Toys through the years

“It must have been a happy household,” was the remark made by one of our team members when she saw the artefact assemblage we are discussing on today’s blog post. Whilst children’s artefacts are relatively common finds on New Zealand archaeological sites, we rarely get an assemblage as large and varied as this one. These finds came from a vicarage constructed between 1867 and 1868. At first glance we might not directly associate a vicarage with children, thinking instead of the religious responsibilities of clergymen and the church. However, the vicarage was home to the reverend who lived there with his family, meaning a lot of the artefacts we found related to them and their daily life.

From the 1860s through into the 1990s, various reverends and their families occupied the vicarage. Many of the families were large with lots of children. Over the years the various children who lived in the vicarage lost toys through cracks and gaps in the walls and floors, lying forgotten until the friendly archaeologist came along to find them. We’ve done a few posts on the blog before about children, however this post is a bit different as it showcases mainly twentieth century toys. Generally, we don’t collect twentieth century material as it falls outside the legal definition of archaeology, however we do when excavating under floor deposits. This is because the assemblages we find under the floor typically build up over time, and contain nineteenth century material sitting alongside twentieth century.

Enjoy looking at images of the various toys played with by the vicarage children over the years.

This rough, hand carved doll was likely made by the first reverend to live in the vicarage for his daughter. We can date the doll to the 1870s based on the context it was found in. This is the only children’s artefact featured on this post which definitively dates to the nineteenth century and it is interesting comparing it to the other toys, particularly when considering the impact of mass-production on styles and tastes. By modern standards the doll is barely a doll, with no arms or proper legs, yet it is likely the girl who owned it thought it was beautiful and treasured it dearly. Image: C. Watson.

Games, games, and more games. This compendium of fun contains three games, meaning there’s something for everyone. Made by Tower Press London, the compendium likely dates to the mid-twentieth century . My favourite part about the set is that it includes play money, even though none of the games require money. I’m just picturing kids playing the steeplechase game and taking bets on whose ‘horse’ was going to reach the finish line first. Image: C. Watson.

This paper figurine was found tucked away in the corner of the room behind the wall. Lots of the finds discussed on this blog post were found in similar places. Images: B. Thompson, C. Watson.

This piece of cardboard in a delightful shade of pink reads “wrong for once Mr Sharp Eyes, I’m same size as my brother.” It was half of an optical illusion produced by the Stereoscopic Company, advertised as a ‘novelty and trick for winter evenings.’ The other half of the illusion, which we did not find, was a similarly shaped piece of cardboard (this time in blue) reading “Come! Guess now the larger. This one, or the other?” No doubt the illusion must have been arranged in such a way that the answer wasn’t staring the observer straight in the face. Image: C. Watson.

This paper plane was a very cool find, made even cooler by the fact that we can date it based on the piece of paper its made from. The plane is constructed from an unused Airfix Products Ltd product complaint form. Airfix Products Ltd formed in 1939, meaning the paper plane must postdate this year. Image: C. Watson.

This “Indestructible” comb appears to have been reasonably accurate, with only a few teeth missing. Indestructible was a favourite descriptor for various household items, with Indestructible Shoes, Indestructible Hats, and even the Indestructible Davis, a brand of sewing machine advertised in nineteenth and early twentieth century newspapers. Image: C. Watson.

A selection of lolly wrappers found around the vicarage. The top right wrapper is for sweet cigarettes. These were a white sugar stick, similar to a modern spaceman lolly, with a red end imitating a cigarette. No doubt the child who ate it pretended they were smoking a real cigarette, something which would be very non-PC today. The bottom right wrapper is for Cadbury’s Maple Nuggets. Cadburys has a long history in New Zealand, with the brand introduced by Richard Hudson in 1868 . A quick google search revealed no results for a Cadburys Maple Nuggets product making the wrapper something of an enigma. However, lollies called maple nuggets were advertised in newspapers from 1916 through into the 1930s, suggesting the lolly was sold based on its name as opposed to the brand it was from. Image: C. Watson.

A selection of other toys found at the vicarage. Clockwise from top left: tin enamel shaped instruments, decorated with a slightly terrifying tiger and monkey. Glass marbles – these were all found under a fireplace. We think there must have been a crack in or close to the fireplace which the children would lose their marbles down when they played on the floor in front of it. Play money, possibly from the board games discussed above, and two puzzle pieces, one with a lion and the other a girl. Image: C. Watson.

