Kent Brewery should be preserved

York Developments proposes to construct this highrise  at the southeast corner of St. George and Ann Streets. The building, in the shape of an H, would be as high as 22 storeys at its east end and cater mainly to students. The ground floor would contain commercial space and, supposedly, a craft brewery. 

Aside from the proposed development being the silliest-looking building ever designed - what's with the Tic Tac Toe theme? - there are many reasons not to build here, as indicated by City Planning Department:

1. The development does not conform to the 1989 Official Plan.

2.The development does not conform to the 2016 London Plan, due to the proposed density on the site. 

3.The development is not consistent with the Provincial Policy Statement of 2020 which promotes intensification and redevelopment in appropriate locations while conserving heritage resources.

4.The development is near a rail corridor (the CPR) and does not have enough mitigating measures to protect against a possible train derailment, let along everyday annoyances such as noise and vibrations. York has suggested a crash wall would be integrated into the building design ... somewhere. 

5.The development would mean the demolition or removal of structures on the city's heritage inventory. 

Let's take a closer look at the more important buildings on the site:

March 2021

197 Ann Street, the Kent Brewery, is on the city's register of Cultural Heritage Resources. One of the first breweries in London, it was built and originally operated by Marshall and Hammond. Later it was operated by John Hamilton from 1861 to 1887 and his son Joseph from 1887 to 1916 when it closed due to Prohibition. One of the oldest brewery buildings in Canada, it's also one of the oldest industrial structures in the neighbourhood. By the way, it was named after Kent, England, from where the brewery imported its hops.* Cool, eh?

March 2021

183 Ann Street, the Queen Anne style house next door, was the brewer's residence, making this a rare example of an early brewing site where both the brewery and the brewer's home remain. (The only other example in Canada is apparently Alexander Keith's in Halifax.) Yes, the Labatt and Carling families lived next to their breweries but those homes are gone. This house was built by Joseph Hamilton in 1893, replacing an earlier frame building on the site in which his father lived and died. This beautiful brick home is an indication of the brewery's success. 

March 2021

Tiny 179 Ann Street, also a Hamilton family home, is the next building to the west. Built before 1881, it was home to Joseph Hamilton from 1887 to 1890. A typical late 19th-century worker's cottage, it features a bay window on the east side.

Ann and St. George is not an HCD. And, as I've mentioned before, London City Council has been known to vote against Planning Department's recommendations. The City often touts the official plan but doesn't follow its rules. So the developer might be asked to merely retain facades. Or be given the go ahead to move the structures. Or to demolish them completely. 

But the structures don't appear in poor condition and still have apartments. Undoubtedly, 197 and 183 should be designated. They might be moved, but shouldn't be moved far, since they're still on their original site. And 197 might make a great craft brewery again, being a short distance from Richmond Row, Party Central. 

The preliminaries, including possible designation, begin tonight, April 25, when Planning and Environment Committee meets. Stay tuned. 

Update, April 26: Last evening PEC voted to grant a heritage designation to the former brewery buildings. And York Developments offered to relocate at least the main brewery building itself. 

According to this, two PEC councilors don't think heritage counts for much. Surprise. In the end, the committee voted to send York's application back to city staff. But the designation does mean York Developments will have to try harder to incorporate the buildings into their plans. 

* For more information on this and other local breweries, see Glen C. Phillips, On Tap: The Odyssey of Beer and Brewing in Victorian London-Middlesex. Sarnia: Cheshire Cat Press, 2000.

On The Road Again: Another Move For London's Fugitive Slave Chapel

I've written about London's Fugitive Slave Chapel here but to give readers a short recap: The tiny building shown on the right was built by London's fugitive slave community in about 1848, was threatened by demolition at its original location on Thames Street, and was moved in 2014 to its present location beside its daughter church at 432 Grey Street, SoHo. Despite the efforts of the Fugitive Slave Chapel Preservation Project, it's been decaying ever since.  

According to the BME Church of Canada, the restoration project stopped due to COVID, but that's not true. The project stopped long before the pandemic arrived. From the rumours I've heard, the real problems were financial issues and - whether it's polite to mention it or not - a personality clash among committee members. The project that began so well seemed destined to fail altogether.

