Forgotten Toronto: How Liberty Village got its name — and the brutal legacy of Canada’s first women’s prison
The Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women was swamped with allegations of abuse, torture and medical experimentation over its 89 years of operation.
Aug. 22, 2025
Obscured from the street by large bushes, this little house at King Street West and Fraser Avenue is the last remaining structure of Andrew Mercer Reformatory. It now serves as transitional housing for people experiencing homelessness or mental health issues.
Nick Lachance/Toronto Star
By Kevin JiangStaff Reporter
Forgotten Toronto is a new weekly series delving into strange and forgotten moments from Toronto’s murky past. This week, we explore the dark history of incarceration at Liberty Village — and the traumatic legacy of Canada’s first all-female prison.
Liberty Village may be known for its gleaming condos and vibrant parks, but it once carried a far darker reputation.
About 150 years ago, the west-end neighbourhood was mainly known for two things: industry and incarceration.
In the late 1800s, Liberty Village roared with factories churning out textiles and all manner of machinery, from steam engines and railway cars to agricultural equipment.
Cells at the Andrew Mercer Reformatory, where women would be confined.
Amid this hubbub stood the imposing walls of the maximum security Toronto Central Prison. Wander north and you’d find the Provincial Lunatic Asylum. And just a block away sat the infamous Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women — Canada’s first all-female prison.
The first street these incarcerated men and women stepped onto after finishing their sentences was named after their newfound freedom. The neighbourhood grew around it and then took the same name.
Liberty Village.
It’s a touch ironic, given the context — especially when many of the women and girls liberated from Mercer could hardly be considered free, according to one historian.
Girls could be imprisoned for being ‘incorrigible’
Between its establishment in 1880 to when it was shut down in 1969 following a laundry list of controversies, more than 20,000 women and girls walked through Andrew Mercer’s halls.
Created partly to clamp down on a perceived rise in the number of “female criminals,” the reformatory sought to instil Victorian-era virtues in its inmates through training in domestic duties, hard work, a strict schedule and often brutal punishments.
Of course, what constituted a “crime” for women at the time often centred around perceived moral transgressions.
These beliefs were eventually codified into law by Ontario’s now-repealed Female Refuges Act. First introduced in the 1890s , the act gave courts the power to send young women to institutions such as Mercer for petty crimes and vaguely defined moral failings.
Offences could range from drinking and begging in public to promiscuous behaviour or even being out after dark without a good reason, said Theresa Raymond, a Toronto historian specializing in the Andrew Mercer reformatory. A later amendment even allowed parents or guardians to bring girls under 21 before a judge for being “unmanageable or incorrigible.”
These largely lower-income and often racialized women would be taught cooking, cleaning and sewing under the watchful eye of Mercer’s matrons, Raymond said. Once their time was up, many would be offered as servants to supposedly upstanding members of society.
Women at Andrew Mercer were taught domestic duties like sewing, cooking and cleaning. Once they were “freed,” many were forced to work as servants.
Women were not allowed to leave that position, Raymond said, noting it allowed Mercer to continue watching them. “There were some men who … would at times rape the girls because they were considered property. And if she tried to fight back by going to Mercer or authorities, they wouldn’t believe her.
“Even though they were released from the Mercer, they were never really free,” Raymond said.
Inmates were also moved into asylums for a number of reasons, from sexual nonconformity to so-called feeblemindedness, Raymond added. “That meant that they could be locked up for as long as they wanted because the asylum did not have a time frame of when to release them.”
As part of Mercer’s reformation process, punishments were doled out to anyone who broke the institution’s many rules, which included bad language or even talking while standing in line. Inmates might be forced to live on bread and water or suffer solitary confinement within tiny, dungeonlike cells in the building’s basement, Raymond said.
The memoirs of Velma Demerson, who was arrested for having an interracial relationship and child with a Chinese man, detailed gruelling work conditions when she wasn’t locked in her cell. Demerson said she was subject to medical experimentation and abuse, recalling moments like receiving experimental chemical injections during and after her pregnancy.
