Kensington Market – the Genesis

Secrets travel fast in small villages like the one where I grew up, in Portugal. So, it was no surprise that my father’s covert plan to bring the entire family to Canada swiftly bounced off the cobblestones that paved the narrow streets and into the ears of everyone, even of those less curious. In those days, there was no internet or cellular phones, but somehow the news spread well beyond the borders of my humble locality, right across the Atlantic, faster than the defunct Concord. One day my father was making the announcement privately, and the next our home phone was ringing off the hook. One such call was from an older acquaintance who lived in Toronto. He wanted to speak with my father, but I was the only one home. He probed and queried, but I had few answers to give. At some point, I asked him to leave his address so we could meet when we would get to Toronto. His reply: “You don’t need my address. I am sure we will meet at Augusta.” And with that, the line went dead.

I shrugged that comment off and decided to give it little relevance, but I consciously stored it in my memory to eventually test my acquaintance’s assertion. For some time, I wondered what Augusta was. Was it a town, a park, a street, or someone’s home? I was curious, I confess, but I also wished I would never find out because, at the time, I hated the idea of moving to Canada.

My world shattered as I left Portugal and arrived in Toronto. It was February 28, 1991. The piercing cold froze my tears, but the whole of my soul wailed in despair. Although I had arrived in Canada, my heart was still back home and, with it, all my thoughts. By then, the idea of meeting my acquaintance at Augusta had been buried deep into my subconscious. It was no longer relevant. I just wanted to go back to my small and insignificant village nestled between a forest and the Cavado River, in northern Portugal.

My parents rented a basement on Borden Street, just north of College, near Kensington Market. The first few days in a new country could have been of wonder but I elected to stay indoors so my tears would not freeze. I spent days crying for my grandparents, all my childhood friends, and Susana, the girl I knew would eventually break my heart…but I still missed her. My parents tried getting me out of the house, but to no avail. I had tears to cry. However, one day, they dried out and a glimpse of hope ignited in my heart. I walked the snow-covered streets and ended up at Dufferin Mall. Penniless, I admired store windows and marveled at the number of people who spoke Portuguese around me. Unexpectedly, for the first time, I felt that Canada could be home.

Now willing to give Toronto a fair chance, I accepted my mother’s invitation to shop for grocery essentials at Kensington Market, right around the corner from us. We walked east along College Street, passing the old fire hall and a myriad of people who paraded the busy sidewalk, until we made a sharp turn heading south on an even busier street. A momentary shiver glazed the surface of my skin when I looked at the street sign. It read, ‘Augusta Avenue’. That phone call from a year before invaded my conscious mind and the words my acquaintance had proffered lingered in my brain while I marveled at people shopping the crowded stores that lined the famed avenue. My eyes began to frantically scan all the faces while my ears tuned to hundreds of people speaking my native language. If I closed my eyes, it could have been any Thursday at my town’s weekly market back in Portugal. Amongst such familiar horde, I wondered: would my acquaintance’s prophesized words finally come true? 

My mother busied herself bagging apples and bananas while I balanced the spoils of our spree on both hands. A tap on my shoulder forced me to grasp tighter onto the dangling plastic bags as I turned to meet a familiar face covered with an expression of ‘I-told-you-so’. Then, he uttered it aloud: “I told you we would meet at Augusta!”

A FAMILIAR ENCOUNTER

My personal encounter mirrored, in a much smaller scale, many others throughout the first forty odd years of the Portuguese presence in Canada. The area of Kensington Market was, in essence, the birthplace of our community in Toronto and, for many decades, its hub.

The Jewish community, mostly fleeing from Hungary, was the largest in the area since the fifties, although the Portuguese certainly gave them a run for their money for the four decades that followed. Men from all regions of Portugal arrived in the neighourhood and rented single rooms to save money. Some dreamt of returning home, but the vast majority ended up staying and calling for their families. Once reunited with their wives and children, they purchased or rented homes in the area and continued to frequent Augusta Avenue and its adjacent arteries.

