Ancestral Roofs

"In Praise of Older Buildings"

Wednesday, September 2, 2020

When Plywood was King


photo credit: Eric Pierce
 
 One day this summer, my brother happened by the site  of the new Port Picton development which is beginning to transform the landscape above Picton Bay, along busy Bridge Street. Turns out, he captured a moment that had immense significance for us, and none at all for the developers or the heavy equipment operators. 
photo credit: Eric Pierce

Within minutes, this ordinary family home, which housed our parents for a couple of happy decades in the 1980s and early 90s, and could have provided (affordable?) housing for others, was rubble. Nothing salvaged. Time is money. Turns out this simple raised (well, built into the slope, with the coveted 'walkout basement') bungalow is one of several along Bridge Street which ended up 'behind the fence' and demolished as part of the 'vision' for this part of town.

photo credit: Eric Pierce









I compared the aerial view of the property in this 1919 Picton Gazette article with its tabletop miniature concept of Monopoly houses created by the architects and I see a few other casualties. Trees. Promises of parks and walkways must compensate. The stately Claramount, lawyer Edward Young's 1903 Colonial Revival mansion ( Ancestral Roofs post DIY) is being refashioned as a spa clubhouse. The fate of  lovely red brick Taylor home sheltered among well-aged trees is unclear. It has been moved as has the little gatehouse beside the Claramount. The stone wall has been removed, to be rebuilt later?  I have my hopes pinned on local developer Cleave, who is reported to respect historic buildings.

Here's a Streetview link dated May 2018. I hope it helps you remember the street as it was, for a while yet.

I had a look at the Port Picton prospectus. "Stylish living...benchmark for luxury living." European style kitchens, engineered hardwood floors, porcelain, ceramic, quartz, pot lights, bright white walls and expanses of glass in the file photos. Promises for "luxury in a natural environment", a confidence that the vast assortment of wildlife will remain in the area, and the birds that call the ancient trees home will be unruffled. Feeling a sense of loss, somehow. This is a new lifestyle and design aesthetic. 

I like to think back to that plain unfashionable bungalow. Wood panelling, patterned indoor outdoor carpet, hand-built plywood kitchen cupboards. Sears curtains, ivy printed wallpaper, harvest gold appliances, floral print sofas from a local store, piles of books and tchotchkes,  hand-quilted treasures, family photos, furniture from the grandparents and beyond. Trees planted and pruned by dad, a neighbouring lot lovingly maintained.


 A handbuilt deck where Dad held dominion over the barbeque. I remember visits to that house from B.C., and shortly later, from our first home back in Ontario. Big and small Picton events - the Villeneuve castle explosion happened within view of the picture window. A visit from a dear mum from England. 





 Warm welcomes always, and lots and lots of celebratory dinners. Christmas fare stored in the attached garage, a custom pocket door to the cold room Mom's biggest convenience. Dad always working on a project or other in the basement. So many warm family memories. I look forward to sharing this with my brother, and hearing his recollections too.


I wish the newcomers at Port Picton well. I hope their lives are filled with warmth and love, in the shiny new world they're creating for themselves.





Monday, August 31, 2020

To the Manor - born and died


 I am indulging in demolition porn this afternoon, researching for a post. I'm studying images of the ruins of a home once dear to our family, lost to the Port Picton development. 

As I Googled through articles about demolitions, I came across this one on County Live, an account of the razing of the old Picton hospital, which reformed as Picton Manor, a nursing home in its later years, stood vacant for several more, and has now given way to a new development. 

Down this rabbit hole for a while. I was born here, recall having my tonsils out here, spending time with on-duty mom when she returned to nursing at the care home, and visiting Georgia, a dear family friend, when she made Picton Manor her final home. 

Must drop by the old 'hood one day, to see if there is progress on promised housing. The town is certainly hopping with building projects - doubt I'll recognize it in 10 years.

I wrote about Picton Manor a few years ago. I'll let the post Life Cycles speak for itself. Enough to say, I was born in this old hospital turned Manor, and something in me died when it was lost. I'll go pay my respects to its ruins in the newspaper account.

Where's Wolford?

 Not too long ago, we actually went somewhere. The recent dearth of AR posts attests to a long pandemic self-isolation, when even a solo drive in the country felt like civil disobedience.

