The Lawrences

For nearly 100 years, various members of the Lawrence family played prominent roles as farmers and merchants at the corner of Yonge Street and the Fourth Concession. So, it’s not surprising that the concession sideroad eventually came to be known as Lawrence Avenue.

But long before that, the route went by a variety of names. When the first Lawrence — Peter — turned up in the neighbourhood in 1812, the pathway was often referred to as Hale’s road. Jonathan Hale owned an impressive 400-acre farm on the southwest corner of the intersection (now Lawrence Park). It was certainly much more impressive than the half-acre Peter occupied on the west side Yonge, facing Hale’s. Peter lived there with his new wife, Elizabeth Cummer (her Willowdale family would evenually have a street named after them as well!). By the 1820s he was operating a small tannery.

It wasn’t until 1829 that Peter had the means to buy his own farm, 95 acres on the northeast corner of today’s Yonge and Lawrence. Seven years later he bought the farm across the street on the northwest corner and was the local justice of the peace. He also played a key role in building the first Methodist church in the area, at the top of the hill south of his farm (at Yonge & Glengrove).

Jacob Lawrence, possibly a son, built a sawmill in the Don Valley (at today’s Glendon College) and eventually operated the tannery on the southwest corner of Yonge and Lawrence. Still another Lawrence — George — later ran a general store and post office on Yonge; likely on the Peter’s property.

William Lawrence, who was born the year his father Peter bought his first large farm, ended up marrying the granddaughter of Jesse Ketcham, an original setller in the area who went on to become one of Toronto’s first successful industrialists.

In 1865, William bought the north half of the old Hale estate for $8,400. It included the stately ‘Kingsland’ home on the crest of a hill, built by the previous owner, Samuel Huson. His wife eventually inherited The old Ketcham property next door (the south half of the original Hale farm) was eventually inherited by William’s wife.

He expanded the ‘Kingsland’ house and outlying buildings until they encompassed the entire inner circle of today’s Lawrence Crescent. An expansive treelined drive ran from Yonge Street up to the house. Today it is Lympstone Avenue.

His son, John, sold their estate in 1907 for $47,000 to Joseph Montgomery who, interestingly, flipped the property a year later to Erie Realty for $1 and “an unidsclosed consideration.” Soon after, it was pruchased by Wilfred Dinnick to form the centrepiece of his ambitious suburb development: Lawrence Park.

Even as elegant new homes began to dot the Lawrence Park enclave, the road along the northern boundary of the subdivision (Lawrence) was still a dirt road with meadow grass growing down the centre. It remained that way until the 1920s.

Photo: Harvest time at the John Lawrence farm on the northwest corner of Yonge and Lawrence about 1895. ©Toronto Public Library.

This article, written by Gary Schlee, originally appeared in the Spring 2006 issue of Community Life.

“When I was your age, we had to walk miles to school!”

The Bedford Park neighbourhood didn’t acquire its first public school until 1911 — conveniently enough, called Bedford Park School. So, what exactly did not-so-eager young minds do about getting a formal education in the 100 years before that?

They walked or rode long distances to get to schools in other communities.

The first opportunity to go to school within trekking distance came in 1807 when the area’s merchant — Seneca Ketcham — along other members of the Church of England, opened a school in Hogg’s Hollow. The one-room log cabin was located near the river behind today’s Miller Restaurant.

It was an opportunity that didn’t last long. In less than a decade it was an abandonned, derelict building.

However, another school opened in 1816, this time on the east side of today’s Bayview Avenue, just north of Eglinton. It doesn’t seem to have had a name, but may very well have had a number — the usual way of identifying schools in the 1800s. This academic initiative survived much longer, eventually being purchased by York District Council in 1847 and replaced with a brick building three years later.

This second school was the site of many heated debates about the merits of Egerton Ryerson’s concept of free schooling. Toronto businessman Jesse Ketcham (Seneca’s brother) probably visited the school on a number of occasions to champion the idea of accessible education funded by government. Many local farmers banded together to loudly protest such a radical idea.

In 1817, the walk to school was somewhat reduced for those choosing to attend a school that opened in the Lawrence-Bathurst area. Like the first school, it doesn’t seem to have been around for long.

The fourth school worth the hike was opened on Yonge Street at St. Clemens Avenue in 1842. Actually, it wasn’t worth the hike to most folks in the area. There was nothing wrong with the school. Farmers still didn’t put much stock in schooling that prevented farm chores from getting done. One year of schooling was considered more than enough.

A large brick building, called Eglinton School, was built on Erskine Avenue in the 1880s to replace the St. Clemens location. The school is now known as John Fisher.

Catholic and high school students had to wait to 20th century to find schools within arduous walking distance. North Toronto Collegiate opened in 1910, while St. Monica’s in the same area opened six years later. Lawrence Park and Blessed Sacrament wouldn’t arrive until decades later.

When Bedford Park School opened in 1911, it was the pride of the neighbourhood with its imposing facade and large hallways. (Those same lofty hallways became the bane of the school 85 years later when the Harris government’s space use formula forced the Toronto school board to consider shutting the building down.)

As the community grew, so did the school. In 1927, students attending class in portables transferred to the new John Wanless School west of Yonge. The portables were moved to Strathgowan Avenue to house still more Bedford Park students who waited five more years for the opening of Blythwood School.