Now the word is that the chapel will be gifted to Fanshawe Pioneer Village. Various community groups are hoping to raise $300,000 for the move, restoration to the building's mid-1800s appearance, and an education scheme about the building's history and the origins of London's black community. The addition of the chapel to FPV will add another dimension to its portrayal of local history. 

I'm a bit conflicted about the move, though. Arguably, the chapel belongs next to its daughter church. The people who built the chapel also built the church so the connection makes sense. Furthermore, in recent years I've sensed that many Londoners want to move any unwanted building, such as this one, out to Fanshawe, making the pioneer village a bit of a dumping ground. And usually without suggestions as to where funding for the move will come from.

The debate, as I see it, is whether our community should wholeheartedly embrace and promote the habit of relocating buildings for the convenience of today's needs, or leave them in situ. The chapel was first moved from Thames Street so its original site could become a parking lot. When a building is moved, does it not lose some of its authenticity? Is its cultural significance not at least partially bound to its setting? Perhaps a building should only be moved under exceptional circumstances. Moving costs money and risks damage to an already fragile structure.

But in this case, with the BME Church apparently uninterested in its preservation, to leave the chapel where it is means further deterioration and the risk of losing it altogether. This little building means a great deal to lots of people. At this point, moving it for the second time is the best that can be done. 

Those wishing to donate to this excellent cause may do so here.

My 10 Least Favourite London, Ontario Buildings

Ever since I listed my favourite London buildings here, I've been trying to decide what I'd put on a list of my least favourite. I've been thinking about it for years now, not because I can't find buildings I don't like, but because London has provided me with so many it's hard to choose. Often it's not a particular building I object to, so much as a style or trend which can be found in many cities in Ontario. 

Nevertheless, I have narrowed it down to the following:

1. Centennial Hall

Built in 1967 as London's premier concert hall and event space,  Centennial Hall is one of those multipurpose buildings that doesn't serve any purpose very well. Who enjoys sitting in the balcony at a concert, staring at the opposite side instead of the stage? Or sitting on the main floor at the rear, trying to see the show over the hundred heads in front of you? I've heard folks say it reminds them of their high school auditorium. Well, my high school auditorium was much better; it had a sloping floor and better acoustics. People often skip shows they'd like to see just because they're held here. They prefer to go to ...

2. Budweiser Gardens, formerly the JLC, formerly the Talbot Block

London tore down a Victorian block, built an arena and hung a replica of the original structure on the outside to please heritage preservationists. It doesn't. The effect is Disney-esque, only not as good. The opaque windows are your first clue it's a  façade. And if you remember the real Talbot Block, the imitation is laughable. Sure, it's a great sports and concert venue that London badly needed. But the city didn't need to insult our intelligence with the  pseudo-historic veneer. 

3. The "Towers of Spite"

Developer Arnon Kaplansky demolished bungalows on this site near Western University to replace them with student housing. Neither City Hall nor the neighbourhood association liked what he intended to build. So he had no choice but to build three towers with no visual appeal whatsoever. Right? I mean, what else could the poor guy do? 

Update: Sept. 2024: A.K. intends to add more buildings to this site. While we definitely need more student housing, what will he build here next? Stay tuned.

4. Sir Adam Beck Manor Condominiums

The first house on the northeast corner of Richmond and Sydenham was "Elliston," built 1861-2 for Ellis Hyman, wealthy tannery owner. In 1902, Adam Beck bought the house, renovated it and renamed it "Headley" after his wife Lillian's parents' home in Surrey. 

Beck was the advocate of hydroelectricity who founded the Hydro-Electric Power Commission of Ontario. And founded the London Health Association, which grew into Victoria and University Hospitals. And became an M.P.P. for London. And a London mayor. And founded the Queen Alexandra Sanitorium, later the Beck Memorial Sanitorium, to treat tuberculosis. His home was one of London's great social centres. 