We spent a delightful week at a secluded cottage on the Rideau River and although we passed three of the days immobile like cats in the sun watching the river run, we did go on a couple of visits to favourite sites on the UNESCO World Heritage Site Rideau locks system, and to others we hadn't met yet. A quick shufty online mentioned a church of historical interest, Wolford Chapel. And wasn't Wolford Chapel just down the road, a nearby dot on the map? We began scouting around for an historic stone church, further dignified by a bright blue Ontario Heritage plaque. 

Wolford Chapel is associated with Sir John Graves Simcoe, the first Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada, 1791 - 1796, back when we needed imported vice-regal authority to manage our fledgling country on behalf of the British Crown.

We found this tidy Carpenter Gothic at the corner, and did a quick recce. No plaque. No suggestion that there might have been an earlier stone church clad in wood siding, after an ill-advised improving decision at some point. No confidence that the great Simcoe would have been buried in this bucolic farming country.




Ah - no similarity at all, actually. A quick return online, and the truth emerged. The photo at this link explains everything. Ah, well, it does raise a few additional questions, but we'll come to that. Wolford Chapel is on what remains of the Simcoe estate in Honiton, Devon, England. The chapel was built of local limestone and roofed with slate, in 1802, at Simcoe's behest. Sadly, Simcoe died (and was buried here) upon his return to England after his Upper Canada service, before heading off for similar responsibilities in India.

the real Wolford Chapel (Wikipedia. Credit: Steve Kieretsu)
The church remained with the estate during its eventual subdivision and selling-off. The most recent owner, Sir Geoffrey Harmsworth, likely not wanting to be lumbered with its maintenance, had a brainwave. In 1966, 160 years after Simcoe's death, Harmsworth donated the chapel to Canada - the Sir John Graves Simcoe Memorial Foundation, actually. So Premier John Robarts received the deed on behalf of the people of Ontario, and in 1982 the Ontario Heritage Trust acquired the property. Dedicated English volunteers maintain the chapel on behalf of the province. Don't anyone tell Doug Ford.

Research for this post has rekindled my interest in Elizabeth Posthuma Simcoe, who not surprisingly is also buried at the chapel in Devon, along with many of her many children. She enjoyed her stay in Upper Canada with hubby. Admittedly, it was likely not a life of many hardships, as was life for many of her contemporaries, newly arrived in the bush. But she distinguished herself with an enthusiasm for life - as a diarist, artist, traveller and centre of a brilliant social life. Her delicate watercolours and sketches, with that soft English complexion, create a fascinating look at early Toronto (it was Sir John, after all, who selected the location for York and the fledgling government.) One of Elizabeth's watercolours depicts her home, Castle Frank.
Castle Frank with fluffy Constable trees - Elizabeth Simcoe
Archives of Ontario


Have you ever wondered about the Castle at Castle Frank Road, Toronto? Or are you like me, who on the rare occasions I've been driving east on Bloor, positioning myself for the needle's eye that marks the descent to the Don Valley Parkway, preoccupied with "I'm going to die" thoughts? Perhaps, if you've ever stood around waiting for the train at the Castle Frank subway station (no castle that) you might have pondered the name. 

Turns out, there is a plaque on the surprisingly leafy grounds of Rosedale Heights School of the Arts (risen phoenix-like from the former Castle Frank High School) at 711 Bloor St. East.  The OHT plaque commemorates Elizabeth Posthuma (so named by lugubrious relatives to honour the recent death of both parents) Simcoe, diarist and artist, who so enjoyed the freedoms of Upper Canada. And the plaque marks the approximate location of the couple's home in the wilderness, poised at the top of the bluff overlooking the Don River.

Saturday, April 11, 2020

Pier Influence

Brighton Palace Pier
Brighton UK holiday, March 2019. Needs must, and the trudge to the pier happened. I've always been fascinated by the Victorian pleasure piers - nothing in my childhood remotely like them. Blackpool and others occasionally slunk into adult conversation, like slightly sinister characters in British novels. Later, Skegness Pier in Lincolnshire peopled reminiscences from my dear one's British childhood.
the skeletal West Pier on the far horizon, far left
Pleasure piers boomed during Victoria's reign, as people's horizons widened due to increasing prosperity and mobility. I talked about the new leisure phenomenon in this Australia-based post - though our horizons aren't quite so wide this time.

According to this 5-Minute History site, wonderful for the vintage photographs, painful for the appalling advertising, the pier idea started small. Over time, with the promise of shillings to be made, the sea-reaching structures, originally landing stages for tour boats, grew into "complex entertainment venues with ornate pavilions, delicate ironwork and exotic lighting."

