Entrance to Fort York, August 26, 1953. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 1, Item 1832.

Today, Fort York is generally considered to be one of Toronto’s most significant historic sites—which might lead you to believe the site has been consistently respected ever since the Americans left in August of 1813. The reality is quite different. Fort York has endured both neglect and repeated attempts at redevelopment; what remains on the site today represents the effort of considerable advocacy and resistance to those circumstances, on the part of many Torontonians who thought the old fort worth defending.

After much of the fort was destroyed in 1813, its defences were improved to guard against another invasion from the south. In 1814, the American ship Lady of the Lake arrived in York’s harbour; there were some exchanges of fire. But, notes historian Carl Benn in his book, Historic Fort York: 1793 – 1993, “in the end, the Americans decided not to challenge Fort York’s new defences but sailed away instead. The rebuilt Fort York and its outlying defences had fulfilled the classic military function of deterrence.”

Some commemorations of the War of 1812 frame the end of the war as the beginning of two hundred years of peace, but this peace was anything but guaranteed. Changes to the fort continued after the Treaty of Ghent formally ended the War of 1812, and the threat of an American invasion was considered real for much of the remainder of the century; these threats included rising emotions based on the Trent Affair in 1861, the Fenian Raids following the American Civil War, and increased tensions of an 1895 boundary dispute in Venezuela. A local garrison was also necessary at times to guard against local uprisings, particularly following the 1837 rebellion, and through various political riots including those over the Rebellion Losses Bill.

Changes to Fort York’s buildings, as well as fluctuations in the size of its occupancy, varied over the course of the century, depending on other conflicts within the Empire and the perceived threat of war or conflict in York (or Toronto) itself. Carl Benn notes that “the fortifications were not maintained well during periods of relative peace and therefore eroded or otherwise deteriorated. But, at the first sign of possible hostilities, the army rebuilt and strengthened Fort York’s walls and batteries.”

Map showing the fort in 1823. Image courtesy of the Toronto Public Library.

During much of the nineteenth century, Fort York was deemed to be outdated and in major need of repair. Despite numerous proposals to replace or significantly reconfigure the fort, few redevelopments were implemented, and most changes during these years appear to be limited to replacing individual buildings. The most significant change was the opening of a new barracks in the 1840s (named “Stanley Barracks” in 1893), southwest of the old fort site. The old fort remained in operation after the opening of the new barracks, however, both for harbour defence as well as other military uses.

By the turn of the new century, many of the buildings at Fort York had been neglected for some time, and the area surrounding it was considered somewhat unsavoury. Despite the old fort’s active role in Toronto life, there were several proposals in the late nineteenth century which called for demolishing the fort buildings and redeveloping the site, either for railroad expansion or for residential development. These plans were all vetoed by the Department of Militia and Defence, on the grounds that they were still using the site for the Toronto garrison.

The situation altered in October of 1903, when the City purchased the old fort site for $200,000 (considered relatively cheap at the time), to take effect once the military had erected and occupied a new site elsewhere in Toronto. (One early plan, never realized, called for the new barracks to be constructed in Baby Point.) The conditions of the sale, insisted upon by the Department of Militia and Defence, were that the City agree to restore the Fort York site and only use the property as a park. The Globe hailed the purchase, writing that “this property must be the basis of any great park improvement scheme for the city,” and that the project could, “when finally completed, make Toronto one of the most beautiful cities in the world.”

Toronto, however, had other plans.

It soon emerged that the City was not so much interested in the fort itself, but in the valuable land on which it sat. Despite the promise to maintain the whole of the fort property, within weeks of the purchase permission was granted to a meatpacking plant to encroach on the eastern part of the property, destroying both a bastion and a guardhouse, and unearthing the bodies of American soldiers.

The Canadian National Exhibition was a growing enterprise at this time, and a very profitable one for Toronto. Although the original 1903 agreement anticipated a streetcar line running along the northern boundary of the property, plans emerged in 1905 for an extension of a streetcar line actually running through the site, necessitating the destruction of at least three buildings.

Pen and ink map showing the proposed streetcar line through the fort. Image courtesy of the Toronto Public Library.

Credit for rallying public opinion goes to Jean Earle Geeson, a local historian and school teacher at Parkdale Public School, who was in the habit of taking her students to the Fort York site. On October 4, 1905, the Globe published a letter from Geeson decrying the streetcar plans. Geeson noted that the proposed plan called for the destruction of the oldest buildings in the fort, which she believed to be the oldest buildings in all of Toronto. Referring to Fort York as “the chief landmark of Toronto’s history,” she asked, “has it been forgotten that this Old Fort is the cradle from which has sprung our magnificent and life-throbbing city, the Queen of the West, and the centre from which armies have gone forth to fight, not only for this Dominion, but for the mother land?”

The Globe editorial staff agreed with her, and within a week all the Toronto dailies wrote editorials supporting Geeson and advocating for the preservation of the fort and an alternate plan for the streetcar line. A Star editorial opined that “it should be impossible for anybody to get consent of the city to do injury to that historic spot now that it is the property of the city, of which it was, in a real sense, the foundation stone.”

Dozens of historical societies, including the York Pioneers, the Women’s Canadian Historical Society, and the Ontario Historical Society came into action, all protesting the City’s plan. Not only did these groups oppose the streetcar extension, but they called for the removal of the slaughterhouse which had been permitted to encroach on the property, citing the terms of purchase which forbade any use other than as a park and historic site.

A cartoon from noted historical illustrator C.W. Jefferys, featured on the front page of the Toronto Star, October 11, 1905.

The City defended its proposal. The City engineer explained that the streetcar line would “only” require the removal of three buildings, adding “one is now used as a cottage, another as a men’s sleeping quarters, and the other as a store house. None of these buildings, however, have any historical significance.” Indeed, they touted the streetcar line as a positive development for the fort, believing it would bring more people to the neglected site. According to 1970s research by the York Pioneers, Mayor Thomas Urquhart sought to reassure the public by saying “Naturally some old buildings will have to come down, but, as I have always said, the Old Fort will not be disturbed…” The following year, Toronto’s new Mayor Emerson Coatsworth was quoted in the Globe saying “People ought to understand by this time that we have no intention of desecrating the Old Fort property. The Old Fort has been desecrated almost as long as I can remember and now we propose to try and take care of it.”

As part of the January 1907 election, Toronto ratepayers were presented with a plebiscite over whether to bear the cost of the streetcar plan, with nearly 70 per cent of the vote rejecting it.

The City was undeterred, and suggested a new plan the following autumn which kept the streetcar line running through the site, but which only required the destruction of one building, a barracks. An application was put to the Province of Ontario for permission to proceed with the plan without needing the ratepayers’ approval, but a vigorous campaign from heritage advocates ensured that the Province unanimously refused it.

With this setback stalling the City’s plans, the City and the Ontario Historical Society reached an agreement in the summer of 1908, wherein the OHS would generate plans for restoring the Fort York once the City had completed a new survey of the site, with a plan that called for the retention of all of the 1812-era buildings. The nature of exactly how the site would be used was still unclear, but a notice in the Globe from an OHS representative suggested that “some [buildings] might be used as homes for veterans, others for the creation of museums.”

Fort York, ca. 1926. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1244, Item 1507.

Despite this plan, it appears that no serious work was undertaken to restore the fort until the early 1930s, largely because many of the buildings were still occupied by the army. This changed in 1932, when Toronto recognized that restoring the fort would be a suitable project for the city’s centennial in two years’ time.

A 1932 Globe editorial reported that “detailed plans have been matured recently by which citizens may have the buildings restored to their original state and made an asset of great value…” Citing recent success elsewhere at Annapolis Royal and Chicago’s Fort Dearborn, the piece added “it would seem that the chance to do something worthy with Fort York has now come, and if it can be linked with the celebration of the birth of Toronto as a city, the entire community should join with enthusiasm.”

Restoration work took place between 1932 and 1934, as a make-work program during the depression. Despite the continued importance of the site following the War of 1812, the restoration focused on the old fort as it was in 1816, at the time when its post-war reconstruction was completed. Not only were the remaining 1816-era buildings restored, but all the later buildings on the site were destroyed, presumably in a well-intentioned effort to be faithful to the fort’s 1816 appearance.

Fort York, probably in the 1890s. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 200, Series 376, File 5, Item 15.

This restored fort was unveiled to a sizeable crowd by the Governor-General, the Earl of Bessborough, as part of the 1934 Empire Day celebrations on May 24. According to the Mail and Empire, “the transformation of the Fort won the commendation of all visitors from the Governor-General down. The original plan has been followed, the redoubts rebuilt, the grass relaid, and a start has been made [at making] the Fort what it is destined to become: a national museum.” Most accounts of the restoration focus on the structure and terrain of the Fort, rather than on the interiors or exhibits. It appears that exhibits were supplied by various local historical groups, many of which had been involved years earlier in opposing the streetcar plan.

Old Fort York was again closed for restoration work following the Second World War, work which was carried out by the Toronto Civic Historical Committee (the forerunner of the Toronto Historical Board), reopening to the public on June 14, 1953. Whereas the 1934 restoration concentrated more on the buildings and their exteriors, newspaper coverage of the 1953 restoration noted major changes to the interiors and their exhibits, which showcased the social history of the fort as well as its military heritage. A preview from the Star noted “you can see what the troops ate off — wooden dishes and spoons. What they slept in — nice looking beds, with springs of stretched rope. But you’d pay the price of a new car for the fireplaces they warmed their feet in.” According to the Globe, “the [Toronto Civic Historical] Committee is putting its best foot forward in the exhibits of old military equipment, and several private collections have been put on show. Cutlasses, flint-lock pistols, epaulets of heavy metal, ancient lanterns, and kitchenware are just a few of the ancient articles now being catalogued.”

With the success of the reopening of the fort, its future in Toronto at last seemed safe and secure. And then came the Gardiner Expressway.

Photos from the opening of Fort York in the Telegram, June 15, 1953.