In 1988, the original Headley was demolished by Sifton and replaced by a replica which pays tribute to the original mansion the way the Bud Centre pays tribute to the Talbot Block. But why couldn't the original home have been preserved and renovated into posh condos like those in the tower Sifton built behind? Why would we want fake historic homes when we could have the real thing? Sir Adam deserved better than a replica.

5. 210 Dundas Street

Built in 1987 on the northwest corner of Dundas and Clarence, this three-storey structure with a mirrored exterior was once the home of Pathways Skills Development. Owned by Farhi Landholdings, it's now leased to the London Free Press. It's cold, uninviting, charmless, and incompatible with its surroundings. Make sure you're wearing sunglasses as you walk past to cut down the glare. 

6. New Homes in The 'Burbs

The soulless cookie cutter look shows no sign of abating as this new neighbourhood north of Fanshawe indicates. Charming and cosy these aren't. Mostly garage, the homes on this street are all about the automobile, as is the subdivision itself.  To get anywhere, you have to drive, since virtually nothing is within walking distance. But maybe 75 years from now, when the tree sticks have grown, these will be quaint, old-fashioned  homes on a tree-shaded street. Even if they're still in the middle of nowhere.

7. Any Unsympathetic Infill

I thought "infill" was going to mean developing unused land to add density and prevent urban sprawl. Instead, the term often applies to the demolition of  an existing building to erect something larger. The new structure often adversely affects smaller neighbouring buildings, dwarfing them and blocking their light. Some new structures just don't fit in. But perhaps that's the builders' purpose - they want to stand out from the crowd. Bigger is better, right? 

8. The "New" Courthouse

The 15-storey Ontario Court of Justice was built in 1974-76. Designed by London firm Stevens and Skinner in the Brutalist style, it's large but lacks charisma, to say the least. The term Brutalist comes from the term béton brut meaning "raw concrete" but there is something "brutal" about this structure at Ridout and Dundas. In fact, it could win a prize for London's most intimidating building. Is that the idea? To dissuade future criminals from breaking the law? All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here. 

9. This Kind of Thing

Look, there's lots of tasteful ways to combine old and new. This isn't one of them.

10. Old Homes With Vinyl Windows

Two homes built at approximately the same time in a similar style. Not in an HCD. At left is a "handyman's special" while the home on the right has been updated with vinyl windows.

I know why, of course. The new windows are affordable, energy-efficient and bring more light into the sitting room. It's also difficult to find skilled tradesmen who can restore wooden windows. Depending on what you read, though, vinyl may be toxic and short-lived. Your vinyl window salesman won't tell you that. Nor will he point out how it destroys the character of an older home. Windows just didn't look like that when the house was built. 

Before replacing older windows, consider alternatives like weatherstripping, oiling or waxing the wood, replacing parts of the window only, a fresh coat of paint, or storm windows. 

Dishonorable Mention:

Museum London, the building most Londoner's love to hate more than any other. Looks like farm silos lying on their sides. Or maybe giant thermos bottles. Who really knows?

Richard Clutton Wright Makes The Great Migration

Historians have called the period from 1815 to 1850 the Great Migration to Canada since, during those years, over 800,000 immigrants, mainly British and Irish, came to this country. The reasons are too complicated to relate here but a combination of exploding population and lack of quality work at home made large numbers flee to the colonies in search of  prosperity.  

Most of my ancestors were among these immigrants. My great-great grandparents, Richard and Caroline Wright*, traveled from England to New York on a ship called the St. James in 1846, afterwards moving to Canada. Many Canadians with such ancestors have pondered the adventure of crossing the sea in the 19th century - the length of the trip, its dangers and discomforts - but have no means of learning what their ancestors encountered. But I'm fortunate, in that Richard kept a diary of his immigration experience. And I have it.

Well, not the original diary. What I have is a typewritten copy compiled by Richard's great-grandson, Horace J.Richardson, in 1947-48. The original diary is presumably in the hands of my Richardson cousins who, of course, have every right to it as they're also direct descendants. My branch of the family is quite thankful to have Horace's typewritten copy.

According to the diary, Richard and Caroline Wright, along with Caroline's sister Anne (known as Polly) and her husband, Robert Ranson, left London for New York on Wednesday, June 24, 1846 on the St. James, a packet ship** of 650 tons that made regular runs between London and New York. Its Captain, an American of German birth, was F. R. Meyer. The ship and most of its sailors were American.

