and his older brother James carried on their father’s surveying business. James would later move to Oshawa where he opened a book and stationery shop. Peter would serve for thirty-five years as chief engineer of York County, in addition to continuing the family’s surveying business, until he suffered a stroke in 1908 and was forced to resign for health reasons. He tendered his resignation to York Township Reeve, George S. Henry, and moved out of the Gibson House and into the house his son Harold had constructed some years earlier.
Peter Silas Gibson died in 1916. His funeral was conducted by the Reverend Thomas Webster Pickett, George S. Henry’s father-in-law. Peter’s sons, Harold, Wilbert, and Morton carried on with the family’s surveying business, now located at the corner of Yonge and Avondale.
After Peter moved to his son’s house in 1908, the Gibson farm was rented to the Grainger family, tenant farmers who were also relatives of the Gibsons. They lived in the house and worked the farm for a number of years. When the Graingers retired from farming in 1913, the Gibsons sold the farm, except for the main house and the one acre immediately surrounding it. The house was then rented to a family named Thompson, who lived there until 1938. The remaining acreage was divided among a number of different owners who continued to use it for agricultural purposes.
The Gibson farmhouse is at its nadir, rented out to uncaring tenants in 1957, and deteriorating a little more each day.
Photo by J.V. Salmon, Toronto Public Library, S 1-4167.
In 1938, Noel H. Knowles, whose parents clearly had a warped sense of humour when it came to naming children, bought the main house. The farmland was gradually reassembled into one parcel by a company called Parkhome Developments, with the intention of building a subdivision. When Noel Knowles died in the mid-1950s, the development company bought the Gibson house and rented it out to tenants who couldn’t have cared less about either the farm’s history or the house’s upkeep. Meanwhile, to the east, north, and south, the subdivisions were closing in around the former Gibson farm.
Noel had spent a considerable sum of money repairing the house but, after a few years at the hands of Parkhome’s questionable tenants, the house was once again in a state of disrepair. This is not an unusual ploy for developers to use when they are saddled with an old house they’d rather just tear down. They either rent it out to undesirables to wring the last dollar from the place or they just stand back and let the elements have at it.
The practice, called “demolition by neglect,” happens all the time. When the developers know that there are people in the community who would like to see a heritage property preserved, they stop all maintenance on the property in hopes that a roof will cave in or pipes will burst or vandals will damage the structure to the point where the developer can say, “Well, I’m sorry. I’d like to save the place but as you can see, it’s beyond repair.” Unexplained fires also claim more than their fair share of structures caught in limbo between developers and preservationists. In cases like these, the stealth demolition is referred to as “heritage lightning.” By the early 1960s, the Gibson farmhouse was in real danger of succumbing to one of these fates. Demolition was being discussed as a real possibility. Then the cavalry rode in.
In this case, the cavalry was the North York Historical Society. Formed in 1960 to document and salvage what they could of the township’s heritage, the society celebrated one of their earliest and biggest victories when they were able to convince North York Council to compel Parkhome Developments to sell the house and surrounding property to the Township for the nominal sum of $1.00. When members of the society and council stepped inside for the first time to see what their dollar had bought them, they suddenly realized that the restoration would be no easy task. The house was a mess. A lot of work would have to be done before it was even safe.
By 1965, the historical society had convinced the township to allocate funds for a full restoration of the house as a centennial project to celebrate Canada’s one hundredth birthday in 1967. Noted restoration architect Napier Simpson Jr. was commissioned to oversee the project. A better person could not have been chosen, for although Simpson was a stickler for authenticity, he made sure that all structural and practical concerns were also addressed. By 1967, the restoration was completed at a cost of $45,000, a considerable sum at the time and, though the restoration was impeccable, there was still much to be done.
After having visited the house, Miriam Chinsky wrote these evocative words for the Willowdale Enterprise newspaper of September 25, 1968.
The house stands now, a lovely shell, its front door and wide shutters gleaming with ebony paint, its exterior woodwork a spanking white, its ruddy bricks carefully in place, every pane of glass whole-in a tangle of dandelions. Inside, the floorboards are intact, the panelling is perfect, every one of its many fireplaces is ready to function, — and its rooms are dismayingly bare! A few senior citizens have been using it briefly for a toy repairing project, but the dismembered dolls lying about only emphasize the terrible, almost macabre loneliness about the place.
The desolation wouldn’t last long.
Soon, a team of dedicated volunteers from the North York Historical Society would transform the house from “a lovely shell” to a fine representation of what the home was like when David Gibson and his family lived there. The family was whole-heartedly behind the project and donated many priceless and poignant heirlooms to furnish the house once again. Included were many of David’s books and surveying instruments, as well as a magnificent walnut sideboard for the dining room that David and Elizabeth purchased after they returned from exile in 1848. More everyday items such as dinnerware, candlesticks, and children’s dolls were also donated by the family, but perhaps the most moving item of all can be found in the dining room. Remember the workings of the grandfather clock that Elizabeth ran back to salvage after the government troops set fire to the Gibsons’ first house? Well, the clock lived to chime again. It seems that, while the family was living in Lockport, they had a local cabinet maker build them a replacement cabinet, and this is the very clock that now stands in the dining room of the Gibson House. Talk about living history....
The house is not the only tell-tale left behind by this remarkable family, however. It is quite likely that if you live in southwestern Ontario, your property was surveyed by the Gibsons at one time or another. Anyone searching old land records will see the Gibson name appearing everywhere, sometimes to the exclusion of all others. Even today, there is a listing for “W.S. Gibson and Sons” in the Toronto Yellow Pages under the heading of Surveyors — David’s descendants, still showing us the way.
{Chapter Fourteen}
Samuel Kennedy’s Farm
It is always hard to decide whose name to attach to a certain farm when the land may have had dozens of owners over the years, all of whom could lay claim to being the farmer of record. To this point, the most famous names or the earliest names or the most poignant stories related to a particular lot have been chosen. Here, plain old selfishness prevailed and Samuel Kennedy’s name was selected. Although not related, the opportunity to see “S. Kennedy” written on the maps of the farms of North York was irresistible.
Samuel Kennedy farmed three separate lots at the corner of Finch and Leslie, but most of his story takes place on the farm that stood on the eastern eighty-two acres of Lot 21-2E. He purchased this lot on the northwest corner of Finch and Leslie from William Johnston in 1883. The farmhouse in the picture had been built by the Johnstons some time earlier, likely in the mid-1850s, when a string of perfect weather resulted in several years of exceptional harvests and many local farmers used the profits to build new brick houses to replace earlier log cabins or frame houses. This farmhouse does in fact bear a striking stylistic resemblance to the house at Spruce Grove Farm a couple of miles to the southeast, which was completed
