support for retention of it (The Ontarion; 31 March 1987).

Also, University administrators began to reconsider. Initially, the "save Zavitz" movement met with resistance. Charles Ferguson, Vice-President Administration of the University of Guelph, sent a letter to City Council strongly opposing historical designation (The Ontarion, 31 March 1987). He noted the incongruity of Zavitz to its more modern neighbours and the way that it contributed to conflicting pedestrian and vehicular traffic flows.

However, Brian Segal, new President of the University in 1988, was more sympathetic. He described Zavitz Hall as a "gem" that provided an important link to the University's past (Mercury; 26 Nov. 1988). Furthermore, he felt that the option of renovation had not been adequately considered (At Guelph, 30 Nov. 1988):

The project needs “fresh eyes,” he said. “I don’t think we have begun to conceive what we can do with the building because we aren’t architects.” The university should “go down the road” to determine if it can make this building functional and beautiful, he said. Academic vice president Jack MacDonald added that the University has determined the Department of Fine Art to be an area of strongest academic need on campus. Its students and faculty are working in “deplorable conditions,” he said.

In other words, renovation should be considered not only out of respect for Zavitz Hall but also for its current occupants. A committee was struck to study the matter, including director of Physical resources Al Brown, Dean of Arts David Murray, Fine Art chair Ron Shuebrook and Fine Art professors Walter Bachinski and Chandler Kirwin.

In March 1989, a feasibility study on renovation of Zavitz Hall was issued by Lett/Smith, an architecture firm with much experience in renovating and repurposing of heritage structures ("Feasibility Study", 1989). In brief, the report concluded that Zavitz Hall's external structure was sound and that its interior could be renovated to suit the Fine Art Department and meet the Ontario Building Code. Concerns about vehicular traffic could be addressed by locating a service area at the northwest corner of the building, away from most pedestrian travel. The estimated cost of renovations was pegged at $4.6 million, a considerable sum but about half the cost of erecting a new building that would re-house the Fine Art Department.

On 25 May 1989, the University of Guelph Board of Governors approved the proposal and the expenditure (At Guelph; 31 May 1989). Renovations began in 1990 and were completed in 1991. Sculpture studios were located in the basement so that heavy objects there could be adequately supported. The first floor held department offices, printmaking facilities and a collections room. The second floor housed a library, seminar rooms, faculty offices, drawing studios and galleries. The attic was finished for drawing and painting studios, taking advantage of the opportunity for having skylights there. The main entrance, facing the University Centre, served as a showroom for student artwork. A two-storey glass enclosure facing Branion Plaza gave passers by an opportunity to observe art work in progress.

On 11 November 1991, the new Zavitz Hall was officially opened with a special ceremony including students and faculty of the Fine Art Department, President Brian Segal, and other dignitaries (At Guelph, 20 Nov. 1991). A postcard featuring a drawing of the renovated Hall was sent as an invitation.

(Illustration by D.R. Montgomery/Courtesy of Ron Shuebrook)

The renovated Zavitz Hall continues today as headquarters of the School of Fine Art and Music.

How can the survival of Zavitz Hall be explained? The odds initially seemed to be stacked against the building, since it was labelled as obsolete in the University of Guelph master plan and enjoyed no protection as a heritage building. Several factors emerge from the story recounted above:

• Occupation: Despite having no place in the new master plan, Zavitz Hall continued to be occupied. It served as the home of Wellington College and, later, the College of Arts. The initial growth spurt that came with the University of Guelph meant that, for many years, the University could not do without the space and facilities offered by Zavitz Hall.
  
• Progress: The University's master plan called for the removal of Zavitz Hall from Branion Plaza as part of its vision to become an urban and modern institution, as distinct from its predecessors. Nevertheless, a significant group of people still saw Zavitz Hall as part of a coherent vision of the University's future. Some proponents felt that the building was a "gem" that contributed to the look and feel of the Plaza. Some felt that the Hall served as a reminder of the institution's significant past achievements, a tradition that should be kept in view.
  
• Respect: The initiative to raze the building was a blow to the Fine Art Department, for which no alternative housing had been secured. In view of the success of the Department, the notion of evicting it, perhaps to rented quarters in town, seemed unfair.
  
• Politics: The University administration was initially unwilling to seriously consider renovation of Zavitz Hall. Its own Physical Resources department saw the Hall only as a derelict. The arrival of Brian Segal as President changed matters. As an outsider, Segal was not committed to demolition of the building. He was also sympathetic to the position of the Fine Art Department. The Department then had room to flesh out and gain support for the renovation option.
  
