A Bit More Detail

Our story ends in Toronto, but it starts nearly 12,000 kilometers away: in India, at a place called Coronation Park. It’s a grand, wide-open space on the edge of Delhi, the dusty capital of what will soon be the most populous nation in the history of the world, a city teeming with more than 11 million people.

It was right here, in this park, that the British threw their biggest parties to celebrate their rule over the “crown jewel” of their empire. The first one was in 1876, to honour the day Queen Victoria was crowned as the Empress of India. There was an immense, lavish procession, with the country’s most important British officials riding in on elephants and 70,000 people in the crowd.

When Queen Victoria died and the crown was passed down to her son, King Edward VII, they did it all over again. This time, the durbar (which is what they called these things) was even bigger. The celebrations went on for two whole weeks. More than 100,000 people showed up. There were fireworks. Parades. Even polo matches. An entire city of tents rose up on the grounds, supplied with their own electricity, running water and rail lines. There were commemorative stamps printed. Maharajas, Viceroys and Governors came from all over India. The king’s own brother even made the trip from England.

And that was nothing. A few years later, King Edward was dead. And the new one, King George V (who you probably know as Colin Firth’s dad in that movie), decided he wanted to attend his durbar in person. He and his Queen sat on golden thrones under golden umbrellas as 80,000 Indian troops paraded through the park before them. There were vast seas of horses and camels and cannons. King George even seized the moment to declare that Delhi would be the new capital of India.

Of course, the whole thing was a facade — a pretty spectacle to help to mask the vile things the British were doing. At the Jallianwala Bagh massacre they ordered fifty British Indian Army troops to fire on a trapped crowd of unarmed men, women and children for ten to fifteen minutes until their ammunition ran out. By the end there were more than a thousand bodies on the ground. At the Qissa Khwani Bazaar massacre, they drove armoured cars through crowds of non-violent demonstrators, used machine guns on the ones who refused to leave the injured behind, and then hunted the rest through the streets for hours. The members of a regiment who refused to fire on the crowd were all arrested. Some got life in prison.

On the night of Nuit Blanche, I went to the northwestern corner of Church and Alexander--just two blocks south of the fabled intersection of Church and Wellesley--to take photos of sculptor Del Newbigging's statue of Scottish-born merchant Alexander Wood, unveiled in 2005. Located next to the compass painted on the sidewalk at the same corner, Newbigging's statue of Wood has become something of a community landmark, quite literally a touchstone--apparently some locals rub the statue for good luck before dates.

This is not your average, run-of-the-mill abstract art installation; this is public art at its most practical.

Imagine you’re alone, traversing the busy intersection of Yonge and Bloor, looking for the time, but you’re both watch-less and—egad!—phone-less. Stumbling upon Wendell Castle’s Full Moon, you’ll be happy to know that, aside from being one of the city’s most recognizable street level public art works it’s also… a clock! London has Big Ben and we have this—maybe not as glamourous, but useful all the same.

In all seriousness, Castle is an accomplished sculptor and furniture designer whose creations have been displayed at the Art Institute of Chicago, the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C., and New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Regarding his work, Castle once said, “I’ve been very interested in art furniture becoming sculpure and having it accepted on that level,” so perhaps his public installation can be interpreted in the same light: as a kooky, oversized indoor clock that has migrated outside. Made with jagged lines using stainless steel, Full Moon wears its ’80s origins proudly and, though some may see it as an ugly, street-level eye sore, it might just be only a matter of time until it seems trendy again.

Constructed on July 16, 1925, in memory of all from the province who gave their services in the day of our country's need.

This monument was designed by sculptor G.W. Hill and cost $16,000; $11,500 paid for by the city and the remainder by public donation. Additional lettering was added at a later date to recognize WWII and the Korean conflict.

Donated to the City of Toronto by the late Harry Jackman in 1977, it is made from the original mould of a work by the eminent sculptor Oscar Nemon that stands in the Members Lobby in the British House of Commons. At the unveiling of the original statue, Oscar Nemon said: “I was trying to express an idea of impatience and hurry, of a man wanting to see something done.”

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You cannot be blamed if you have lived in Toronto all your life and have never seen the massive statue of Sir Winston Churchill. While the imposing figure watches over passers-by, few take the time from their busy day to glance north and notice the Great Man looking out at them.

In 2002 members of the Churchill Society for the Advancement of Parliamentary Democracy and our friends at the International Churchill Society, Canada began raising funds to improve the beauty and accessibility of this public space – and to improve its relevance for future generations. The City of Toronto was approached and they came to share the vision of what this memorial could be. New benches were added and the grounds were improved.