Of course, it couldn’t be a post about old toys without a slightly terrifying one. This miniature plastic horse is scratching its nose with its hind leg. This is something which real life horses do, and apparently is quite hilarious to watch. Unfortunately, the manufacturers of this toy horse haven’t quite nailed the hilarity of the position and have instead ended up with something which looks more like a demon possessed horse. I think it was colouring the eyes red where they went wrong. Image. C. Watson.

If you thought the horse was terrifying then this doll’s eye is equally creepy. As a general rule of thumb Victorian era dolls are scary (check out more here) however the realism of this one, especially with its fake eye lashes, makes it particularly creepy. Image: C. Watson.

Clara Watson

What we find from the Antipodes

‘If you dig a hole through the centre of the Earth, you would arrive in New Zealand’. As Spanish children, we learnt that at school. Spain is the Antipodes of New Zealand. Both countries are at the same time joined and separated by geography. Beyond that, other connections arise between the two sides of the world either under the ground or over the ground.

Pete is digging a hole in a Christchurch site. Where is he able to reach going deeper under the ground? Keep in mind that the Antipodes of Christchurch is Foz, a town in the region of Galicia, north of Spain… Image: A. Trendafilov.

Luckily, as archaeologists, we don’t have to excavate too deep below Christchurch before we uncover traces of Spain. When I come across these rare finds relating to where I am from, a feeling of joy, but also nostalgia comes over me.

Thinking about Spain, people often identify the paella as our national dish. But, the regions of Spain are so different, from the landscapes and weather to the culture, language, history and food. Such diversity is what I like the most because that’s what makes Spain what it is. And yes, paella is our speciality in Valencia, cooked with chicken, rabbit and snails in inland regions, or with seafood on the coast. Either ways, it’s yummy!

Paella. This one is a veggie version that we cooked a couple of weeks ago. It was delicious! Image. M. Lillo Bernabeu.

The next thought (or perhaps the first for some) to come to mind when considering Spain is flamenco. Flamenco is probably the most well-known Spanish tradition for almost everybody around the world. Flamenco is an essential part of the cultural identity in Andalusia, the south of Spain. This dance is characterised by its emotional intensity, expressive movements of the arms, tapping of the feet and the use of castanets. Castañuelas, a hand-held percussion instrument often associated with Spanish folklore, have a long history going back thousands of years. So, it was a bit surprising and unique to find a pair of wooden castanets in a 19th century Christchurch site! They first appear in New Zealand newspapers in 1847 as part of a Charles Dickens story and seem to have been advertised for sale from the mid-1860s – early 1870s (New Zealand Spectator and Cook’s Strait Guardian 14/07/1847: 3, Daily Southern Cross 10/12/1873: 1).

Left: the pair of castanets found on a Christchurch archaeological site. When my colleagues first found them, they thought they were little wooden owls, and now they can’t un-see the owls! Image: J. Garland. Right: me, my hands, playing castanets. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

Besides the castanets, other artefact types more frequently found, like ceramics or glass bottles, also have Spanish nuances. While we are used to seeing ceramic patterns inspired by the Ancient Greek or Rome, Oriental themes or European country images, those inspired by Spain sceneries are quite scarce and unusual for the New Zealand consumers. However, a few patterns identified by name are directly associated with my homeland. The scenes are usually idealisations rather than realistic images of the place, produced by the potters to supply the consumer’s demand. But, whoever purchased these ceramics enhancing Spanish imagery had the chance to travel to the Antipodes through their vessels, and of course, an exquisite taste! Based on the examples found in Christchurch so far, it seems that Andalucia, the region of the south of Spain with its Medieval past, was quite inspirational for the manufacturers.

Andalusia patterned plate. The central scene features Spanish monks or friars praying in front of a monument with a building in the foreground and trees around. Image: J. Garland.

This is the first Montilla pattern identified from a Christchurch site. It’s a lovely romantic pattern with trees, a lake and a building in the background. The building might be a church based on the religious imagery noted, such as crosses and a female statue standing on the doorway, likely to have represented a virgin or saint. The name Montilla refers to a Spanish town in the province of Cordoba, Andalucia. It gives its name to Amontillado sherry and is also known for its pottery (Coysh and Henrywood 1982: 252). Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

Montilla pattern, again! This second version of Montilla pattern features a single flower in the centre of the vessel instead. Both Montilla patterns were made by Davenport (1794-1887; Godden 1991: 189). Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu

Following Spanish traces through 19th century Christchurch, some bottles also remind me of my country of origin. They weren’t made in Spain, but the embossing included the name of the product in English, and also in Spanish! The chosen ones are two of the Barry’s Celebrated Toilet Preparations: ‘Tinte Negro’ (Black Hair Dye) and his skin tonic ‘Crema de Perlas’ (Pearl’s Cream). Alexander C. Barry was a New York wigmaker, selling cosmetics and other personal grooming goods, in particular, related to the hair care. All of these were widely advertised in New Zealand newspapers throughout the 19th well into the 20th century (Otago Daily Times 12/04/1873: 4).