Metropolitan Toronto’s plans called for the Gardiner to cut through the southwest section of the Fort York site, requiring supports to be embedded in the fort’s ramparts. When this became public knowledge in January 1958, numerous historical groups and private individuals again raised their displeasure. Typical is a letter to the Globe from the president of the Niagara Historical Society, which decried the plan as “vandalism,” and adding that “while the Provincial Government is spending money erecting plaques to mark historic sites and buildings, Metropolitan Toronto is busy destroying them.”

Metro considered altering the route of the expressway, but found this option to be expensive, with the additional cost generally reported at $2,000,000. Furthermore, the roads commissioner for Metro, George Grant, claimed that an alternate route around Fort York would reduce speeds on the expressway from 50 to 30 km/h, severely reducing its effectiveness as an express route.

The proposed plan for the Gardiner Expressway. The Globe and Mail, January 24, 1958.

After visiting the fort in May, Metro Chairman Fred Gardiner announced that he was scrapping the plan to run the expressway through the site, and offered up what he considered to be a good alternative: the expressway’s route could be maintained if the entire fort was packed up and moved to nearby Coronation Park, where it would be safely out of the way. After all, the fort’s present location was inconvenient, and would be even harder to get to once the new expressway was built; in addition, the fort’s historical context was as a prominent fixture by the waterfront, but changes to the landscape meant that the fort was now considerably inland. As one Star article put it, moving Fort York to Coronation Park “would restore it to its original relative position and put it in a more attractive location and show it to the public as it was.” It was believed that this move could be accomplished for a mere $1,000,000, thereby making it $1,000,000 cheaper than rerouting the expressway around the site.

This solution found favour with the Toronto press. In a June editorial called “Second Fort Retreat Now In Order,” the Star dismissed claims to Fort York’s authentic heritage noting that it had already been rebuilt in the 1930s, and calling into question the quality of some of the restoration work that had then been performed. The editorial also questioned Fort York’s historical significance, writing that as the Americans were already retreating in 1813 when the powder house exploded, “if anything, the fort is a memorial to 52 dead Americans who went sky high with the magazine at the moment of victory.”

In August, the Globe wrote an editorial saying “the purpose of history and its artifacts is to help us understand something of ourselves by learning something about our past. Fort York could best fulfill that function if it were in an easily accessible location… Left where it is, Fort York will be of even less value when the Expressway is built. If it is difficult to reach now, it will be almost impossible then. Indeed, the only means of entry may be by helicopter.”

The Toronto newspapers continued to run pieces supporting the scheme throughout 1958, imploring the heritage community to drop their objections and support the move. Heritage advocates continued to condemn the plan, eventually winning Fred Gardiner to their side, although not necessarily the rest of Metro Council. Gardiner was apparently not swayed by the historical arguments, but believed that the objections could result in legal challenges that would delay the timely completion of the expressway project. The cause of relocating the fort was picked up by Toronto Mayor Nathan Phillips, who continued to put public pressure on the rest of Metro Council to put it to a vote and push it through.

The Toronto Star illustrating the various plans being considered. The Toronto Star, October 4, 1958.

The tide turned quickly in January of 1959. Pierre Berton wrote a piece for the Star condemning the proposed move, tying the fort’s significance to the land on which it sat. “We can build a phony Fort York on the lakeshore if we wish… and perhaps for a while people will see it. Will they see the real McCoy? No, alas. In an age of sham and simulation they will see another piece of fakery. They will see a sideshow but they will not see a shrine.”

In addition to the historical and legal concerns, it soon became apparent that it was unclear whether this scheme actually would save any money at all, as the costs of reconstructing the fort might not offset the money saved by keeping the proposed expressway route. With the prospect of saving money no longer an issue, newspapers began questioning the wisdom of the move and public opinion began to change. On January 30, a recommendation for the plan put forward by Metro’s executive committee was defeated by Metro Council, by a vote of 16 to six. The Gardiner Expressway was eventually routed around Fort York, leaving the site intact as per the 1903 purchase agreement. While historical groups rejoiced at the decision, Nathan Phillips called the decision not to relocate Fort York a “tragedy,” and predicted that “it will never be a prominent historic or tourist attraction.”

Pierre Berton, however, predicted otherwise. “…[S]o much of what we know is impermanent. Expressways will come and go every quarter century, lakeshores change at the whim of man and nature, rail yards shift, factories rise and crumble. Only on these 10 acres do we walk with history.”

Additional material from: Carl Benn, Historic Fort York 1793—1993 (Natural Heritage/Natural History Inc., 1993: Toronto); Jean Earle Geeson, The Old Fort at Toronto: 1793—1906 (W. Briggs, 1906: Toronto); The Globe (and Mail) (October 23, 1903; October 4, October 7, October 18, 1905; April 25, 1906; January 2, 1907; July 16, 1908; June 7, 1932; April 27, 1933; May 8, May 24, May 25, 1934; June 11, 1953; January 24, February 4, February 25, March 12, March 25, March 26, March 27, June 19, August 25, December 8, 1958; January 15, January 21, January 21, 1959); Gerald Killen, “The York Pioneers and the First Old Fort Preservation Movement 1905—1909,” in The York Pioneer, Vol. 68, 1973; the Mail and Empire (May 2, 1934); Robert Malcolmson, Capital in Flames: The American Attack on York, 1813 (Robin Brass Studio, 2008: Montreal); John W. Scott, “Fort York” in The York Pioneer, Vol. 54, 1959; the Toronto Star (October 23, October 26, October 27, 1903; March 22, October 6, October 7, October 9, October 11, October 17, November 23, 1905; June 8, October 20, 1932; August 25, 1933; May 21, May 22, May 23, May 25, 1934; June 12, 1953; January 24, January 28, February 21, February 24, March 8, March 14, April 5, May 29, June 5, June 7, June 20, September 2, September 3, October 4, November 22, 1958; January 6, January 12, January 17, January 21, January 31, 1959); the Toronto Telegram (October 23, 1903; May 23, May 25, 1934; June 15, 1953; January 31, 1959).

Every Saturday, Historicist looks back at the events, places, and characters that have shaped Toronto into the city we know today.

Children outside Warrendale. Screenshot from the documentary Warrendale, directed by Allan King, 1967.

In December of 1965, staff and children moved into a new, long-term mental-health treatment centre at the end of a cul-de-sac near Kipling Avenue and Albion Road. This was the new home for Warrendale, an experimental and controversial treatment centre for emotionally disturbed children, which had previously been centred north of metropolitan Toronto, in Oak Ridges. Over the next few months, Warrendale would face a complicated power struggle, the resignation of its entire staff, and an award-winning documentary which the CBC refused to broadcast.

Warrendale’s origins lay in St. Faith’s Lodge, initially established as an Anglican charity for girls. After several decades, St. Faith’s Lodge underwent a radical change in 1952, when it established a centre called “Warrendale” and redirected its focus toward providing long-term, residential treatment for emotionally disturbed youth.

In 1953, the board hired a new executive director, John Brown, an American-born social worker whose name would soon become synonymous with Warrendale. Over the next decade, Brown developed an approach for the care of disturbed children and helped expand Warrendale’s facilities to include a variety of centres and sites. By the early 1960s, Brown had established a new—and frequently contentious—model for treatment that was in place at all the centres he was affiliated with.

Warrendale facilities were residential centres, where children lived in groups of eight to 12. Each residential group had several staff members, the team leader of which reported regularly to Brown. Brown’s model called for children to live together in an environment designed to emulate that of a family. Strong, familiar relationships were encouraged between the children and the staff, Brown telling the Star that “we actually provide parenting for the child to make up the lack of mothering and fathering he [or she] missed the first time around.”

The Warrendale centre at Oak Ridges. The Toronto Star, December 15, 1965.

In 1965, 44 children were temporarily housed in two cottages at Sunnybrook Hospital, waiting to move into the new Etobicoke site. That autumn, journalist Sheila H. Kieran visited this temporary Warrendale location, and described her observations in a Maclean’s feature the following February, helping to bring Brown and his methods to national attention.

Kieran writes that “Warrendale’s supervisory people are trained social workers or psychologists but, surprisingly, the child care staff get most of their training on the job and through personal psychotherapy.” The novelty of this kind of work, coupled with the desire for a large number of workers, resulted in a large number of staffing positions which often proved difficult to fill. The staff was generally young; a Telegram article from August 1966 notes the average staff age at Warrendale was 24. One classified ad in the Toronto Star that same month reads: “University degree preferred. Experience not necessary. Training program offered.” In her article, Kieran notes that Warrendale was planning to expand its training program, and that “with today’s problems of inadequate staff in all fields of mental health, this solution strikes me as full of promise.”

The children at Warrendale were generally between the ages of nine and 17, and arrived with a variety of individual problems. Brown told the Star in 1965 that “we get the type of child that has been classed as ‘unreachable.’ They’ve gone through hospitals, clinics, been ‘case-worked’ to death. Our methods have to be unorthodox because orthodox treatments have failed with these children.”

Television producer Patrick Watson, who was involved in a documentary on the Etobicoke Warrendale facility, writes that “the children who live at Warrendale are people whose lives have gone off the track… Eventually, their paths diverged so far from the normal that it became impossible for them to live in a normal family or a normal community. Their fear, their rages, their withdrawal had become so extreme that parents and teachers and friends could no longer contact them, and they were lost.”

As part of Brown’s approach to creating a family-like atmosphere, physical contact played a significant role at Warrendale. “As you see children and the care workers moving about this house,” he told the Star, “you will notice a lot of hugging between them and bodily contact. We over-emphasize certain areas of giving like this because these children have been starved in these areas.”

This emphasis on physical contact was part of a larger idea of “retrogression” therapy. Kieran’s Maclean’s article notes that a child at Warrendale has “missed out on vital emotional experiences” in their development, “and remains, whatever his apparent age, still an uncivilized infant. On this basis, children at Warrendale are taken back to re-experience their infancy, this time with loving, giving, substitute parents [the child care staff]. If, in the opinion of the staff, a youngster needs a baby bottle, he is given one, no matter what his age. The children, even the teenagers, are cuddled frequently, tucked into bed, bathed, and sometimes fed.”

