St. Brigid's Day - The Enduring Traditions

Brigid of Kildare

Lost Children of the Carricks

New documentary by a Concordia professor recounts the hidden history of Quebec’s Irish population...more

Seeking The Primrose Girls from Galway Ireland to Canada 1853

A group of Irish amateur genealogists from a small Galway town are seeking to connect with descendants of 156 emigrants known as the “Primrose” girls after the name of the ship they sailed on to Canada in 1853...more

Retrieval of Irish archive lost in 1922 fire ‘astounding’, historian says

An attempt to recreate Ireland’s archives destroyed in a fire in June 1922 has been successful to a “greater extent than ever previously imagined,” the historian behind the project has said...more

Irish Catholic Churches of Quebec - E is for Saint Eusebe-De-Vercelli

In the city of Montreal. Address: 647 Fullum Street. Sainte-Marie district. 

The records of this parish begin in the year 1897. 

Canonical erection: August 14, 1897. The canonical decree erecting this parish was published in the Official Gazette of 1897.

The parish's territory, detached from the parish of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul-de-Montréal , is bounded by Sherbrooke, Hâvre, Lalonde-Nord and De Lorimier Streets. Vercelli is the name of a strong city of Italy. Pop. 10.017.

(Source: Magnan, Hormisdas, Historical and geographical dictionary of parishes, missions and municipalities of the Province of Quebec, 1925.

Irish Catholic Churches of Quebec - D is for St. Dominic's Rectory

Mile End District - Saint Dominic’s Rectory (1912) - Irish families resided in the district. Parish was located on Parthenais Street in the Mile-End district. 

The original church building was sold after 1941, the congregation is now part of the Parish of Saint Casimir.

Irish Catholic Churches of Quebec - C is for Corpus Christi

Corpus Christi Church is located in Senneville 16 Avenue Pacific and is a member of the Diocese of Montreal.

Senneville is an affluent on-island suburban village on the western tip of the Island of Montreal. It is the wealthiest town in the West Island. Situated close to the city of Montreal, it was historically a popular location for the summer homes of wealthy Montrealers.

Senneville is also home to Fort Senneville

Irish Catholic Churches of Quebec - B is for Bonsecours Church Notre Dame de Bon Secours

courtesy Jean Gagnon

A jewel of history and heritage

For over 350 years, the Chapel of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, a jewel of history and heritage, has made its way into the hearts of generations of visitors and pilgrims. As you step into the church, you will immediately notice the peaceful atmosphere and feel a palpable link to Montreal’s past.

This is the chapel of 1771, built over the ruins of the first stone chapel of pilgrimage whose foundations were recently uncovered. This is the site where officers of the British regime considered setting up barracks to house the military. This is the silent witness to the faith of Montrealers who rebuilt a chapel when it seemed impossible.


Marguerite Bourgeoys’ historic chapel

You turn to two cameo paintings by Ozias Leduc on the back wall. One shows Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, founder of Montreal, who donated the land for the original chapel. The other is of Marguerite Bourgeoys, the first teacher and founder of the Congrégation de Notre-Dame. In 1655, she rallied the colonists to build a chapel of pilgrimage outside the settlement, a stone chapel finally erected in 1675. After a second trip back to France in 1672, Marguerite returned with the wooden statuette of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours for the chapel, the one in the reliquary on the left side-altar.

Along with the chapel, the little statue has an interesting history. Possibly the most spectacular moment for both was that fateful day in 1754 when fire ravaged the first chapel, and the statue and its reliquary were found intact among the smoldering embers.

Cradle of the English-speaking Catholic community

After the fall of Montreal six years later, the British garrison included Irish and Scottish families who attended services at Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. It was from this community that money was raised to begin construction of Saint Patrick’s, Montreal’s first parish for the English-speaking community.

Under the choir loft, you spot an intriguing painting, the gift of Bishop Bourget in 1849. This votive offering was a gift in thanksgiving for the end of the typhus epidemic that struck the city in 1847 with the arrival of immigrants in fever ships. Another of his gifts, the statue by Charles Dauphin called Star of the Sea, was raised to the roof of the chapel overlooking the port.

