The Ward

My folks washed ashore at Pier 21 in the middle fifties and made their way inland by train. The “Royal City” turned out to be their destination.

The Ward was where a lot of immigrants found traction after they got off the train in Guelph. In “the Ward” you’d inevitably find yourself with a lot of immigrant neighbours, and truth be told, most of those neighbours would be Italian.

If you drive the streets in “the Ward” today you see a lot of tiny houses on tiny lots. Back in the day, an 800 foot bungalow was ample space to raise up four or five or six good catholic Italian kids. Not only that, but the 30×80 foot lot that tiny bungalow stood on also left room for a mind-boggling array of flower gardens, vegetable gardens, tomato plants, grapes, and a pigeon coop.

Yup, my Italian neighbours were pretty much living off the land even when they only owned a 30×80 foot slice of it.

Fast forward to today, and you’ll find the Ward hard in the grip of gentrification. There’s still a few old-school hold-outs who grow tomatoes and what-not in their yard, but by and large the newbies prefer to walk a few blocks to the farmers market for their organic kale.

Back in the day, when conflict arose in the Ward, a certain Mr. Silvestro would step in and sort things out. He’s long gone and much missed.

Back in the day, it was unheard of to have your car burgled or your house busted into. It was Mr. Silvestro, not the city cops, who maintained order in the Ward.

I kinda miss the old days.