• Luck: The history of Zavitz Hall reveals more than a little good fortune for its supporters. Until the Board of Governors' decision in 1989, its survival was not assured.
  

A small book was to be published to celebrate Charles Zavitz and Zavitz Hall, with essays from University faculty on the significance of both (At Guelph, 30 Oct. 1991). Unfortunately, this volume was never published. Perhaps its not too late?

Since its inception in 1914, Zavitz Hall has been a tribute to Charles Zavitz and his work. And so it remains today.

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Thanks to Ron Shuebrook, who began as chair of the Fine Art Department in the middle of this controversy, for his insights into its history. Ron's experience with building preservation while at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design played a significant role in motivating work on the option of renovating Zavitz Hall.

Thanks also the staff of the University of Guelph archives for their assistance in locating source materials.

NB. Charles Zavitz is sometimes confused with Edmund Zavitz, a relative, who was also an O.A.C. professor and taught in the Forestry Department. Edmund Zavitz was an important promoter of reforestation in Ontario.

Generic postcards of Guelph

Imagine that you wandered into A.B. Petrie's drugstore on Wyndham Street about 100 years ago, looking for a postcard. What would you expect to see? You would probably expect a rack of cards with pictures of Guelph looking back at you. These "view cards" depicted the city's prominent places or notable beauty spots. You might pick one up to send to a friend who collected such images, perhaps of bridges or post offices. Or, you might simply want to communicate that you had had the good fortune to be in the Royal City.

However, you would also find many postcards without local views printed on them. Instead, these generic postcards would have a stock image printed on the front. Stock images might include pictures of some random building or other scene, a drawing, or just text. So that these cards could still pass as souvenirs of the Royal City, the word "Guelph" would appear somewhere in the image as well.

Let us see what sorts of generic postcards you might find in that rack.

One of the most common sets of generic postcards of the city can be seen in the triptych below. These cards were evidently printed up on behalf of the Bell Piano and Organ Company.

My guess is that none of these lovely ladies were residents of or visitors to the Royal City. Instead, they were models whose pictures were in a file of stock photos in some faraway cabinet. The printer is not named on the card, so it is hard to say exactly where they came from. Perhaps that is appropriate for a generic card: They are from nowhere.

These cards have been localized by the addition of printed text that sings the praises of Bell pianos and organs. Their pictures also contain little drawings of twin bells with the caption "Bell Pianos" underneath. It is not clear why pictures of these décolleté women were a propos for the sale of pianos. Perhaps it was merely a case of "sex sells." Or, perhaps a pun was intended: Belles to sell Bells. We may never know for sure.

At any rate, these cards are among the most common generic Guelph cards that I have seen. In addition, besides being from nowhere, they went nowhere: I have yet to see one that has been written on or mailed. Perhaps they were simply passed out as trade cards with the purchase of a Bell piano rather than being for sale in local stores.

A common form of generic card 100 years ago was the fill-in-the-blank card. These cards were usually conveyed with both a stock image and a stock phrase in which a space was left for the name of the locality in which it was to be sold. Fill-in-the-blank cards were advantageous for vendors because they cost less than cards with photographs on them and could be ordered quickly and in bulk for special occasions or just to fill holes in inventory.

Very often, fill-in-the-blank cards were humorous. Perhaps humor was used in order to make up for the otherwise nonspecific nature of the card. If recipients did not get to see a bit of Guelph, then at least they could enjoy a laugh. A couple of examples will give a good idea of the type.

(Image courtesy of rych mills.)

Here, the generic message "I am stuck in ..." is filled out with "Guelph". The message also shows that the image, which seems very serious in its own right, is part of a gag, with "stuck" substituted for "beaten and imprisoned for trying to rob a jewelry store". The publisher was the Rotograph Co. of New York.

Gags like this were available in rural as well as urban settings. Consider the following tall-tale postcard purporting to show turnips harvested in Guelph.

Good for a laugh, especially as the use of photographic manipulation is obvious enough. If that were not sufficient, then the text written on the image in front of the car, stating "Corpr. 1911 // By A.S. Johnson Jr. // Waupun Wis" certainly gives the game away. Mr. Johnson just could not resist the chance to sign his handiwork!

