The sad story of the secret staircase

The thing about being a buildings archaeologist is that even though some houses might look the same, the story of their occupants and occupation is always different. These stories of occupation are not always revealed in the archaeology of the buildings themselves, and are usually unearthed by our team of historians. When recording a house in the central city, we were confronted with a building that was most intriguing from a buildings archaeology perspective and had a sad story to match.

A house with a sad secret. Image: P. Mitchell.

What made the house different was a ‘secret staircase’ located in the kitchen wall. From a buildings archaeology point of view this staircase didn’t appear to be an original feature, as its installation meant that one of the rooms in the house was unusable. Nor did it appear to have been used for some time, as the floorboards had been replaced where the stairs had once exited on the second floor, and the wall in the second-floor room where a doorway associated with the stairs had been located had been relined in the late 19th century. So why was it there?

A cupboard in the wall? Image: P. Mitchell.

Perhaps. Image: P. Mitchell.

Or perhaps not. Image: P. Mitchell.

There be stairs. Image: P. Mitchell.

The floor of the nursery looks a bit suspicious. Image: P. Mitchell.

Archaeological investigation. Image: P. Mitchell.

More questions than answers. Image: P. Mitchell.

The difference in wall lining is a clue. Image: P. Mitchell.

The other side of the wall. The upright timber is a clue. Image: P. Mitchell.

This notch in the upright timber indicates that it was part of a door frame. Image: P. Mitchell.

With various holes cut in the wall the picture becomes clearer. The red dotted line outlines the doorway. Image: P. Mitchell.

Historian Chelsea Dickson was tasked with uncovering the story of the construction and occupation of the house. What she discovered, and how it meshed with the buildings archaeology, is related below in the ‘Sad Story of the Secret Staircase.’

When Henry Wilkinson, a cobbler and shoe merchant, purchased the relevant land parcel from Cyrus Davie in 1872 he was looking to build a home for himself and his family. His wife Anna Maria, two daughters Laura (the eldest) and Louisa, and his son James Walter were no doubt looking forward to the prospect of living in a brand new home close (but not too close) to town, with the river nearby and Linwood East School just a short walk up Barbadoes Street.

Building started soon after the section was purchased, and the house was complete and the family had moved in by December 1872. Unfortunately, the reason we know that Henry and his family were in occupation of the house at the time is because of the funeral notice for the middle child, Louisa, who passed away in the house aged 7½ (Press 2/12/1872). This tragedy was followed 18 days later when the youngest child, James Walter, passed away aged 4 years (Press 20/12/1872).

By September 1873 Anna Maria had also passed away, aged 37, leaving only Henry and Laura at the house.

In 1874 Henry advertised the four front rooms of the dwelling to let as “the front apartments, four rooms, for a respectable family, of three to four adults, next to Mrs Cyrus Davie’s” (Lyttelton Times 9/4/1874: 4). In order for the tenants to access the kitchen, which was located in the rear of the building, Henry had a staircase built into the wall between the kitchen and the parlour, which provided access from the front upstairs bedroom to the kitchen.

This is the ‘secret staircase’.

Presumably the secret staircase went out of use when Henry ceased letting out the front four rooms of his house, probably in 1875 when he married Annie Martha Griffiths, and hopefully lived happily ever after.

Peter Mitchell

References

LINZ, 1850. Canterbury Land District Deeds index – A – Town sections and town reserves register.

LINZ, 1860. Canterbury Land District Deeds index – A/S 1 – Subdivisions of town reserves register. Archives New Zealand, Christchurch office.

Lyttelton Times. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz [Accessed May 2017].

Press. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz [Accessed May 2017].

And when I get that feeling…

In the lyrics to his hit 1982 song, Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye cries out (in smooth and sultry tones, really) for a remedy that will relieve his mind, restore his emotional stability, stop the “blue teardrops” falling and calm the sea “stormin’ inside of me.” It may surprise you to discover that, amazingly and with only a tiny bit of artistic license (well, sort of), this song works rather well as an allegory for Victorian attitudes to sex. Yep, you heard me. Particularly if you listen to them the day after reading an 1840s-1860s treatise on sexual health, impotence and general quackery (do not recommend for the squeamish…). It’s the last lines, usually faded out past the point of hearing in recorded versions, that really clinch it: “please don’t procrastinate,” he sings softly, “it’s not good to masturbate.”

Bet you didn’t know about that line did you.

I realise that this foray into 1980s R & B and/or the (surprisingly very graphic) world of Victorian sexual health is somewhat out of character for this blog, but do bear with us, dear reader. Let us take you on a journey down the rabbit hole to a side of 19th century life not often talked about, and definitely not often found archaeologically.

