Growing up in Toronto, 1910s-30s, by Eileen Grace Ridsdill Farrants

From MemoryArchive

Who: Eileen Grace Ridsdill Farrants
What: Growing up in Toronto
When: 1910s, 1920s, 1930s
Where: Toronto

This is not meant to be a chronicle of some “good old days", but simply Toronto when growing up here in the teens, twenties and thirties. Old stories and historical facts still heard that the town of Port Credit had been destined to become the big city instead of Toronto. Their large natural harbor and long a haven for all boats and fishing craft in Lake Ontario created the foregone conclusion, but Toronto's Indian meaning of meeting place must have had some influence to progress and earn status of a city. Always remembered for its trees and churches, both as important and shaded each other! Any view from Toronto's "rim of the basin" boundaries a forest of foliage and "holy" spires. Trees can still be dominant despite many which have disappeared and sky-high buildings now hide the churches. We do always cling to our own neighborhoods and for good reason, but honestly did stray further away by horse and buggy. The old Lake Shore Road by Sunnyside Park on Lake Ontario a favourite destination. Often rough water overflowed the roadbed, horses' hoofs and wagon wheels. Forever etched on the mind and never forget those Sunday outings. Then much of the lake's shoreline an invitation for picnics on sandy beaches and had to be popular to save wear and tear of our horses. Toronto's high elevation too tough for them to climb most hills, and few early automobiles could do any better! Besides, only Yonge Street had dared to extend beyond the city limits and Hogg's Hollow hill like Mt. Everest. Henry Ford's first marvels needed towlines and any passengers advised to walk.

Bathurst Street, to be sure, must be a familiar traffic artery to most residents of Toronto and its suburbs, and believe it owes the name to a Lord Bathurst. My original family home address for many years beside Dupont Street, now after an absence of 48 years am back on this same street with a Thornhill, Ontario, address. Maps and directories always proclaimed the existence far beyond St. Clair Avenue, but only a stone's throw away Cedarvale's old wooden bridge had been condemned as unsafe and closed. The rest of Bathurst Street isolated and only reached by several round-a-bout routes. Years passed before another bridge was undertaken and always an argument there was not the necessity to warrant the cost. Same old ring whatever the century, and finally the dangerous eyesore sight of the old crumbling bridge remains aroused some intelligent sense. It is probably not a gospel fact and never mentioned now, but stories once circulated that what is now downtown Toronto was completely covered by Lake Ontario and over time slowly receded, hence the hilly formation which surrounds the city.

More attention is given today recalling older times and researching the past, winning battles to preserve vintage homes and other historic buildings. Perhaps economic times not always too rosy clouded such thoughts and first World War 1914/1918 which I dimly remember, a period of years recovering, only to be faced with a depression and still another world war, left little time for reminiscence. Strange, but something new revives the old, lest we forget playing “hide and seek”, “hop-scotch” on any piece of cement sidewalk smothered with lines and squares drawn by chalk and making “peep” shows in shoe boxes to be seen for the price of a glass alley or several clay marbles. Rubber balloons have never gone out of fashion, but we prized them when bought as a “treat” at picnics and special events. Gloried in a five-cent ride on Centre Island’s lone amusement the Merry-Go-Round, always missed grabbing the brass ring for a free ride. Toronto Islands loved by everybody and well deserve all praise and compliments received by our Parks Commission. Our favourite place for picnics and poor weather never as bad there across the Bay, might have been our enthusiasm and fun and never minded a wet bench to enjoy sandwiches, cake, drinks. Covered pavilions provided to be protected from rain or hot sun, and free hot water always available to make tea, 50¢ deposit for loan and use of enamel jug. “Hot Dogs” and “Hamburgers” still not introduced on the food circuit, only sold ice cream cones, vanilla and strawberry, and eventually french fried potatoes would be the first snack at outdoor booths. The “old” Exhibition had this same label when we first remember it and walking ankle deep in course sawdust on the Midway. No asphalt walkways and meant to be more comfortable than dirt or else mud, so preferred shoes coated and heavy with this dusty mixture. Those elaborate Dufferin Street gates were the main entrance, long before the present Princes’ Gates on the east side of the grounds. Not everything changes and the annual Fair is a good example, only that certain buildings have been replaced and food and refreshments have many disguises. “Try-Your-Luck” Midway attractions are not so different either and always a “Fish-Pond”, but perhaps the coveted kewpie doll prize will remain in mothballs as a collector’s bounty. Toronto’s most durable entertainment every August and many generations have come and gone since its beginning to display farm and agricultural equipment.