Looking at these images, I am astonished at the lengths the builders went to - and at the tenacity of the structures constructed far out into the ocean, as if daring the sea to do its worst. And sometimes it did. In 1896 a raging storm destroyed the work in progress, almost ending the pier before it began.

By 1850 there were a dozen piers throughout the country, the age's great thing, cast iron, providing reliable footings, although the wood frame confections built atop them were less viable, many succumbing to fire. By 1900, over 80 pleasure piers lured the masses to the seaside. Some retained their jetty jauntiness, others were outfitted with theatres, bars and restaurants, domed pavilions splendidly adorned.

Only in England does this look like a beach day. Or a beach, for that matter. But on the April day we visited, people were enjoying the seaside. Den was intrigued by the breakwater's construction so we clambered down to sea level.

And that's when hagstones entered the conversation. Our family collects 'lucky rocks'. Might you know about them? Our mother started the tradition of looking for these smooth beach rocks pierced by tiny holes, Lake Ontario's limestone shingle being an especially good hunting ground.  In some circles, they're called hagstones, with Druidic connections. I have maybe a dozen 'lucky rocks' in bowls and baskets, any container that will hold luck. Included is a bright orange lucky stone Den found on Brighton Beach.

Back to pier history. The world's oldest pleasure pier opened in 1814, in the town of Ryde, Isle of Wight. Although we managed to cram an exhausting number of IOW destinations into our few days, we did not stroll that particular pier.

But here's quick overview - although the length is astonishing, and its age impressive, there's not much magic here, IMHO.


Now these photos don't contain any magic, either, taken as they were on a chilly March day. Then again, they wouldn't have any appeal to me in the pale sunshine of a July English day.

Brighton Palace Pier is the darling of day-trippers still today, though shorn of any trappings of high culture it might once have had,  its theatre and reading rooms demolished, an amusement dome replacing them.


"Our war-bride aunt" as we are prone to calling her, recently recalled going dancing at Brighton Pier with our uncle, from her home/his army training camp in Surrey.

Not a dancing day. For me, the appeal lay in searching out vestiges of the historic pier, anachronistic bits of cast iron, timeless planking, the endless sea. This Arthur Lloyd gallery of ephemera and post cards helps.

The pier's own website manages to include a bit of history along with exciting news about rides and attractions ("wristbands here, save 25%,") food and drink, and an Instagram gallery.

Incidentally, even the academics are having a look at the pier phenom, though whether this project survived past 2016 is something I haven't pursued, in favour of travelling further back in time.


Brighton Palace Pier is the third pier built in the city. The Royal Suspension Chain Pier preceded it, built in 1823 and destroyed by a storm in 1896. It looked like an Egyptian inspired suspension bridge reaching out into the sea, from what I can tell from this Brighton History Museum site. The Brighton Palace Pier was its replacement (things got messy, but we won't go into that here.)

West Pier, RIP
I am strangely moved by the story of the West Pier, visible as a tiny skeleton on the horizon at the left of this photo. It was  opened in 1866, just offshore from Regency Square (in fact residents of the square objected to its construction, destined as it was to bring the daytrippers and who knows what sort of people to their shores. Down-market, darling.)

The West Pier and the extinct Chain Pier were contemporaries. A concert hall was added on the West Pier in 1916; an astonishing 2 million visitors enjoyed the pier between 1918 and 1919.

Things have gone badly for the West Pier. In the first decade of 2000, major sections collapsed, two fires 'happened', and "structured demolition", whatever that is, took place in 2010, according to Wikipedia. The skeletal dome visible in this Streetview, er, view was what we saw last spring. (Incidentally, if you turn 180 degrees from that capture, you get a fine view of the Regency Square.)

And were you to visit Brighton today, you could take a 'flight' on British Airways i360, a revolving viewing tower offering splendid views, and champagne; check out this promotional video. Ironically, the tower didn't figure in any of our holiday photos, how can something so tall fall below one's radar? Not our kind of thing. Sadly, at the very end of the endlessly repeating loop, you can see the rusting frame of West Pier, once upon a time, the next big thing.

Friday, April 3, 2020

Back to Square One

It's true. This blog and I spend an inordinate amount of time in Brighton, Ontario. I did try, back in December, to balance things out with a bit of time in the UK's Brighton, commenting on the ridiculously posh (former) horse stables at Brighton Pavilion. But things got away from me (there's a horse allusion somewhere, just can't harness it) and we charged on to Derbyshire, and Sydney, Australia.