Left: Crema de Perlas de Barry. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu. Right: Barry’s Pearl Cream advertisement. Image: Otago Daily Times 12/04/1873: 4.

Left: Tinte Negro. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu. Right: Barry’s hair dye advertisement. Image: Otago Daily Times 12/04/1873: 4.

Certainly, it’s an empiric fact that if we dig a hole in Christchurch we do find Spanish evidence through the artefacts, without the need to keep digging beyond the centre of the Earth. Yet I can’t finish my rambling on Spaniards in Christchurch by focusing only on what is found under the ground, because walking around Christchurch and looking overground (see what I did there!), the Spanish influence is visible in the architecture as well. Thinking of Spanish architecture, everybody I’m sure agrees, our benchmark is Antonio Gaudi, Modernisme, Barcelona. Spain’s stylish influence is visible on one of the most iconic streets in Christchurch though. The beautiful, colourful and distinctive buildings of New Regent Street were designed by Francis Willis and built in the Spanish Mission style dating to 1932. They combine some of the characteristic traits of the style, like medallions, shaped gables, tiled window hoods and twisted columns (Donna R. 2015). This stylistic movement arose in the early 20th century as a revival of the Spanish Colonial architecture carried out in the Americas during the period of colonization.

Spanish friends walking on New Regent Street and spell bounded by the lovely buildings. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

To conclude, after digging holes under the ground and looking over the ground in Christchurch, there is a historical connection between New Zealand and Spain that I couldn’t miss. All of us are aware of those European settlers, who arrived in Aotearoa during the 19th century. Among these intrepid immigrants, there is at least one Spaniard. He didn’t dig a hole through the centre of the Earth to arrive in the Antipodes. He took a boat instead. His name was Manuel Jose Frutos Huerta, a whaler born in 1811 in Valverde del Majano, Segovia, in a region of the centre of Spain. Manuel Jose landed in Port Awanui, near Ruatoria in the early 1830s and never left the land of the long white cloud. He married five maori women of the Ngati Porou iwi, had eight children and became a successful trader. Nowadays, his descendants number up to 14,000 whanau members, making the Paniora New Zealand’s largest recorded family. Well, this would have been the Spanish contribution to the mixture of diverse cultures that make New Zealand what it is today.

Maria Lillo Bernabeu

References

Burns, D., 2010. 180 years of solitude. [online] Available at: https://www.nzgeo.com/stories/180-years-of-solitude/?state=requireRegistration [Accessed July 2018].

Coysh, A. W. and Henrywood, R. K., 1982. The Dictionary of Blue and White Printed Pottery 1780‐1880, Volume I. Antique Collectors’ Club, Suffolk.

Daily Southern Cross [online] Available at: www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed July 2018]

Donna, R. 2015. New Regent Street. [online] Available at: https://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/blogs/post/new-regent-street/ [Accessed July 2018].

Godden, G., 1991. Encyclopaedia of British Pottery and Porcelain Marks. Crown Publishers, New York.

New Zealand Spectator and Cook’s Strait Guardian [online] Available at: www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed July 2018]

Otago Daily Times. [online] Available at: www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed July 2018]

The archaeology of natural disasters

When people first settled in Aotearoa, they had no idea that they were sitting upon a slice of one of two supercontinents; Gondwanaland. Around eighty-three million years ago this slice we now live on, known to us as Zealandia, broke away. We wouldn’t recognise Zealandia as it was then; most of it is now underwater. The bits which still protrude above sea level is New Zealand. The earth’s crust is still on the move though, which we can see on the surface through earthquakes, volcanoes and smaller geothermal vents (McLauchlan 2014: 7-8). All of these things are familiar to any New Zealander. While I don’t believe earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are events we’ll ever become used to, we now understand why they happen and are better equipped to deal with the aftermath.