Richard broke down the total number of persons on board ship:

Steerage passengers:   247

Second class: 2

First class: 8

Total passengers:   257

Sailors: 23

First & Second Mates: 2

Stewards: 2

Stewardess: 1

Cooks: 2

"Council man attach": 1***

Captain: 1

Total on board: 289     

He also described his living quarters aboard ship:****

"I will give you a short account of our cabins. First its dimensions. What they call the gentleman's cabin is about 25 feet long, 12 feet wide, having a mahogany dining table with fixed cane bottom seats on each side, and sofa the whole width, and about  7 feet high. It is at the stern and lighted by four windows about two feet square looking right out to where we came from, and two skylights or hatches. Then in a line with this communicating by two doors, one at each side, is the ladies' cabin, which is the same width and about square. There are two sofas, three or four maple cane bottom chairs, and a table in representation of a loo table,***** veneered with maple rosewood and Spanish mahogany ... On each side of the cabins are our bedrooms, parted off by panel work or, as it looks, twelve doors. Between each door is an Ionic column or pilaster veneered with maple and rosewood, standing against a Spanish mahogany ground. The doors are veneered with maple, and panels the same, with a border of rosewood and mahogany molding on the door, gilt caps to the columns, and several gilt moldings in the cornice. And all wood beautifully French polished, glass knobs on the doors, mounted with silver. The bedrooms are about 8 feet square and two berths or beds in each one above the other with washstand and drawers and all complete."

As you may have guessed, he and Carrie were travelling first class. Steerage didn't have it like this. But more about steerage later.

Many of Richard's entries discuss his general experiences on board ship. On their first night: "we slept but little, being unused to hear the waves dash by our bedside and feeling our beds rock" (June 24). Life on board could be rather dull at times: "I often wish the journey was at an end, the time hangs heavy on our hands ... we keep down in the cabin till we feel bad, we go on deck and walk as well as we can til we are tired, then we sit and strain our eyes looking at the water foam and roll til we are nearly asleep, and then perhaps wake up and read" (June 30). "We have had miserable night, tossed, rocked, rolled, and bumped up against one side and the other til my bones all seem battered and bruised" (July 6).

But once in a while something happened to break up the boredom: "We had quite a new sight to-day, several fish six or seven feet long. The mate stuck the harpoon into one but it broke and the [fish] got away" (July 7).

On another occasion, the mate was more successful: "There was a very large fish seen to swim past us by one of the passengers and the second mate and five sailors were lowered down ... in the boat ... in search of him with order from the Captain. Armed with two harpoons, they went I think a mile before they got sight of him ... mate, who is an old fisherman, gave orders to use the oars so that they made no noise and so approach him, he standing with the harpoon ready to give him a stab ... the moment the fish was struck he dived down, taking the harpoon with him, which had a cord attached to it to prevent its being lost ... and the mate stood with a knife in his hand to cut the rope if the fish should begin to pull down the boat. But that was not the case for, when the fish had run the rope's length, he came up again and then they ... got a rope through one fin and dragged him along to the ship. Then I think about thirty men hauled him on deck and a monster he was, to be sure, being more than eight feet ... and weighing more than a ton. It was what is called a sunfish. And there was much chopping and cutting the poor varmint ... it was full of blood ... it ran about the deck and made it look like a butchery. The liver was all saved to get the oil from it, which is said to be a sure remedy for the rheumatic. Some of the blubber was cooked but not much eaten. All the other was tossed overboard a piece at a time, except a few small pieces which the mate is saving to dry in the sun to make balls for his children. So much for a sea monster" (July 16).

A few days later: "We have had several beautiful sights, several flying fish have been seen, and a tremendous great old shark, or, as the sailors term him, a regular old man eater. He looks very large, being nine or ten feet long with two right-up fins cutting the water as he went along" (July 19). Fortunately, no one went shark hunting!