It was a surge in enrolment caused by a community that was now more urban than rural. Universal education meant all children were attending school, not just a few who evaded helping with the crops.

This article, written by Gary Schlee, originally appeared in the Winter 2005 issue of Community Life.

The War of 1812

For nearly 20 years, the settlers around the town of York expected an invasion by the Americans. Yonge Street had been conceived in 1793 as a way for British troops to avoid the Great Lakes and the American border.

The War of 1812 made it official. Many farmers along the Yonge Street corridor headed down to Fort York to join the militia. And there they waited – 300 militia along with 300 soldiers and 100 Indians. By the winter of 1813, there still had been no invasion.

A growing number of grew impatient with the waiting, threatening to return to their farms. Even though they’d seen no action, some their neighbours had. Duke Kendrick, one of the original settlers near Yonge and Lawrence, was killed in battle in the Niagara Peninsula. Thomas Humberstone, who farmed at Yonge and Shepard, fought as a lieutenant in the Battle of Queenston Heights and helped carry General Brock’s body from the field. He was captured by the Americans and was a prisoner until the war ended. A son of Cornelius Von Nostrand, who farmed down in the Yonge Street hollow, was killed in the same battle.

Then, on April 26, 1813, 14 American ships appeared off the Lake Ontario shore. The Fort York garrison failed to stop a U.S. landing near the CNE grounds. After a gunner’s match accidentally ignited a powder box near the fort, killing a dozen men, the militia began to flee. Some headed straight back up Yonge to their farms. Others followed the soldiers, already in retreat, to the town of York. There they set fire to a large British ship in the harbour, to keep it out of American hands.

As part of the evacuation, the British soldiers blew up the fort’s powder magazine that showered the area with boulders, killing about 250 men, mostly Americans. In all, about 10 militia died in the battle at York.

The Americans, no doubt angered by their losses, looted the town of York and were likely the ones who set fire to the legislative building. Despite the loss and the carnage, the Americans soon left, their victory leaving little impact on the day-to-day activities in the region.

However, the battle did leave scars. Those who fought in the militia were regarded as heroes. Those who rooted for the Americans – and there were many – were labeled traitors. Henry Mulholland, a farmer on Bathurst north of Lawrence, was a veteran of the Stoney Creek and Lundy’s Lane battles.

Shortly after returning home from the York battle, Mulholland ran into John Finch (yes, the farmer whose name is on the avenue in North York) who was lugging ploughshares home that were given to him by the Americans. Finch castigated Mulholland for fighting the Americans, telling him he hoped the U.S. would now put an end to tyrannical British rule.

After the American soldiers left, Mulholland informed on Finch who was formally accused of aiding the enemy.

The painting of Fort York in 1804 is part of the Library and Archives Canada collection # C-014905.

This article, written by Gary Schlee, originally appeared in the Fall 2005 issue of Community Life.

Hill’s tavern reflects an imbibing society

Thomas Hill opened the neighbourhood’s first tavern – near today’s Toyota dealership on Yonge south of Lawrence – in 1811. It was the latest in a string of inns that now peppered the Yonge Street route up to Newmarket and beyond.

There was already a tavern almost within sight of Hill’s to the south, operated by John McDougall. And the widow Valliere had recently opened one down in the hollow to the north (Hogg’s).

Muddy Yonge already had more drinking holes than any other road in Upper Canada. The stump-infested character of the road no doubt contributed to the need to stop for a drink, then stop for another.

Hill originally settled (probably squatted) on the property in 1797. But when the lot was formally granted to someone else, he uprooted his family and headed up Yonge Street to what is now Sheppard Avenue. Hill opened a tavern there, but two years later bought the property he’d left and returned to this area. It was only a matter of time before he decided to open another tavern.

The enterprise was likely little more than a log cabin with a water trough out front for washing and for the horses. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of stale alcohol and smoke. Whiskey could be purchased for a penny a glass, or five cents for a grunt (the amount a person could drink without taking a breath). Adjoining the barroom was a tiny kitchen.

Most taverns were also inns, so there were likely a few beds in a small loft on the second floor. Travellers would often have to share a bed that boasted planks instead of a mattress. In the summer, there were mosquitoes to contend with. In the winter, the challenge was the sopping wet floor from the snow tracked in on people’s boots.

Drinking wasn’t limited to establishments like Hill’s. It was a rampant reality in many aspects of pioneer life. There was usually a jug of it on the table at every meal. Children grew up drinking whiskey. The men took it with them to the fields. A visitor at the time suggested that those who couldn’t hold their liquor should avoid Canada altogether.

Whiskey, the preferred drink of the working class and farmers, was cheap (25 cents a gallon), readily available and often lethal. Amateurs could – and did – make it at home. It was the octane that ignited building bees – these gatherings were eventually abandoned because the cost of drink and food exceeded the cost of simply bringing in efficient craftsmen.

Alcohol also fueled fights. Many of the assault charges in the early years had their roots in drunken behaviour. A positive side to this was the Stump Act of 1800 that required a convicted drunk to remove a stump from the road. As the drinking got worse, Yonge Street became smoother.

This article, written by Gary Schlee, originally appeared in the Summer 2005 issue of Community Life.