As we pack on the years school days are never quite forgotten nor the teachers, disliked or beloved. More splinters in our ancient desks and fingers dipped in inkwells, penholders with replaceable nibs the only writing implement, lead pencils only to be used for certain lessons and projects. Real slate blackboards I doubt exist today and any pupil, as we were called, the envy of their class if chosen to clean them and also the chalk brushes. Our school on Palmerston Avenue north of Bloor Street has been replaced several times, still bearing the name of “Palmerston”. Missing and long gone from the neighbourhood the many giant chestnut trees which supplied us with strings of nuts, the trick to break apart another as it was held dangling by a sparring partner. Present Boards of Education have learned their lessons too and significantly more broad-minded today. How guilty and once so grossly mistaken that all children out of the same mold and could and should be taught at the same pace. Made no allowances at all for different minds and capabilities, and of course teachers trained and instructed to think and act in the same manner. I detested sewing and dietician classes which others adored including your own Mother, Some terms taught at our school, then switched to Essex Street School, near Christie Pitts (Willowvale Park) for economic reasons – same excuse as now! I did learn to sew a French seam and custard without lumps, but dipping your Mother’s red “pigtails” in the inkwell more fun.

One glaring injustice that Entrance graduation never granted unless we passed in every subject. Arithmetic was a horror for me and every examination tied me in knots, no recommendation of any kind despite over eighty average in all other exams. One year at Central Technical School I easily passed on overall marks to gain the Entrance, and then attended Shaw’s Business College before joining the work force. A small majority ever completed regular High School four year courses, seemed to be an accepted fact that only University bound students remained and no secret that the shortage of money responsible. There has to be much envy today by us how government assistance programs educate to the heart’s desire with few demands, yet there is a plague of illiterates we find difficult to stamp out. Every generation benefits by something added and new ideas, but all nurse a nostalgia of a certain loss replaced for the sake of progress.

Parklands are a treasure of every town and city, Toronto blessed with a rich share as well as numerous valleys hugging creeks, streams, rivers and waterways we must always preserve. We are indebted to old families who willed their properties to our city, notably High Park and Sunnybrook and others better known wherever our roots. Our early times remember them in a more natural state, but rough undergrowth and trees and shrubs gone wild only meant for rugged explorers. The public only discovered and enjoyed when a wave of horticultural ideas introduced colourful flowerbeds, grassy slopes and navigable pathways, plus comfortable seats and benches. The original donars of Sunnybrook Park on Bayview Avenue may give their blessings to the Government’s own decision to build that hospital on this park during the second world war, but regrettable citizens never really been made completely aware this park still belongs to them and not the private domain it now seems to present! Take a stroll through Queen’s Park and every step some early Toronto history in the stately colleges of the University of Toronto. Perhaps certain surplus land and for reasons unknown never used for dwellings could have produced many lesser small parks in different neighbourhoods. For instance, our fondly remembered Vermont Park on Vermont Avenue west of Bathurst Street below Dupont Street. Always a short cut to and from school, a place to meet and be kept amused by skipping, playing ball and skating every winter. The whole neighborhood, parents and friends congregated on the ice which adhered many to this park for years, especially when tennis courts and a lawn bowling green were added for summer recreation. Vermont still remains and now larger as old houses have been removed and for many years has contained a recreation centre, including swimming pool, for young people. Originally started by Anglican St. Alban’s Church on Howland Avenue through efforts of an ex-policeman Wm. Bolton, who had been a classmate when we all attended Sunday School together. He established it over thirty years ago when there was a then a growing concern that too many juveniles wandered the streets and trouble brewed. Some parks were early dump sites around the city and Christie Pitts on Bloor Street, which I have already mentioned, was a burning smouldering eyesore to several generations. Any vacant field became a convenient spot to dispose of garbage and also attracted treasure hunters who never left empty-handed. Valleys served the same purpose and today beauty spots for scenic driving and busy transportation. The Don Valley once separated Toronto and access off of Bloor Street abruptly ended just past Sherbourne Street. To reach the extreme east and meant travelling miles by street car as far south as Gerrard Street, and finally in the 1920 era engineering skill bridged Bloor Street with the viaduct to reach Danforth Avenue at Broadview Avenue. The designer had great foresight and made provisions that some day a subway or train could operate under this viaduct. It was strenuously, almost violently opposed and he was scorned for thinking and suggesting this could ever be done or happen. He fought and refused to budge and won against great opposition and every argument, and when the Bloor Subway did become a reality so many years later and of course after his death, only the track rails needed to be added to the viaduct.

