Old Home Week, 1927 was 100 years in the making

Guelph's third Old Home Week took place from August 1 through 8, 1927, and it took a lot of effort! One of the people who worked in a booth on the occasion wrote about it on a postcard to her aunt as follows:

Dear Aunt and all—Just a card to let you know I arrived here safely. I haven’t time to write a letter for I am working day and night. This is the old Boys reunion here this week and I am busy all day and at night[.] we have a booth and I have to show the guests over our building. I am so tired I can hardly wiggle but it is only for a week & it means extra dollars for me. Don’t write until you hear from me for the O.A.C. office is closed this week. Bye Bye Love Edith. // I was for a ride in an airplane on Sunday.

The card was addressed to Mrs. Melvin Wolfe of Straffordville, Ontario, in care of Frank Wolfe, and was postmarked on 3 August. (Mailed and delivered on the same day!)

("Main Building, O.A.C., Guelph, Ont., Canada," published by Valentine & Sons United Publishing Co., Toronto, ca. 1925. Postmarked 3 August 1927.)

The card was published by the Valentine & Sons United Company of Toronto, one of Canada's biggest postcard producers. The image on the front was a view of the Main Building (replaced by Johnston Hall in 1931). Perhaps Edith selected the card in honour of her association with the Ontario Agricultural College (O.A.C.), which she mentions in her missive.

(Reverse of the card above. Note the special Guelph Old Home Week cancellation logo in the upper right corner.)

Another sign of the importance of the Old Home Week (also known as the Old Boys' Reunion) was that the postcard displayed a special logo in the cancellation mark, which says, "Guelph Centennial Old Home Week Aug 1–8." The post office would apply these special marks to celebrate events of particular significance, of which the Week was one.

The idea of an Old Home Week was for a town to put on a big bash and invite former residents to party in their old haunts and reconnect with old friends, while spending freely to support the local economy. Guelph had had its's first Old Home Week in 1908 and its second in 1913. Understandably, plans for a third were postponed in the wake of the Great War. But, with Guelph's Centennial year of 1927 approaching, authorities and citizens decided it was time to stage another.

The accustomed format of Old Home Week in Guelph was daily parades and themed events in Exhibition Park. The 1927 edition repeated this format. Each afternoon, a parade led from the (old) city hall to the park, led by musicians such as the Guelph Musical Society band.

("Guelph Centennial Old Home Week, 1 August 1927." The view overlooks the parade making its way through St. George's Square, with the central arch visible on the right of the picture. The float in the foreground appears to be the Guelph Mercury, float number 87, signed "Weekly Pioneer Printing Office." The Post Office float, float number 91, approaches in the background. Local photographer Lionel O'Keeffe published a series of photographs of the "Mammoth Centennial Historical Street Parade." Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2022.42.31.)

However, a special "Mammoth Centennial Historical Street Parade" with 112 floats was mounted in the morning of 1 August. The floats formed queues off Gordon Street along Wellington, Surrey, Fountain, Nottingham, and Essex Streets. From there, they paraded along Carden Street past the (old) city hall, up Wyndham Street to Woolwich and thence to London Road, then along London Road, down Dublin Street, along Suffolk to Norfolk Street, and thence to Quebec Street and the finishing point in St. George's Square (Mercury, 28 July 1927).

("Guelph Centennial Old Home Week, Aug. 1, 1927. O'Keeffe Photo Guelph." This photo shows the Colonial Whitewear float, float number 41, probably waiting on a side street to join the parade.)

Most of the floats were sponsored by local businesses, ranging from old standbys like the Robert Stewart Lumber Company and the Bell Piano & Organ Company, to more recent arrivals like the Northern Rubber Company and Biltmore Hats. Organizations like the Fire Brigade, the Model Dairy, and the YMCA were also represented. Naturally, entertainment was provided by outfits like the Guelph Musical Society, the Toronto regimental pipe band, and—appropriately for the Jazz Age—a jazz band. Entertainers such as the Toonerville Trolley (inspired by a popular comic strip called The Toonerville Folks), and several comics kept the merriment going.

(Postcard showing "The Centennial Arch in St. George's Square during Centennial Celebrations, 1927." Light bulbs are visible on the arch and its supports, suggesting how it would have appeared at night. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2000.21.7.)