Another chief component of the Warrendale treatment program was the “holding” technique, in which a child who becomes hysterical or violent is physically held by staff, as opposed to subjected to straight jackets or sedatives. Within a “holding” session, it is believed that the child is able to vent frustrations and fears, without fear of injury to themselves or others.

A child and two staff involved in a holding session. Screenshot from the documentary Warrendale, directed by Allan King, 1967.

Between the bottle-feeding and the emphasis on physical touching, it could be easy for Warrendale to become the subject of rumours. Kiernan writes, “I looked in vain for teenagers being cuddled suggestively by adult workers. Instead, I found, for the most part, that a substantial amount of physical contact comes in casual ways… all of it casual and appropriate enough to withstand scrutiny by the most priggish Mrs. Grundy.”

The new facility in Etobicoke opened on December 14, 1965 with four residences, an office, and a school building, with two additional residences under construction. Speaking at its opening, Ontario Welfare Minister Louis Cecile said, “We have been impressed by the results of the Warrendale program. You have a high rate of success in treatment so that you must have developed remarkably effective techniques in dealing with that elusive and complex entity—the mind of a child.”

Despite the hope surrounding the new facility, things began to unravel for for John Brown and Warrendale the following summer.

Brown became involved in an ongoing public debate over the state of mental health in Ontario, particularly over the matter of Ontario children who were found to be receiving psychiatric care in institutions designed for adults. This debate soon became charged with politics, as prominent NDP figures including Stephen Lewis advocated for changes to the existing system, meeting opposition from various figures in the reigning Conservative government and some members of the medical establishment. In June of 1966, in the same election that saw radical Toronto coroner Morton Shulman enter provincial politics as an NDP candidate for High Park, Brown was announced as the NDP candidate for the provincial riding of Beaches–Woodbine.

Suddenly, on August 10, John Brown announced he would be leaving Warrendale, effective September 1. Brown accused the Ontario Department of Welfare of forcing him out by putting pressure on Warrendale’s board of directors. He hurled a series of accusations, mostly at the Department of Welfare, claiming they wanted to interfere with his program and limit its ability to provide care. He further alleged that the government was targeting him, specifically, due to his affiliation with the NDP.

Warrendale Court. Screenshot from the documentary Warrendale, directed by Allan King, 1967.

The director of Child Welfare for the province, Betty Graham, denied that there was any such interference and accused Brown of having a “persecution complex.” Ontario Welfare Minister Louis Cecile, who had spoken in praise of Warrendale just six months earlier, now told the press he no longer believed in Brown’s work, quoted in the Star as saying “most psychologists I’ve met do not approve of his methods.” Brown vigorously defended his treatment methods, and maintained that he was being dismissed because of his political affiliations, claiming that there were Conservative candidates in parallel situations who had not been forced to resign their posts.

As the dispute raged on, Brown set up his own company, Brown Camps, Ltd., at Oak Ridges, with plans to carry on his work there. His affiliation with Warrendale would cease on September 1, when acting director Robert Henry would assume control. The remaining staff at Warrendale planned to carry on without John Brown.

This plan was cast athwart when Henry resigned on August 24, claiming he was unable to reach an agreement with the board of directors over continuing Brown’s treatment program, and writing that “the board has lost focus on the treatment of children.” The next day, all 40 staff members of Warrendale announced their resignations, citing a lack of positive leadership, and announced a plan to relocate all the children currently at the Etobicoke centre to Brown’s private camp at Oak Ridges. “If necessary,” staff director Walter Gunn told the Telegram, “we will hire tents and set up a camp until the end of September so we can help these children.”

After an attempt at mediation failed, the Warrendale board sold the Etobicoke site to the Province of Ontario, who assumed responsibility for the facility. The old board would remain in place until a new administrative model could be established, and the new director would be Dr. J. Donald Atcheson, who was already the superintendent of the nearby, government-run Thistletown Hospital, an institution with a similar mandate to that of Warrendale.

Health Minister Matthew Dymond issued a statement to touch on several of the major issues. Dymond noted that Thistletown was then a more “medically oriented” institution than Warrendale, “but this doesn’t necessarily mean that Warrendale’s program will now become medically oriented.” Each child would be individually reassessed, and staff would be instructed to consider “all types of treatment with a completely open mind.” He also noted that “parents of children who are at present patients at Warrendale can be assured that the transfer will be accomplished with as little disruption as possible.” The transfer proved to be extremely disruptive.

(Above right: John Brown. The Toronto Star, September 10, 1966. Photo by Boris Spremo.)

The next day, all three Toronto newspapers reported that groups of children had fled Warrendale during the night, some on their own, others reportedly with the aid of former Warrendale staff. Twelve children were reportedly picked up in a station wagon by a former staffer. Several children reportedly slipped away on their own and hitchhiked to Brown’s centre in Oak Ridges; one reportedly walked the entire way. According to Brown, several of the youths called him during the night, asking for protection. Case worker Vicki Hollenberg told the Star she received a phone call from two girls who had run away, asking to be picked up. After contacting two Children’s Aid societies and getting permission to transport them to Brown’s new camp in Oak Ridges, provincial officials raided Hollenberg’s home at 4 a.m. and took them back to Warrendale.

Over the next few days, reports continued of children escaping from Warrendale. In the Telegram, “workers and parents charged the new staff is lax, unable to control the children and using out-of-date methods, including solitary confinement.” A former Warrendale social worker was paraphrased in the same article, indicating that the new staff was incapable of working in the Warrendale setting, and noted that “they can’t work with children unless there are bars and locked doors.”

Following this disastrous transition, many parents preferred to relocate their children to Brown’s private facility in Oak Ridges. One parent told the Telegram, “In Thistletown, long-term treatment is not given, and that is my concern. My son has only a slim chance of accepting life again. And for this reason I must ignore bribes of free service under the Provincial hospital plan, and go to Brown camp.” According to one source, 52 of the 57 children who had been at Warrendale at the time of the government takeover were back under Brown’s care within a year.

Over the next few months, the uneasy transition at the Etobicoke site went on. Brown continued to have a public dispute with various departments of the Ontario government, both over the veracity of his methods and the finances of Warrendale.

During the dispute, the Star’s Marilyn Dunlop wrote an article foreshadowing what would soon become the general public’s primary window into the world of Warrendale: the memories of documentary filmmaker Allan King, who had spent considerable time in the Etobicoke centre in the spring of 1966.

(Above left: John Brown. The Telegram, September 19, 1966. Photo by Boris Spremo.)

Following some initial conversations with John Brown, King began visiting Warrendale regularly, getting to know the staff and children, eventually spending close to a month on site before bringing in the rest of the crew and any equipment. In a subsequent interview, King stressed his preliminary meetings with the children, saying “it was essential to obtain their full consent. Before they would agree, they wanted to know why we wanted to make the film and what other people would think of them.” According to Dunlop’s article, “King said he told them he wanted to record their daily lives because their feelings were important and their difficulties were problems shared to some degree by all society.”

After receiving consent to film from the children and staff, King and his crew spent several weeks filming inside one of the Warrendale residences, collecting footage in preparation for a CBC documentary on Warrendale, recording everyday activities, ranging from typical games and interactions to holding sessions and bottle-feeding.

The resulting film, simply titled Warrendale, presents life inside Warrendale with little additional context. No introduction or narration is provided, and the audience is given no initial explanation as to what Warrendale is, or of the specific problems affecting the children, or of the roles of the staff. Scenes of bottle-feeding are included, as are scenes of children sitting on the laps of workers. Several holding sessions are shown. These aspects of Brown’s methods are interspersed with footage of children and staff playing, eating meals together, and watching hockey on television. The climax of the film comes with the staff breaking the news of the sudden death of Dorothy, the cook, resulting in an exhausting episode in which several children experience violent emotional outbursts.

Headline and photo from a review of Warrendale. The Telegram, June 3, 1967.

By April 1967, however, the CBC had yet to air the completed documentary. Given the nature of the treatment centre and the emotionally charged accusations from the previous summer, the CBC’s reluctance to air the film seemed understandable. Roy Shields raised several questions in the Star’s television column. “With scenes of screaming, hysterical children being held by staff workers, with other scenes of children experiencing regression to bottle-feeding, will unprepared viewers understand or be outraged?… Considering the current political and medical controversy over John Brown’s methods of treatment, does the film argue for or against him? And if so, is it fair?” Ultimately, though, what kept CBC from airing the film was the word “fuck.”

Allan King revealed that what caused the CBC to balk were, in the words of Roy Shields, “scenes of children in wild fits of rage, cursing their fates while being held in check by Warrendale social workers.” CBC executives agreed that the film was excellent, but in a statement released to the press, stated that “certain sequences would violate the broadcast regulations… Following discussion with the producer, it has been found impractical to delete from the film the sequences which would be in violation of the regulations.” By this time Warrendale had already been sent to New York, London, and Paris, and had been accepted for entry at the Cannes Film Festival. Shields predicted “there is the fear that only after it has been accepted abroad will it be deemed fit for home consumption. Politics aside, that’s what really hurts—that on our own, we haven’t the guts to show or see this film.”

As a film, Warrendale proved to be immensely successful, winning the Art and Experiment Prize at Cannes, and garnering enthusiastic reviews.

On the night of its Toronto debut in June 1967, Allan King held a premiere party at Casa Loma, the proceeds of which were donated to the Ontario Association for Emotionally Disturbed Children, attended by people involved with the film’s production, along with other local luminaries including Dalton Camp and Bruno Gerussi. The Telegram noted that this was not a typical film party, probably “because the film about emotionally disturbed children simply didn’t lend itself to gala festivities.”

The party at Casa Loma, following the Toronto premiere of Warrendale. The man at the far right is the film’s executive producer, Patrick Watson. The Telegram, June 7, 1967.

All three Toronto dailies ran effusively positive reviews of Warrendale. The Globe’s Ralph Hicklin wrote, “King and his associates have taken a real and difficult situation, and dehydrated it into a concentrate that retains all the truth and anguish and love and hate of five weeks in the lives of a handful of struggling children.” Clyde Gilmour in the Telegram described it as “a total-experience film that rips at your guts and unlocks your compassion and makes you re-examine your own assessments of yourself and the people who surround you.” In the Star, Margaret Weiers described it as “a film every parent should see.”

