There are a great number of people — in Niagara-on-the-Lake, across the river and in many points beyond — who are in mourning over the tragic loss of Glencairn last Wednesday.

Destroyed by a fire the authorities are referring to as “suspicious” and “under investigation,” this irreplaceable piece of our heritage has been rendered a charred ruin of its former glory.

Gone is one more, and arguably the finest, of architect John Latshaw’s Greek Revival designs, with only Willowbank and Ruthven (both national historic sites) remaining. 

The beautiful facade graced by a two level colonnade supported by six Doric and six Ionic columns crafted in accordance with the classical orders — as opposed to the pitiful modern columns that resemble elongated milk bottles as recently installed on a local new build — set off with a classically simple and elegant entablature has been rendered a thing-of-the-past preserved only in photographs.

And that touches on only one, of many, special exterior architectural elements of what was enfolded in the towering achievement wrought by Latshaw in the design of Glencairn.

So too has been lost the historic and, in some cases, largely unique interior details.

Consider the main staircase, with its delicate spiral detail footing the newel post. Personally, I know of only one other example of this detail in Niagara — likely by the same carpenter, John Davidson, crafted several years later — which can be found in Old Town’s St. Andrew’s Church.

But, this detail has been destroyed by the fire along with many other “firsts.”

The loss feels like a death — not of a person, but a part of a person vested in a physical symbol of shared heritage. There’s simply no excuse.

While one may suggest “requiescat in pace” for the lost one, upon those charged with the responsibility for protection, I can completely understand why many may wish “fuerat auctor” on their house.

If this sounds somewhat bitter, kindly understand that it is not only my reaction but also a reflection of what has been voiced by many of my readers (including residents of Lewiston, N.Y.).

For 192 years, Glencairn stood inviolate, suffering its ups and downs, but surviving intact. Then, a mere six months after being acquired by a numbered Ontario corporation, it burns to the ground.

To be clear, absent of any evidence to the contrary, I am not suggesting any malfeasance from the numbered company or its lone director associated with the fire which consumed Glencairn. That said, this corporation had a responsibility to protect and safeguard the heritage asset — a charge that they failed to fulfil.

In this column on Oct. 2, 2024, “Arch-i-text: The architectural legacy of the Hamilton family,” I wrote:

“And now, the future of this glorious piece of Canadian history and heritage is placed in question.

“Having survived the highs and lows of nearly 200 years, what will happen to it next year?”

“It is a treasure of not only local and provincial but also national importance.”

“I certainly believe that Glencairn is worthy of being recognized as a national historic site and moreover, all the protection the law can allow.”

And, now we know the answer to “what will happen to it next year.”

Destruction.

Now, it is true that historic buildings, particularly those constructed with heavy timber members and/or balloon framing, are more susceptible to extensive damage in the case of a fire. However, a fire must first occur before that susceptibility is exposed.

Moreover, why is it that so many historic buildings are the victims of fire in this country?

Just to list a few recent examples in southern Ontario, there was the Peter Hay Knife building in Cambridge on Boxing Day of 2024, the 130-year-old historic landmark building in downtown Orillia in January, and the 156-year-old grist mill in Smith Falls.

And in Galt, a house burned the morning of the day it was slated for heritage designation (anybody recall the Welland Hotel in St. Catharines).

Further afield, several historic buildings in Montreal were lost to fire in 2024 — including the designated home and studio of Charles Daudelin and, during 2023, one case of arson on an historic building cost the lives of seven people. 

I could go on, but I think that is a sufficient sampling.

Perhaps contributing to this trend, at least here in Ontario, is the curious provision in the Ontario Heritage Act that fire damage to a heritage-designated building is one of the only situations wherein an owner cannot be required to restore the heritage assets.

The Ontario government website, on its page “Heritage properties and insurance,” explains it this way: “The intent of designation is to preserve the historic, physical, contextual or other heritage value of a property.”

“If a building on a heritage property is completely or partially destroyed, the designation bylaw does not require the owner to replicate any lost heritage attributes. A replacement building can be of a different design.”

As an aside, should France have employed this argument, the Notre Dame de Paris would not have been rebuilt.

Here in Ontario, it seems that losing a piece of Canadian heritage to fire simply clears the way for a McMansion or two or three.

Just urban renewal — if one listens to the opinion of barbarians.

Brian Marshall is a NOTL realtor, author and expert consultant on architectural design, restoration and heritage.