The Royal City dressed up for the occasion. Flags and bunting were flown over streets and strewn across facades. Special illumination was provided with electric lighting. Over 25,000 feet of wiring was used to position 10,000 vari-colored light bulbs throughout the main streets and nearby dwellings. The new stone towers of the Church of Our Lady were lit up by the powerful rays of flood lights, to shine like twin beacons in the night sky. St. George's Church, the (old) City Hall, the Post Office, and the recently completed Cenotaph all got similar treatment. It may have become difficult to tell night from day in the old town!

(The centennial arch across St. George's Square can be seen across the streetcar tracks with the old Post Office in the background in this real photo postcard. On the bacck, Ms Vera S. informs Elenor Klepd of Cleveland, Ohio, that "Having a fine time in the old home town. This is a picture of some of the decorations at the Post Office." Postmarked 8 August 1927.)

Especially notable among the town's decorations were the centennial arches. Numbering 10 in all, large archways bestrode several routes into town as well as across Wyndham street by the (old) city hall and in the middle of St. George's Square. The latter two were of special magnificence being among the city sights illuminated for the celebration.

("Wyndham St., Guelph, Ont." published by Rumsey & Co. ca. 1930. Courtesy of the Keleher Collection. This is the only regular-production postcard featuring an Old Home Week 1927 image that I am aware of.)

The arch spanning lower Wyndham street had the words "The Royal City extends you 1000 welcomes." In addition, one side bore text denoting "Guelph Centennial" while each displayed the auspicious dates, "1827" and "1927."

The arch in St. George's Square spanned the streetcar tracks that yet ran down the middle of the street, while each supporting arm was itself another arch. The main arch was topped with a crown and the "Guelph Centennial" logo, while each supporting arch repeated "Centennial," the dates "1827" and "1927," as well as the reminder that the event was "Old Home Week, Aug. 1–6."

("Castle Centennial Archway, 1927." This arch stood just east of the entryway to the Ontario Reformatory on York Road. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2000.12.4.)

A third arch was placed across York Road near the entrace to the Reformatory. This arch was distinguished by a castellated top featuring a maple leaf and the sign "Welcome," as well as the thematic "Guelph Centennial" and "1827" and "1927." Signs on the pillars bore the familiar "Old Home Week, Aug. 1–6." It is notable that this arch was placed at the entrance to the Reformatory even though that institution was outside the city limits of the day, which went only as far east as Victoria road. It seems the Royal City looked upon the Reformatory as being part of Guelph, culturally if not formally.

Photos place other arches at the Ontario Agricultural College (Dundas Road, now Gordon Street), Riverside Park (Elora road, now Woolwich Street), Eramosa Road, Dundas Road bridge (now Gordon Street), and Waterloo Avenue. I would guess the two remaining arches were across Paisley Road and the Kitchener road (now Speevale Avenue west).

("Ontario Agriculture College, Centennial Celebrations Arch." Dundas Road (now Gordon street) looking north. Johnston Green is visible on the right and the Ontario Veterinary College on the left. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.52.30.)

All these celebratory arches must have assured visitors that the Royal City was to give them the royal welcome!

("Arch entering city, 1927." This arch spans the Elora road (now Woolwich Street) at the entrance to Riverside Park. The entranceway to the park is visible on the left and streetcar tracks can be seen beside the road on the right. I assume that the arch features greenery and logs tied around its supports to suggest the rustic fittings of the park next door. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2000.12.3.)

The headline event held in Exhibition Park was no doubt the Great Historical Pageant. At 8:15pm on 1 August, a cast of 500 performers, along with a chorus of 200 singers, staged a pageant in front of the grandstand that rehearsed the story of Guelph. Although the Guelph Mercury for August 1927 is sadly missing, the script of the pageant is amply described in a program for the Old Home Week. The event kicks off with the arrival of Miss Guelph (Miss Roberta Armstrong) to a fanfare of trumpets. Accompanied by her attendants, Patriotism, Courage, Achievement, Liberty, Pride, Stability, Honor, Beauty, Health, and Peace, she addressed the multitude:

Fellow citizens of the province of Ontario, and the Dominion of Canada, in the name of the goodly inhabitants of this city and in honor of our celebration this evening, I bid you a most cordial welcome. ...

Anon, Miss Canada (Miss Claire Little) delivers her reply:

Miss Guelph, in the name of Canada and her Fair Provinces. I acknowledge this your welcome. With pride we recognize in Guelph one of the brightest gems in the crown of our Canadian Achievement. We are happy tonight to receive your welcome to this great assemblage in honor of those sturdy men and courageous women who here began a march of progress, the direction of which has ever been forward.