St. Alban’s Church Sunday School classes held in main church seats and pews, a more appropriate hall and meeting rooms came later but sitting near the altar or beside the organ pipesmore familiar to us. Annual summer picnics by all Churches almost as ritualistic as the Prayer Book, and we always felt privileged when treated to trips across Lake Ontario to Port Dalhusie. Then thriving summer resort community and amusement park which is now part of St. Catharines and seldom ever mentioned. Richmond Hill’s Bond Lake and Centre Island other places, and free street car transportation by private owner R.J. Fleming before taken over by present city T.T.C. All cars carried baby carriages hooked on the rear and nothing every rejected for a five cent fare. Wore our best starched white clothes, rain or shine, and races and novelty athletic contests always the highlight. Your Mother and I keen competitors, won prizes every race and praise the Lord for those exciting memories. Guess we never thought of the responsibility the teachers, Minister and parents gladly accepted to feed, entertain and keep us safe and out of mischief! Every summer most Toronto churches advertised their picnics by banners on the street and of course necessary to reserve transportation and park space well ahead.

An early taste of politics was fun for all the family and every election a night out on the town, young and old. Voting results only possible through our three Toronto newspapers, the Star, Globe and Mail and Empire, who provided huge outdoor screens when polls closed in the early evening. Large audiences standing on the sidewalks, cheers and boos, depending what candidates winning and losing, standings of their different Parties. Friendly arguments and opinions between friends and foes, speak your mind was everybody’s pleasure and often more interesting than pictures of frozen-faced politicians. R.B. Bennett and Mackenzie King familiar Prime Ministers, Mitchell Hepburn, Drew and Drury Ontario Premiers. No favourites mattered to our young minds, just amusing to mix with the crowd and watch the screen like a magic lantern. Weather had no effect and often frigid and snowing or else showers and heavy rain. Anyway, stayed till final results and the newspapers next day only stale news!

Fire reels commanded and never ignored our earnest attention, not the actual fires unless we could see or smell smoke. The roar of galloping shining horses and wheels of the (enormous) steaming engine wagons a gripping event. Colorful ladders, rubber hose and Indian style tomahawk axes striking equipment and firemen with well protected clothing standing and clinging to wagon railings. (Next time you have an opportunity to view and study an antique fire engine, my description could be better understood). Shrill clanging bells being struck like a drummer performing in an orchestra and magnificent horses. Firehalls designed to blend with private homes in any neighbourhood, meticulously landscaped and spotless housekeeping by proud fire-fighters. I quite believe all present firemen carry on their tradition of courage and bravery and my late husband Gordon’s Grandfather, an engineer, spent many years in Toronto as one of their members.

Listening to the first radio crystal set was my rare fascinating experience. Belonged to your late Grandfather Edwin Kirby who proudly demonstrated it while visiting the family home at 537 Dupont Street about the year 1923. The time stands out as only yesterday, patiently teasing the piece of crystal entwined with a mass of wires on the sill of their dining room bay window. At that moment how could we visualize the potential of this invention, it was already established as phenomenal, even later sets with tubes and operated by large storage batteries. Woe to anyone failing to turn off when not being used and wasting batteries which had to be recharged at regular intervals. Ted Rogers of Toronto introduced the first batteryless radio, and still an important name in the field of all communication and broadcasting. A privilege to hear a set in any home and Sunday evenings became special family gatherings beside the loudspeaker. A sour public admonished the government for assessing an annual license fee of $5.00, which was finally dropped when costing the government more to collect than they received! Why any present day suggestions to tax television owners instantly dies on the vine.

Silent movies and picnics might not have been entertainment on a grand scale, but left lasting impressions. Saturday afternoon wild west serials we lived and breathed, only kids attended but adults had to buy our tickets and our Dad came to the rescue. Always a piano and pianist present for sound effects and actually the action spoke louder than words on the screen. Don’t think we ever read them too attentively and only the pictures important, films would break and roars from the audience until movie could resume. Only sound effects the first step, then music and singing before all pictures became “talkies” to distinguish them. Preposterous you may think, but some movie buffs resented the introduction of sound and talking pictures, and throughout the city small neighborhood shows stuck with the silent ones until dwindling and poor attendance either changed their minds or closed theatres. Never say “die” must have been the reason our old family Vermont Bathurst movie across the street re-opened featuring popular silent movies, the original owner and Manager dreamed he could beat the odds but met with dismal failure. The building still exists with apartments above and store space below. Who could ever visualize that some of the old vintage silent movies would appear on our present television sets?