So here's another wander through that other Brighton, from our visit last spring. Our AirBnB stay was a 40 minute walk from Brighton Pier, so each exploration further afield in the breezy damp was a bit of a forced march. But there was this Regency destination.

Appropriately, our longest march took us to the site of an army camp erected on a former grassy field during the time of George III. That military presence prompted a breathless response from flirtatious Lydia Bennett (Pride and Prejudice.) "Brighton comprises every possibility of earthly happiness"...with its streets "covered with officers" and "all the glory of the camp." (no, dear reader, I did not scour the pages of Austen, this was readily available on a history panel in the somewhat neglected gardens, removed and reinstated in recent years for the installation of an underground parking garage.)

And it was not military history, or Jane Austen which brought us to this place, it was my dogged determination to see Regency Square, although the very name exudes Austen heroines and their tiny excitements.

Regency Square was a speculative residential development of 69 terraced houses built between 1818 and 1832, three sides open to the sea and the now-tragic West Pier on the fourth, a once-private fenced garden in the centre. The Square was prestige, the elite gathered.
Here's an opportunity to cruise the square courtesy of Streetview. One thing you'll notice (and a thing that shocked me, as I had forgotten) is how the busy traffic, street and underground parking, and proliferation of tradesmen's vehicles detracted from the once-serene setting of 200 years ago.

So I think you might appreciate how difficult it was to get these photos! Thank you.

bracing sea air
The Square is one of the best examples of Regency architecture in Brighton, according to one source. Who's to argue? Traditional town terrace-house style, most of the facade clad in cream-painted stucco, with a few bits of cream brick.

Other Regency elements: bow fronts, Classical detailing on entrance porches, tripartite bow windows (the better to see the sea), curved cast iron balconies and verandah style canopies, stucco channeled  to simulate stone, cornices and parapets, slate roofs, wonderful chimney stacks.

Regency Square conveys serenity, balance, symmetry - refinement. Class, quietly stated.

The architects were the father-son team of Amon and Amon Henry Wilds, who created much of the Regency character of Brighton.

The Regency Colonnade (passageway, in our language) leaks traffic out the northeast corner of the Square (a U, technically) , which the Regency Tavern has occupied since 1870.

 Put yourself in our place, "Shepherd Neame, Britain's Oldest Brewer" on tap. "Sunday roast, award-winning pies."
The neighbouring Russell Square was lovely too, but lacked a single sightline to encourage me to take away a photo.


Regency Tavern
There's a book, and I must tell you I've been tempted. Anything to get me back here. This interviewer (I'm thinking he won the elocution prize at school, and never got over it) speaks with the author of the book. I think it's a charming interview that gives insights into the people who love this place.


This may have to do, in lieu of a return trip. Going through the site would take almost as long. It's the James Grey collection on the Regency Society website, and contains about 7500 photos of Brighton and area. Lots to see and do.

But the last word on the subject of Regency Square goes to Wikipedia. Not one of your "this is a stub" or "disambiguation required" sort of entries. I think I used up my entire annual donation to Jimmy Wales' project, just reading this account. It's clearly the work of a student of the Square, a detailed description of each and every section of the complex.

So if I've left any unanswered questions, click there. Or be square.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Cobblestone Contretemps

It needs to be said, and  a worthy project in New York State, the Cobblestone Info Base,  is finally about to clear up the confusion.

The assertion: "with the exception of one or two, all cobblestone buildings known to exist in Canada are located in the vicinity of Paris, Ontario", which has long irritated me, pops up occasionally in print. For now, at least, it appears on page endearingly titled Ontario Province Structures at Cobblestonemuseum.org.

There is more to Ontario's cobblestone heritage , than Paris. Of course, we'll always have Paris.

But we'll also have Airport Parkway and Roblin Road and Harrington Road, and a goodly number of other Hastings County spots.



Oddly, the next link down the museum's page connects the reader to a number of photos of Belleville area homes, all cobblestoned neat as you please, and a few properly identified.

It's curious, but it is reflective of a situation in the process of being rectified.

Hastings County is home to around a dozen cobblestone structures, thank you very much, and we are proud of the fact. Take that, Paris. 