Although only brought to Toronto for a two-week run at the New Yorker Theatre (now the home of the Panasonic), Warrendale proved so popular with the public that it was held over multiple times, playing for a total of nine weeks. For those who had read about Warrendale and its troubles over the past few years, this was the first and only opportunity to see for themselves the staff, children, and treatment used at John Brown’s Warrendale, which no longer existed in the form seen on screen.

Warrendale Court remains in Northern Etobicoke today; most of the buildings from John Brown’s time are still standing. John Brown won his riding in the election of 1967, but chose not to seek re-election in 1971. Following his death in 2004, the Ontario Legislature devoted time to acknowledge his contributions. Jim Bradley, speaking of Brown, praised Brown’s work and his willingness to take on difficult cases. “John Brown and his group were prepared to take on the most difficult. He had a revolutionary approach to children’s mental health… He took great strides both before and after his election to communicate the need for the Ministry of Health to invest in children’s mental health facilities, and that cry is with us today, as it has been for a long time.”

Additional material from: Browndale.net; Karen Gilmour-Barrett and Susan Pratt, A New Profession; The Globe and Mail, December 9, December 15, 1965, April 7, June 2, June 3, June 4, July 21, August 10, August 11, August 12, August 13, August 17, August 25, August 26, September 2, September 3, September 8, September 9, September 10, September 12, September 13, September 15, September 19, October 1, October 25, October 27, 1966; March 27, April 18, June 3, October 18, December 30, 1967, June 15, 2009; King, (Allan) Associates, Warrendale (Produced by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, 1967); Maclean’s, February 19, December 17, 1967; The Toronto Star, December 15, 1965, February 9, April 30, June 2, June 30, August 10, August 12, August 16, August 24, August 25, August 26, August 27, August 31, September 8, September 9, September 10, September 12, September 13, September 14, September 15, September 19, September 30, November 5, 1966, January 24, February 3, February 16, March 25, April 6, April 18, May 8, May 13, May 24, June 3, July 1, July 7, August 14, October 18, 1967; The Telegram, June 2, August 10, August 11, August 25, September 8, September 9, September 13, 1966, June 3, June 7, 1967.

Every Saturday, Historicist looks back at the events, places, and characters that have shaped Toronto into the city we know today.

Toronto first base coach Don Leppert leading the Blue Jays in fielding practice. From the Toronto Sun, February 27, 1977.

With April 7, 1977 growing closer, Toronto readied itself for its first taste of major league baseball. While efforts in Toronto concentrated on preparing Exhibition Stadium for opening day, it was the team’s first preseason training camp in Florida that afforded baseball fans their first glimpse of what they could expect from the Toronto Blue Jays.

On August 26, 1976, the team announced that Dunedin, Florida, would be the site of their spring training facility. At the time, Dunedin had a population of 29,000. A feature in the Star’s travel section noted that the town’s biggest annual event was the Highland Games, which highlighted the community’s Scottish heritage.

According to longtime Blue Jays broadcaster Tom Cheek, the town of Dunedin had specifically pursued the affiliation with the Blue Jays, hoping that the team’s spring training would build upon the town’s already growing popularity as a winter destination for Ontario tourists. By all accounts the arrangement was also heartily welcomed by the local residents. A Globe and Mail report from early January 1977 notes that “the Blue Jays are the big news and every acquisition and trade is splashed across the pages of the Dunedin Herald and the Dunedin Times.” The Sun noted that a local fan club had formed over the winter, and that “it hasn’t taken much to sell the Blue Jays in Dunedin… Everywhere one goes there is interest in the team, whether it be a bank, a drugstore, or a local hamburger joint.”

Dunedin’s stadium, Grant Field, had been used by a variety of baseball teams over the years, including the Detroit Tigers, whose logo was still widely visible on site in the early winter of 1977, both on the side of the building, and on the hats of the groundskeepers. Just as Exhibition Stadium required alterations back home in Toronto, Grant Field went through a series of upgrades that winter, including new seats, new fences, and a new clubhouse. Nevertheless, many of the facilities remained cramped and primitive by the time camp opened. Twenty-five years later, infielder Garth Iorg recalled that the field was also in rough shape in 1977, featuring many ant hills: “I remember [first baseman] Doug Ault diving for a ball and coming up covered in ants. If you stood too long in one spot in the outfield, you were going to get bit.”

The coaches and front office staff began arriving in mid-February, followed shortly by the players.

Putting up the welcome sign at Grant Field. From the Toronto Star, February 25, 1977. Photo by Graham Bezant.

The on-field talent in the Blue Jays’ first year was expected to be lacklustre. The Blue Jays roster had been primarily populated by an “expansion draft,” in which the 12 established teams in the American League had been permitted to protect the majority of their preferred players, leaving the less talented members of their rosters vulnerable to selection by either the Blue Jays, or their partners in the 1977 expansion, the Seattle Mariners. The two expansion draft teams had not been permitted to participate in 1976 entry draft for new players, nor were they able to compete for the few star veterans who were free agents in the off-season.

Furthermore, time had not permitted the Blue Jays to establish minor league affiliates to develop their own talent before the 1977 season began. The only minor league team the Blue Jays had in 1977 was a short-season A-level club in Utica, populated by players fresh out of school, who were still several years away from being able to compete at the major league level.

For their big league roster, the Blue Jays were left with a mix of backups of limited talent, unproven rookies, and aging veterans in their declining years.

Management understood that it would be several years before the Blue Jays could be expected to compete. It was expected that most of the players in 1977 would be gone within a few years, just temporary placeholders until more talented players could be acquired in a trade or developed in the minor league system. On the field, manager Roy Hartsfield and his coaching staff planned to concentrate on developing fundamental skills. The front office, meanwhile, concentrated less on marketing the Blue Jays themselves, and more on selling the sport and, when possible, the visiting star players, all the while trying to acquire young prospects who could become stars in the years to come.

Before the players took to the field, there was the matter of decorum and marketing. Without being able to sell the team by its talent, general manager Peter Bavasi sought other means of establishing and growing the Toronto Blue Jays’ popularity.

Addressing the players in camp on March 2, Bavasi told them that their job was to sell themselves and the organization. “If you hit a home run or make a good play and the people applaud you,” he told the players, “tip your hat or wave at them. Maybe you’ll be embarrassed by it all, but the fans love that sort of thing… No matter how bad a game you may have played, never brush aside a kid who wants an autograph. Your careers are short. Savor the moment and take the time.” Catcher Ernie Whitt recalls Bavasi saying “Gentlemen, you are the sizzle of the steak to come.”

To help ensure that the team presented a clean, family-friendly image, Bavasi’s directions came with regulations. Players were forbidden from swearing in front of fans, and when not in uniform were required to dress to a certain standard, usually with a tie and sport jacket. Long hairstyles, particularly popular in the late 1970s, were also banned. Although Toronto was not the only baseball team with such a policy, many of the players arrived at camp with hair considered too long by the team’s management; amongst the first photos of spring training to hit the papers were those of players in the barber’s chair.

(Left: Mike Darr, submitting to the Blue Jays’ haircut policy. From the Toronto Sun, February 25, 1977. Photo by Norm Betts.)

The first players reported to camp on February 24. Assuming their hair was up to team standards, the next order of business was to receive and review the Blue Jays’ special defensive instruction manual; every player was expected to read the manual, so as to know what was expected of them in every in-game defensive situation.

For the majority of spring training, there were 38 players competing for 25 opening day roster spots, and field manager Roy Hartsfield told his players there were no guarantees and that every spot was open, with each player in camp having a shot to start the season in Toronto. Nevertheless, there were clearly some favourites.

Shortstop Bob Bailor, the team’s first pick in the expansion draft, was one of the few Jays to have already made a public appearance in Toronto, visiting the city for the 1976 Grey Cup festivities. Bailor was one of the few players projected by the Jays’ scouts to have potential as an everyday player, possessing good speed and an above-average ability to hit. He developed pain in his throwing arm, however, and it was not clear which position the team would have him play.

Amongst the veterans, the most well-known player was likely Bill Singer, a two-time all-star and 20-game winner, coming off a down season in 1976 and hoping to reestablish himself. Team executive Pat Gillick, to whom Bavasi had delegated many of the decisions concerning player personnel, wanted to pursue an offer by the New York Yankees to acquire Singer in exchange for a pitching prospect named Ron Guidry. Bavasi vetoed the deal, believing Singer to be one of the few known names on the club and thus desirable from a marketing perspective. Singer’s major league career would be finished after the 1977 season, whereas Guidry would go on to win 170 games for the Yankees and appear in four all-star games.

Another veteran was Ron Fairly who, like Singer, was nearing the end of his career and not thrilled about spending his final seasons with one of the league’s worst teams. Fairly reportedly had an agreement with the Blue Jays, in which he agreed to spend 1977 with the non-competitive expansion club, provided that the team would try to trade him at the end of the season so that he might be able to finish his career on the west coast.

The Blue Jays take a break to hunt for a player’s lost tooth. It is not known if it was ever found. From the Toronto Sun, March 7, 1977. Photo by Norm Betts.

Although their roster was thinly stocked, the Blue Jays found themselves with depth at catcher. Through trades, the team was able to prise two top catching prospects from the Cleveland Indians: Alan Ashby and Rick Cerone. The team also had veteran Phil Roof, and a fourth catcher, of whom little was expected, named Ernie Whitt. All winter long, rumours swirled that the Jays would use one of these players, most likely Ashby, to anchor a trade. None of these deals materialized, however, and all four catchers found themselves competing for the opportunity to start on opening day.

Following two weeks of stretches, drills, and some intra-squad games, the Blue Jays were rained out of their first pre-season game on March 10. The next day, however, they managed to win their first game, beating the New York Mets in front of a sellout crowd of nearly 2,000 at Grant Field. The hero of the game was utility player Sam Ewing, who drove in the winning runs with a two-out double in the eighth inning. It would prove to be the beginning of a big spring for the relatively unknown Ewing, who unexpectedly led the team in batting, while many of the other Jays hitters struggled.