Long before I had even stepped foot on the South Island, on 22nd February 2011 at 12.51pm an earthquake, with its epicentre in Lyttelton and a magnitude of 6.3, struck Canterbury (GeoNet 2018). Although we are now able to understand (thanks to modern scholarship) why earthquakes happen, it does not make the loss of life any easier. Unlike the previous earthquake that had struck Canterbury in 2010, this one took the lives of 185 people and had a devastating effect on the city’s infrastructure and landscape. While the Garden City had felt the effect of earthquakes in past, none had quite the same effect as these ones.

An example of damage to the Cathedral by an earlier quake to hit Christchurch in 1888. Photo: Christchurch City Library CCL PhotoCD 3, IMG0059.

Damage to buildings in the CBD, Christchurch following the February 2011 earthquake. Photo: GeoNet.

Large rock falls in Sumner, Christchurch triggered by the February 2011 earthquake. Photo: GeoNet.

Since nothing with this much of a devastating impact has happened within New Zealand since the Hawke’s Bay earthquake in 1931, how are we supposed to know how to deal with the situation? Well, we don’t really. There is not really a right or wrong answer to this. We, as archaeologists, sit on a cusp of responsibility; to record the archaeology (that is anything pre-1900) for future generations and research whilst the demolition and regeneration of the city takes place, but also to do so quickly and not hinder these vital works whilst providing the best advice we can. I wasn’t here when the earthquakes took place but almost seven years on from the last severe earthquake of 2011, I find myself working on earthquake projects. The city is reinventing itself and will be for the foreseeable future. We’ve spoken on the blog previously about the challenges we face working in archaeology during natural disasters, but I want to take a more theoretical approach to disaster archaeology today. Theory plays a huge role in our interpretations within archaeology, but we tend to leave that for the reports and scholarly papers. I wanted to share with you today the theory I’ve applied whilst studying the impact of earthquakes and (especially) their aftermath.

First on the scene: archaeologists and tanks in the CBD following the February 2011 quake. Photo: Matt Hennessey.

So, here’s the technical bit: as archaeologists here in New Zealand we work under the Heritage New Zealand Pouhere Taonga Act. This however was superseded by the Canterbury Earthquake (Historic Place Act) Order 2011 following the earthquakes. This order meant that the process of application for an archaeological authority was much quicker, and we were able to fulfil that moral obligation of not slowing down works.

Much of the CBD resembled this post quakes. Photo: Matt Hennessey.

The historical facades, that have for so long been associated with Christchurch by many, suffered extensive damage during the 2011 quake and had to be demolished. Photo: Matt Hennessey.

Often when we think of the archaeology of natural disasters our minds jump to the destruction of Pompeii or Pleistocene extinction. But what many forget, including archaeologists, is we all live through natural disasters and the archaeology that they create . In fact, here in Christchurch we have lived through/are still living through such a unique archaeological experience it can be difficult to know what to do with all the information. As it is a requirement by law to have an archaeological authority before altering or removing an archaeological site, you can imagine how much of Christchurch this would have affected. The entire CBD is considered a high risk zone for pre-1900 activity. A positive (for lack of a better word) is the huge wealth of information we’ve been able to retrieve about Christchurch and its formative years during post-earthquake works. Following the initial demolition of unsafe buildings much of this debris has been removed, exposing the 19th and 20th century layers in the archaeological record, which we have recorded as works have happened to avoid this information being lost forever. American archaeologist Shannon Lee Dawdy, who worked as an advisor post-Hurricane Katrina,  rightly argued that the moving of debris, the burying of past living surfaces and the rearranging of the landscape post disaster exposes the relationship between people and their landscape (2006: 720). Here in Christchurch, archaeologists were on the ground and in the red zone immediately. I’m able to talk to my colleagues here and find out how the major and minor decisions regarding the removal of debris and dirt changed the landscape of the city. For the past seven years archaeologists have been working constantly to keep up with the speed of the city’s demolition and rebuild, and now we’re making the transition from earthquake based work back to the ‘normal’ way of doing things.