A particular species of the fill-in-the-blank card is the pennant postcard. In pennant cards, the blank occurred inside a triangular space in the shape of a little flag. Sometimes, the pennant was presented in the form of a little piece of felt actually glued onto the card. Here is a typical example.

This pennant card is also an example of the "Dutch kid" genre of postcard. These cards typically had a picture of one or two Dutch children, signified by their stereotypical, Dutch peasant clothing. The kids do something cute and say something childish in a Dutch accent, rendered by phonetic spelling. Dutch kid cards were a popular "meme" through the 1910s, for reasons obscure to me. The card was printed by the Bergman Company of New York, which apparently specialized in comic cards.

In the generic cards above, stock images reside in the foreground while the local name, "Guelph", is in the background. However, Petrie's rack probably also had cards where the arrangement was the other way around. That is, the name "Guelph" featured prominently while the stock image was somewhat less emphasized. Consider the following example.

On this greeting card, the caption "Greetings from Guelph" was written by hand using a special, sparkly ink. These cards were typically made in Germany, this one being from "PFB", which is Paul Finkenrath in Berlin. The big hand-written lettering and fancy ink help to draw attention away from the generic flower image in the other corner of the card.

Like the pennant cards, these floral cards might even have decorations glued to them. Consider this example.

This card has a sheaf of wheat with a sickle glued somewhat incongruously next to the usual bouquet. Although it was published by the Stedman Bros. of Brantford, it seems likely that it was a stock card imported from Germany and then customized by the Ontario firm.

A final type of generic card that likely adorned Petrie's store was one where the local name was emphasized within the stock image itself. What would you think when you found the following card?

Generic "Greetings from <insert town here>" with a bunch of cut flowers lying around was a common setting. This example came from the Rotary Photographic Co. of London, so named for its use of rotary presses. Although Petrie's customers might have felt patriotic buying British name-and-flower cards instead of German ones, the Rotary Company was actually a subsidiary of Neue Photographische Gesellschaft of Germany! The postcard business was truly an international one.

Whose job was it, I wonder, to arrange and photograph oversized letters to spell out the names of half the towns in the British Empire to be immortalized in postcards? Today, it would be done by an unpaid intern, I'm sure.

A similar type of card spelled out town names using faces. Here is an example printed by Warwick Bros. and Rutter Ltd., Publishers, of Toronto.

Patriotic maple leaves adorn the corners. The faces in the collage were probably those of Edwardian actors and actresses whose pictures might have been printed elsewhere on their own postcards. Buyers might have had fun trying to make them all out. Unfortunately, I do not recognize any of them. However, if you do, then please note them in the comments!

Many customers went into Petrie's store, and others like it, looking for Guelph cards that depicted its prominent places and beauty spots. However, some would have been looking for Guelph cards that were localized simply by having the word "Guelph" printed somewhere on the front. Petrie might have favored generic cards because they were cheaper than the other sort or because they allowed him to quickly make up numbers during times of high demand. For customers, generic cards may have been preferable if they were looking to send a message rather than a souvenir.

So, as you pick through Petrie's offerings, you might find that a generic Guelph card suits your purpose just fine. Don't forget the stamp!

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Of course, Guelphites also would have found completely generic cards in their stores, that is, cards with no localizing detail at all. I leave these cards for other occasions.

In addition, just to prove that every classification scheme has exceptions, I should note that some generic cards also conveyed local views. Here is a good example.

This hybrid card is a generic, pennant card with a smaller postcard image—complete with its own minute caption— embedded at the top. Evidently, this card was for customers who wanted everything or who simply could not make up their minds. Mr. Petrie had something for everyone!

Easter in Guelph, 1920

Easter has traditionally been an important time of year in Guelph, both for religious and secular reasons. Part of its significance is that it marks the change of seasons from winter to spring. Appropriately, people often chose to get in touch with one another at this time, perhaps hoping to get together. Postcard makers issued special cards with Easter motifs to help people honor the occasion.

The card below exemplifies this tradition. It features a drawing of a cute little girl feeding a couple of bunnies with a special dropper, with the message "A Happy Easter" to make the intent completely clear. The logo in the lower-left corner identifies the printer as the Stecher Lithographic Company of Rochester, New York.

Writing on the back identifies the addressee as Miss Grace Benham of Rockwood. The message is of the typical how-are-you sort:

Dear Grace: How is all the folks at your place. hoping every one is fine. I wish you & George will come in some Saturday & spend the day. wishing you all a happy Easter. from Agnes Bennett

The cancellation mark is from Guelph on 3 April 1920. Unfortunately, there is no listing for Agnes Bennett in the contemporary Guelph city directory, so it is unclear who she is.