("First Wedding Float Guelph Centennial Parade, 1927." A buggy driven by well-dressed footmen, conveys a small party, perhaps the bridge and groom, shaded by parasols, pulled by a horse and donkey, no doubt signfying the happy state of matriomny. The float is moving past Waterloo Avenue up Wilson Street. A note on the back of the photograph states, "A burlesque of the first wedding, one of many comics." Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.52.4.)

With this, Misses Canada and Guelph turn to view the company before them unfold the march of progress that was the history of Guelph. For the sake of brevity, I will simply list the episodes here: (1) The dawn of creation, wherein the land, sky, flowers, and water are shaped and moulded, (2) The Indian, wherein "the primitive life of the Indian" is imaginatively depicted by performers in costume, (3) the founding of Guelph, wherein John Galt and company felled an elm tree and dedicated the site to the royal family, (4) the heroic advancement of Pioneer Manhood and Pioneer Womanhood in the face of Fever, Famine, and Death, (5) the first school, wherein pioneer children were taught by an American named Davis though, regretably, "Davis' intellectual acquirements did not go much beyond the 'three Rs' and he was soon released," (6) the first railroad, wherein the first train steamed in to Guelph and MPPs played a little joke on the locals by presenting the MPP for Lanark as the Governor-General, resulting in "considerable agitation," and (7) the first wedding, wherein Kitty Kelly was pressured into marrying Christopher Keough earlier than she had planned in August 1827. Last came a Masque of Nations.

("Eramosa Road arch." This leafy-looking arch says "WELCOME" in big letters and seems to span the road near Queen street. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.32.40.)

Of course, Exhibition Park was the site of many more events. For example, a packed program of track and field events was held. The headline event was probably the men's five-mile run, which was won by Harold Webster of the Hamilton Olympic Club. A number of women's events were included as well, an indication of the increasing regard in which women's sport was held at the time. In particular, there were competitions for women in the 100-yard dash and the quarter-mile relay, not to mention softball.

("Guelph Centennial arch on Gordon Bridge." This bridge was installed in 1892 and was the third span built at this location. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.32.38.)

In fact, as the Hamilton Spectator noted with some smugness, Hamiltonians dominated at the events, prevailing over the locals and athletes from Toronto's West End YMCA (5 August 1927):

Combining their efforts, the Hamilton Olympic club and the Canadian Ladies’ club, of this city, accounted for major honors in the big track and field meet that was part of old home week at Guelph, yesterday afternoon. With the Olympic club boys looking after the sterner sex, the Hamilton girls made a clean sweep of the events for the fair sex, and altogether it was a good day for the local contingent.

The bright spot for the home team was probably the youth's 1-mile run, which was won by local boy Frank Terry in 5 min., 35 3-5 seconds.

("Guelph Centennial arch: Waterloo Ave. car barns." The view looks towards downtown Guelph from Waterloo Avenue, just west of the street car storage sheds ("barns"). Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.32.37.)

Naturally, baseball was a headline event for the Old Home Week. The junior league Guelph Maple Leaf team came through in style with an 8–5 win over the Tom Cats of St. Thomas on 4 August.

Of course, the big game was the contest in the senior division between the Maple Leaf team and the Terriers of Galt. The two teams had been competing for top honours throughout the 1920s, and they seemed to be headed for the league championship series later on. Unfortunately, the game was a "listless affair" consisting of lacklustre pitching and several fielding errors (Waterloo Record, 2 August). Still, the score provided some drama, with the local side overcoming an early deficit of seven runs to nearly defeat the visitors. However, Galt's reliever, "Friendly" Graham, was able to pitch his squad's team out of a Guelph rally in the ninth inning, leaving two runners on base, for a 13–12 win.

(Guelph and Galt did go on to meet in the Intercounty League champtionship in September but the Terriers came out on top. So, Guelph continued to just miss out on the championship it last won in 1921, against the Terriers.)

("Charles “Sandy” Alexander McHardy, baby contest, 5 August 1927." Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2025.22.1.)

Another interesting feature of the Old Home Week was the baby contest. For some decades, it had been common to enter babies in contests at agricultural fairs to be judged, presumably, in the manner of prize steers, with top honours going to the "bonniest" baby. We learn that 143 infants were entered into the Guelph contest in 1927. Winners in the six-to-nine-month division were Helen Georgina Green, of Belwood, for the girls and John Duncan, of Alton, for the boys (Windsor Star, 6 August). In the nine-to-twelve-month division, winners were Ann Bell Russell, of Mount Forest for the girls and Charles "Sandy" McHardy of Fergus for the boys. Each winner received a five dollar gold piece, with Charles McHardy receiving a special silver cup, presumably for being the bonniest big boy.

