The midway was fun, but the building beside it was magical. I kept craning my neck to look at that building as I spun around and around on the tilt-a-whirl. It was huge, wooden, and weathered grey, with fairytale shapes, turrets and curlicues, many doors and even a balcony. How I longed to go and look inside, to see what happened in that big, pretty building. I was three-years-old.
When I next returned to that place, it was occupied by my high school. The Agricultural Hall had been the community centre for more than 50 years. Built in 1895 by Alex Logan as general contractor, its fine scrollwork was like cabinetry. Its gothic façade, twin turrets, airy hexagonal dome and arched windows evoked images of European design, worked in board-and-batten. French doors opened on the second floor balcony, which in turn, provided shelter for the front entrance of the hall.
Dave Thomas, who has made photographic records of much of this area’s history, has nostalgia in his voice, discussing the Agricultural Hall, not only because his grandfather Ernest Crockford was the foreman for its construction, but also because the Agricultural Hall and fairground were the hub of our town, three seasons of the year.
“Midways, firemen’s tournaments, field days, soccer games, baseball, horse races and sulky races, and the fall fair, were all held there,” Dave recalls. “Parades started downtown and finished at the Agricultural Hall.” Water damage began to take its toll. Dave notes that on September 22, 1938, in the depth of the Depression, the Town boarded up the Agricultural Hall “to prevent further destruction”, hoping to have it repaired when money was available. Outdoor events continued.
In 1948, its death knell sounded, and the Agricultural Hall was torn down. Joseph Street has covered its site since the 1960s.
It was the first of the treasures to fall, leaving half a century of loss to “progress” or fire. In the mid-50s, another landmark fell. Since the dawn of the century, Dave Johnston’s blacksmith shop had stood at Mary and Gibson streets, east of the old firehall, with its “flying horse” weathervane on the roof.
I remember the horses, heads down, waiting outside to be shod. I remember the hammer ringing against the cherrycoloured metal, shaping it on the huge anvil in a shower of sparks. Then came the sizzle and the cloud of steam as the blacksmith plunged the metal into cold water. Thrust back into the forge, hammering, cooling, until the piece was perfect. Kids of all ages crowded the doors to watch.
A new post office had been constructed next door in 1932 at James and Mary, having outgrown the historic building at 36 James Street. By the mid-50s, even more space was needed. The new addition would mean the end of the blacksmith shop. Another community centre and visitors’ attraction was lost forever. The fl ying horse, removed from its rooftop after 55 years aloft, is in the museum today.