By late July, the ship was passing near the Grand Banks where Richard noted: "As there was no wind, they sounded the depth ... which was done thus. About a stone of lead, hollow at bottom, and then filled with tallow so that they may know what sort of a bottom it is as some of it is sure to hang to the tallow. This was let down and found gravel bottom at 40 fathom. Then they went to fishing ... with a large hook baited with pork and let down." (July 26) ******

On July 27, Richard records that "Ranson & his wife ... say they would have given anything they possess'd not to have come and that they will go back as soon as they can - a poor spirit this for emigration." Perhaps the Ransons were bored on their long sea journey. Or perhaps it was the heat: "We arose this morning after having been nearly sweated into a parboiled state ... it was tremendously hot and close ..." (July 20).

Now, about meals on board. This was not a cruise ship. Nevertheless, sailing first class doesn't sound too bad: "we breakfast nine o'clock am, dine at three o'clock PM and take tea or sup at seven o'clock PM" (July 1). "They killed a pig this morning for the first time. We had some of it for dinner ... it was nice though not very fat ... we have had several chickens and always finish dinner with a dessert of some kind ... pie or tart, sweet pudding or some Yankee mess or other, so we live pretty well" (July 2). "We had a duck and green peas for dinner and plum pudding for a dessert. There is no drink allowed such as ale, wine or spirits, nothing but water unless you buy it, although it is at a reasonable price ..." (July 5). "At breakfast we always have either hot beef, pork or mutton, besides toast, pancakes and either cold ham or tongue ..." (July 9). "Our bread is good, new every morning. They have every cooking convenience that can be made in the galley, a small place built on deck in the steerage part about 8 feet square with oven boilers, steamers, roasters, fryers, and ... burners and smokers ... Our bread has always been very light. It is made, I am given to understand, with yeast powders. I don't know what they are, they are purchased in London. The bread is very pleasant ..." (July 18). Bread was of special interest to Richard, by profession a baker. 

As to steerage conditions: "I went in the morning down in the hold ... it is beyond all comparison, four and five in a berth" (June 29). The passengers below "scarcely ever having any stockings on their feet and some no shirt on their back ... the men pass their time smoking, playing cards and other games." And as for their food, it consisted of "such messes as no half starved English cat would go near" (July 22). Richard and Carrie had "very good water to drink, as clear and pure as crystal, besides being cool and pleasant. I am sorry to say all on board have not the happiness to have such for, though it is clear, it don't taste well that the steerage passengers have" (July 23). And on July 27, "Many of the steerage passengers begin to fall short of food but the Captain has been very kind ... and given them several pieces of meat."

Several infants became ill and were buried at sea during the journey. On July 14: "The sea, like the land, is not proof against the unerring arm of death for, this morning about twelve AM, they cast into the mighty deep, after reading a short burial service in German, the body of an infant, five months old ... it was a poor weakly thing" (July 14). And on July 22: "This day has again been solemnized by the burial of child eleven months old with the usual ceremony." And again on July 29: "Two poor little sufferers buried today - one in the morning, the other in the afternoon. One of them, about a year old, died in the night. Such an object as I never before saw to be called a human being, it was in fact a case of moving bones about the size of baccopipes and no one would have thought it a living animal or being. The other, died in the morning, was about eighteen months old, in which there was an exact resemblance of the former. There is several more ill and I fear, if we are not soon landed, they will soon expire ... for it seems to me that they feed them on such confounded trash that the poor little things have not nutriment enough to sustain against sea air and the foul atmosphere of the steerage" (July 29). 

Towards the end of their journey, Richard could see other ships bound for New York: "Scarcely any wind ... so that we move forward slowly ... the vessel we saw several days ago is still in sight and five others: one an Indiaman, a very large ship, two fishing boats going to New York, a schooner and a brig" (July 29). 

But at last came the great day when "we received the joyful intelligence that land had been in sight ever since five AM. It was Long Island, which forms the harbour of New York" (Aug. 5). Still, the St. James could travel no faster than the wind: "we are quite low-spirited this morning, it being quite calm. We are now about 70 miles from New York and hope the breeze will soon rise" (Aug. 6). But at last a steamer called the Hercules towed them to New York where they arrived on August 7 at 4:00 pm. 