Hillcrest Racetrack filled our pockets with losing betting tickets! During this sporting season we daily collected them as racing fans tossed on our street corner as they awaited Dupont Streetcars. Today the T.T.C. car barns and offices occupy this old racetrack site corner of Bathurst Street and Davenport Road. Once this property was a rich thriving farm and the owner named “McNamara” would only agree to sell on condition he could continue farming. Racing interests so very much coveted it they agreed to this request and always a common sight to see this farmer tilling, seeding, weeding and harvesting in the centre field as races in progress on the outside! Davenport Road was either dust or mud depending on the weather and owes its name to a farmhouse built in 1797 on the hill overlooking this country road by an ensign in the Queen’s Rangers. (See attached Star story) Also on this road, a lick and a dash west of Bathurst, an old landmark remains, Wychwood Park. Can be instantly recognized by its entrance gates to a private domain of old individual homes, which in some families have belonged to them for several generations. Entry or exit can also be made to Wychwood Avenue south of St. Clair Avenue. As you can conclude, the whole territory once the land grant estate of one settler whose home was called “Wychwood” and prominent Canadians have dwelt there, including the late Marsahall McLuhan. Davenport Road was our memory lane sitting beside the roaring flames of the blacksmith’s anvil in view of Casa Loma on Spadina Road hill. It has finally come to pass that Toronto’s finest and grandest attraction will enjoy the surroundings the castle deserves. A luxurious neighborhood of homes and apartments is planned to replace an old and run-down appearance below Casa Loma. Often were my thoughts if the residents there really liked the big contrast and felt honoured. Horrible to recall that some city fathers once suggested demolishing this castle, after it became the responsibility of Toronto when the owner Sir Henry Pellatt could no longer pay their assessed taxes. Selfishly eyed the property for gain by selling for other purposes and strong public opposition seemed to no avail. At the eleventh hour a saviour appeared when the Kiwanis Club suggested operating Casa Loma as a tourist attraction and footing the annual tax expense, which is still the same happy story and every year tops the list as a tourist preference. Strange to relate though that over all the years the castle grounds and any gardens had been badly neglected but obviously hidden by the picturesque stone wall. At last it is being rescued by the Garden Club of Toronto who have been given permission to perform their transformation.

Sunday afternoon walks as far as Casa Loma rewarded us with many views of the city, distinctive homes, factories, schools and different neighborhoods. So a cannon could have been shot up an down empty and quiet Yonge Street on this particular day of every week! At least it was given some significance and family dinners with relations and friends sadly forgotten now. Wherever we lived always an attraction and everybody sampled Sunnyside boardwalk beside the lake. Long gone and all the amusements including roller-coaster and first place to serve potato chips. No way to go except by street cars and the huge Sunnyside Swimming Pool served most of the city. Old weekend shopping, labour and business hours may explain some present day antagonism towards Sunday shopping. The majority of small neighborhood stores always open late Saturday nights and also the custom downtown except Eaton’s and Simpsons. There was a period of years when Eaton’s alone closed completely every Saturday during summer months and for another length of time they and Simpsons only open until one o’clock Saturdays the year round. Most business offices just as active on Saturdays until noon and one o’clock and only school principals, teachers and staff the five day privileged toilers! During the last war my own father finally rebelled about late Saturday nights. One weekend he closed his store window blind at six o’clock and eventually over the course of the war years this decision was copied by all store owners. Every generation has different ideas and makes more mistakes for the next one.