As the end of spring training approached, the Blue Jays began cutting players from their roster, to get to the 25 players who would be allowed to dress for opening day. The first to go was Nate Colbert, who was released on March 25. A former slugger with the Padres in the early ’70s, Colbert had lost his ability to hit effectively a few years earlier, and had been invited to the Blue Jays camp on a trial basis. Some players, like Colbert, Leon Hooten, and Doug Howard, were fully released from the organization. Others were sent down to the minors, where they could continue to play and improve. In 1977, Toronto did not yet have a minor league affiliate at the AAA level. As a result, players were assigned to the minor league affiliates of the Cleveland Indians and the Houston Astros.

Blue Jays coaches Harry Warner, Bob Miller, Jackie Moore, Bobby Doerr, and manager Roy Hartsfield. From the Globe and Mail, February 24, 1977. Photo by Dennis Robinson.

Still tinkering with the roster, the team also made a trade at the end of spring training, acquiring shortstop Hector Torres from the Cleveland Indians in exchange for outfielder John Lowenstein. According to the Sun, Lowenstein “looked lethargic and disinterested in his four weeks with the Jays.” Tom Cheek notes that Lowenstein gave an interview to the press after the team’s first ever workout and, within earshot of Peter Bavasi, told the reporters that this was “the most disorganized spring training camp in the annals of baseball.” As such, it may be that Lowenstein was shipped out for not fitting the desired image of a 1977 Toronto Blue Jay that the front office had in mind. Torres, as it worked out, would get the opening day start at shortstop, filling in for Bob Bailor who was unable to play after cutting his finger on an oyster can.

Despite hitting poorly throughout spring training, Rick Cerone won the job of opening day catcher. Ashby and Roof both remained on the roster, although Roof only got into three games all season and was primarily used in the bullpen to help pitchers warm up. Roof’s main moment of glory as a Blue Jay came in July, when he and teammate Sam Ewing won a pre-game cow-milking contest in Cleveland, with each player winning fifty dollars. The odd man out, at least for the time being, was Ernie Whitt. In 1989, Whitt wrote that he did not get along with Roy Hartsfield, and believed that he was not given a fair opportunity to play during Hartsfield’s three years as the team’s manager. Following Hartsfield’s departure, however, Whitt would emerge as the team’s top catcher and remain with the organization longer than any of the other players at the 1977 camp, eventually becoming a fan favourite.

The strongest reaction to being cut came from pitcher Lloyd Allen, who refused his minor league assignment. No longer bound by Bavasi’s instructions to be careful when speaking with the press, Allen was outspoken, blasting both the Blue Jays management and prevalent attitudes in all of baseball. “You can’t be an individual in baseball,” he told the Sun. “They don’t want you to appear as normal human beings, from [a] small town, with the same ambitions and lusts as everybody else. Bavasi wants you to be a little boy, a conformist. That’s what the haircut rules and all are about.”

Stretching at Grant Field. From the Globe and Mail, February 26, 1977. Photo by Dennis Robinson.

Allen believed he was cut for not fitting with the “family image” that the team aimed to project, telling Christie Blatchford, then a sports reporter for the Globe and Mail, “I met my second wife while I was cheating on my first wife. Now I love her dearly, but that’s how I met her. In baseball, they pretend that sort of thing doesn’t happen, not to a ball player.” Allen also told Blatchford that players had been expressly warned by Roy Hartsfield against talking to her specifically. “He said that if we told you something, and it looked bad in print, we were gone.” Rather than play in the minors, Allen opted to quit baseball altogether, and it was reported that he was leaving for Chicago to work in his father-in-law’s bakery.

A few days later, the Sun’s George Gross conducted an interview with Bavasi, mostly discussing the preparations for the season and Bavasi’s predictions for the team. Gross asked about the jeans incident, to which Bavasi replied that he “wore a pair of very expensive denim slacks,” and reiterated that players were expected to wear jackets and ties. He added that the dress code and haircut rule was “to establish a settlement of discipline in [the] Blue Jays overall operation. After all, history confirms that the most disciplined armies were victorious.”

Nearly all of the players who accepted their minor league assignments were eventually called up and given their chance to play in Toronto. As many had expected, the team was indeed poor, finishing with the worst record in baseball in 1977, losing 107 games. When the team finally did have its first winning season in 1983, only three of those at camp in 1977 were still with the organization.

Additional material from: Stephen Brunt, Diamond Dreams: 20 Years of Blue Jays Baseball (Viking, 1996: Toronto); Tom Cheek with Howard Berger, Road to Glory (Warwick, 1993: Toronto); The Globe and Mail, November 6, November 23, December 9, December 31, 1976; January 18, January 22, February 12, February 23, February 28, March 8, March 9, March 11, March 12, March 26, March 28, March 29, March 30, March 31, April 1, April 2, April 4, April 5, 1977; The Toronto Star, August 26, November 2, November 6, November 19, 1976; January 28, February 12, February 22, February 25, February 26, March 2, March 12, March 21, March 29, March 31, April 2, April 4, 1977; The Toronto Sun, February 22, February 23, February 25, March 1, March 3, March 9, March 21, March 27, March 29, March 31, April 3, 1977; Toronto Blue Jays Official 25th Anniversary Commemorative Book (Dan Diamond and Associates, 2001: Toronto); Ernie Whitt and Greg Cable, Catch: A Major League Life (McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 1989: Toronto).

Every Saturday, Historicist looks back at the events, places, and characters that have shaped Toronto into the city we know today.

The site of the Old Mill Bridge, March 29, 1916. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1231, Item 326.

For most of the year, the valley of the Humber River is one of Toronto’s more serene locations. Bordered extensively by parkland, the Humber winds its way through the western part of the city, and attracts city-dwellers seeking a peaceful escape from their urban troubles. A bit north of Bloor Street is a picturesque stone bridge, known by a variety of names, which connects Old Mill Road to Catherine Street. This bridge dates from 1916, and serves as a reminder of the violence that the Humber is capable of when winter gives way to spring.

Prior to the arrival of British settlers in the late eighteenth century, the lower section of the Humber had been used by many other peoples. Numerous First Nations groups have lived in the area, and used the trail along the Humber to travel through the lands connecting Lake Ontario with the north. The French first arrived at the Humber in the seventeenth century, and eventually established a trading post at Humber Bay.

The landscape of the area began changing significantly in the 1790s, following the Toronto Purchase, when John Graves Simcoe established the King’s Mill at what is now known as the Old Mill site. Water from the Humber was diverted into a mill race, which powered the mill’s wheel, before rejoining the rest of the river further south. Over time, more mills set up along the Humber, adding additional mill races and dams to better capitalize on the water’s power. According to the Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, there were a total of 164 mills built on the Humber.

Having greater impact on the landscape, however, was the deforestation along the river. As industry grew, so did the demand for wood. The removal of the trees and surrounding undergrowth eliminated much of the land’s ability to absorb water, resulting in increasingly severe floods.

The Old Mill Bridge, looking west, during the First World War. The bridge and its environs were frequently used during local military training. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1244, Item 793C.

Ice jams are known to have been a major problem for the millers along the Humber. In The Merchant-Millers of the Humber Valley: A Study of the Early Economy of Canada, Sidney Thomson Fisher writes that “year after year, floods and ice jams damaged or washed out the mill dams, but the millers repaired or rebuilt them; the advantages of the gradients and the rapid flow of the stream outweighed the disadvantages.” Numerous bridges were taken out as well, as raised water levels brought large chunks of ice down the Humber at road level, pushing against the bridges until they gave way.

It is believed that the first bridge at what is now Old Mill Road was erected in 1837. The bridge at (Old) Dundas Street to the north was then the primary road for those seeking to travel a great distance, with the Old Mill bridge used more by local residents to connect them to the immediate area. The bridge that enables Bloor to cross the Humber today was not completed until after the First World War; although Bloor Street was the second concession line, it did not become a major arterial in the area until development increased in the early twentieth century. Those seeking to continue west from Bloor Street would go north and cross the Humber using the Old Mill bridge.

March 24, 1914. The ice is nearlt at the height of the bridge. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1231, Item 1637.

By the 1910s, the bridge at the Old Mill site was primarily made of steel, with stone piers on either side of the river. Fears for its survival were an annual occurrence when the big thaw came at the end of winter. It only narrowly survived destruction in 1914. On March 24 of that year, the Star reported that the Humber “is one vast acreage of piled, twisted ice cakes, and in quantity, according to some of the [local] farmers, equals any winter of years past.” While it normally cleared the water by 20 feet, the bridge was reportedly only six feet above the jammed ice. Three days later, the Star reported that the ice was now touching the bottom of the bridge, despite continuous efforts upriver to break up the ice with dynamite. According to one article, “the bridge is badly twisted, and in parts of it the structure is very badly distorted. As yet, however, vehicles still pass over it, and it is still thought safe enough for traffic.”

With the newspapers fully expecting the bridge to give out, warm weather and heavy rains over the next two days melted much of the ice, thereby granting it a reprieve. It would not be so fortunate two years later.

Two men indicating the height of the ice in 1914. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 200, Series 372, Subseries 84, Item 76.

On the afternoon of March 28, 1916, the ice once again reached the level of the bridge, effectively turning it into a dam. The Telegram reported that bridge was “groaning under a load of ice all afternoon with the flood swirling over the deck.” Around 6:00, an ice jam up at Lambton broke, putting even more pressure on the Old Mill bridge, as the water levels rose, reportedly up to eight feet over the bridge’s roadway.

The World quoted York County Constable R.B. Dennis as saying “it was just about 6:30 when thousands of tons of ice piled against the bridge… The west span went first, facing south, and was taken completely off the piers. Then the east one went off the abutments, but the centre span held. The ice is piled anywhere from 10 to 15 feet high over the valley north of the bridge and covers, I should say, 15 acres.” Robert Home Smith, the prominent local land owner and developer, told the World “the whole valley was a rushing sea of water from bank to bank, and the immense bodies of ice were simply irresistible when they got behind the [bridge] structure… Fine trees, 70 years old, were snapped off and borne downstream.”