The Wrights and Ransons had finally reached the end of their sea journey. But Carrie was not well.

Richard writes: "Many were the solicitations to go to this and that House. At last we decided to go to 89 Pearl Street. We found it a large public boarding house with accommodation for about 500 in the first of style. We see our error & my wife kept getting worse. I tried to get private lodgings but to no avail. At last was forced to find a Doctor ... and he said in a few hours all would be right. We sat up, Polly and myself and Doctor ... my wife was in extreme pain all night and many were the eyes she kept open as the House was pretty full. At twenty minutes past 3 on Saturday morning August the 8th, 1846 was blessed with the birth of a girl, a fine baby with dark hair, blue eyes and a noisy welcome to this veil of tears. Then did my wife rejoice and said 'The pain is nothing, for now I have a dear little baby.' And we named her Caroline Pearl Wright in memory of the place of her birth which was 88 Pearl Street, New York. The doctor went home, Polly went to bed and I laid down and we all three went to sleep after thanking God for his goodness towards us." 

Baby Pearl was my great-grandmother. 

Four generation photo: Richard Clutton Wright with his daughter Pearl (left), Pearl's eldest daughter Bessie and her daughter Dorothy, 1900.

Note the discrepancy between 88 and 89 Pearl Street. Was Richard confused and stressed, after a long day on which he arrived in the New World and became a father? Or is this a typo on the part of Horace? I don't know. This document describes the buildings at 87-89 Pearl Street, now part of New York's Stone Street Historic District. These buildings do not sound like "a large public boarding house with accommodation for about 500 in the first of style." They were commercial buildings. Has Pearl Street been renumbered since 1846? I don't have all the answers yet.

Despite their sworn intention to return home, the Ransons shortly proceeded to Montreal. Perhaps once they had their feet firmly on land, they relaxed and decided to continue with Plan A. As for the Wrights: "My wife continued finely and kept every day getting stronger so that on Friday the 15th of August we were able to leave New York for Albany, after parting with about 50 dollars for expenses." From Albany, I surmise they took a passenger boat along the Erie Canal to Buffalo and crossed into Canada, although Richard doesn't actually describe this part of their journey. After the birth of his daughter, his diary entries become rare, suggesting its purpose was to keep him occupied on board ship.

One more entry of interest appears on August 22, 1846 when Richard went to work in Dundas, Ontario while Carrie and Pearl stayed elsewhere: "I arrived at Dundas and slept at the Northern Hotel kept by Barny Collins." Apparently Richard stayed at this place, established by Bernard Collins in 1841.

The Wrights had another girl and a boy upon their arrival in Canada West. Sadly, Caroline died giving birth to another child named Richard in 1852. Mother and baby are buried at West Flamborough Presbyterian Church Cemetery, a place I have visited. 

Richard remarried and settled in Aylmer where he and his second wife, Mary, had many more children.

Richard and his second wife Mary Parmenter.

An advertisement for his business appears in the 1877 Illustrated Historical Atlas of Elgin County:

Richard, Mary and several of their children, are buried in  Aylmer Cemetery:

 

Pearl and her husband John Grainger are buried in Walkerton, Bruce County. 

*Genealogical note: Richard Clutton Wright (1823-1908) and Caroline Wright (1826-1852) were married in the village of Laxfield, Suffolk on September 30, 1845. Two of Caroline's sisters were married the same day in a triple wedding that was reported in The Ipswich Journal on October 11: "So unusual a circumstance attracted a great many persons; and with the merry peal from the bells, and the cheers of the assembled crowd, formed altogether a most animating scene." The three sisters were daughters of George Wright, a local farmer. Richard was a son of William Wright, George's brother, making Richard and Carrie first cousins. (Special thanks to Elizabeth Thomson for the Journal article.)

** Packet ships were mid-sized sailing ships featuring regularly scheduled service between American and British ports. The ships were designed for the north Atlantic, where storms and rough seas were common. Not designed for speed, they carried passengers and cargo and were likely the most efficient way of crossing the Atlantic at the time. Sail packets were eventually replaced by steam packets. 