“The Latin root for resilience is salire, to jump or spring.” – Hayward 2013: 37

When disasters strike a community, the challenges that come with this test more than just our physical resilience, but our economy, democracy, and our emotions (Hayward 2013: 36). A topic that we don’t talk about too often on this blog is the emotional aspect of archaeology. Most people become archaeologists because they want to understand the history of the everyday men and women, not just those in the history books (or at least this was a big factor for me). Through the study of phenomenology (the study of consciousness and direct experiences) and taphonomy (the study of the formative and disturbance processes effecting the archaeological record) I have been piecing together the changes in Christchurch and the impact that has had on the people, specifically their emotional experience and how, through the changing landscape, we’re able to express the way we feel. Emotions can, however, be hard to interpret as (in most cases) we are unable to leave an imprint of our emotions within the archaeological record that will one day excavated or recorded by  future archaeologists. One way we can do this however, is to memorialise the event that took place and the life that was lost. Most scholars agree that the critical ingredient of a disaster is the victims (Torrence & Grattan 2002: 5). To remember these victims’ reaction to disaster is one way we do this; for example we see monuments across the world to commemorate those who lost their lives in war. As material reminders of the past, these monuments form part of the archaeological record, as much as any of the buildings and artefacts left behind. Within Christchurch we can see the poignant 185 white chairs, including one baby seat. This is a temporary art installation by artist Pete Majendie, but there has been an outcry to keep the chairs as they have become symbolic in remembering the victims and the quake. One idea is to permanently install the chairs, each different and individual, at the site of the CTV building where so many lost their lives in an almost ‘ground zero’ nature (185 Empty Chairs, 2016). A more permeant feature to recently be added is the Canterbury Earthquake Memorial Wall, which has the names of those who lost their lives etched into the stone. This is an enduring way to remember those that lost their lives and enters their names into the archaeological record, making our emotions clear for years to come through these commemorations. In fact, the memorial is a fantastic example of how the landscape was deliberately altered to create this monument as they significantly excavated the river bank for the wall.

The temporary art installation 185 Empty Chairs, which is beginning to take a more permanent place in the ‘new’ Christchurch. Photo: Instagram.

Before: the riverbank where the Earthquake Memorial now stands. Photo: Megan Hickey

During: the redesign of the riverbank. Photo: Megan Hickey.

After: The Christchurch Earthquake Memorial, part of the Otakaro Avon River Precinct project opened 2011, where the names of those who lost their lives are to be permanently remembered. Photo: Kathy Davidson.

The landscape of Christchurch changed so quickly that people became lost in their own city, quite literally not able to find their way around, as the landmarks they had once used as guideposts no longer stood. I, for example, never saw the ‘old’ Christchurch that locals speak so fondly of. It’s a strange thought that two people in the same city can have such different relationships with the same place. I have experienced a modern city blossom from destruction, however many people remember the ‘old’ city and its subsequent demolition. Even a year and a half ago when I moved to the city, there were still huge areas of debris and buildings still being pulled down. Within recent months it feels like the rebuild has really picked up momentum, and it’s quite honestly an exciting city to be in. To have played (a small) role in that process has been an amazing experience. We’re living in a city that faced crisis, but rebuilt itself unlike so many ancient civilisations where natural disaster often resulted in the dramatic end of a culture (Dawdy 2006: 720). Is that due to the times we live in and the technology we have at our disposal? Or is it due to the socio-political structure we live in, where the rest of New Zealand came to the aid of Christchurch? Or is it due to a more resilient people? My guess would be a mixture of all three.

Kathy Davidson

References

185 Empty Chairs [online] Available at: https://www.185chairs.co.nz/about-185-empty-chairs/ [Accessed July 2018]

Christchurch City Libraries [online] Available at: https://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/ [Accessed July 2018]

Dawdy, S.L. (2006) The Taphonomy of Disaster and the (Re)Formation of New Orleans. American Anthropologist. Vol. 108(No. 4): 719-730.

GeoNet [online] Available at: https://www.geonet.org.nz/ [Accessed July 2018]

Hayward, B.M. (2013) Rethinking resiliences: reflections on the earthquakes in Christchurch, New Zealand, 2010 and 2011. Ecology and Society. Vol. 18(No. 4): 36-42.

McGuire, W.J., Griffiths, P.L, Hancock, P.L. and Stewart, I.S. (2000) The Archaeology of Geological Catastrophes, The Geological Society: London.

McLauchlan, G. (2014) A Short History of New Zealand. David Bateman Ltd: Auckland.

Torrence, R. and Grattan, J. (2002) Natural Disasters and Cultural Change. Routledge: London.

O flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again? Well, maybe in Christchurch!

Christchurch is rightly or wrongly traditionally thought of as an English city, but at every turn we can see a glimpse of England’s arch enemy…the Scots. While they may now technically be at peace, they do still meet annually on the battlefield (ok, pitch) in a fight to the death (ok, 80 minutes of rugby) to claim the Calcutta Cup. It’s very serious business. This national identity notion that we all subscribe to is a funny thing. The majority of us are extremely proud to be the nationality that we are. I, for example, am very proud to be Scottish and even though we don’t have the strongest rugby team, I will always fiercely support them. And quite frankly, who wouldn’t be proud to be from a country whose national animal is unicorn. Yes, that’s right, a mythical beast. In our defence unicorns were thought to be real in Western countries until the early 1800s.

