THE HERMETIC CODE-CHAPTER 14

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 08/12/2006 (6887 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

The facts and people in this Manitoba lLegislature tale are real; the events have been brought to life by writers Carolin Vesely and Buzz Currie.

In this, the 14th chapter of a special two-week series, Frank Albo is baffled by the mysterious Septimus Warwick.

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Chapter 14

“THIS building seems to have Frank Worthington Simon’s fingerprints all over it,” I said to Frank, “and yet you say he’s one of its biggest mysteries. How is that?”

Frank frowned. “Well, mostly because of some of the research I’ve done on him.”

We heard footsteps approaching, and both of us turned. It was the security guard. “Sorry to bother you, Frank, but your sister just called and asked me to give this to you.” He handed him a note.

Frank read it and frowned again. “I forgot about a family dinner tonight back at the hotel,” he said. “I’ve got to go. Can I explain this on the way to your car?”

We headed back to the entrance. “You see, the architectural dictionaries of Europe have quite a bit about Simon in there,” Frank said.

We headed back to the entrance. “You see, the architectural dictionaries of Europe have quite a bit about Simon in there,” Frank said.

“But here’s the kicker: The entry in the Dictionary of Scottish Architects says “a restless genius, Simon… won the competition for Manitoba Parliament Buildings” — but it doesn’t credit Simon with the working drawings for the building. In fact, it credits someone else as the “on-site architect.

I stopped and did my own version of a Frank Albo frown.

I’d just spent days poring over old newspaper clippings, and Simon’s name was mentioned repeatedly. There was even a huge photo in the legislature’s tourist info office showing him with all the labourers.

“OK, I’ll bite. Who is?” I asked, bracing myself for another strange turn in our twisting tale.

“Some guy named Septimus Warwick,” Frank said.

Sounds like a character straight out of the Harry Potter series, I thought, before blurting out: “Who the hell is Septimus Warwick?”

Frank looked frustrated and ran a hand through his thick, black buzz cut. “Good question,” he said. “All I know is that he was an architect, but he was way younger than Simon and he didn’t go to Beaux-Arts. Warwick was a Freemason, though, I know that.”

He paused and let out a heavy sigh.

“The Directory of British Architects also credits Warwick. And there are others. So how come, if Europe’s architectural encyclopedias are crediting Septimus Warwick with building the Manitoba legislature and saying he was on the site, there’s not a single mention of him ever being in Winnipeg?”

“Even Marilyn Baker, the professor of art history at the U of M, doesn’t mention a word of Warwick in her excellent book on the building’s history, Symbol in Stone. She said she thought he was an anomaly.

“I was forced to write this retired professor from Queen’s University in Belfast. His name is James Stevens Curl and he’s widely considered one of the world’s foremost architectural historians. He wrote a textbook on Freemasonry and architecture.” And guess what he wrote back?

“I question your approach, young man. The Manitoba legislature was completed under the direction of Septimus Warwick.”

“Boy, did I feel like an idiot.”

We stopped in front of the security guards’ corner and Frank said a polite goodbye to his two friends behind the gleaming countertop.

I could feel their eyes boring into our backs as we exited into the bright sunshine.

I’m sure they were wondering what we were up to — me scribbling away as Frank conducted yet another of his unofficial tours. How many times have they watched him initiate yet another Winnipegger into the mysteries of this building?, I wondered.

“Anyway,” Frank continued as we walked down the stairs. “I eventually wrote Curl back saying something just doesn’t make sense because Warwick’s name doesn’t appear on a shred of documentation in Manitoba. And then I spent the days looking through every document, every clipping, every note I’d collected on the construction of the legislature, skimming through it with my eyes peeled for one name — Septimus Warwick. Not a one.

“I checked the passenger record for Ellis Island in New York, the chief immigration station of the United States, and found they had a record there of Warwick’s arrival in 1914. The records showed he was en route to Winnipeg.

“It was the Dictionary of Scottish Architects that at last threw a little light. It said Simon was assisted by Warwick on the Manitoba building.”

“So whatever happened to Septimus Warwick?” I asked, as we reached the parking lot.

“In a nutshell,” Frank said, “after the legislature job was completed in 1920, his star soared and Frank Worthington Simon’s flamed out. Warwick had practised as an architect with some success, starting in about 1905, but he seemed to have run out of commissions by 1911, which was when he went to work for Simon. After Manitoba, though, he had some big commissions — you’ve probably seen the Canadian High Commission in London?”

“Canada House in Trafalgar Square?” I asked.

“Right,” Frank said. “There was a major renovation job done on that building in 1923, and Septimus Warwick was the architect.”

We’d arrived at my car, and I offered Frank a lift down Broadway to the Fort Garry Hotel. The traffic was heavy; all the downtown lawyers were headed home to the ‘burbs for the day, but we only had a few blocks to go.

“What about Thomas Boddington?” I asked. “Where does he fit into all this?”

“Oh, Boddington essentially presented himself as no more than the draftsman on the building — especially during the 1915 inquiry,” Frank said.

“And after the new government fired Victor Horwood and made Simon the supervising architect, he enlisted in the Canadian army in 1917 and went to France as a gunner. A patriot, no doubt.”

And then he grinned. “But maybe it seemed more appealing to battle Germans than to battle Frank Worthington Simon. When the war ended, Boddington demobilized in Britain and stayed in London, where he resumed practice as an architect.

“I found he had at least one living relative in Britain, a grand-nephew named Irvine Fortescue. I called him up, and two weeks later received a photo of Boddington in his Canadian army uniform and a letter in which he described Frank Simon as “arrogant” and accused him of failing to share the credit for the Manitoba job.

“My uncle is the person responsible for building the Manitoba legislature,” Fortescue wrote.

Interestingly enough, Frank said, Fortescue also enclosed a copy of a winning design Boddington had done of a crematorium. Some of its features were eerily similar to those of the Manitoba legislature.

We pulled up in front of the hotel. Frank collected his ratty knapsack stuffed with papers and got out. He looked a bit out of place among the black-suit-and-tie crowd heading in to dine.

He casually leaned into the open window of my car, and we arranged to meet one last time, at 5 the next day, after I’d had a chance to clean off my desk.

Frank assured me that tomorrow he’d try to show me the final piece of the puzzle — at least the final one he’d uncovered so far.

“I won’t even use the F-word — Fibonacci,” he joked.

But just as I started to say goodbye, he suddenly sobered.

“You know what’s really weird about all this?” he said. “Frank Worthington Simon never had a major commission again. In fact, he never had an independent practice again.

“He lived another 13 years after he finished the Manitoba legislature.

“But his life’s work reached its greatest height and its end at the same time and place — here in Winnipeg, when the legislature was dedicated.”

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