***Richard's exact words: "This is an American sailor brought from London to his own country by order of the Councill man of England, a man for the purpose of paying distress'd sailors passages back to their own country appointed by Government on all ports I understand do not know how true." And I don't know either.  

****In these excerpts, I have updated spelling and punctuation to the standards of today. And yes, sometimes I'm guessing.

*****A table with an oval or round top and a hinged mechanism fitted to a pedestal base, enabling the table to be easily stored when not in use. "Loo" was a card game. 

******Depth sounding has occurred since ancient times. A sounding line is a length of rope with a plummet, generally of lead, at its end. Regardless of the actual composition of the plummet, it is usually called a "lead." Soundings were taken to establish a ship's position as an aid in navigation and safety. Richard described the process quite accurately. Leads had a wad of tallow in a cavity at the bottom of the plummet. The tallow would bring up part of the bottom sediment - possibly sand, pebbles, clay, or shells - allowing the ship's officers to better estimate their position and provide information useful for navigation and anchoring. If the plummet came up clean, it meant the bottom was rock. 

The Byron Barn Blunder

William Griffiths' barn as drawn by Louis Taylor in Nancy Tausky's Historical Sketches of London:
From Site to City. Broadview Press, 1993. 

For those of you who didn't follow the saga of the "Byron Barn" at 247 Halls Mill Road, a brief recap: Neighbours first became concerned about its condition in September of 2019 when metal sheeting was removed and the roof partially collapsed. The City of London issued a "make safe" order, requiring the owner to either repair the barn, fence it off, or seek a demolition request. Turns out the owner did have a demolition permit dating to 2008. But those permits expire after a year and he didn't act on time.

In January 2020, after activism from London's heritage preservationists, City Council voted 12-3 to designate the structure (Mayor Ed Holder and Councilors Paul Van Meerbergen and Michael Van Holst were opposed). Such designations take effect immediately. The owner called the designation "complete stupidity." 

Two days later, on January 30, 2020, the owner bulldozed the barn.

City Hall then launched an investigation. There were two illegalities: First, the barn was demolished without a permit, which goes against the Ontario Building Code. Second, since it was heritage designated, the demolition defied the Ontario Heritage Act, meaning the building should not have been demolished or significantly altered without the municipality's permission. City bylaw officers charged the owner under both acts.

The property owner recently pleaded guilty and has been charged $2,000.

Byron - in fact, London - has been polarized. The issue: Can someone do whatever he wants with his own property or should he have to comply with the desires of the broader community? 

At any rate, there are a few lessons to be learned here by heritage preservationists:

1.We're not doing a great job of educating folks about architecture. The fact that this was no ordinary barn was missed by the media and most online commentators. As an example, see this blog post in support of the owner, showing a picture of a random barn ruin at top. That is not what Griffiths' barn looked like. Heritage preservationists aren't interested in trying to save the average rural ruin.

In fact, William Griffiths' 19th-century structure was a lot more stylish than the average Ontario barn. It was built as a combination of coach house, barn and warehouse for his woolen mill. Note the decorative treatment of its centre section, the focal point of the long front. The round-headed window was recessed within a projecting gable. Below, another projection containing the main doors (originally solid) was covered with a hipped roof that reflected the dimensions of the gable above. There was a cute ventilator on the ridge. And there was once some symmetry, as indicated by the two ground floor windows equidistant from the main door. The other openings, probably later additions, have masked the former balance. 

2. As noted in the linked blog post, to many people heritage designations appear arbitrary. That's because preservationists are often attempting to designate at the last minute, after they learn that a property is in danger of demolition. In fact, certain buildings should automatically receive designation based on their age, style or rarity. It should not be random or subjective. 

3. Heritage law is still reliant on owners actually desiring to protect sites. Which means that unwanted older buildings are usually just neglected until they fall apart. Once a building falls into ruin, it's hard to convince people it has value. In order to prevent this, we need municipal ordinances requiring property owners to properly maintain buildings.

4. The barn decision sets a precedent for further destruction of heritage properties, since owners now know just how little they may pay upon pleading guilty. Not much of a deterrent for those with deep pockets. 