After the great torrent of water and ice had cleared, the centre span of bridge reportedly remained, absurdly marooned in the centre of the Humber, surrouded by chunks of ice and cut off from the road. “To the south, ice, trunks of trees, and parts of the wreck lie in chaotic confusion,” wrote the Telegram. “The remainder of the bridge itself is almost twisted beyond recognition, the steel supports at the base resembling corkscrews.”

The twisted remains of the bridge, March 29, 1916. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1231, Item 326A.

The Daily Mail and Empire reported that about 30 spectators had a narrow escape when the section of the bridge they were on gave out, forcing them to scramble to land. “Two men were unable to escape to the river banks, and were carried downstream about half a mile before they succeeded in extricating themselves from their perilous position by grasping the limb of a tree, hanging low across the water, and dragging themselves to safety.”

William James, the early Toronto photojournalist, was on site, reportedly laying in wait for the big ice break with a “moving-picture machine.” According to the Star, who ran one of James’ photos on the front page the next day. James “was rewarded with securing pictures of the great wave and of the first smash of the bridge and he was forced to flee for his own life from his perch on the bank.” The moving images he recorded do not appear to have survived, although many of his still images record the aftermath and demonstrate the extent of the damage.

The remains of the bridge. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1231, Item 330.

York County Council immediately vowed to replace the structure, and soon did so with the bridge that remains on the site today, at a reported cost of $50,000. Although initial newspaper reports promised a high-level bridge of solid steel, the finished product designed by Frank Barber is primarily made of concrete, a relatively novel engineering innovation for the time. This material proved stronger than the previous wood and steel bridges at the site, aided also by the three high arches and the wedges on the bridge’s supports, which encourage ice and debris to pass underneath.

The new bridge faced its first significant test the following March, only five weeks after it first opened to traffic. On March 24, 1917, the Star wrote that “the annual antics of the Humber River commenced early this morning, when a heavy ice field north of the new Bloor Street stone bridge near the ‘Old Mill’ crumpled and drifted towards the bridge, piling on both approaches.” By all accounts, however, the only damage done was to the dirt road approaching the bridge, and the new bridge survived the ordeal.

The current Old Mill Bridge, as it looked in September of 1917. City of Toronto Archives. Fonds 1231, Item 1536.

Nearly 100 years later, the Old Mill Bridge remains on the site, having withstood every annual thaw of the river, along with the severe flooding of Hurricane Hazel in 1954. It was designated under the Ontario Heritage Act in 1983.

Additional material from: Sidney Thomson Fisher, The Merchant-Millers of the Humber Valley: A Study of the Early Economy of Canada (NC Press, 1985: Toronto); The Globe, March 30, March 31, 1916; Kathleen Macfarlane Lizars, The Valley of the Humber 1615 — 1913 (William Briggs, 1913: Toronto); The Daily Mail and Empire, March 30, 1916; The Evening Telegram, March 28, March 30, 1914; March 28, March 29; 1916; Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, Crossing the Humber: The Humber River Heritage Bridge Inventory (TRCA, 2011); Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, Humber River: The Carrying Place (TRCA, 2009); The Toronto Daily Star, March 24, March 27, March 30, 1914; March 28, March 29, 1916; March 24, 1917; The Toronto World, March 28, March 29, 1916.

Every Saturday, Historicist looks back at the events, places, and characters that have shaped Toronto into the city we know today.

Renderings of North Toronto from the Evening Telegram, December 16, 1912.

In December 1912, North Toronto was very much a community in transition. The most recent census listed the town’s population at 6,655—up from 5,217 the year before. That November had been a record month for new buildings, and many more permits were on the way as the area’s farmland gradually gave way to new subdivisions.

And at the stroke of midnight on December 15, all 2,610 acres of North Toronto became part of the City of Toronto.

In 1889, the previously unincorporated villages of Davisville and Eglinton formally merged to become the Village of North Toronto. In early 1890, the boundaries were extended, and North Toronto was upgraded to town status. The town grew in spurts over the next 20 years, evolving into a bedroom suburb of Toronto where commuters and their families enjoyed affordable and relatively quiet property within close proximity to the amenities of the growing City of Toronto.

Like many of Toronto’s surrounding municipalities at this time, North Toronto struggled to find the capital necessary for the urban projects which the growing residential population increasingly demanded: street paving, electricity, plumbing, sewage, public schools, and libraries. Accounts of North Toronto’s history often reference the tax laws of the time, under which York County properties classified as farmland were taxed at a lower rate than properties which had been subdivided into lots. Speculation in North Toronto boomed, as investors bought North Toronto land, hoping to cash in once the big wave of development finally came. Prior to annexation, however, many were taking advantage of the favourable farmland tax rate and refrained from actually building on their North Toronto assets, leaving the town with limited funds to spend on amenities.

In his book North Toronto, historian Don Ritchie notes that in 1912, North Toronto “was essentially Yonge Street,” so much was the area’s development localized along the one road, with the population primarily clustered around the cross-streets of Davisville, Montgomery, and Bedford Park. Besides local traffic, the street was increasingly clogged by those using it as a thoroughfare to connect to downtown Toronto from other communities to the north.

Unpaved Yonge Street, near Eglinton, circa. 1911. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 21.

To help relieve some of the congestion, the North Toronto Town Council created a committee dedicated to parallel roads, with the goal of developing alternatives to Yonge. This meant connecting existing smaller streets and widening them, often at the expense of homes which were blocking the route. Debate over these North Toronto projects continued through 1911 and 1912, as residents and town councillors attempted to get Oriole Parkway and Duplex Avenue connected and serviceable. None of the streets in North Toronto were paved, although the Telegram reported that the town had embarked upon a massive cement sidewalk program in recent years, laying eight miles that summer alone.

North Toronto citizens also had reason to complain about the quality of public transportation. The streetcar service along Yonge Street was broken up, as different franchises had contracts in the different municipalities, meaning that when passengers reached the end of one line, they were obliged to walk from one set of tracks to another and deposit a second fare to continue their journey, a situation deplored by much of the local population.

Furthermore, the North Toronto section of Yonge had but a single line of track from the Toronto and York Radial Railway Company, known as the Metropolitan Division; this line had regularly spaced sidings along its route which allowed the streetcars heading in opposite directions to pass one another, but the single-track system still caused many delays. As a means of fighting congestion, the North Toronto Town Council proposed adding an additional track on Yonge Street. The issue of “double-tracking” Yonge raised considerable objections from the ratepayers in North Toronto; some were doubtful that the community could afford the project with its already growing debt, whereas others believed that a second line would take up too much room on Yonge to allow for anything else. A plebiscite to decide the matter was set for June.

On May 10, the North Toronto Town Council met with Toronto’s Board of Control to discuss transportation options. When it became apparent that North Toronto was stuck for solutions, Toronto Mayor George Reginald Geary said: “Suppose that instead of submitting your proposed Metropolitan Railway agreement to your ratepayers on June 27, you submit an annexation by-law to your people, and see what we [the City of Toronto] will do for you.” From then on, the issue of North Toronto’s transportation future became linked with the push for annexation into Toronto.

Over the next few months, the annexation question was debated in both municipalities. While Toronto was keen to acquire more land and increase its tax base, it was wary of taking on North Toronto’s debt and having to cover the cost of the town’s necessary infrastructure upgrades. In North Toronto, the concern was whether Toronto would actually invest in the area and solve their local transportation woes, or if they would be better off trying to address their problems themselves.

On May 27, Toronto City Council approved the annexation by a close vote of 10 to eight, and the matter was put in the hands of North Toronto. On July 6, the voters of North Toronto went to the polls and narrowly supported annexation, with nearly 53 per cent favouring it. As the plebiscite was non-binding, the matter was then referred to the town council, which was generally expected to see this vote as a mandate for action. The Star wrote that “annexation has been spoken throughout the campaign as the one alternative to continued trouble with the railway company. It has been held up as the manifest destiny of the town and as the best protection to the municipality.”

(Above: Map of North Toronto, as annexed to Toronto on December 15, 1912. From the Evening Telegram, December 16, 1912.)

The process of devising the terms of annexation continued over the next few months. A variety of economic factors appear to have slowed the process, not the least of which was whether Toronto would agree to take on the entirety of North Toronto’s debenture debt. Many in North Toronto continued to argue that the Town could find solutions to its problems without annexation, but their voices seemed to be becoming the minority. Nearly every Toronto newspaper began writing editorials praising North Toronto and supporting its annexation. Land speculation appears to have remained a booming business throughout the year, with many properties enthusiastically advertised in Toronto newspapers with the promise of imminent annexation. The issue was finally put before North Toronto town council in mid-September, where it was narrowly approved by a vote of four to three.

"The best buying in North Toronto to-day." Advertisement confident that annexation is imminent, from the Globe, July 13, 1912.

The final hurdle was overcome at the end of October, when the Ontario Railway Board (the forerunner of the Ontario Municipal Board), approved the application for annexation. Opponents had mounted a series of arguments against it, mostly hinging on procedural errors. Board chairman Leitch asked the lawyer representing the annexation opponents: “Outside these technical objections, have you any good and sufficient reason why the city and town should not be united?” When referred to North Toronto’s sewage system debentures, Leitch responded, “Why, the City assumed that debt, and your clients should not object to somebody else helping to pay their debts.” With that, the date of North Toronto’s annexation to the City of Toronto was set for December 15.

Over the next few weeks, City officials worked out the details, planning new fire zones and polling subdivisions, and inspecting the latest addition for themselves. Although much was found to be satisfactory, some needed upgrades were immediately identified. North Toronto’s fire department consisted of five stations, with a force that was entirely volunteer. The North Toronto police and fire department had evidently been in the practice of sharing horses, and the new upgrades resulted in a temporary horse shortage. The Toronto contingent also took exception to the jail cells in the town hall which opened directly onto the street, and made plans to alter the structure of the building.

