entrance were erected to commemorate the contribution made by the base during the war. Over the years the military presence has contributed greatly to the economy and social stability of the town.
In the 1950s Trenton’s industrial base included 25 major manufacturing companies, including Quaker Oats, Delft Gelatin, and S.H. Camp & Company, a subsidiary of one of the world’s largest manufacturers of surgical garments and braces.
The downtown core was devastated by three fires in 1978. Merchants and town officials rallied to the task of rebuilding, and by midsummer of the same year a 26-store shopping complex replaced what the fire had destroyed.
On July 1, 1980, exactly 100 years after Trenton was incorporated as a town, it became a city. Now, Trenton may be best known as a tourist centre. It has many claims to fame, but for me it was my start in life because my mother called it home.
I, personally, have fond memories of summers with my family (the Gauens).
Whitby
Whitby certainly has a great history of characters, including at least one very mysterious murderer.
The early settlement of the district began around Whitby’s natural harbor at the lakeshore and along the Kingston Road. Jabez Lynde settled here on the Kingston Road at Lynde’s Creek in 1804. Samuel Cochrane soon arrived and a Mr. Storey and a Mr. Losie opened shops in the area circa 1818.
The first post office between Toronto and Port Hope was opened by J.B. Warren in 1823. In 1835 John Hamer opened a store, and the settlement became known as Hamer’s Corners at what is now Dundas and Anderson Streets.
The harbor was called Windsor Bay and it was a thriving grain port, with a storehouse, a tramway, and a warehouse, in the 1830s.
By October 1836 Peter Perry, the MPP for Lennox and Addington Counties near the Bay of Quinte, lost his seat in Parliament and moved to the area. He purchased most of the land around the present four corners of the town. This wealthy entrepreneur and visionary built a store on the site of the present-day Bank of Commerce as well as a large brick home. He hired a provincial land surveyor to draw up a town plan for the area around the four corners in 1844. Perry then encouraged merchants and businessmen to settle in his community; this area became the centre of commerce instead of Hamer’s Corners. The four corners of this settlement were soon named Perry’s Corners.
By 1848 the harbor had become so busy that a plank road was constructed to Port Perry to facilitate the movement of grain and lumber from the northern part of the region. Conflict arose over the name of the harbour, since “Windsor,” a name favoured by many residents, already existed elsewhere in the province. The name Whitby, from a seaside town in Yorkshire, England, was then assigned to the area. At least they got to keep the initial. Whitby was incorporated as a town in 1855.
Whitby circa 1880s. Looking closely at the picture, Whitby might have resembled Dodge City in the American southwest.
Courtesy of Whitby Historical Society
Sheriff Nelson Reynolds may not have been a Wyatt Earp, but he was an adventuresome fellow. A God-fearing man, he always mixed a taste for personal glory with his somewhat righteous goals. Few citizens of Whitby knew that in his youth he had been treasonous, part of the failed Rebellion of Upper Canada against the Family Compact. He was the man who would one day build the castle of his dreams, right in Whitby.
Born in Kingston in 1814, Reynolds rose to lead his own cavalry regiment there during the Rebellion of 1837. Government officials kept a watchful eye on him, since he never hid his criticism of the Family Compact. They were suspicious of Reynolds; they worried that instead of leading his troops in defence of Kingston against attack, he might join the opposing forces.
On the eve of February, 1837, an alarm was sounded, warning of the invasion by rebel forces. Thinking this could be the night that Reynolds would turn, patriotic officials ordered government troops to surround Reynolds and his men and to charge Reynolds with high treason. It had been a false alarm, and before Reynolds could lead a charge, he and his men were captured. Of course he refused arrest and stood his ground, until a musket cracked and a lead ball found its mark in his leg. Fearing for his life, he broke free and escaped across the American border with the help of his men.
In July 1838 he returned and surrendered to government officials. Led under guard to Fort Henry, he was imprisoned and charged with high treason. He conducted his own defence and set out to prove his innocence. He managed to do this because of the lack of evidence necessary to convict him.
With the news of his release, the soldiers of his former regiment rushed to meet their old friend. To rejoice in his freedom, they picked him up and carried him through the streets of Kingston.
Fourteen years later, in 1854, he was appointed sheriff of Ontario County. His duties included land arrangements, the signing of legal documents, and the foreclosure of mortgages.
It wasn’t until 1859 that the sheriff began construction of Tralfager Castle at the east end of Dunlop Street in Whitby. This was his dream house, and because he hoped to gain the attention of royalty, should they visit, he spared no cost in its construction.
When it was finished, his elegant castle was built of stone, a monument to fine craftsmanship. Visitors could imagine they were in the English countryside when they gazed upon this dwelling.
His dream came true when, in 1864, Prince Arthur, third son of Queen Victoria and later the governor-general of Canada, visited the sheriff’s castle. And, of course, Sir John A. MacDonald, fond of a dining invitation, also visited en route.
In 1872 the purse strings drew to a close. Sadly, elegance and extravagance cost Reynolds his castle. Although forced to sell his dream, Sheriff Reynolds never lost sight of his vision. The moment Trafalger sold, Reynolds built again. This time his castle was a miniature replica of the former. At the age of 67, the sheriff slept his last night. In the meantime Trafalger Castle was taken over and converted to the Ontario Ladies College.
A mysterious murder occurred years later in Whitby. It happened in the early hours of December 11, 1914. Twenty-one-year-old telegraph operator William Stone Jr. would sit quietly at his desk in the Whitby Train Station recording the trains that passed and noting any telegraph messages. This night seemed like any other. Nothing really exciting ever happened as the townspeople slept in their beds. Something was brewing that night, however, and it was about to explode. At 12:37 a.m., a shot was fired from the darkness. Billy Stone toppled out of his chair and landed with a thud on the floor. By some miracle he managed to crawl to a phone and call for help. Leslie Cormack, the operator for the local Bell Telephone switchboard, answered his call.
“Get the chief, quick; I’ve been shot,” gasped Stone.
“Who did it?” responded Cormack, while she dialed Police Chief Charles F. MacGrotty.
Stone answered, “I don’t know, but get the chief quick”.
As Chief MacGrotty picked up the phone, there was silence.
Was William dead?
The chief rushed out and headed downtown to fetch the night watchman, John Patterson. Together they travelled to the train station. It was an eerie sight. The shade on William’s desk light had been turned to cast its rays of lights on the tracks. Peering in the window they saw Stone lying on the office floor. The telephone receiver was under his lifeless body.
The chief forced the door open and quickly rushed to Stone. He was dead. The chief peered around the room but saw no indication of a struggle. Was robbery a motive? He checked the cash drawer but nothing had been taken. He turned to William’s entry book. The last recorded train was a freight train going east at 12:15 a.m., approximately 20 minutes prior to the alarming phone call. Who killed Stone?
The chief then discovered the bloody imprint of a hand on one of the cabinets. Stone’s hands were clean of blood. Could this be the handprint of the killer?
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