It all began a few weeks ago, with the discovery of a relatively unassuming pharmaceutical bottle in an assemblage from the 1870s-1880s. Plain in form and resembling the many tinctures of cough medicine, pain killers, oils and blood purifiers we commonly find on Victorian sites, the bottle was also embossed with an unusual product name: Perry’s Cordial Balm of Syriacum. The name references Syria, which at the time had both exotic and biblical connotations that were exploited by medical entrepreneurs, as well as an earlier well-known remedy called Solomon’s Balm of Gilead (which itself references biblical healing…; Helfand 1989). The product, as it turns out, was a patent medicine primarily advertised as a remedy for three things: syphilis, gonorrhea and sexual impotence. Specifically:

THE CORDIAL BALM OF SYRIACUM is a gentle stimulant and renovator of the impaired functions of life, and is exclusively directed to the cure of such complaints as arise from the disorganization of the Generative System, whether constitutional or acquired, loss of sexual power, and debility arising from syphilis; and is calculated to afford decided relief to those who by early indulgence in solitary habits have weakened the powers of their system, and fallen into a state of chronic debility, by which the constitution is left in a deplorable state…The consequences arising from this dangerous practice are not confined to its pure physical result, but branch to moral ones; leading the excited, deviating mind into a fertile field of seductive error – into a gradual and total degradation of manhood…How many at eighteen receive the impression of the seeds of syphilitic disease itself? The consequences of which travel out of the ordinary tract of bodily ailment, covering the frame with disgusting evidences of its ruthless nature, and impregnating the wholesome stream of life with mortal poison; conveying into families the seeds of disunion and unhappiness; undermining domestic harmony; and striking at the very soul of human intercourse.”

-The Cambrian, 9/09/1843, p. 1

Yikes. Various advertisements for the balm in the 1850s and 1860s claimed that it was a “never-failing remedy for Spermatorrhoea”, “loss of manly power”, “obstinate gleet[1]”, “tic-dolereaux” and “the prostration and languor produced by sojourning in the colonies or hot climates” (New Zealander 17/08/1861: 6). It, apparently, also “favoured the reproduction of the semen and strengthened at the same time the secretory vessels and the resevoirs” and “removed radically all the affections of the genital parts in both sexes; substituting vigour for impotence, and fecundity in place of barrenness” (Perry and Perry 1841). All of which is a lot for one little remedy to do. Although it was apparently “adapted for both sexes”, it is worth noting that most of the advertisements targeted men. When female complaints were discussed, the most attention was paid to the illnesses and dangers of menopause (or, as described at the time, “the turn of life”) and the “safe conduct” promised by the use of the Balm of Syriacum (Perry and Perry 1841: 62).

Perry’s Cordial Balm of Syriacum bottle, found in Christchurch. Image: Chelsea Dickson.

The actual contents of the balm are unknown, although it may have contained origanum syriacum, which was believed to have blood purifying abilities (Watson 2013: 90). Other similar products, such as the Balm of Gilead, are believed to have contained nothing more than “a few spices and herbs dissolved in a substantial percentage of fine old French brandy” (Helfand 1989: 155). As such, while they may have made the patient feel better for a little while – or  as one person puts it, mistake “the frenzy of inebriation for the natural glow of renovated health” – they are unlikely to have achieved any of the lofty goals outlined in their advertisements (Wilson 2008).

Advertisement for Perry’s Cordial Balm of Syriacum. Note the long litany of ailments it will allegedly relieve. Image: New Zealander 17/08/1861: 6.

The balm was made and sold by R. & L. Perry, London ‘surgeons’ who made quite a name for themselves as specialists in sexual health, specifically the treatment of impotence and the clap. They were self-described consulting surgeons and medical men who “feel that we are not exceeding the limits of truth, or transgressing the bounds of professional etiquette, in asserting that our mode of practice…has been productive of the happiest and most successful results in the treatment of sexual debility in both sexes” (Perry and Perry 1841: vi). In this statement, they were supported by a multitude of (somewhat similar) testimonials from patients who listed, in sometimes excruciating detail, the symptoms and maladies of which they had been cured. In truth, however, they were quacks.

Quackery – animal magnetism, as it happens – in action, c. 1780. Image: Wikimedia Commons.

