|
|
||
![]() |
||
|
|
Chronicling a City's Past
Dating back to 1850, Toronto's Necropolis cemetery is a silent witness to the life and times of Canada's largest city by Warren Gerard |
|
|
|
LIFE WASN'T EASY in 1834, when York was renamed Toronto. While the town's 9,000 citizens enjoyed various amenities, including the St. Lawrence Market, a number of shops, taverns and churches, there were no sewers or municipal water. The roads were often so muddy they were impassable, and the town became known disparagingly as Muddy York. If life was hard for the townspeople, it was harder still for the settlers who were clearing the virgin forest from the bordering land, struggling through insect-ridden summers and harsh winters. In such an environment, life was fragile. The mortality rate of children was high. Sanitation was poor. Infectious diseases were a frightening threat, striking all ages, and medical care was more of an art than a science. The community's cemeteries were a testament to the harsh realities of life in early Toronto. There were several denominational cemeteries, which served the town's mainly Roman Catholic and Church of England populations. As well, there was the Strangers' Burying Ground, or, as it was more commonly called, Potter's Field, a name derived from a biblical passage (Matthew 27:7): "And they took counsel, and bought with them the potter's field, to bury strangers in."
A two-and-a-half-hectare plot near Bloor and Yonge streets, Potter's Field was opened in 1826 but closed in 1855 because it was deemed an impediment to the growth of the quickly expanding village of Yorkville. By 1881, more than 900 bodies from Potter's Field had been moved to the Necropolis (Greek for "city of the dead"), which had opened in 1850 in Cabbagetown.
The Necropolis can't compete in rustic quaintness with the picket-fenced graves whose markers tell the story of the gold rush in Barkerville, B.C. Nor does it attest to disaster, as does the Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, with its rows of small grey stone markers, each with the same date, April 15, 1912, the day the Titanic sank. And it can't evoke the terrible sadness that Quebec's Grosse-Île does. This island is located in the St. Lawrence River 50 kilometres downstream from Quebec City, and it was there that the victims of typhus were buried in mounds, one stacked upon the other. A small monument on the site reads: "In this secluded spot lie the mortal remains of 5424 persons who flying from Pestilence and Famine in Ireland in the year 1847 found in America but a Grave."
THE FIRST NAME entered in the cemetery's many interment registers kept in the small office next to the cemetery's chapel and written in beautiful copperplate handwriting is Andrew Porteous, who died on December 16, 1849, at the age of 69. His body was stored in a vault at the cemetery until after the spring thaw; it wasn't until May 22, 1850, that he was finally buried. Neither cause of death nor any other pertinent facts were recorded. Among those moved to the Necropolis from Potter's Field were Peter Matthews and Samuel Lount, both of whom were executed for treason for their part in the Rebellion of 1837. The two were hanged side by side and buried in the same plot. A plaque at their gravesite reads: Their minds were tranquil and serene
A few hundred metres from where Matthews and Lount are buried is the grave of William Lyon Mackenzie, newspaper editor, first mayor of Toronto and leader of the doomed rebellion. Unlike his followers Matthews and Lount, Mackenzie fled across the border to escape the hangman's noose and lived in New York State. After 12 years, he was pardoned and returned to Canada, where he was elected to Parliament. His headstone, under a large Celtic cross, reads: "William Lyon Mackenzie, Born 12th March 1795, Died 28th August 1861." No mention is made of his role or place in Canadian history.
Throughout Toronto's early years and well into the 20th century, causes of death were listed in the cemetery's interment books along with the names of the dead, a practice no longer followed. As with cemeteries of a similar age, the Necropolis reveals that death could come from a variety of natural and other causes: bilious fever, liver complaint, consumption, smallpox, dysentery, scarlet fever, dropsy, whooping cough and cramp in the heart among them. Martha Ford, age nine months, fell victim to teething. Martha Smith, 36, died in an asylum of exhaustion. Isaiah Sewell, 17, was murdered. Gracie Johnston, 24, succumbed to decline. Isabella Anne Gamble, three, died of stagnation of the heart. And Rose, Jane, Cecilia, Phoebe and Mary Ward, sisters ranging in age from five to 13, drowned on May 11, 1862.
The epidemic was brought to Canada by soldiers returning from the Great War. Although they survived the war, many succumbed to the flu. Buried side by side, for example, are four members of the Royal Air Force: Durlin D. Bushell, Augustus White, Howard Harris and Arthur Green. All but one of them was in his late teens or twenties; all died of the flu in Toronto between October 19 and November 2, 1918.
In all, the remains of nearly 50,000 people have been buried at the Necropolis, and almost 30,000 more have been cremated in its crematorium, which was built in 1933, the first in Ontario. Like other old cemeteries across Canada, the Necropolis is a history book, a record of events, great and small, and of lives lived. |
|
|
Photography: Kevin Kelly |
||
|
|
||