Although baby contests were positioned among the casual amusements available in the celebration, they did have a more serious purpose. They promoted awareness of child heatlh issues in an era when child welfare was threatened by diseases and child labour. Also, contests were used to promote the eugenic idea that some children were innately better than others. It is notable in this respect that the children entered into such contests, like the winners in Guelph, were white. Although Guelph had significant black, Chinese, and Italian communities, their children do not feature among the ranks of the contestants and winners.

("A jazz band playing in an Old Home week parade on Wyndham Street." Besides being in the Mammoth parade, the jazz band roamed the city during the week entertaining the old boys and girls wherever they were found. Courtesy of the Guelph Public Library, F38-0-9-0-0-19.)

Not all the celebrations were held at Exhibition Park. Of course, parades, decorations, and special lighting were prominent in the downtown, especially along Wyndham street. Besides this, Wyndham street was host to the big masquerade dance held on August 2nd. After a parade mounted by the Guelph Humane Society, Wyndham street was cleared and an open-air concert held while the "old boys" and girls danced in disguise (Hamilton Spectator, 2 August). It seems that a good time was had and the event continued into the wee hours of the following morning.

("The Priory Model in front of City Hall during Centennial Celebrations, 1927." The Priory was the first house built in Guelph for John Galt. It was allowed to fall into ruin and was demolished the year prior to the centennial. This model may have been made from wood taken from the original structure. I believe this model was later installed in Riverside Park. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2000.21.8.)

As crowds sizes grew during the week, the midway, initially sited at Exhibition Park, was relocated to the gap in Wyndham street that was left after the great fire of 1921, in which the Robert Stewart planing mill burned down. In 1935, this gap in the streetscape was largely filled by the Dominion Public Building, now occupied by the Wellington County Government. But, for a few precious days, it was one of he funnest places in the Royal City!

("Old Home Week," 1927. The centennial arch over Wyndham street with the (old) City Hall and Winter Fair building in the background. Courtesy of the Guelph Civic Museums, 2014.84.520.)

Things did get a little out of hand. On Wednesday, shortly before midnight, attendees were treated to the performance of a snapped high-voltage overhead wire (Galt Reporter, 5 August):

Like a huge snake, spitting fire, a snapped trolley wire curled and writhed in the midst of a terrified crowd of street celebrants at the corner of Wyndham and Macdonnell streets shortly before midnight on Wednesday night. A Kitchener boy, about 20 years of age, had grabbed the rope which releases the pole of the street car, pulling it down to the roof of the radial and letting it go. The pole struck the wire, breaking it. The wire, striking the tracks and flaming with thousands of volts of current, whipped around the crowd but fortunately struck no one. The boy was captured after a strenuous chase and locked up for a few hours.

There were also complaints about drunkenness. The same Galt Reporter quoted the Guelph Mercury as saying that some people were "indulging promiscuously and publicly with the contents of the bottle," resulting in "inconsiderate behavior" and "vile and profane language."

("Guelph Elastic Hosiery Co. Float, Guelph Centennial Parade, 1927." The float is passing Waterloo Avenue on its way up Wilson Street. The company is most noted for its reinvention of the jock strap, which is, sadly, no evident on the float. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.52.6.)

A similar complaint was noted in the Acton Free Press (11 August):

Children, who had never seen drunken men, had the sight cast in front of them continually. Numbers of young lads either secured what they thought was sufficient to make them tipsy, or tried to give that impression in their actions. Was there no bootlegging? We heard a rumor that said that when the Government store closed on Saturday and did not open until Tuesday that the stock of the bootleggers in a certain section was completely exhausted. We don’t want to give the impression that the celebration was nothing but a drunk orgy, but it is hard to be convinced that the Government Control measure is lessening the sale of or improving the control of booze.

The Liquor Control Act had been passed only the previous June and the province was still in the process of setting up the Liquor Control Board of Ontario (LCBO) and its control of liquor purchasing. So, in the eyes of some commentators, the Old Home Week was an early test of this system and they were not impressed.

("Toronto Regiment, Guelph Centennial Parade." The formation is marching up Huskisson Street (now Wyndham Street) past the drill shed toward the underpass. A note on the back of the photograph states, "Toronto Regiment (3rd Battalion C.E.F.). Bugle band in front, Regimental band & soldiers following." No doubt the formation included many veterans of the Great War. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.52.25.)