Oulcott's Hotel at Yonge and Montgomery, which became Postal Station 'K' following annexation. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 297.

North Toronto still had some work of its own to do. On December 7, the cornerstone was laid for the new high school which would become North Toronto Collegiate. The extensions of Duplex Avenue and Oriole Road remained key projects, with Duplex Avenue emerging as the immediate priority for alleviating Yonge Street congestion. The town engineer, E.A. James, devised plans to extend Duplex north to Glenview—plans which called for the destruction of James’ own house. Toronto’s Board of Control asked North Toronto to hold off on this legislation, but the town opted to press on with it to guarantee its completion, prompting objections from some on the town council that this could alienate the community from the City once annexation took effect.

On the afternoon of December 14, North Toronto held its final town council meeting. The Telegram noted that Wilfred Servington Dinnick of the Dovercourt Land, Building and Saving Company took the opportunity “to express his appreciation of the courteous manner in which both he and his company had always been received by the Council.” Dinnick had indeed done very well by North Toronto, having planned and instigated the prosperous new Lawrence Park development a few years earlier.

That evening, town representatives and officials gathered for a banquet at the town hall, to remember North Toronto and to celebrate its merger with the larger city. A band provided musical entertainment, and North Toronto handed the golden key to the town’s treasury to Mayor Horatio C. Hocken.

Councillors and other community officials took turns proposing toasts and sharing their thoughts on the occasion. Councillor Baker referred to North Toronto as a bride and Toronto the groom, remarking that “I look upon it that we are all assembled to-night to celebrate the wedding,” but noted Toronto’s many recent annexations, and hoped “that the city would not be brought up for bigamy.”

North Toronto Town Hall, at the northwest corner of Yonge and Montgomery. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 7052.

Mayor Hocken, continuing with this metaphor, was quoted in the Telegram as inviting North Toronto “come to my arms and let me imprint a kiss on that chaste brow.” He noted that while other municipalities had come to Toronto with comparatively little to offer the city, North Toronto was blessed with ample amenities and great potential for growth. Hocken also asserted that improving North Toronto’s transportation would prove to be the key to the area’s success, and was quoted in the World as saying that “if this district had the same transportation facilities as West Toronto has had, North Toronto would have had a population of 50,000 long before this.”

He added: “I have always been an advocate of the tubes, and I am still of the opinion that an underground railway to St. Clair Avenue was one of the solutions to this problem. If I am mayor for any length of time I will give this question my earnest attention.” Despite Hocken’s pledge, progress was slow. Nevertheless, North Toronto eventually got its contiguous, one-fare streetcar connection to downtown when the line was taken over by the TTC in 1922, 10 years after joining Toronto.

Additional material from: F.R. Berchem, Opportunity Road: Yonge Street 1860 to 1939 (Natural Heritage/Natural History Inc., 1996: Toronto); The Globe, June 6, June 7, June 14, July 6, July 8, July 9, July 13, September 16, November 4, December 3, December 6, December 16, 1912; Derek Hayes, Historical Atlas of Toronto (Douglas & McIntyre, 2008); J. William Hood, compiler, Street Railways – Toronto: 1861 to 1930, Maps Project: Handbook No. 7 (Co-published with the Eastern Canada Transit Club, 1999: Toronto); Don Ritchie, North Toronto (Boston Mills Press, 1992: Erin); The Toronto Daily Star, June 17, July 28, 1911; May 10, May 13, May 14, May 28, May 29, May 30, June 3, June 21, July 5, July 6, July 8, September 18, September 26, October 11, November 1, November 27, December 9, December 11, December 14, December 16, 1912; The Evening Telegram, November 22, December 4, December 9, December 11, December 12, December 14, December 16, December 17, December 18, 1912; Toronto Historical Association, A Glimpse of Toronto’s History: Opportunities For The Commemoration Of Lost Historic Sites (City Planning Division, Urban Development Services, City of Toronto, 2001); Toronto Public Library Board, North Toronto in Pictures 1889-1912 (Toronto Public Library Board, 1974); The Toronto World, July 4, July 6, November 25, December 16, 1912.

Every Saturday, Historicist looks back at the events, places, and characters that have shaped Toronto into the city we know today.

Women learning to shoot at the rifle range at Long Branch. It is not clear if these particular women were actually with the Women's Home Guard. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 981.

On August 20, 1915, 100 Toronto women gathered at the home of Jessie McNab, on St. Clair Avenue, near what is now Winona Drive. Jessie McNab was well-known in Toronto women’s social circles at the time, and over the preceding months her home, known as Dundurn Heights, had been the site of numerous social events, including musical performances and fundraising drives for the Red Cross. On this particular Friday evening, the program included something a bit different: the first military drill of the Toronto Women’s Home Guard.

Toronto women were involved with the Canadian war effort right from the beginning; on the day that Britain declared war on Germany, over 300 Toronto women crowded into the downtown armouries for a lecture given by the St. John Ambulance Corps, with a view to being sent to Europe as nurses. The Toronto World reported that demand was so high that another 300 Toronto women were kept away due to space limitations at the venue.

At the outbreak of the First World War, Toronto already boasted a variety of women’s clubs and organizations based around religions, social causes, or common interests. Many of these groups shifted focus during the war towards supporting the war effort, while many new groups were formed specifically to address new needs and causes that wartime conditions created. Newspapers reveal a variety of initiatives undertaken by women during the first year of the war, including raising funds for the Red Cross, caring for the wives and children of those fighting in Europe, and gathering or making supplies for both the men at the front and displaced refugees. Although projects such as knitting socks or making jam may seem quaint or frivolous through twenty-first-century eyes, these efforts were greatly appreciated by the armed forces and vital to the war effort.

"Women knitting for soldiers," at an unknown location. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 873.

In the summer of 1915, women’s groups became increasingly involved with recruitment drives, as the armed forces were in need of new initiatives to help persuade men to enlist. In July, women helped plan and promote a large recruiting rally at Massey Hall. On August 9, women made up around half of a crowd of 200,000 that attended a Riverdale Park recruitment rally. At Riverdale Park, the Star noted “two gay young ladies, each carrying a small sofa cushion, the ends of which they had opened. And to the astonished and outraged young men standing around, the girls [were] joyously doling out the white chicken feathers that stuffed the cushions… Someone would brush past and quietly lay something white on your lapel. It did not dawn at first what the white thing was. Then when you saw, in the dim light, your single violent impulse was to crawl, on hands and knees, out of the crowd and climb a tall tree. It is a deadly method of attack.”

With the homefront culture beginning to change, it was only one week after the Riverdale Park rally that the Toronto newspapers announced the first meeting at Jessie McNab’s home to discuss the formation of the Women’s Home Guard.

Initial accounts suggest that the meeting’s program was similar to meetings of other Toronto’s women groups during the war. Described in the World as a “patriotic musicale,” women were invited to the home of Jessie McNab at Dundurn Heights for tea, a Red Cross demonstration of bandaging techniques, speeches by various dignitaries including MP William F. Maclean, a meeting with wounded soldiers from the front, and a performance of the band of the 48th Highlanders. The Globe reported that “the object of the Women’s Home Guard is to help in Red Cross work, be of assistance to soldiers’ wives and widows in any way possible, and do work at home along all channels that they can.” McNab’s home on St. Clair Avenue was to be the headquarters and meeting place of the organization. It was also, as only a few of the newspapers initially reported, where the home guard would do military drilling, under the direction of Lieutenant-Colonel James Galloway.

Women holding a bazaar for war aid. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 872.

Although the notion of a German invasion of Toronto may seem odd through today’s eyes, it was not completely beyond the belief of Torontonians in 1915. When asked about the possibility of the new group fighting in combat, Jessie McNab told the Globe “Yes, if necessary for home defense. [We] are ready to do anything that a woman can do.” Laura McCully, one of the initial members of the Women’s Home Guard and soon installed as its treasurer, wrote a letter to the Toronto World which encouraged others to join the group: “Let every available man join at least a defence organization, and let every able woman do likewise. We are not going to meet invasion as did the Belgian woman, should invasion come. We will meet it, gun in hand and self-protected, as our ancestresses met other savages. The place to go is Dundurn Heights… It is time the enemy was taught a lesson. Nothing will go home like the voluntary turning of Canada into an armed camp. Women, enlist now!”

Only three days after the group’s formation, 100 women participated in the Toronto Women’s Home Guard’s first drill on August 20. Although there is ample evidence of Ontario women participating in military drill instruction prior to the First World War, it had not generally been undertaken with a sense of necessity, and several of the Toronto dailies described the first day with a sense of amusement. The Telegram described the women as an “awkward squad… recruits attired in muslin frocks, recruits in middy blouses, recruits in airy summer blouses.” The News noted that several of the women mistook left and right, and “did funny fantastic jumpy things when the command ‘change step’ was given.” A curious but largely supportive crowd gathered to watch. Despite the group’s attire and inexperience, drill-master Lt.-Col. Galloway was extremely impressed with the recruits, with the Telegram reporting him saying that “he had never seen a body of men so quick to learn their drill.”

Seeing the men off as they leave for war. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 824.

A week later, Galloway gave an interview to Helen Ball, a regular columnist for the women’s pages of the News. Galloway took this opportunity to heap praise onto the Women’s Home Guard and on Jessie McNab in particular, and to acknowledge that the group’s good work and skill tended to quickly erode any negative impression that members of the public might have, saying “I have seen people go up there just to laugh at the women drilling, and before they left, they wanted to be recruits.” Regarding the social implications, Galloway said “it has interested a lot of girls who never thought of doing anything before. It will do them good, physically, mentally, and morally… Some men have said to me, ‘but how can you have anything to do with it? There are suffragettes in it.’ I don’t care whether there are suffragettes or not. They are organizing for service [and] that’s all that matters.” He also noted the movement in Britain towards women taking work in munitions factories, saying “it may be the same here later, and it is important to be organized and ready for anything.”