Until these issues are resolved, we can expect the Byron Blunder to happen again and again.

Promenade Past "The Pit"

Walking around London allows me to notice places I'd never see when whizzing by in a car. And having so many hang-out spots closed due to Covid means I've been doing more walking than usual - and discovering more. 

I'd been past Old North's Doidge Park on many occasions without stopping to read this monument. Erected by the Historic Sites Committee of the Public Library Board in 2000, and christened with a speech from local heritage advocate Julia Beck, the cairn commemorates the history of this sunken basin at the southeast corner of Wellington and Cheapside. 

Two early settlers, Richard Jones Evans and John Anthistle, established lime kilns near this spot, burning deposits of limestone into lime to be used in mortar and cement. Evans, along with London lawyer David Margrave Thompson, subdivided the surrounding land into building lots in 1856. 

John's son William expanded his father's business and mined "The Pit," as it became known, for gravel, sand and cobblestones for local building. William made cement blocks and sewer pipes and laid out some of north London's first sidewalks. Many of the cobblestone-clad houses he built still stand, including his own home on nearby Cromwell Street, which dead ends just east of the park. 

During the Depression, the gravel pit was taken over by the city, which, with its usual lack of imagination, used it as a parking area for city machinery. But in 1949, local residents formed the North London Community Association and lobbied to have Anthistle's pit converted into a park and playground. Thus it became Doidge Park, named after John C. Doidge, chair of the playground committee of the PUC. The park opened in 1958 with financial help from the Kiwanis Club. 

But on a snowy winter day the park becomes the quintessential toboggan slope for children throughout the neighbourhood and beyond ...

... and if they break anything while tobogganing, there's St. Joe's Hospital in the background, ready to come to the rescue. Altogether an excellent example of what the plaque calls "reclaimed urban wasteland." The Pit is still there for the enjoyment of today's residents. 

 

Wright Lithographing in the "Good Old Days"

London Life employees pose before company headquarters ca. 1920. The building became
Wright Lithographing. (From the writer's collection.)

For the record, I don't really believe in the "good old days." The folks in the photo had spent years fighting a world war and a flu pandemic.  But these were definitely better days for the office building behind them. I'll even bet the clock worked. It was 5:00. Quitting time. But there were still a few minutes to pose for a company photo before heading home.

The building now known as Wright Lithographing was built for Sanitary Dairy in 1902 but bought by London Life in 1906 to become the company's head office. When the insurance company built its new headquarters at Wellington and Dufferin in 1927, the Wright family took over the building. It's been known as Wright Lithographing ever since. 

Nowadays though, it's not looking too good. Farhi Holdings has recently returned the old clock and lettering, removed a few years back due to vandalism. But it's still empty and boarded:

November 2021

Farhi Holdings bought the building in 2007. It's listed on the company website as available for lease but how much effort has the company made to find a tenant in the past 16 years? 

Well, in an interview earlier this year, Mr. Farhi mentions he sent the city an affordable housing proposal for the building. London apparently turned it down, stating other sites could contain more units. Apparently Farhi also had a letter of interest from a financial institution but the deal fell through. No other interest since 2007? Seems like it might be time to sell. 

The vandalism problem might go away if the building was occupied. If anyone lived or worked in it, they'd be keeping an eye out for vandals. Folks are vigilant about a building in which they have a vested interest. And in 2009, the company tore down a rear addition to make more parking space. So parking shouldn't be a big problem, either. 

Of course, one of the reasons for the high vacancy rate downtown was the vacancy tax break that owners of empty commercial buildings received up to 2019. That rebate was originally intended to assist property owners who were having trouble finding tenants during economic recessions. But it also created an incentive for landlords to leave buildings empty. 

But there are rumblings of new ideas to lower London's downtown vacancy rate, including a vacancy tax and land expropriation. The purpose is to "disincentivize" land speculation. 

And that's exactly what's going on with the Wright building, among others - land speculation. Farhi buys properties as an investment, with no specific plans for them, and holds them for future demolition and land reuse or a profitable resale. After being vacant for 16 years, I fear the future for Wright Lithographing is the former.