A good part of what we know about the Perrys and their medical beliefs comes from their book The Silent Friend[2], a treatise on onanism (masturbation) and its consequences, such as impotence, as well as venereal and syphilitic diseases. The Silent Friend contained in its many pages of flowery language, a 65 page long diatribe against “solitary indulgence”, constant advertisements for the Balm of Syriacum and other medicines, numerous descriptions of the symptoms and manifestations of gonorrhea and syphilis, and several disturbing recommendations for the treatment of said venereal diseases. I think my favourite might be the injection of a mixture of lead sulphate (toxic), zinc sulphate, rose water (inexplicably) and opium into sensitive areas. Kids, do not try this at home…

Although the graphic detail of both disease and treatment is morbidly fascinating, it’s the fixation of the authors on the dangers of onanism that I find particularly curious.The Perrys were of the opinion that masturbation not only destroyed the health and mind of the individual, it was a danger to “the welfare of the empire” due to the ways it destroyed man’s emotional, moral and procreative abilities and passed those same debilities on to any children such a sufferer might manage to have. Interestingly, this was a fear that was shared among many in Victorian society: it had become more and more widespread in the 18th century and by the mid-19th century, quack doctors like R. & L. Perry were perpetuating and exploiting the fear and shame associated with masturbation, including the notion that it was responsible for impotence. The list of things caused by such self-indulgence is long and contains a wide range of physical, mental and moral symptoms, to the point where almost any failing of a man or his character could be blamed on his own weakness (oddly enough, no reference is made by the Perrys to women suffering from this particular problem…)

This man is apparently suffering from too much solitary indulgence. “He less resembled a living creature than a corpse; lying upon straw, meagre, pale, and filthy, casting forth an infectious stench, almost incapable of motion, a watery palish blood issued from the nose, his tongue was frightfully swelled, and saliva constantly flowed from his mouth.” Image: The Silent Friend, p. 32.

Sufferers of this terrible malady reported, among other things too graphic to include, that (and do keep in mind those Marvin Gaye lyrics…):

  • “the powers of the mind were much weakened, my judgment had lost its solidity, my head was confused and subject to frequent swimmings”
  • “he often shed tears involuntarily, and a quantity of corrosive pus continually issued from the corners of his eyes”
  • “my spirits greatly depressed, so that at times I could scarcely refrain from sighing and involuntary weeping”
  • “a disordered stomach, dry consumptive cough, weakness in the voice, hoarseness, shortness of breath on the least exercise”

In general, the various treatments for onanism, as well as the ubiquitously suggested Balm of Syriacum, of course, are just as horrifying as those suggested for venereal diseases. Potential cures ranged from cauterizations and blisterings of the penis (yikes, again) to the application of camphor to the genitals, the use of a ‘curative belt’ which sent shocks of electricity through one’s groin, and that old favourite, arsenic (McLaren 2007: 134). Also, specifically in the case of onanism and impotence, matrimony was recommended. The Perrys were strong advocates, surprisingly given our usual impression of Victorians, for a healthy sex life, but only within the confines of marriage. Marriage, and procreation, were after all, the purpose of human existence.

On marriage. Image: The Silent Friend, p. 129.

There’s something of a curious juxtaposition here, I think, between the repressed sexuality and morals of Victorian society and the quackery that very much played on the fears and habits exacerbated by social silence on the subject of sex. It’s visible in the lack of discussion around such matters in daily life and the utter relish with which books like The Silent Friend describe, in extraordinarily graphic terms, the consequences of ‘bad’ sexual habits. I started this post with Marvin Gaye and a tongue in cheek reading of a beloved song (sorry, everyone), but as I’ve written it, I’ve found myself thinking more and more about how much the social censorship, shame and plain old lack of information encouraged the spread of venereal disease and general ill health in the Victorian era (and our own, as it happens, don’t think we’re past this yet). Society created a vacuum into which so-called doctors like R. & L. Perry could step with alacrity and success, virtually unchallenged[3], to both exploit those unspoken fears and spread their own misinformation, in horrendous and alarming detail. Some things are better talked about, as it turns out, than hidden under the bed.

In the words of another (maybe less beloved song), let’s talk about sex, people. And always avoid treatments and doctors that recommend injecting lead sulphate into your genitals. If you’ve learned anything from this blog, let it be that.

Jessie Garland

[1] One anecdote recounted the curing of an obstinate gleet “by the injection of punch, a remedy suggested in a convivial moment; another time by green tea” (Perry and Perry 1841).

[2] The full title is, in fact, The Silent Friend: A Medical Work, On The Disorders Produced By The Dangerous Effects of Onanism, All It’s Dreadful Consequences Considered, Including Nervous and Sexual Debility, Impotency, &C., And On Venereal And Syphilitic Diseases, With Plain Directions For The Removal Of Secondary Symptoms, Gonorrhoea or Clap, Gleets, Strictures, Whites, And All Diseases Of The Urinary Passages, Without The Use of Mercury, Confinement, Or Hinderance from Business; Followed By General Instructions For The Perfect Restoration Of Those Who Are Incapacitated From Entering Into The Holy State Of Marriage; By The Evil Consequences Arising From Early Abuse, Or Syphilitic Infection. Which is really quite a mouthful. I definitely do not recommend looking up gleets, strictures or whites unless you’re sure you want to know. And gonorrhoea, for that matter.