Much of the medical experimentation — ostensibly to advance research in venereal diseases — was rooted in the eugenics movement, according to the work of historian Constance Backhouse.
Finding Mercer babies
The reformatory helped further eugenic ideals by segregating perceived criminals from society during their child-bearing years, Raymond added.
Demerson’s baby, born at the prison, was taken from her when he was three months old. This became a common occurrence in the institution’s later years, where many babies born to prisoners would be adopted out without the consent of their mothers.
The Mercer address was removed from some of the children’s birth certificates, concealing their origin of birth, supposedly to “protect” the children from the stigma of being born to an inmate. This led to a generation of “Mercer babies,” some of whom remain ignorant of their origins, said Linda Mayhew, a Mercer baby.
Mayhew now runs a genealogy project seeking to track down other Mercer babies. “We’ve researched, between people contacting me or otherwise, 48 mothers that affected over 70 children,” she told the Star. “A lot of them were really quite shocked trying to unravel these stories.”
A photo of the Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women, circa 1895. Built in 1880, the Victorian-era facility saw use as a facility for “incorrigible” women — accused of public drunkenness, promiscuity, or begging.
The horrific conditions at Mercer sparked several riots on its grounds, eventually culminating in a major protest in 1948. Roughly 100 inmates rioted after a 17-year-old girl was brought into solitary confinement and abused by guards, according to Heritage Toronto.
This incident brought on heightened media scrutiny, eventually leading to a scathing grand jury inspection report in 1964 that revealed squalid living conditions, the abuse of inmates and the poor training provided to them.
Saddled by the report and decades of controversy, Andrew Mercer shut its gates five years later. The red brick gothic building was torn down soon after and is buried under what is now the parking lot at Allan A. Lamport Stadium.
Today, all that remains of this dark period of Toronto history is a little house in the northwest corner of Lamport Stadium, believed to be the home of the reformatory’s gardener or groundskeeper.
It was eventually converted into transitional mental health housing, according to Heritage Toronto.
The Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women was swamped with allegations of abuse, torture and medical experimentation over its 89 years of operation.
Aug. 22, 2025
Obscured from the street by large bushes, this little house at King Street West and Fraser Avenue is the last remaining structure of Andrew Mercer Reformatory. It now serves as transitional housing for people experiencing homelessness or mental health issues.
Nick Lachance/Toronto Star
By Kevin JiangStaff Reporter
Forgotten Toronto is a new weekly series delving into strange and forgotten moments from Toronto’s murky past. This week, we explore the dark history of incarceration at Liberty Village — and the traumatic legacy of Canada’s first all-female prison.
Liberty Village may be known for its gleaming condos and vibrant parks, but it once carried a far darker reputation.
About 150 years ago, the west-end neighbourhood was mainly known for two things: industry and incarceration.
In the late 1800s, Liberty Village roared with factories churning out textiles and all manner of machinery, from steam engines and railway cars to agricultural equipment.
Cells at the Andrew Mercer Reformatory, where women would be confined.
Amid this hubbub stood the imposing walls of the maximum security Toronto Central Prison. Wander north and you’d find the Provincial Lunatic Asylum. And just a block away sat the infamous Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women — Canada’s first all-female prison.
The first street these incarcerated men and women stepped onto after finishing their sentences was named after their newfound freedom. The neighbourhood grew around it and then took the same name.
Liberty Village.
It’s a touch ironic, given the context — especially when many of the women and girls liberated from Mercer could hardly be considered free, according to one historian.
Girls could be imprisoned for being ‘incorrigible’
Between its establishment in 1880 to when it was shut down in 1969 following a laundry list of controversies, more than 20,000 women and girls walked through Andrew Mercer’s halls.
Created partly to clamp down on a perceived rise in the number of “female criminals,” the reformatory sought to instil Victorian-era virtues in its inmates through training in domestic duties, hard work, a strict schedule and often brutal punishments.