Despite the endorsement of some politicians and military personnel, the Women’s Home Guard was not officially organized by the armed forces, and thus did not receive any funding. Women paid fifty cents to join, and had to pay whatever transportation costs they needed to get to and from Dundurn Heights. All the early meeting and drilling activities took place at Jessie McNab’s home, with sections of her private property reserved for a variety of purposes. One corner of the land was reportedly reserved for fencing instruction, to be conducted by Laura McCully. McNab also announced plans to set aside five acres of her property for the establishment of a rifle range, although it is not clear whether this actually happened. Newspapers suggest that such a facility would have been convenient, so as to spare shooters the trip to the shooting range at Long Branch, which had already seen some use by other women’s groups in the spring of 1915.

The group’s momentum continued through August, as the Women’s Home Guard drilled twice a week and frequently met to discuss further plans. On August 25, the Globe reported that 300 women turned out for drilling at Dundurn Heights, noting that “[they can] ‘form fours,’ ‘quick march,’ or ‘stand easy’ as well as any man, and better than some men. They are going to shame the shirkers.” Less than two weeks after its formation, plans were announced in the Star to provide riding instruction with the view towards forming a women’s cavalry corps. Plans were also underway for official Women’s Home Guard uniforms, which consisted of a khaki Norfolk jacket, with matching blouse, skirt, and cap. Not every recruit necessarily got a uniform, however, as McNab noted that “each volunteer buys her own suit and equipment, as the Government is not helping us at all.”

On August 25, the Women’s Home Guard opened up a recruiting tent downtown at City Hall, across the square from the men’s recruiting tent. Laura McCully told the Star that 200 new recruits were signed up on the first day, bringing the group’s total membership up to at least 700. The size of the group was already too large for all the members to simultaneously drill at Dundurn Heights, as the previous night’s movements had forced women into the streets. The Star reported that the group was trying to secure permission from the City to hold their drills in public parks.

(Above: A photo of Jessie McNab from The Evening Telegram, August 28, 1915.)

Just as the Women’s Home Guard seemed to be poised to take another leap forward, however, problems emerged within the organization. On August 30, Laura McCully, who had been one of the group’s most vocal members, suddenly tendered her resignation as treasurer of the group. McCully cited problems she perceived with Jessie McNab having too much individual control of a group which, by this time, had reportedly reached 1,000 members. In an interview with the Telegram, McCully was quoted as saying, “In sending in my resignation, I merely wished to enter a protest at the present procedure of [the Women’s Home Guard’s] president. Many of the members feel that its most vital questions should be decided by the entire membership.” McCully stated her intention to remain involved as a recruiting sergeant, expressing dedication to the cause and declaring great pride in what the organization had thus far achieved. She stressed that “my action, as I have said, in resigning as treasurer, was simply a protest against Kaiser-like methods under the British flag.”

McCully’s accusations of McNab immediately resulted in a schism within the group. Those loyal to McNab told the Globe that “it’s Miss McCully who wants to be the Kaiser.” McNab herself fired back with a passionate reply, attributing the lack of an executive to the brevity of the organizations’ existence, and her inability to ask certain people to join such an executive, on the grounds that they were out of town. She referred to McCully’s words as coming from a person “who wanted to run things and was angry because she could not.” However, McNab also expressed a belief that as the founder and host of the Women’s Home Guard, she was entitled to a certain degree of control of the group, quoted in multiple newspapers as saying that “any person who says that I, as promoter, cannot form my own executive can go and take a holiday.”

Despite McCully’s stated intention to remain involved with the Women’s Home Guard, McNab reportedly barred her from Dundurn Heights, believing that McCully was undermining the work and effectively telling women not to enlist. A police guard was requested the next day at the City Hall recruitment tent in case a more serious conflict broke out, although such a presence evidently proved unnecessary.

Laura McCully, wearing her Women's Home Guard uniform. From The Evening Telegram, August 27, 1915.

In an effort to fix the rift in the administration, Toronto Mayor Tommy Church convened a meeting at the city council chamber to work towards establishing a formal executive of women who could steer and co-ordinate the efforts of the Women’s Home Guard. Along with the existing organizers, invitations were extended to other groups which were taking an interest in the Women’s Home Guard, including several other women’s groups, as well as the Citizens Recruiting League. The Citizens Recruiting League’s chairman, Dr. Norman Allen, told the News that “the former leaders had zeal but not discretion,” and that “the movement was a fine thing if placed in the right hands.”

Although McNab and McCully claimed a truce in the press, relations between the two appear to have remained strained. On September 7, simultaneous meetings were held at Dundurn Heights and at McCully’s house on Kenilworth Crescent, in Kew Beach. McCully explained that her Kew Beach meeting did not constitute a succession movement, but was simply offered as a secondary site to spare some women the expense and the long journey, noting that “the girls find that it costs them 15 cents to go to Dundurn Heights, and it is not pleasant to go without one’s dinner before three hours of drill.” McCully also expressed a grand dream of making the Women’s Home Guard a national movement with meetings held across the country, and a corps totalling 30,000. She may have been inspired by accounts of women’s home guard movements in other Canadian cities in the summer of 1915, including those in Winnipeg, Hamilton, and Montreal.

McCully’s concerns about McNab’s desire for control of the Women’s Home Guard may have been well-founded. The Women’s Home Guard held an election later in September and set up a temporary steering committee, with the women electing Lt.-Col. Galloway as chair and McNab as vice-chair. This arrangement appeared to work until McNab briefly fell ill, and the committee approved certain expenditures in her absence. McNab reportedly refused to relinquish any control of the group, and informed Galloway that she refused to accept the position of vice-chairman.

A photo from the City of Toronto Archives, taken at the Toronto armories, with a caption identifying these women as sharpshooters. Some of these women may well have been members of the Women's Home Guard. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1244, Item 642.

It appears that McNab then attempted to leave the Women’s Home Guard and reorganize another group on her own terms. McNab is left out of most newspaper reports of the Women’s Home Guard that autumn, as the group continued to drill regularly at a variety of city parks and school grounds. One article suggests that McNab continued to hold regular drills at Dundurn Heights, but without Lt.-Col. Galloway.

Reports of the Women’s Home Guard grow fewer and briefer through the autumn, and it appears that the goodwill of the Toronto press began to evaporate. Whereas earlier articles had been supportive of the Women’s Home Guard, editorials began appearing which criticized and mocked the group.

In early December, the Women’s Home Guard took Jessie McNab to court. According to a sworn affidavit from Galloway, McNab refused to comply with a request from the group’s executive for the money that she had collected in Women’s Home Guard membership fees. Eventually, she relented, but not until the court fees had eaten up much of the money. Nevertheless, a December article in the Star announced that the group now had a new drill hall at 33 Richmond Street West, measuring 60 by 90 feet. “A first aid class will meet one night, drill squads two nights (Mondays and Thursdays), a signalling class a fourth night, and a class for Red Cross work on a fifth night.” The article also promoted the many other ongoing activities of the Women’s Home Guard, including providing help for soldiers’ wives, bandage rolling, knitting, and the donation of 500 jars of fruit to a nearby convalescent hospital.

A cartoon from the September 12, 1915 Toronto World, after some of the Toronto newspapers began running pieces which mocked or ridiculed the Women's Home Guard.

Despite this somewhat optimistic state of affairs, the Women’ Home Guard then disappears from the Toronto newspapers, with no formal announcement of its dissolution or definite indication of its fate. Later that winter, some newspaper articles suggest that the Women’s Home Guard was folded into another group, the Women’s Volunteer Corps, who similarly co-ordinated a variety of women’s wartime projects. In 1916, these activities included medical training, support for soldiers’ families, and creating a register of women who were available to do the work of men, thus freeing men for military service.

Jessie McNab remains an elusive figure. For a few more years there are notices of social events held at Dundurn Heights, but once these stop her fate does not appear to be known, suggesting that she either died or relocated to another community. Laura McCully’s life is better known, as she had already achieved some measure of fame in Toronto as a poet and promoter of feminist causes before the war began. Shortly after her involvement with the Women’s Home Guard, however, she apparently fell on hard economic times, which were compounded by mental and physical health issues. She was in and out of hospitals from 1916 until her death in 1924 at the age of 38. Several newspapers ran obituaries for her, with the Globe calling her “a vivid poetic personality,” and writing “she left a memory that will be treasured for her versatile and sensitive mind, her broad and tender sympathies. The outbreak of the Great War 10 years ago stirred Miss McCully’s patriotism and she bent her energies for some time in furthering the cause of Canada as she saw it, and more particularly in recruiting men, and in organizing the Women’s Home Guard.”

Additional material from: The Globe, July 30, August 19, August 21, August 24, August 26, August 27, August 28, August 31, September 1, September 2, September 3, September 6, September 7, September 8, October 6, 1915, July 10, 1924; The Mail and Empire, August 21, August 24, August 27, September 1, September 3, 1915; Ian Hugh Maclean Miller, Our Glory and Our Grief: Torontonians and the Great War (University of Toronto Press, 2002); The Daily News, August 19, August 23, August 24, August 26, August 27, September 2, September 8, September 10, September 14, 1915; The Toronto Daily Star, August 10, August 19, August 25, August 27, August 28, August 30, August 31, September 1, September 3, September 4, September 7, September 8, September 14, November 8, 1915, December 3, December 7, December 14, 1915; February 1, February 29, 1916, July 9, 1924; Pat Staton, It Was Their War Too: Canadian Women in World War I (Green Dragon Press, 2006: Toronto); Kori Street, Toronto’s Amazons: Militarised Femininity and Gender Construction in the Great War, MA Thesis, Department of HIstory and Philosophy, University of Toronto, 1991; The Evening Telegram, August 16, August 19, August 21, August 24, August 26, August 27, August 28, August 30, August 31, September 2, September 3, September 4, September 9, 1915; The Toronto World, September 6, 1914; January 2, August 5, August 14, August 17, August 18, August 21, August 24, August 25, August 26, August 27, August 31, September 1, September 12, September 15, September 17, September 20, September 25, October 8, December 4, December 6, 1915, April 15, 1916; Barbara M. Wilson, ed., Ontario and the First World War 1914-1918: A Collection of Documents (The Champlain Society, 1977: Toronto).