The Guelph police also came in for criticism. They had made laid no charges during the entire week, which the Mercury took as evidence that the event passed largely without incident. The columnist for the Acton Free Press averred that it was due to overindulgence.

Another feature of Old Home Week were airplane rides. Recall that, in her postcard to her aunt, Mrs. Melvin Wolfe, Edith mentions taking a ride in an airplane. Airplane rides were not in the official program of the Old Home Week. Instead, they seem to have been the idea of Jack V. Elliott, the owner of the Jack V. Elliott Air Service based in Hamilton. Starting in 1922, Elliott had purchased and refurbished aircraft from the Great War for various commercial purposes, such as exhibitions and stunting.

(Jack V. Elliott depicted alongside what appears to be a Curtiss JN-4 "Jenny". Courtesy of the Hamilton Spectator, 12 November 1926.)

Pilots soon took Elliott's planes barnstorming to various events. For example, Captian Smith and Mr. Gilles appeared at the Kitchener Old Home Week in 1925, flying "Nose dives, tail spins, loop the loop, rolls and other thrilling evolutions," not to mention a demonstration of wing walking! (Daily Record, 7 August 1925). Over the event, three Elliott planes took 236 passengers up for flights (Hamilton Spectator, 13 August 1925). At around $5 a flight, that quickly adds up.

("Carlstrom in a [Curtiss JN4] aeroplane at Long Branch [Toronto]," 25 November 1915. Victor Carlstrom was the pilot who flew a Blériot from Exhibition Park during Old Home Week 1913, the first plane to take off in Guelph. Courtesy of Library and Archives Canada, 3390042.)

Of course, aviation was a somewhat risky endeavor in that era. Indeed, because of the absence of the contemporary Guelph Mercury, we only learn of the presence of the Elliott Air Service at Guelph during the Centennial because there was a crash. From the St. Catherines Standard (5 August), we hear that an Elliott plane, piloted by Dick Preston of Hamilton and bearing Bert Shier of Guelph, crashed through a fence on take-off and smashed to the ground. The plane, likely a Curtiss JN-4 "Jenny," was wrecked apart from the motor, which seemed salvageable. Happily neither pilot nor passenger were seriously injured.

From the report, we learn that the plane was using the "Karn farm" on the north outskirts of town as an airfield. I suspect that this is the property of John Karn, a Guelphite listed as a farmer and having a sand & gravel business located on the north side of Speedvale avenue, around the intersection with Delhi street. Interestingly, there was a plane crash at the same location on 8 October 1935, when a deHaviland Moth was attempting to land there (Brantford Expositor). It was in town to provide plane rides over the Royal City. From these reports, it seems that the Karn farm served Guelph as an occasional airstrip in the pre World War II era.

("Float from the Post Office, Guelph Centennial Parade." A sign on the side of float states, "The Post Office Serves the World," thus explaining the globe on the back of the float. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 2009.52.23.)

One hopes that Edith enjoyed her ride. In 1930, she married James Robinson. Her marriage certificate notes that, at that time, she was employed as a waitress at the Vimy Ridge Farm. (The farm was a training facility for British Home Children, boys exported from Britain to provide labour on Canadian farms. The program was discontinued the next year due to the financial strains of the Great Depression.) Mrs. Robinson moved to Toronto and remained there for the rest of her days.

("Guelph Centennial Old Home Week Sticker, 1927." Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums, 1983.116.4.)

The big event in 1927 was the apex of Old Home Weeks in the Royal City. Although the tradition persisted in some other Canadian towns and cities, Guelph never held another. There was "Guelph Days," a grand three-day hoopla held in 1932 of a similar nature but scaled down to fit with the circumstances of the Great Depression. Not quite the same. Of course, Guelph's Bicenntenial will be upon us in a couple of years. It will be interesting to see how it compares and contrasts with Guelph's previous wingdings such as the Old Home Week of 1927.

Summer Speed bathing in Victorian Guelph

As is true today, swimming was a popular summertime recreation in Victorian Guelph.  In fact, the town of Guelph could boast one of the classiest bathing houses in Canada West. It was built by the Allan family along the banks of the Speed River in front of the Priory, their home, and was described as follows (Allan 1939, p. 29):

Under the ownership of David Allan, he made many improvements to the property such as building a stone bathing-house in the design of a fort (with turrets) at the river side, and the stone wall which still surrounds the property, which he had built in a style to conform to that of the walls supporting the approach to the C.N.R. Bridge across the street.