The Sailors’ Church

As the port grew in importance in the 19th century, the chapel became a favourite place of prayer for sailors. The carved replicas of sailing ships hang from the vault of the chapel as a reminder of their faith in Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours.

View from the harbor

Generations leave their mark

Succeeding generations have contributed to the decoration and renovation of the chapel: Beaulieu’s windows, the statues of Gratton and Laperle and of Guardo, and the 1886 works of Meloche uncovered in the late 1990s on the vault of the chapel.

The tomb of Saint Marguerite Bourgeoys

In 2003, celebrations marked the 350th anniversary of Marguerite Bourgeoys’ arrival in Montreal. And in 2005, the 350th anniversary of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours was especially joyful when the “mother of the colony” returned to the chapel in Montreal’s historic district where she had lived as a beloved friend and valued counsellor to all. Her remains were placed in the left side-altar below the statue of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. A few weeks later, the remains of Jeanne Le Ber, the recluse of Montreal, were interred in the east lateral wall of the chapel.

Earl Grey's Famine Orphan Scheme - What was it?

Earls Grey's Famine Orphan Scheme 

Between 1848 and 1850 over 4000 adolescent female orphans emigrated from Irish workhouses to the Australian colonies, arriving at Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide. Their emigration has become known as the ‘Earl Grey scheme’ after its principal architect, Earl Grey, Secretary of State for the Colonies in Lord John Russell’s Whig government at the time of the Great Irish Famine...more

Remembering the 4,000 Irish Famine orphans shipped to Australia

After the brutal conditions in the workhouses, life onboard was a significant improvement...more

Laurel and Hardy in Cobh

http://www.visitcobh.com/index.php/2009/10/20/laurel-hardy-in-cobh/

Missing Friends - Thomas McLaughlin

3 February 1832  Information Wanted

Son of Terence McLaughlin and Susan O'Brien, a native of the Parish of Dromore, Tyrone, Ireland, arrived about 14 days ago, at St. John's New Brunswick.

He visited Pennsylvania and Maryland. He has not been heard of for the last eight years.

Any information concerning him will be thankfully received by his sister, Mary Potts, Charlestown, Massachusetts.

Missing Friends - John Delahunty

Information Wanted: 12 November 1831

Of John Delahunty of Clonmore, Co. Tipperary, who arrived in America in 1818, and boarded at the house of Mr. William Gleeson, in Boston, at that time. 

His nephew has arrived in Boston, and has something of importance to communicate to him. Any information respecting him, directed to Mr. William Gleeson, or Michael Delahunty, Boston, will be thankfully received.

The Search for Missing Friends

The tidal wave of Irish immigration to North America in the several decades after the potato famine of the 1840s is one of the great epic sagas of nineteenth century history. 

The thousands of immigrants who surmounted incredible hardships to reach Quebec, Montreal, Boston, New York City, or other ports often hoped to join relatives who were already here. Some families became separated at dockside or later, and many recent arrivals were "lost" to kinsmen in Ireland who wanted to hear from them. 

For eighty-five years, from 1831 to 1916, the "Missing Friends" advertisements in the Boston Pilot, the city's major Irish newspaper, helped bring immigrants and kin together. 

The First 7 Volumes contain collections of the advertisements in print in the Boston PILOT as follows: Volume I: 1831-1850, Volume II: 1851-1853, Volume III: 1854-1856, Volume IV: 1857-1860, Volume V: 1861-1865, Volume VI: 1866-1870, Volume VII: 1871-1876.


1 October 1831

Information Wanted

NOTICE: PATRICK MCDERMOTT a native of County Kildare, and who was married in Kingston, near Dublin, is hereby informed, that his wife and four children have arrived in Boston. They understand that he left Roxbury, in the State, about twelve months since, to obtain work as a stone mason, they are extremely anxious to hear from him. He is hereby requested to write or come for his poor family. to the city, as soon as possible.