I've written about this before, many times, in 2015, and back in 2012 and a few other places - the blog is searchable, so if you're a cobblestone fan, feel free to leave the group at this point.







I've even resorted to print media, producing a piece for Nancy and John Hopkins' fine Hastings County magazine Country Roads: Classic Rock. Great name, isn't it? Can't take the credit, drat.



boulders, not cobbles at work here
But thanks to a scholarly enterprise by the folks at The Cobblestone Museum, all this is about to be righted.

I received an email on this blog from Gregory Lawrence, based in New York state, who has devoted some 1500 hours of pro-bono work to identify and index almost ten thousand photos of cobblestone structures across the USA and Canada. Recently he's been working through a 1980s collection of 2250 photos willed to the archives of the Landmark Society of Western NY by the late Martin and Sheila Wolfish of Toronto (and I thought I was a cobblestone nut.) Some of their photos are of Hastings County structures.

Gregory reached out (love the way blogging connects the like-minded) to ask if I might recognize any of his orphans, and I am delighted to say that all but one was very familiar.

So, what remains is to identify by address and GPS coordinates, of the few cobblestones among this collection which remain unknown to the Cobblestone Info Base project. For now.
Recognize any or all of these? You may be scratching your head right now, knowing you've seen one of these rare and unique cobblestone homes in your travels around Belleville, and trying to place it.

I'm purposely leaving them unnamed at this point, to underscore the importance, the scale,  (and the frustration) of the work Greg is doing.


no sense looking, demolished by Sears 
Here's the official description of the project, all partners correctly credited:

"The Cobblestone Info Base is a repository for all known and found information on cobblestone structures in New York State, being created pro-bono on behalf of the Cobblestone Society and Museum, Gaines, NY and the Landmark Society of Western NY by Gregory Lawrence. Some structures in other states and Canada are also included as they become known to us. The Cobblestone Info Base is now in official release status and is beginning testing through the Museum's website as a virtual library. To date about 800 cobblestone structures with about 5000 images are included, each structure having a unique web page. The core of the Info Base contains all of the content of "The Cobblestone Buildings in New York State, a Survey by Robert A. Roudabush 1976-1980" and the "Cobblestone Buildings of North American" a blog by Richard Palmer of Syracuse, NY."

Cool, yes? Proud to be a small part of this. A huge project built on small round stones.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Neo-Napanee

We've been watching the former Gibbard offices and factory in the years since its closure. While accepting the inevitability of decline, we've been sustained by the promise of a renewal, a reinvention, a repurposing of the historic place. A few Sundays ago, we had a good look at the Gibbard future.

Nothing exudes confidence more than an "over 80% sold" announcement papered over the concept billboard of a new vision for an old, unused industrial building. Especially one with the great history, and deep foundations of the former Gibbard factory in Napanee.

We've visited from time to time, always mindful that a new use must be found for the venerable furniture factory whose time came, back in 2008. This video tribute honours Gibbard's proud history.
former showroom, west side, ivy removed 
An ascerbic viewer comment on the video  summed up the feelings of many: "now the building is being gutted like a fish." But I am hopeful that something fine will endure.

Here's a tour provided by some urban explorers. Although I don't identify with their approach, they did capture some fascinating photos of the interior of some of the buildings, prior to demolition.

On our last visit we had a wander for ourselves - strictly on public property. I must admit, it was difficult to see the piles of old brick (for sale incidentally, proceeds to the local hospital), twisted rebar and chunks of broken stone. And the huge hole and raw land that once was Gibbard industry.

a new view of the Napanee railway bridge
But it was fascinating to peer down through layers of limestone, pondering the concrete floor that had been laid to support the heavy building and its heavy equipment. The energy put into creating this huge complex is being released.

Several iconic bits remain. The tall brick tower, its cast iron door propped up in another location - to be reunited one day?




So what rises in its place? This is the website of the Gibbard District, which communicates the residential/community space vision very enthusiastically -  given that it was created to sell us part of it. A very urban concept will be forming up in the shell of the former factory.

East end Napanee will have to hustle to catch up to the bold styling, it's a bit of a wasteland. But the rest of the town is very appealing, with a great waterfront pub, fashion shops drawing in the Montreal to Toronto crowd, and lots of heritage architecture. And the wonderful Springside Park Trail. Here's a sample.





Here are some links to media accounts and reflections on the project, a Kingston Whig article, a worthy e-History project, and an entrepreneurial approach to  the old-growth wood from the demolished factory.