Lindsay’s housing crisis of 1916

Housing. It has become a major watchword for all levels of government as decision-makers try to address both population growth and poverty. Policies and programs are developed, advocates press leaders to do more, innovative solutions are suggested – and sometimes implemented. 

Housing crises are nothing new in the history of our community. The shortage of available housing for veterans returning to Lindsay following the Second World War prompted local authorities to build lookalike storey-and-a-half homes in collaboration with a crown corporation called Wartime Housing Ltd. (This topic has been covered in these pages previously; a more in-depth treatment of it can be found in “The Camerons of Churchill Crescent: Wartime Housing in Lindsay,” one of the stories included in Reflections on Old Victoria County, available at Kent Bookstore.) 

The postwar housing shortage was widespread, and squat abodes identical to those in Lindsay can still be found in Sault Ste Marie, Peterborough, and Oshawa, among other places. But 110 years ago, this autumn, Lindsay experienced another wartime-induced housing shortage. All but forgotten today, its legacy teaches important lessons about planning for growth and how communities can come together in the common cause of providing their neighbours with a roof over their heads. 

As war raged across the ocean in the summer of 1916, demand for armaments spurred the construction of munitions factories. Dominion Arsenals Ltd. set up shop in a sprawling complex northeast of what is today Fleming College’s 

Lindsay campus, and would be operating at full capacity by 1917. Under the leadership of Lt. Col. Sidney S. Weatherbie, the arsenal would in short order become the region’s biggest employer. Would Lindsay be ready for the sudden influx of workers? 

Lt. Col. Weatherbie didn’t think so. “I am somewhat surprised that no effort is being made in Lindsay, that is no concerted effort, to meet the demand that there is bound to be for houses,” Weatherbie stated in a Sept. 7, 1916, interview with the Watchman-Warder newspaper. “The hotels are filled and lodging houses cannot take whole families. What are we going to do?” Weatherbie cautioned that this was no small undertaking. “The plant is going to be a bigger institution than the people of Lindsay seem to realize, and as has been stated before we will be employing from 1,500 to 2,000 hands,” he said. “It is up to the people of Lindsay to get busy and erect some good dwelling houses.” 

A new sewer line was completed that autumn to service the arsenal, and local developers were soon enticing people to purchase lots just north of Mary Street in anticipation of building new subdivisions. Weatherbie was skeptical about the housing shortage being leveraged for the purposes of building personal capital and said as much in a letter to the local board of trade. “I would ask that one thing be not lost sight of, and that is the urgent necessity of the situation be not used for high profits,” he wrote later in September. “There is a good chance of making good money without injuring the fair name of Lindsay,” he continued, suggesting that the town’s reputation was at stake.

Editorial commentary in the local press largely sided with Weatherbie on this question. “The man who buys up town lots and holds them for speculative purposes is not doing his duty at this juncture,” noted one firmly worded editorial dated Oct. 7, 1916. “Neither is the man of means (and we have a number of them) who refuses to co-operate with others, who are showing sufficient civic loyalty by helping to meet the demand for housing accommodation.” 

The housing crisis precipitated a labour shortage that in turn was delaying the completion of the arsenal – and Weatherbie made it clear to the Board of Trade that this was unacceptable. “I can’t ask men to come here when they have no place to live or bring their families to,” the exasperated superintendent declared. He was also concerned about ensuring that the 800 or so young women expected to work at the arsenal had respectable homes in which to live. 

“The hotels are filled and lodging houses cannot take whole families. What are we going to do?”

By the middle of October, a company calling itself Lindsay Builders Limited – composed of directors James Begg, John Carew, B.L. Mclean, T.H. Stinson, and P.J. White – committed itself to building 50 new houses to help alleviate the shortage. They joined several local contractors who were already “doing their bit” to address the problem. Among these were James Peel and his Lindsay Woodworkers Ltd., which promised to build up to a dozen new houses in the vicinity of Durham and Adelaide Streets. The John Carew Lumber Company committed itself to constructing five or six “up-to-date dwellings” using company labour. And L.V. O’Connor teamed up with John O’Reilly to build several houses in the east ward, including three in the vicinity of the old Methodist Church near St. Paul Street. (Like James Peel, they would also put up five houses at the corner of Durham and Adelaide.) 

Thanks to the tireless efforts of these local businessmen, the housing crisis of 1916 would soon be a thing of the past. Or would it? As with so much of history, what’s past is prologue. The echoes of Lt. Col. Weatherbie’s call to action 110 years ago can still be heard today.