It’s nice to remember once the Royal York Hotel was the largest hotel in the British Empire and still contributes a prized tradition of its name. It replaced the old Queen’s Hotel, an all wooden place of distinction and well known to world travelers and honored guests. Mourned for awhile until its successor became a reality, and now the much newer Park Plaza at Bloor and Avenue Road has undergone extensive alterations. This hotel or more so the corner on which it sits can boast a different face of history. Long before the start of the last war, in the early thirties, the decision to erect it was considered a financial suicide. Hotels only meant for the downtown and business metropolis near railways, not even bus services expected to provide them with business. Unfortunately, the person or persons who had a vision for the future had no supporters and exhausted their funds and credit when only the steel framework was completed. The depression was rearing its ugly head when money of any kind was becoming an oddity, but regardless not anybody could understand the wisdom of a hotel so far out of bounds. For more than a decade that cribwork of iron and steel was merely a stark reminder that such a project was so foolish and should never have been considered at any time. Finally the City issued an ultimation for the completion or else demolition of the unsightly skeleton, which had the desired results and new interests produced the Bloor Street goldmine named “Park Plaza”. It instantly set the mood for that Museum corner, attracted colorful clientele and certainly some who could or would (not) visualize the potential of this uptown hotel. Several blocks north on Avenue Road hippie haven of Yorkville sprang to life and complemented each other! Time erased this fad or society but not before it had re-introduced an old historic neighborhood once a suburb of Toronto. Curiousity and fancy had been aroused by this notoriety of the much younger generation to pave the way to the present fashionable and expensive boutique selective shopping community. The same parallel as took place in Toronto’s old cabbagetown, once the pride of early days in the city, then vacated for wealthier ideas and now rediscovered and rundown homes restored. Different classes must have their own importance not lost or wasted, just a slow process of revelation.

Crime and terror we abhor and the policeman on his beat an old familiar figure. We did not associate these officers of the law as in the pursuit of their duty, more as a friends on any street or neighborhood. Nevertheless, they gave us a sense of safety, only carried a short stick and flashlight. Late at night most store doors and locks routinely checked, as well as private residences if any reasons to be suspicious of certain extenuating circumstances. Lately there has been some resumption of these police duties and proving effective preventing intended break-ins and robbery, perhaps more serious crimes. Always accustomed too seeing these uniformed bicycle riders, their neatly pressed trousers clasped by round metal clips to avoid uncovered cogs and greasy hub chains. Our original police cruisers and many often gave the impression they were having their first pedalling lessons. Horse mounted patrols were popular and no parade or special event was complete without their presence and direction. Well, they served us like heroes and had our respect.

Adventure in our early days could hardly be attributed to travel which was seldom undertaken or possible. Vacations or holidays seemed only words known by schools, their teachers and pupils, top brass and of course government officials and employees. Transportation by trains and boats which relied more on haulage of freight and goods than passengers. All the harvest of fruit growing Niagara, peaches, grapes, apples and pears, filled the holds of Niagara pleasure steamers across our Lake Ontario, receiving every care and attention by their crews. The overladen docks a glorious picture of fresh fruit ready for all markets and stores, which we would watch loaded on and off a boat bringing us back to Toronto from Niagara-on-the-Lake. Why, a ferry boat trip across Toronto Bay was more exciting when it also carried huge metal containers of ice cream packed in ice, plus cartons of cones, to stock single counter refreshment stands on the different islands! Times began to change as more and more cars appeared on streets and country roads, hours spent everywhere fixing flat ties and cranking motors, overheated steaming radiators. Occasionally we were forced to return home by streetcar when cars stubbornly refused to go another inch or mile, once Dad’s brass front Ford had its last gasp on Hogg’s Hollow mountainous trail, hauled away by a garage and dealer who later sold him a brand new model. Automobiles did have an air of mystery as proper driving lessons were non-existent and only license plates issued for a fixed fee, no questions asked or any driving tests. Just like leaving a store wearing purchased new shoes and gripping the steering wheel in case of any emergency! Back lanes were the proving grounds for teaching one or yourself, and pavements throughout the Exhibition Park ideal any day. The old gear-shift obviously did not present as many problems then when seasoned and experienced drivers today never tackle or learn to do so. What about our house parties and the main purpose to teach each other how to dance the “ocean roll” and some named “drag”!! Cold cuts, lemonade, fancy biscuits and cheese our favourite refreshments, and always a special treat when somebody could play a piano, otherwise records and the gramophone supplied our music. Many games of chance and Monopoly just introduced filled other evenings with pleasant entertainment and Dad always joined with his deck of cards. Years later old school friends remembered and one now departed whose last Christmas card added “how much I think of those times together at your house”. Brought back a flood of memories which are never forgotten now.

Yesterday can be any time in all our lives and I may only have touched the surface. I realize I have stuck close to my home base but all of Toronto could once have fitted the same description. It still retains old pages of history and more have been written by later generations, so I can only hope I have succeeded making it my favourite topic. Great changes have perhaps gone unnoticed but my concentration has been telling an old story which was very new once upon a time.

(1989)