Easter 1920 must have been especially significant for Guelphites. The trauma of the Great War was still present but people clearly hoped for better in the coming decade.

One continuing difficulty regarding the Great War was how to put it in perspective. For its part, the Ontario Agricultural College began a funding drive to raise $100,000 to construct a building to memorialize Canadian soldiers who fought and died in the conflict (Mercury, 6 Jan.). The result was the War Memorial Hall built on the campus in 1924. The Hall commemorates Canadians who lost their lives in both World Wars. However, it is often used for happier events, including conferences and convocation.

An unpleasant reminder of the war came as a recurrence of the Spanish flu that first appeared in 1918. The strain was infamous for its lethality and the fact that it seemed especially dangerous for young and healthy people. One article in the Mercury (3 Feb.) remarked on the number of young and well-known Guelphites who had been carried off in only the previous 24 hours. These included Walter Iveson, Mrs. Frank O'Drowsky, Emma Reinhart (daughter of Rudolf and Lena Reinhart, owners of the Fountain House hotel), William McArthur, Mamie Olive Guild of Rockwood, Douglas Pettipiece, Alice Kelly, and Lavelle Germain. The latter was a Great War veteran who was in Guelph to take a vocational course at the Speedwell Hospital. Some of the things Germain had welded during his training were exhibited to the Prince of Wales on his visit to the Royal City in the previous year. Germain, who was staying at the King Edward Hotel, complained one evening that he felt unwell and asked to see a doctor. The doctor arrived to find the man only a few hours away from death.

In addition, Guelphites read with alarm stories in the Mercury about current events in Europe. In Germany, for example, the Versailles Treaty came into effect. The new Weimar Republic, which had replaced the German Empire, was required to demobilize large parts of its armed forces. Rather than submit, German marines staged a coup under Wolfgang Kapp. On 13 March, marines marched into Berlin, ominously bearing swastikas emblazoned on their helmets. The German military was largely in favor of the so-called Kapp Putsch and the Republican government fled the city.

However, resistance to the coup arose in the form of a national strike led by German labor unions. Millions of Germans left work and protested in the streets, effectively paralyzing the country. Finding their situation untenable, Kapp and the generals resigned and left Berlin and, ultimately, the country.

Feeling that their time had come, socialist and communist strikers in the German industrial heartland of the Ruhr turned their resistance into a coup of their own. The so-called Ruhr Uprising attempted to install a "dictatorship of the proletariat", supported by the self-organized Red Ruhr Army. In April, the uprising was brutally suppressed by the German army and paramilitary forces. As the presence of the German army was against the Versailles Treaty, French and British forces occupied several western German cities. Happily, German troops backed off and no shots were fired between them.

The situation in Eastern Europe was even more chaotic. Nationalist and communist forces fought for control of territories in the former Austrian and Russian empires. Guelphites were likely concerned about the advances of the Soviet Red Army against the White Russian forces in the Ukraine during the Russian Civil War and were glad that the Canadian Siberian Expeditionary Force had returned from Vladivostok the previous year.

However, the international news was not all grim. For example, the League of Nations was brought into being on 16 January 1920 as a part of the Versailles Treaty. The League consisted of a General Assembly, a Council of the great powers, a Permanent Court of Justice, and the International Labor Organization (which still exists). One of the main aims of the League was to establish an effective alternative to warfare in international relations, in the hope of preventing another world conflict. Over the years, it met with some success in resolving border disputes but, of course, failed to prevent the occurrence of a second World War.

Locally, Guelph was still finding its way to a new normal for peacetime. In his inaugural speech to the City Council, Mayor Henry Westoby described his plans for the Royal City in 1920 (Mercury, 20 Jan.). They included renovation of the water supply system and storm sewers, renewed street paving to smooth the path for the city's increasing population of cars, support for the proposal to allow the Ontario Hydro utility to take over the city's streetcar system (accomplished in 1922), adoption of Daylight Saving Time, and construction of a public swimming pool.