This large influx of Portuguese naturally led to the creation of business and social organizations in the area. Sousa’s Restaurant opened at the corner of Nassau Street and Bellevue Avenue, the Portuguese Book Store followed just across the street, then a store called Casa Açoreana on Baldwin Street, and shortly after Lisbon Bakery graced the newly formed community with the first batch of authentic Portuguese bread and pastries in Canada. St. Christopher House provided English lessons and day-care facilities for the Portuguese immigrants, as well as support with government documents and other issues, and soon an official Portuguese Consulate was inaugurated to serve the growing population.

In 1956, First Portuguese Canadian Club was founded. Situated near Sousa’s Restaurant, it offered cultural, sporting and social activities and supported the entire community with varied issues. It was within the walls of the association that the first folk-dance group in Canada was formed (Grupo Folclórico da Nazaré) as well as many other organizations throughout the years, including the Association of Portuguese Clubs and Associations of Ontario (ACAPO). For many, First Portuguese was the place of reference for all aspects of life, including acquiring information on governmental matters and filling out official documents.

St. Mary’s Church, located on Bathurst Street, just southwest of Kensington Market, became the community’s parish, although a German priest who worked briefly in Brazil already celebrated mass in Portuguese at St. Michael’s Cathedral in the early fifties. By the end of the decade, St. Mary’s Parish had a full-time Portuguese priest and, in 1964, two other pastors arrived to support a vigorous community.

Although many businesses and organizations were formed, few remained in the area past the first three decades. Tivoli Billiards, founded in the early sixties, was one such exception as it witnessed the glorious days of wonder and later the exodus of the community onto other parts of the city. Legend goes that taxi drivers at Lester B. Pearson International did not need further information after learning that the traveler was a new Portuguese immigrant. They would simply drop the customer off in front of Tivoli Billiards. Here, newcomers from Portugal would find work and a place to stay, all in the same day.

After I arrived in Canada, in 1991, my father would bring me to Tivoli, along with my brothers, each Sunday morning after church. The place was always packed, even though it did not serve alcohol at the time. A cloud of cigarette smoke lingered in the air as dozens of men talked loudly and sipped on coffee and soft drinks. Along the long hall, there were more than a dozen pool tables, all of them occupied by players who enchanted a curious audience, while others patiently waited for their turn to play. At the establishment, I met Portuguese Canadians from all walks of life, from men who performed menial tasks to the person who had become a self-made millionaire. For many like me, Tivoli had become the centre of the community, as it remained the meeting point for several years after my arrival in Canada.

It was at the establishment that I celebrated, along with my brothers and friends, Toronto Argonaut’s Grey Cup Championship and Portugal U-20 FIFA World Cup final win over Brazil in 1991, Blue Jays’ MLB World Series wins in 1992 and 1993, Toronto Maple Leafs unbelievable run that ended with a bitter loss to the L.A. Kings in 1993, and Benfica’s unforgettable 4-4 tie at Bayer Leverkursen in 1994, among so many other memories.

After we moved out of the area, Tivoli Billiards kept on calling us back. Although there were several Portuguese bars and cafes in our neighbourhood, my brothers and I, along with an ensemble of friends, drove to Tivoli more than half an hour each way to either play pool or watch soccer games on television. This went on for many years until the establishment closed permanently, right at the turn of the new millennium. The event not only marked the end of an era for newcomers like me, but it especially closed a remarkable and enduring chapter in the history of the Portuguese community in Toronto.

Although a few remnants of the Portuguese presence can still be found in the area of Kensington Market, those less knowledgeable of the neighbourhood’s history would not tell of the extraordinary influence it once had on the shaping of the community. Portuguese is no longer widely spoken on the sidewalks that line Augusta Avenue, and newcomers no longer meet long lost acquaintances here. Fading individual and collective memory, along with a scarce number of academic research and newspaper reports, remain as treasured accounts of this rich history, one we cannot allow to vanish along with the passing of those who personally experienced it.

Help us expand on this segment of our History. Contact us if you you would like to share your memory or experience related to Kensington Market or if you know someone who can help us expand on this part of our history. We also welcome photos and your own articles, written in either Portuguese or English. Let’s write history together.