A lovely sketch (and also painting) of this structure was made by David Kennedy in 1864:

(A sketch by David Kennedy showing a view of the Speed River, Guelph, from the Grand Trunk Railway Bridge. The Priory bath house is in the left foreground. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums 1980.6.5)

A similar vantage point is available from Google Street View for comparison:



It must have been fun for the Allan family, on hot summer evenings, to don their bathing costumes in their miniature medieval folly and tread carefully down the narrow stone stairway into the cool embrace of the Speed.

The Allan family may have had the only bathing house in town at the time, which would have been a distinct advantage in a place where bathing (or swimming) in the river was practically illegal in daylight. Guelph's first by-law (ca. 1850) was quite stringent on the matter (Johnson 1977, p. 233):

That no person or persons shall bathe within the distance of 80 rods from any inhabited house, bridge, or thoroughfare, except before sunrise, in any river or other public water in the Town of Guelph, or in any way indecently expose his or their persons.

Given that a rod is about 5 meters, the by-law forbids bathing with 400m of a house, bridge, or other roadway, a restriction that would seem to apply to the entire Speed River within town limits!

An important reason for the restriction on bathing was decency, the dress and decorum that characterized respectable townsfolk. Bathing involved dressing down, to a level that might be inappropriate for the eyes of ladies and gentlemen. (It also often involved vulgar language, a point to which I return below.)

This consideration is elaborated in a debate in the Town Council, when a petition from the townsfolk prompted the city fathers to revisit the restrictive bathing by-law. The matter of regulation of bathing costumes took up much of the Council's time (Daily Mercury, 20 July 1880):

The length of the bathing dress to be worn and what it should and should not cover was the theme of a lengthy and warm discussion.
Ald. Stevenson and the Mayor did not consider that the bathing dress was sufficient for the sake of decency, the by-law providing that the body of the bather be covered from the loins to the thighs.
...
It was moved and seconded in amendment, that the body be covered from the neck to the knee.

Some councillors expressed the view that this much coverage was excessive:

Ald. Fairbank thought that some member might move an amendment to the effect that an umbrella be worn while bathing. He could not see the force of having bathers clothed from head to heel.
...
Ald. Doran had always been accustomed to see people swim naked. They were under the water and could not be seen. It was different from climbing a greasy pole. The other day Scotch pipers went through the street with their legs bare, and all the women looking at them, which was just as bad in his opinion.
Ald. Fairbank wished to know how mechanics; who worked hard all week and were dirty, could get properly washed with a bathing dress on.

In the end, considerations of decency won out and neck-to-knee covering was adopted.

A related issue was that of proximity to bridges, etc. Again, decency required that bathing not occur too close to places where bathers might be seen by the good townsfolk traveling on their roadways. In this regard, Council saw fit to reduce the distance from 80 rods to 50 feet (about 15m). By significantly increasing the area of bathing costumes, it seems that the distance from bathers to bridges could be proportionately lowered.

The by-law also regulated prices that could be charged for rental of bathing costumes provided by commercial bathing houses. At the time, the town's only commercial bathing house had recently gone under.  Mr. James Hazelton, a prosperous local furniture maker, had set up a commercial bath house on the south shore of the Speed, a little downstream from the Eramosa bridge (Mercury, 16 July 1874).  The facility provided small plunge pools and showers, with warm and cold water, a small swimming pool out back, and access from there to the river itself.  An ad from the Mercury (5 July 1876) provides a idea of the offering:

The business carried on until the death of Mr. Hazelton in 1879.  Certainly, Hazelton's baths did provide an opportunity for decent bathing and so it is understandable that the Town Council hoped that another businessman would jump into the market soon.  Yet, there were few takers and little prospect that one or two commercial bath houses could meet the deep local demand for swimming.

So, as is sometimes the case with regulations, restrictions on bathing were more often honoured in the breach than in the observance. For the most part, bathing in the rivers took place illegally and indecently. Every summer, the Mercury published new complaints about illicit bathing by gangs of youths. Complaints can be relied upon to cover certain features, including a description of the conduct itself, in what ways it is indecent in general and offensive to ladies in particular, and what remains to be done about it. Consider, for example (Mercury, 6 July 1883):

Bathing in the river.—During any period of the day from 9 a.m. till 10 p.m. a large number of boys make a practice of bathing in the Speed at the end of the lot occupied by the new rink. This is done in the broad daylight by boys from the age of 8 to 16, and at times by even grown up men, and this without the slightest pretence of wearing anything in the shape of bathing dresses, and during the whole time they are in the water they make use of the most profane and filthy language that can be conceived. Until this disgraceful practice is put a stop to, it is simply impossible for ladies occupying houses on the opposite bank of the river to walk or even to appear outside their own doors during the most enjoyable period of the day. The river makes a slight bend at this spot, so that the bathers are in full view of every garden on the opposite shore. We doubt if there is another town in Canada where such a disgraceful exhibition is allowed to pass without the slightest effort on the part of the public to put it down. They have been spoken to on several occasions, and ought either to put a stop to this bathing altogether or insist upon these boys going into the water under the cover of darkness.