In my (almost) two years so far in New Zealand one of the main things I’ve picked up on is the way people are so passionately proud of being Kiwi, but also of the different cultures that have combined to make New Zealand what it is today. We don’t have to search too in depth into Christchurch’s history before we see a glimpse of that Scottish influence. Riccarton? Named after the parish that the Deans brothers came from in Ayrshire, Scotland. The River Avon? Named after their grandfather’s stream on his farm back in Scotland. That’s two very distinctive features of Christchurch, that the majority of us will think about or talk about on a daily basis, with origins half the world away. The Deans brothers were among the first to settle in Christchurch after being less than impressed with their assigned land in Wellington and Nelson. Having moved to New Zealand by myself in the modern day and age where I can FaceTime my family or hop on a flight home fairly regularly, I have the upmost respect for the earliest of settlers who travelled via boat and more often than not would not see their family again. It is however almost a bit of a mistake that the Deans ended up here in what was to become Christchurch, but a happy one at that. It is at Riccarton Bush that would be the site of their first farm and where the suburb of Riccarton would get its name. In the image below we can see some of the earliest buildings of Christchurch, built by the brothers. A far cry from the Riccarton we know today.

The stackyard at Riccarton c. 1860 showing a barn (left), the ploughman’s cottage (centre), and Deans Cottage (right). Image: Orwin 2015: 115.

Another set of Scottish brothers who made a huge contribution to Christchurch are Peter and David Duncan, who founded their business P & D Duncan Ltd in Christchurch. You might recognise the name as the business only ceased  operations in 1986, or because one of their 20th century buildings branded with “P & D DUNCAN LTD” can still be seen on St Asaph Street ( pictured just below). The pair contributed to the development of New Zealand agriculture through their foundries which, as previously mentioned, operated up until the late 20th century (Kete Christchurch, 2018).

Still in use today! Although not as a foundry as the Duncan brothers had originally intended. Image: Kete Christchurch.

The earliest immigrants were quite obviously bringing their skills to Christchurch and establishing businesses using said skills in order to better themselves. It is, therefore, a little surprising that when the Christchurch Drainage Board began their mammoth task of building a sewer system to support the growing population in 1878, they opted to import the sewer pipes all the way from Scotland rather than sourcing them locally. The earthenware pipes, branded with “J BINNIE / GARTCOSH”, were shipped directly from Glasgow (Press 14/12/1878: 2, Star 26/8/1879: 3). Understandably this annoyed the ratepayers somewhat –  if there were local businesses who could supply the goods, why did they need to fork out to get the pipes shipped from quite literally half the world away? (Star 29/5/1880:3). Predictably, not all the pipes made it to New Zealand in one piece.

Above: The J. Binnie / Gartcosh makers mark. Below: Not all of the pipes appear to have made it in one piece, take note of that mighty crack. Image: Hamish Williams

When thinking about the English we often think about tea as their national drink, but what about the Scots? Whisky, quite naturally. I was introduced to it at a young age in an attempt to get me to stop crying while I was teething…and I’ve been hooked ever since! Just kidding, following my dabble as a toddler, I waited until 18 to enjoy this Scottish tradition. We find whisky bottles, along with other types of alcohol bottles, fairly regularly in Christchurch (not that I’m suggesting anything about Cantabrian drinking habits!). This whisky bottle found in Victoria Square had an embossing on the base reading “JOHN STEWART & Co / KIRKLISTON”, which immediately indicates that the bottle originally contained Scottish Whisky made in the Kirkliston distillery in West Lothian, Scotland. The Kirkliston distillery was first established in 1795 and went through several owners before Stewart and Co. took over in 1855, installing a Coffey still and converting it to a primarily grain-based distillery. In 1877, John Stewart and Co. were one of the six Scottish whisky distillers to form the Distiller’s Company Ltd., who continued in business well into the 20th century. We can even easily assign the dates 1855 until 1877 for production of this particular bottle (Townsend 2015:125-127).

John Stewart and Co. whisky bottle, dating back to the early days of Christchurch. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu

The Scottish countryside was even celebrated through romantic imagery on ceramics. A pattern aptly named ‘Scotch Scenery’ depicts a Scottish highland shepherd and shepherdess resting at the foot of a tree. The highland landscape, with stone cliffs, waterfalls, and trees, is visible behind the couple (Transferware Collector’s Club 2005-2018). Ceramics patterns are often used to depict (often quite idealised) images of people, places and activities for mass consumption. Whoever owned this vessel may have been a proud Scot themselves, dreaming of home, or just someone with very good taste.