Although no pool was built that year, a new ice rink was opened on 7 February (Mercury, 9 Feb.). The rink stood at the corner of Cambridge (now Commercial) Street and Norfolk, where the Royal Plaza now stands. Over a thousand people lined up to enjoy the opening ceremonies and events, which were filmed for a "moving picture" show. The opening event was a game between two teams of women's "hockeyists", one from the Guelph Collegiate Institute and the other from "White's," perhaps referring the Colonial Whitewear Company on Northumberland Street, which had many female employees. The reporter praised the teams for their vigorous play, which included many "stiff" bodychecks. The crowd was also amused at how the women, who were used to playing broom ball, handled their hockey sticks. The game was very competitive and the final result, after two periods of play, was a 3–1 victory for the GCI girls.

The women's game was followed by two matches between men's teams. In the first game, a team from the Guelph Carpet Mills Co. on Neeve Street played to a 0–0 tie with a team from the Partridge Rubber Co. on Clark Street (now Ferguson). In the second match, a junior all-star team from Toronto edged a junior all-star team from Guelph by a score of 6–5. The Mercury reporter thought that the events of the new arena's first evening augured a bright future for the facility.

The Priory, the first building constructed in the city, continued to fall into disrepair after it had been decommissioned as the city's C.P.R. train station in 1911. During a visit to the Royal City, eminent horticulturalist Dr. F.C. Bennett (any relation to Agnes Bennett?) was shocked to discover that such a historic structure had been left to fall into ruin (4 March):

Mr. Bennett was astonished to think that such a land mark of the city was being left to go to waste, and at a meeting of the Horticultural Society held last evening he proposed that the Society take the building over and fit it up as a permanent home for the local horticulturalists. His idea was to leave the old building on the property where it now stands, and put it in a good state of repair, and also that a great deal be gone to the grounds surrounding by planting flowers, shrubs and other improvements that would add to the general appearance of a picturesque home.

George Sleeman, former Mayor and the building's owner, was in favor of the plan. Unfortunately, it never bore fruit.

At the end of March it was learned that Canadian actress, and "America's sweetheart", Mary Pickford had married Hollywood heartthrob Douglas Fairbanks (Mercury, 1 April). She and Fairbanks, along with Charlie Chaplin, had just formed the independent production company United Artists. Pollyanna, her first movie with the new company, was a big hit in early 1920. It established Pickford's popular "little girl" persona and also the term "Pollyanna" for someone who is naively optimistic about life, based on "The Glad Game" portrayed in the movie in which players must describe things they are grateful for, even though they may be miserable.

You can get sense of the movie from this scene between Pollyanna and her dying father at its outset:

If you are intrigued, then feel free to watch the whole thing (courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)!

Pickford was undoubtedly grateful for the divorce from her first husband, Owen Moore, who had became an abusive alcoholic. She must have been keen on a new beginning since she acquiesced to Owen's demand for a $100,000 settlement. Pickford's marriage to Fairbanks probably caused tongues to wag in the Royal City, coming as it did only days after the divorce.

Guelph also began to deal with implications of the ascent of the automobile, renewed with vigor since the end of the war. The Mercury's editor (25 May) noted that there were a number of incidents in which cars hit children who were crossing or playing in the streets. Streets had always been used as places to play by young Guelphites but the increasing number and velocity of cars meant that this practice was becoming rather dangerous. The editor blamed parents of the children in question, arguing that it was not fair to motorists that naive children should be allowed to play in the streets and retard traffic. He suggested that the city should construct more playgrounds and that parents should see to it that children restrict their fun to designated play areas.

As Easter approached, store owners urged customers to impress their lady friends with—what else?—chocolate! Here is an ad in the Mercury from the pharmacy of Bogardus and Barton (5 April).

Easter itself fell on 4 April in 1920. The Mercury noted that the weather was uninviting, featuring a cold east wind and "sharp cutting snow" (5 April). Nevertheless, Guelph's churches were ready:

All the churches of the city were ready for the occasion with a profusion of flowers adorning chancel, pulpit and platform, all being significant of the new life that marks the passing of the winter of death, ushering in a season of joy and gladness and a hope for the good and the beautiful in life.

The article duly summarized the service in each of the City's main churches. All featured hymns, Easter lillies and recounting of the resurrection story. Reverend George Little of Chalmers Church (now Royal City Church) also took issue with doubters who looked to science or spiritualism for the truth about the afterlife. At Norfolk Street Methodist (now Lakeside Downtown), Mrs. Cook gave a talk entitled "Mission work in Japan." The Mercury reported that, despite the adverse weather, services in morning, afternoon, and evening were well attended.

In view of daunting events in recent history, it may be that Guelphites were looking extra hard for some Easter optimism as the 1920s began.