The rink mentioned above is the Speed Skating rink, where the River Run Centre is now located, and whose facade stands in John Galt Park.

Here is another example (Mercury, 5 August 1887):

Bathing at Gow’s bridge.—Numerous are the complaints that are made about young men and boys bathing at Gow’s bridge in broad daylight and in the evening. They run around the bridge, and dive from from the parapet as naked as the day they were born and the language they use is most offensive beyond imagination. Ladies living on the other side of the river, and whose direct road home is over this bridge, are compelled to walk around by Dundas bridge. This state of things ought not to be, and the police authorities should see to it at once. No one objects to parties bathing so long as they secure a reasonably secluded place, but for them to be allowed to bathe on a public thoroughfare the whole summer through is a little too much. So far as bathing at night these moonlight nights in public places is concerned it might as well be daylight.

Of course, the young men themselves delighted both in bathing in the river in the hot weather and making an indecent exhibition of themselves. In later years, many reminisced fondly about cavorting in the rivers, typically much too close to passers-by, while clad only in their birthday suits. In these young men's minds, the rivers were a chain of "swimmin' holes" to be enjoyed as circumstances (and authorities) allowed. Mr. Jim Ritchie's recollections are typical (Mercury, 1 May 1948):

Swimmin’-hole memories

Who among Guelph’s real old-timers does not remember Crib’s hole, near Russell Daly’s present home? Or Fraser’s hard by the Sterling Rubber Company’s plant, or the staircase near the old Goldie’s Mill? Nor can they forget Macdonald’s Spring, just below what is now Cutten Fields, or Kate's hole, near the spurline. This, of course, was the special resort of the “Spurliners.” Howitt’s Pond at the rear of the present G.T.C. bus sheds on Waterloo Avenue was also a popular spot. These are among many others inseparable from old swimmin’ hole memories. No swimming in the nude anywhere these days. If the boys try it they will be chased away, no matter how far they are from the city. How unlike the days before the motorcar era.

Ritchie's mention of the "Spurliners" is interesting, as it reminds us that the young men involved saw the town's geography in territorial terms. In other words, each group had a claim to "its" area, and associated swimming holes, that groups from other areas did not.

This fact is most dramatically illustrated in the recollections of John Higginbotham, scion of an established Guelph clan. He narrates a physical encounter between his group and another that saw their use of the swimming hole at Hood's Bay as an intrusion (Higginbotham 1933, pp. 27–28):

Contrary to all by-laws and regulations, we assumed all risks and bathed in birthday attire. Usually a watch was kept for the police, and on their arrival, everything would be found quite proper; but on one occasion the sergeant was too crafty and speedy for most of us, for all our clothing was seized, with the exception of that of my brother Harry who hastily threw his into an empty barrel which he steered, as he swam, to the opposite bank of the river.

In going to or returning from swimming, and when taking our cattle to pasture, our way was frequently opposed by other boys in gangs, and we were obliged to fight to a finish, or seek another road.

One afternoon, when returning from Hood's Bay, a favourite swimming hole, twelve of us were marching three abreast, when we were suddenly confronted by a large gang of hoodlums, much bigger and older than ourselves, who had been playing "shinny" or field hockey, and were, therefore, armed with these "weapons." The rowdies were led by a negro named Jake, who advanced at their head, in a most threatening manner, shouted defiance, and informed us that we would not be allowed to pass without a fight. My companions urged me to meet him, which I did, with some trepidation, when his headlong charge was blocked with a strong kick on his shins, and a right-hand swing to the point of his chin. He went down like a felled ox. A kick was something I had never done before, and hoped never to do again, but having learned of the negro's vulnerability, used it as an offensive against a more powerful adversary. One of his companions next attacked me and, while I was engaged with him, the negro, having got his feet, hurled a stone which struck me full in the face. An old coloured man, who had been watching the proceedings from the porch of his cabin, now interfered, as peacemaker, and we were enabled to wend our homeward way without further molestation.