A Scottish lass and laddie reclining in the highland landscape – a lovely little print on a ceramic found in central Christchurch. Image: J. Garland.

And to end my ramblings on Scotland in Christchurch I can’t think of a better artefact. As I’ve said in a previous post, one of my favourite things to find on site is clay pipes. Often they’re stamped with “EDINBURGH” or “GLASGOW” with the makers name as well (I once even found one embossed with “DAVIDSON / GLASGOW” – us Davidsons get everywhere). But these two examples are a little bit special. They feature our national symbol, the thistle! While the English have the rose and Kiwis have the fern, we have a spikey (yet beautiful) thistle. The patriotic motifs became increasingly popular during the 19th century as manufacturers began to cater for “ethnic and national sentiments” (Bradley 2000: 112). Similar to the way I wear my Scotland rugby shirt (emblazoned with the thistle) with pride today, some of the earliest settlers may have smoked their thistle clad pipe with a similar sort of feeling. Now there’s a nice thought.

Clay smoking pipes decorated with the thistle motif found in Christchurch city centre. Image: J. Garland.

A huge thank you to my colleagues at UOA for sharing their Scottish stories and finds of Christchurch with me.

Kathy Davidson

References

Bradley, C., 2000. Smoking Pipes for the Archaeologist. In Karklins, K. (Ed.) Studies in Material Culture Research, p. 104-133. Society for Historical Archaeology, Pennsylvania.

Kete Christchurch, 2018. P & D Duncan Ltd. [online] Available at: http://ketechristchurch.peoplesnetworknz.info/site/topics/show/1950-p-and-d-duncan-ltd#.Wyhva6l9gnU [Accessed 19 June 2018].

Orwin, J., 2015, Riccarton and the Deans Family: History and Heritage. David Bateman: Auckland.

Press. [online] Available at: http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/ [Accessed June 2018].

Christchurch City Libraries, 2018. Riccarton Bush (Pūtaringamotu), Riccarton House, and Deans Cottage. [online] https://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/riccarton-bush/ [Accessed 19 June 2018].

Star. [online] Available at: http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/ [Accessed June 2018].

Townsend, B., 2015. Scotch Missed: The Original Guide to the Lost Distilleries of Scotland. Neil Wilson Publishing Ltd., Britain.

Transferware Collector’s Club, 2005-2018. Scotch Scenery [online] Available at: http://www.transcollectorsclub.org/ [Accessed June 2018].

Picture perfect – a gallery of archaeologist’s art

Today we would like to take you through some art work created by our team over the years. But this isn’t for your local charity art auction – these images illustrate the archaeological process we undertake on a daily basis. Long time followers of the blog and Facebook page (and any other archaeologists keeping tabs out there) might be familiar with some aspects of this process. However, the extent of the work that goes into an archaeological site from A to D (or Z if a particularly tricky site) is not something we explore often. Part of the reason for this is it often requires quite a bit of boring paperwork and long explanations of legislation. In order to avoid the elements of the process which might put you to sleep, here is generalised version of the typical archaeological process with pretty pictures alongside.

Step 1: Assessment of the project area

Before a single trowel goes into the ground, proposed earthworks which have the potential to disturb any recorded or yet to be recorded pre-1900 archaeological sites must go through an archaeological assessment. This assessment forms part of the paperwork required to apply for an archaeological authority (the legal document that allows earthworks to take place while protecting and/or mitigating damage for any archaeological material exposed) from Heritage New Zealand Pouhere Taonga. The risk of encountering archaeological sites, the possible sites types located in the project area and the impact of the works on potential sites are all included in the assessment. In order to assess these aspects, our historical researchers go to great lengths to source and uncover as much of the historical background of the property section or area which will be subjected to works. Much of this work focuses on historical sites of the 19th century as these types of sites form most of the work we undertake. If the historian is lucky they might encounter well-documented suburbs, families and buildings – making this part of the process relatively straight forward. Other projects may require many hours of painstaking research into archives, attempts to reconcile contradictory land parcels and transfers, exclamations over insufficient records and over-consumption of tea and coffee.

In the images below, we have a couple of colourful illustrations drawn by one of the resident historians. These drawings were done to assist the process of teasing out where the relevant historical occupation is located on a larger section. In an ideal world, this information would be neatly filed away in an easily accessible online resource – although in that world the robots may have already taken over our jobs if things were that easy.