Editors, with whom we exchange, will perform an act of charity by giving the above notice a few insertions.

How to make traditional Irish potato cakes or "boxty"

A recipe for traditional Irish potato cakes – better known as boxty. 
Traditional Irish potato cakes, or boxty, are mostly associated with the north midlands of Ireland in Connacht and Ulster. The people of Mayo, Sligo, Donegal, Fermanagh, Longford, Leitrim and Cavan are particularly big fans of this delicious and simple style of potatoes.

It is thought that boxty dates back to the days of the Irish Famine, presumably to make the potatoes stretch further. There are a couple of different recipes, but all contain finely grated, raw potatoes served fried.

There are some variations on the classic recipe, such as boiling the patty like a dumpling or baking it like a loaf. With the demands of the modern palate being more diverse, some people add spices or vegetables into the mix. However, the plain old griddled style is the original and is wonderfully tasty.

Over the last couple of years, as the Irish have become more interested in their own cuisine, the popularity of boxty has risen. It's now quite normal to see boxty on a menu in a restaurant in Ireland, whereas a decade ago it would have still been considered a 'peasant dish.' However, boxty has always been popular as part of Irish home cooking.

As one traditional (if woefully out-dated) rhyme explains: 

Boxty on the griddle, 
Boxty in the pan, 
If you can't make boxty, 
You'll never get your man.

RECIPE

Ingredients: 
1 cup raw, grated potatoes 
1 cup leftover mashed potatoes 
1 cup all-purpose flour 
2 tsp baking powder 
2 tsp salt 
2 eggs, lightly beaten 
1/4 cup (about) milk to mix 
Butter or oil for frying 
Sugar (optional)

Method:

Place the grated raw potatoes in a clean cloth and twist to remove excess moisture.

Whisk together flour, salt, and baking powder.

Combine flour mixture with the raw potatoes, the left over mashed potatoes, and the eggs.

Add enough mix to make a batter.

Heat a heavy skillet over medium heat and add butter or oil.

Drop potato batter by the tablespoon into the hot pan.

Brown on both sides (about 4 minutes per side).

Butter each boxty and serve hot with or without sugar.

Yield: about 4 servings

A Teacher's Story by Joe Lonergan

A Teacher’s Ghost Story by Joe Lonergan

Thirty some years ago when I was teaching at St. Patrick’s High School I used to remark that the kids were gentler with each other than when I was in school. Now I feel we were all much the same over time and that not a lot has changed. One day at the end of September, I heard a commotion and stopped a group of Secondary I kids who had been chasing another one... or so I thought. I had not had a good look at whom they were chasing as I had come up on the situation quickly and just as suddenly it was over. Their quarry was long gone. It had seemed like an apprehended bullying which made me a little angry but I chose not to show this in front of the little ones. I hoped it was just a game of tag out of place. I was teaching mostly Secondary IIIs at the time. The following week when I was having lunch in my department room another teacher told me she had had a similar experience. “Where Anne?” I asked. “Down near the cafeteria” she said.

“Did you see who they were chasing?” 
 “Only a fleeting glimpse, not really,” she answered, “I was more concerned with the bunch after him; I called them up short.”

I asked the Secondary I teachers if any particular child seemed likely to be the victim but drew a blank. One teacher however was aware that six or seven kids hung around together in the cafeteria area.

“How are they?” I asked.
“Oh alright,” she said, “a little wild, you know Sec I boys, no worse than that.”
The next day heading back from the cafeteria to the teacher’s lounge I heard a commotion at the end of the hall from which I had been walking away. I turned and went down but all had returned to the normal bustle. I asked a student what had been up. 
“Dunno Sir, just Sec I kids havin’ fun!”

 “If I were to speak to a Sec I which one would you suggest Carol?” I asked a Sec I teacher. She suggested I talk to Joe Dolan as he was “a nice intelligent kid.” I asked the Director of Discipline if I could go ahead and he said sure; he had his hands full with the other four levels.