Of course, what constituted a “crime” for women at the time often centred around perceived moral transgressions.
These beliefs were eventually codified into law by Ontario’s now-repealed Female Refuges Act. First introduced in the 1890s , the act gave courts the power to send young women to institutions such as Mercer for petty crimes and vaguely defined moral failings.
Offences could range from drinking and begging in public to promiscuous behaviour or even being out after dark without a good reason, said Theresa Raymond, a Toronto historian specializing in the Andrew Mercer reformatory. A later amendment even allowed parents or guardians to bring girls under 21 before a judge for being “unmanageable or incorrigible.”
These largely lower-income and often racialized women would be taught cooking, cleaning and sewing under the watchful eye of Mercer’s matrons, Raymond said. Once their time was up, many would be offered as servants to supposedly upstanding members of society.
Women at Andrew Mercer were taught domestic duties like sewing, cooking and cleaning. Once they were “freed,” many were forced to work as servants.
Women were not allowed to leave that position, Raymond said, noting it allowed Mercer to continue watching them. “There were some men who … would at times rape the girls because they were considered property. And if she tried to fight back by going to Mercer or authorities, they wouldn’t believe her.
“Even though they were released from the Mercer, they were never really free,” Raymond said.
Inmates were also moved into asylums for a number of reasons, from sexual nonconformity to so-called feeblemindedness, Raymond added. “That meant that they could be locked up for as long as they wanted because the asylum did not have a time frame of when to release them.”
As part of Mercer’s reformation process, punishments were doled out to anyone who broke the institution’s many rules, which included bad language or even talking while standing in line. Inmates might be forced to live on bread and water or suffer solitary confinement within tiny, dungeonlike cells in the building’s basement, Raymond said.
The memoirs of Velma Demerson, who was arrested for having an interracial relationship and child with a Chinese man, detailed gruelling work conditions when she wasn’t locked in her cell. Demerson said she was subject to medical experimentation and abuse, recalling moments like receiving experimental chemical injections during and after her pregnancy.
Much of the medical experimentation — ostensibly to advance research in venereal diseases — was rooted in the eugenics movement, according to the work of historian Constance Backhouse.
Finding Mercer babies
The reformatory helped further eugenic ideals by segregating perceived criminals from society during their child-bearing years, Raymond added.
Demerson’s baby, born at the prison, was taken from her when he was three months old. This became a common occurrence in the institution’s later years, where many babies born to prisoners would be adopted out without the consent of their mothers.
The Mercer address was removed from some of the children’s birth certificates, concealing their origin of birth, supposedly to “protect” the children from the stigma of being born to an inmate. This led to a generation of “Mercer babies,” some of whom remain ignorant of their origins, said Linda Mayhew, a Mercer baby.
Mayhew now runs a genealogy project seeking to track down other Mercer babies. “We’ve researched, between people contacting me or otherwise, 48 mothers that affected over 70 children,” she told the Star. “A lot of them were really quite shocked trying to unravel these stories.”
A photo of the Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women, circa 1895. Built in 1880, the Victorian-era facility saw use as a facility for “incorrigible” women — accused of public drunkenness, promiscuity, or begging.
The horrific conditions at Mercer sparked several riots on its grounds, eventually culminating in a major protest in 1948. Roughly 100 inmates rioted after a 17-year-old girl was brought into solitary confinement and abused by guards, according to Heritage Toronto.
This incident brought on heightened media scrutiny, eventually leading to a scathing grand jury inspection report in 1964 that revealed squalid living conditions, the abuse of inmates and the poor training provided to them.
Saddled by the report and decades of controversy, Andrew Mercer shut its gates five years later. The red brick gothic building was torn down soon after and is buried under what is now the parking lot at Allan A. Lamport Stadium.
Today, all that remains of this dark period of Toronto history is a little house in the northwest corner of Lamport Stadium, believed to be the home of the reformatory’s gardener or groundskeeper.
It was eventually converted into transitional mental health housing, according to Heritage Toronto.
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