An overlay of a land parcel subdivision on an aerial photograph with additional annotations…all to get to the bottom of where the house was located. Image: L. Mearns.

A colour coded sketch of a town section – useful for working out how subdivisions correspond to certificates of title. Image: L. Mearns.

Step 2: Field work

Granted the authority process went smoothly and the paperwork is all in order, it’s time for the works to begin. Our job as field archaeologists mostly deals with mitigation for works that have to take place such as demolition of buildings, new building construction, service repairs and so on. The fantastic work undertaken in the assessment process means the field archaeologist is pretty well prepared for what could be encountered during the works. Projects which have visible, often above ground archaeological sites (such as historic buildings or other structures) usually involve pre-recording of the archaeology before any work impacting the site. The images below show some of the notes and illustrations taken by one of our field archaeologists during the recording of a rather ornate building.

A rather elegant sketch of an ornate window. Useful for later reference and adding a touch of class to the field notebook. Image: K. Webb

This one could almost adorn an illuminated manuscript. Almost. Image: K. Webb.

I think someone missed their higher calling as an artist – look at that shading work on this sketch of a window dating to 1879. Image: K. Webb.

But until we perfect our ground penetrating sunglasses, we can never be too sure what will or won’t be uncovered below ground. Recording of below ground features, whether early Māori ovens, rubbish pits or brick barrel drains, must be recorded according to standard archaeological practice. This process often involves to-scale drawings such as site plans showing the locations of the recorded features, specific illustrations of complicated or noteworthy features and detailed drawings of layers of soil and features (known as stratigraphic drawings). The images below were drawn onsite during works and show examples of each type of drawing mentioned above.

A rather large but very neat site plan of historic house site, showing the location of the earthworks and recorded archaeological features. Every pile in its place! Image: R. Geary Nichol.

When your feature is so large it takes nine separate pieces of paper to record. This was one large brick floor recorded on a central city project. Image: H. Williams.

This stratigraphic drawing (featuring multiple layers of cultural material, large ovens and scattered artefacts) is a bit of a work in progress but demonstrates how complicated this recording can be. Image: T. Anderson and H. McCreary.

Step 3: Interpretation and reporting

At this stage all the works associated with the project are complete and the archaeologist can relax in the sun (or the June snow as it were) with a cold beer and contemplate the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Or at least that’s the fantasy after extensive recording and excavation in the field. The reality is that an archaeologist’s work is never done! All the artefacts, drawings and notes need to be ordered, analysed and turned into a report. Aside from being a requirement under the archaeological authority, the production of a report stands as a record of the work that was done, the archaeology that was exposed and the interpretations of the archaeologist/artefact analyst/other specialists. Such a record not only enriches our understanding of the past but also becomes a part of the historical record of the site in its own right (and is hopefully of great use to future researchers). Depending on the extent of the archaeological material found during the works, the report can be as labour intensive as the previous steps of archaeological process, requiring digitisation of the drawings produced onsite, detective-like interpretation of the features and analysis of the artefacts (sometimes hundreds, if not thousands of them!). The artefact analysis in particular is an important part of the process as we can often draw a lot of information about the date, spatial relationship of features and occupation from the artefacts found. This information can confirm, add to or contradict the historical research, and sometimes the archaeologist’s onsite interpretations. These post-field aspects of a recorded site are like a puzzle – we try to put the big picture together with the pieces that are available to us. Sometimes it’s a 50 or 100 piece puzzle, sometimes it feels more like the most difficult puzzle in the world – we don’t really get to choose.

Sometimes this interpretation process needs a few visual aids. The images below have been drawn by our artefact analysts to help understand the relationship between different archaeological deposits on a site and to assist with recognising the different features of an artefact.

Working out the spatial relationship between different archaeological deposits from the information recorded onsite and from the artefact analysis. Multiple depositions can be quite the headache. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

A lot of different colours and patterns went into this interpretation sketch. Sometimes it takes a bit of creative colouring to make sense of the archaeology and brighten our day. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

Who knew there were so many different parts to a shoe, aside from a cobbler I guess. Image: J. Garland.

Lovely teacup handle types. Image: J. Garland.

We hope you’ve enjoyed your digital sojourn through our gallery of archaeological creations and have learned a bit more about the work we do behind the scenes of all those glamorous photographs. We may even be able to start a side business creating high end art after this…or at least deserve some of the gallery wine and cheese.

 

Megan Hickey