 Carol’s classroom was across the hall from mine and we could each see the front of each other’s room. Carol taught Joe during one of my few off periods. I asked her if she could send him in to see me. She agreed to send him the next day after he turned in his Math test; he always finished well before the others.
“Excuse me Sir, Miss said to come and see you.”
 “Yeah! Hi Joe. Is Mike Dolan you dad?”
 “Yes Sir,” he said smiling with the same lightly freckled face as his dad.
“I was in class with him when we were small Joe, tell him Joe Lonergan said Hello!”
 “OK, I will Sir.”
 “Joe, can you tell me who the Sec I kids have been chasing down around the cafeteria area?”

The smile on Joe’s face turned to one of looking perplexed. He shrugged and said, “Oh, wow, you know about that? I don’t know who the kid is. We all thought he was in another Sec I group but it turns out he’s not in any of them. He’s weird, we never get a real good look at him.”
 “Weird?” I asked.
“He dresses weird, old looking clothes, no body dresses like that... and he’s scrawny, he seems to be anyway, I never got close to him. He really runs fast.”
 “You chase him?” I asked.
 Joe was uncomfortable. “Yes Sir, but like, it started out we were just curious and went to see him, he looked so weird... but he took off like a scared rabbit.”
 “You still chase him?”
 “Well, yeah, we sort of want to see him up close Sir. He does not come often but if we spot him... well, like we’re curious.”
 “Do you think he’s a Sec II?” I asked
“I don’t think so, they’re in the old building like us and we never see him there, so nope, I don’t think so. And he’s too small to be Sec III, IV or V.”
 “OK, fine Joe.. Listen Joe if you see that kid just leave him be will you. He is obviously scared.”
 “OK Sir! ...Sir, talk to Jimmy McGrandle, he says he almost caught him.”
I started laughing, “Jimmy McGrandle? I was in school here with Jimmy McGrandle when I was a kid. What a village! It must be Jimmy’s boy. Jimmy was fast too,” I said, 
 Ok, thanks again Joe, I will. You had better get back to class.”

The following week I got to speak to Jimmy. He told me his dad was in fact James McGrandle and that he had been transferred this summer to Quebec City... and yeah, his dad went to school here when he was small. I asked him about the chasings and his involvement.
“Yeah,” he said, “I thought I’d catch him ‘cause he headed for the sports supply room across from the stairwell but when I went in he wasn’t there.”
 “Where do you think he went?” I asked.
“Well there’s a door and a short stairwell that goes down from there but it was locked. I don’t know what’s down there.”
 “OK thanks Jimmy, tell your Dad I’m teaching here!”
 “OK Sir. Hey Sir, it smelled real earthy there.”
 “Earthy?” I asked “What do you mean earthy?”
 “I mean it smelled like earth, like mud when I went in there. I’m just sayin’.”
Not knowing what to make of that I again said goodbye and sent him on his way.
 I didn’t teach last period so after prepping for the next day I went and asked the Principal Mr. McKenna if I could borrow his master key. He said fine but to please get it back to him before I left that day. I headed for the place Jimmy was describing. I knew vaguely the school repairmen kept some hardware on site and had a bit of a workshop down there. I went down into the workshop and noticed a door on its south wall. Opening the door I was hit by what was indeed an earthy smell. I found a light switch within and turned it on. What lights came on were of transparent glass but the wattage was poor. There was a staircase of only four or five stairs to a lower level with an earthen floor. I explored. There was a long passage that ran south under equipment rooms off the high school gymnasium above. The passage way was about 12 feet wide with the school’s foundation to the left. To the right the earth rose up to leave a crawl space under the gym floor of about three feet. I went to the southern end of the passage that revealed great pipes and valves. Along the way there was a trap to one of the supply rooms above and a couple of boarded up windows in the foundation wall. 