Confrontations over swimming holes were not confined to gangs of boys and police. Landowners blessed with bathing-worthy riverside property did not always relish their uninvited guests. George Sleeman recalled an incident when a landowner took extreme measures to keep bathers away from his stretch of the Speed (Mercury, 29 April 1922):

A Mr. Harrison owned two acres of land where Johnson’s boat house now is. It was known as ‘Harrison’s Meadows,’ and was a pretty lot, and, as the river fronted it, it was a favorite place for bathing. (Richardson, who had the store on Gordon Street, agreed with Harrison to keep him as long as he lived, for the lot. However, Richardson died years before Harrison.) After Richardson came into possession of the meadow he became annoyed at people going through it to bathe, and dumped a lot of broken glass into the river, which created a bad feeling against him.

Johnson's boat house is occupied by the Boat House and Tea Room today. Happily, the broken glass seems to be long gone.

The list of Guelph's Victorian-era swimming holes is lengthy but one of particular interest is Kate's Hole, mentioned by James Ritchie as in the territory of the Spurliners. In one story, this location is described as a deep hole near the south bank of the Speed River, opposite Dr. Clarke's grounds. In another, it is located near the end of Marcon street. In today's terms, this would place it at the upper end of Herb Markle Park, where the Speed bends towards the east. This location would put it in the foreground of the postcard image below, looking southward from the top of the Goldie Mill pond.

Note the two swans from James Goldie's menagerie swimming near the small boat on the south shore.

The Speed river was much wider there in that era because of the mill pond and its bottom much deeper in places as a result. Kate's Hole was a place where the river bottom dropped away steeply, near the boat in the image above. The area was quarried early in Guelph's history for construction stone, so it is possible that the hole was formed in this way before the mill pond was established.

In any event, the site was said to get its name from a woman named Kate who drowned there in the town's early days (Mercury, 23 June 1877). As noted above, Kate's Hole was associated with the spur line, that is, the railway line built through the neighbourhood by the Great Western Railway to a short-lived passenger station sited at the foot of Norwich street. (The route is now part of the Spurline Trail.)

Whether or not Kate's story is true, Kate's Hole was a dangerous place for bathers because of its depth and several drownings occurred there. For example, one John McGorin rode a horse into the river at that point in order to wash it off after a long week's work with the Stewart Planing mill (Mercury, 1 June 1874). Unfamiliar with the river, McGorin and the horse tumbled into Kate's Hole. The horse drowned while McGorin was saved by some passers-by who threw him planks wrenched from a nearby sidewalk.

In another incident, a young woman named Minnie Chace fell victim to "the remorseless waters" of Speed (Mercury, 23 June 1877). She and two companions had taken a boat (like the one in the picture above?) up the stream from Kate's Hole searching for a secluded spot for bathing. They went ashore on the west bank in front of the house of Donald Guthrie, the local MP, which later became the main building of the Homewood Sanitarium. This would put the young ladies near the foot of George Street, on the opposite side of the river. They donned dressing gowns in lieu of bathing costumes and waded into the river. Unknown to them, the gentle slope of the bank ended suddenly, and two of the girls went in over their heads. One was saved by a passer-by but Miss Chace was not so lucky.

Although this drowning occurred a little ways upstream of Kate's Hole, it is interesting because it provides one of the few accounts of women bathers in the rivers. If their example is typical, then it seems that women and girls did bathe in the Speed but made less of an exhibition of themselves than did the young men.

Repeated drownings finally prompted a response from authorities. The town purchased six grappling irons from a local carriage maker and placed them in the vicinity of especially risky swimming holes (Mercury, 21 July 1885). The Mercury noted that having grappling irons close at hand would make it easier to retrieve the bodies of the drowned before they lay in the river too long. The sites chosen show how busy the Speed was during Victorian summers:

Your [Town Council] ordered and got made by Mr. C. Thain six sets of grappling irons to be used in cases of drowning in the river and would recommend that the same be placed in the following positions: Frank Heller’s, Marcon street, near Kate’s hole; James Goldie’s mill; Frank Webber’s coopershop; W.J. Fairbank’s, Eramosa bridge; new skating rink and Johnston’s boat house.

As distressing and unwelcome as drownings were, they were evidently regarded with some resignation, a regrettable risk of the joys of bathing in the rivers and, perhaps, simply one of the downsides of an activity indulged on the margins of decent society.

However, around the end of the the Victorian era, the situation began to change with the appearance of supervised swimming places, though that is a story for another time.

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Sources

• Higginbotham, J.D. (1933). When the west was won. Toronto: The Ryerson Press.
  

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.

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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!