I headed back from where I came, up the little flight of stairs to the workroom and back up to the first floor. I brought Mr. McKenna back the key and headed home. That night after supper and helping to get the kids to bed I decided to drop in on my mother who only lived a block away. When I got there I was soon telling her about my visit to the school’s lower regions. “Oh Joe, don’t be going down there,” she said, “It’s the old cholera cemetery down there. It’s not safe”. 
I just laughed and said, “Aw mom!”
She was right about the school having been built over the old cholera cemetery. It was part of the old graveyard that had served as the first St. Patrick’s Cemetery. My mother would have been only six when they dug the excavation for the old school. But she was 45 by the time they dug for the new school. She had heard about all the bones uncovered in 1955. The same had happened when they excavated to join the new and the old school with a wing in 1968.

I decided to go back a week later after hearing another teacher complaining about “a chase”. I went down, switching on the light and again noticed the earthy smell. I sat on an old wooden classroom chair that had ended up there and took the place in. I was thinking about the cholera epidemics that had struck Quebec as far back as 1832. They recurred five times including in 1854. Now talk about whistling in a graveyard, I had been half whistling Johnny’s Gone For a Soldier. All at once I thought I saw some slight movement in the dark area that shrank to a crawl space and the hair literally rose on my neck. The smell of earth was over-whelming and, believe it or not, I somehow saw a scrawny child in the gloom.
“Who are you?” I asked. 
 A little boy’s voice answered in a half-whisper, “Níl Béarla agam.” I knew this was Irish though I have very little Irish. It means I have no English. I was gasping.
 He repeated nil Béarla agam and added, “Siúil a Rún” or Shule Aroon, the old air behind Johnny’s Gone for a Soldier. My mind was spinning. My whistling the melody had brought him to me. He was only a wispy wraith in the gloom but the odor of earth was choking strong. I was amazed to find my teacher instinct greater than my fear. “Cad é do thrioblóid mo mhac?” I asked him. What is your trouble my son?
“Ba mhaith liom mo mháthair agus mo athair,” he answered. I want my mother and my father.
 I thought and then promised him, “Amárach.” Tomorrow.
 I knew he had to be a cholera victim. I imagined his parents had survived the epidemic. Their remains probably had been transferred to the mass grave in the new St. Patrick’s Cemetery in Sillery. I left quickly and yelled back from the top of the stairs, “Amárach, mo mhac, as grá duit,” Tomorrow my son, for love of you. 

My mother phoned that night and asked me if I was OK. She told me she had dreamt that I was a little boy again and it had frightened her.

The next day I went down with a shovel and plastic gloves to where the wraith had stood and in a little time I had uncovered the skeleton of a child and a few other bones for good measure. I put them in a plastic bag, took them out to St. Patrick’s Cemetery and buried them in the mass grave area. I made the sign of the cross and spoke it aloud in Irish.

“In ainm an Athar agus an Mhic agus an spioraid Naoimh. Amen.”

I have never told anyone this story before. Days after I re-buried the remains, I awoke one night from a dream. I can’t remember the dream other than hearing the air to Shule Aroon and a child saying, “ Go raibh maith agat. Tá síocháin agam anois. Mo ghrá thú.” Thank you. I have peace now. I love you.

Happy Halloween! Irish Heritage Quebec

Written by Joe Lonergan - administrator of Facebook site Irish Heritage Quebec
-reprinted here with permission

I posted a ghost story on my own Facebook page for Halloween. You may or may not want to read it. While is only a story, it carries a lot of factual of our local Irish heritage.

There was a great fear of contagion during the cholera epidemics that struck Quebec City in 1832, 1834,1849, 1851, 1852 and 1854. These carried off 8373 victims of all classes, creeds and ethnicity. A great many were Irish and those who were Catholic were mostly buried in St. Louis Cemetery illustrated here. It became St. Patrick’s Cemetery in 1856. In 1879 St. Patrick’s Cemetery between Grande Allée and what is now the north side of Maisonneuve was closed. There was an exhumation order to move human remains to 
the new cemetery in Sillery. My experience at St. Patrick’s School forces me to believe that at least in the case of the cholera section the order was not applied. In 1918 when the school and later extensions were built there were repeated disturbances of remains and some re-interment in the new cemetery. Inevitably some separation of family remains would have occurred when remains were transferred to the new St. Patrick’s Cemetery.

For the interested, one Irish superstition was that a spirit could not cross water. The old St. Denis stream and Belle Bourne Creek on the way and just before the new cemetery would have constituted obstacles. 

They are now only dry or damp ravines. If I could talk to Mary Lonergan, my great grandfather's aunt who died of cholera in July of 1854, I would say, “Ah there now Mary, sure isn’t there a bit of a bridge?” Her remains may actually still be in the schoolyard. Note the chol. for cholera in the margin of her interment entry. Note as well the John Fitzpatrick and Francois Nadeau who were present for the burial. I am not certain but looking at the 1852 and 1861 Census makes me assume that Fitzpatrick is the graveyard attendant and gravedigger while Nadeau made rough coffins. They are present at all the burials at St. Louis Cemetery in 1854.

May they all rest in peace wherever they are.

Black '47 Official Trailer

The Very First Irish Canadian?

In the 2006 census – about 4.4 million people in Canada described themselves as being of Irish origin. 350 years earlier, in 1663, the first census was held in the outpost of Ville Marie (modern-day Montreal). It listed 3035 residents. Among them was a man who became known as Pierre Aubry. However, his name on arrival in Ville Marie was not Pierre Aubry – it was Tadhg Cornelius O’Brennan. And Tadhg was the first recorded settler in the territories that later made up the modern state of Canada.

So, what brought Tadhg to this part of the world a full 200 years before many of his Irish Catholic neighbours?

Tadhg came from the O’Brennan families of north Kilkenny. As we discussed in The Tribes of Ireland book – they came from the old Irish tribal lands known as the Osraighe (Ossary) which covered most of modern County Kilkenny and part of south County Laois. The chief family of the area were the Fitzpatricks – but many “Tuatha” were governed by families such as the O’Brennans for hundreds of years.

However, by 1652, Oliver Cromwell had swept through the island in a brutal campaign which culminated in the “Act of Settlement”. This piece of legislation effectively confiscated the majority of Irish Catholic-owned land. Among the land affected was that belonging to the O’Brennans for hundreds of years previously.

The displaced Irish were give the choice to go “To Hell or to Connaught” – although many ended up as slaves in the West Indies – and over 30,000 ended up as soldiers in the armies of France and Spain, becoming the “Wild Geese” that we know today.

Tadhg O’Brennan was one of those who chose to join the armies of France at the age of twenty. He moved to the Celtic region of Brittany in Northwest France, and this was one the regions to supply soldiers and planters to the new colonies in North America.

Tadhg turns up near modern Montreal – in what was known as Ville Marie – for the first time in 1661. He is recorded as being in the employ of a local farmer, and we hear of him only because he was one of a number kidnapped by a band of Iroquois. He remained a captive from March to October and was one of the lucky few to escape with their lives. By the Ville Marie census of 1663, Tadhg had become known as “Thecle Cornelius Aubrenan“.

The same census recorded that while there were 1,293 single men in Ville Marie – Tadhg among them – there were only nine single women of child-bearing age. This prompted King Louis XIV of France to send on “les filles du Roi” (daughters of the King) to help the situation out a little. These “daughters” consisted of 770 women who arrived in the new colony between 1663 and 1673. In fact, more than 95 per cent of French-Canadians can trace their ancestors to women in that group. Naturally, this group also caught the attention of Tadhg.

Tadhg tried hard for seven years to win himself a bride from each new boat arrival of “les Filles du Roi” – but eventually realised that he needed to head downriver to Quebec City to increase his odds of success. This he did – and on July 31, he met Jeanne Chartier. Tadhg and Jeanne were married September 10, 1670. The newlyweds settled in what is now the island of Montreal, and had seven children – three girls and four boys. Four of the children died before the age of five. The last two girls, born in 1679 and 1681, died soon after birth.

Tadhg retired at the age of 51 and died four years later, in November 1687. He was buried in Pointe-Aux-Trembles under the name of Pierre Aubry and was survived by Jeanne and three of their children. We can guess that Tadhg lived a hard and uncertain life – far from all the familiar culture and people he knew so intimately up to the age of 20. He did what he could to survive and push ahead.

Louis Aubry, who kindly shared this story and the documents related to his ancestor Tadhg, points out that he now has 5600 descendants of Tadhg on his database living in North America. And I guess few realise that while many bear the surname Aubrey – they are descended from a man with one of the more common names in the north of County Kilkenny.

- reposted from A Letter from Ireland

Apocalypse for a horseman

FOR 40 YEARS, Leo Leonard has been operating the Griffintown Horse Palace. But a redevelopment plan for the area would turn his property into housing and commercial space.

Leo Leonard at his Griffintown stable on Ottawa St., with horse Rocky in the background. “People say I should turn the place into a zoo and charge admission,” he says.

During the Second World War you could hire a calèche to take you up to Mount Royal for $5. Today, if you can find a driver willing to make the four-hour return trip to the mountain, it would cost about $300.

“When I began driving in 1942, it was another era,” said Leo Leonard. He has owned the Griffintown Horse Palace on Ottawa St. for 40 years.

“Back then there were 62 carriages at Dominion Square outside the Windsor Hotel and another 25 outside the gates of McGill. Today, there are only 35 calèche drivers’ permits, and all the drivers are down in Old Montreal.”

The price of a calèche ride is $45 for a half-hour, $80 for an hour. Competition is stiff.

Horse-drawn carriages are an anachronism in the 21st century, and their future, as well as that of Leonard’s stables just south of the École de technologie supérieure on Notre Dame St. W., is up in the air.

The Southwest borough has designs on Leonard’s property, one of the last in the area to house horses.

A redevelopment plan unveiled in October for the neighbourhood has the stables, tack house and corral earmarked as an area for office and commercial space, and affordable and subsidized housing.

Inspired by Toronto’s Distillery district, an industrial area that was transformed into a gentrified neighbourhood, urban planners see Griffintown as an ideal site for redevelopment.

Heritage Montreal’s Dinu Bumbaru says while he wel- comes development in the area, razing the stables would be a mistake.

“They are not a great monument,” he said, “but they are the only remnants to remind us that the driving force behind the metropolis was the horse.

“There is room in the city’s heritage policy to keep Leonard’s stables, and perhaps integrate them into a … network of Montreal memory to remind us it is the unheralded blue-collar workers who make a great city.”

Leonard was born in Goose Village and raised in Griffintown. He is 81.

Known as Clawhammer Jack, he is probably one of the last residents to have lived and worked in the neighbourhood for eight decades.

His permit to run his stable has a grandfather clause that states he can keep horses on the property as long as he owns it.

Leonard concedes, however, developers are eager to acquire his land, and perhaps the time has come for him to sell.

“I’ve always been in the horse business, but now I’m fed up with the industry,” Leonard said.

“People say I should turn the place into a zoo and charge admission,” he said with a chuckle.

Leonard bought the stables, which date from 1862, for $15,000 in 1967 when the city ran the Ville Marie Expressway eight blocks to the east, and people moved out of the neighbourhood.

He won’t say how much he wants for the property, which contains residential units, a tack house, a barn for eight horses and a small exercise corral.

“I’m not supposed to talk about anything, but, yes, agents have been coming around to talk to me about selling. We’ll see what happens,” Leonard said.

In addition to his property, he says, real estate agents are looking at a nearby scrapyard and an old paint shop next door.

Should he sell, Leonard isn’t sure what he’ll do if he no longer has horses to look after.

“I won’t go live in Florida, that’s for sure,” he said. “You’ll never catch me on a plane.”