[3] There were some who did challenge these ideas and practices, I just haven’t had a chance to really talk about them.

References

Helfand, W. H., 1989. President’s Address: Samuel Solomon and The Cordial Balm of Gilead. In Pharmacy in History, Vol. 31(4), pp. 151-159.

McLaren, A., 2007. Impotence: A Cultural History. University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Perry, R. and Perry, L., 1841. The Silent Friend: A Medical Work, On The Disorders Produced By The Dangerous Effects of Onanism, All It’s Dreadful Consequences Considered, Including Nervous and Sexual Debility, Impotency, &C., And On Venereal And Syphilitic Diseases, With Plain Directions For The Removal Of Secondary Symptoms, Gonorrhoea or Clap, Gleets, Strictures, Whites, And All Diseases Of The Urinary Passages, Without The Use of Mercury, Confinement, Or Hinderance from Business; Followed By General Instructions For The Perfect Restoration Of Those Who Are Incapacitated From Entering Into The Holy State Of Marriage; By The Evil Consequences Arising From Early Abuse, Or Syphilitic Infection. Self published. [online] Available at: https://books.google.co.nz/books?id=i1t1p2YRahcC&dq=the+silent+friend&source=gbs_navlinks_s

Ritz, D., 2010. Divided Soul: The Life of Marvin Gaye. Omnibus Press, London.

Watson, L., 2013. Tom Tiddler’s Ground: Irregular Medical Practitioners and Male Sexual Problems in New Zealand, 1858-1908. In Medical History, Vol. 57(4), p. 537-558. [online] Available at: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3865952/#fnr16 

Wilson, B., 2008. Decency and Disorder: the Age of Cant 1789-1837. Faber and Faber.

An archaeological fairytale

Presenting, with the aid of illustrations, the tale of an intrepid archaeologist, her trusty team and her quest to untangle the history of a house. It’s the story of a long lost age, a story for the ages, an age old story, a coming of age story, an epic tale from ages ago, but mostly it’s the story of a girl and her measuring tape[1], facing off against the murky mysteries of ages past with little to no plot of any kind[2].

Once upon a time there was a house[3] and an archaeologist[4]….

Part one: in which the measure of a house is taken and courage gathered for the task ahead.

Part 2: In which a mysterious cupboard is encountered.

Part 3: in which, even more mysteriously, a cupboard is discovered within the cupboard.

Part 4: in which, in the exploratory spirit for which archaeologists are famed, our hero investigates and finds herself in a strange and disturbing world…

Part 5: in which she is greeted by a trusty historical researcher, who appears in a blaze of light from the planet Vulcan, bearing a sample of historical timber as a gift of friendship.

Part 6: in which the archaeologist and historical researcher venture into the outdoors, animal friends are made and a musical number spontaneously occurs, until – in a case of sudden but inevitable betrayal – the ducks turn on their new friends and steal our archaeologist’s lunch (true story).

Part 7: in which a wise yet enigmatic buildings archaeologist with a fondness for puns is inexplicably encountered in a bathtub and persuaded, mostly with coffee, to join the fray.

Part 8: in which the team is struck down temporarily by the stick of malaise, a reference so obscure the narrator is fairly certain only the office of Underground Overground will get it.

Part 9: in which, still recovering from her battle with the stick of malaise, our archaeologist forgets which story she’s in and makes a brief, yet ill-fated attempt to use her hair as a ladder.

Part 10: in which our archaeologist, with her new friends, manages to find her way back and, good archaeologist that she is, makes sure to record the inception cupboard that led to so many adventures, and all is well.

[1] Known to its friends as Super Tape

[2] NOT featuring: princes, swooning or the rescuing of any maidens (we’re archaeologists, not damsels in distress)

[3] Actually several houses. We had to take a bit of artistic license with the telling of this story…

[4] Her name is Kirsa Webb. As well as being a buildings archaeologist extraordinaire, she is an amazingly good sport about being turned in to the protagonist of a somewhat silly fairytale.

 Jessie Garland

Odds and ends

A selection of the most interesting bits and pieces we’ve been working with recently here in Christchurch.

This gorgeous ceramic vessel is an 1850s-1860s chamber pot, found on a site just outside the central city. It’s decorated with the imaginatively named “Cattle Scenery” pattern, featuring, …well, cows. Image: M. L. Bernabeu.

What’s known as a ‘bent’ clay smoking pipe (referring to the curve, or ‘bend’ of the stem, with the mark ‘SQUATTER’S / OWN’ impressed on the side. The other side of stem has the mark ‘SYDNEY’. Squatter’s own pipes are a little bit of a mystery – identical pipes to this one have been found on other sites here in Christchurch and in Auckland, while variations (Squatter’s Own Budgeree) have been found in several locations in Australia. The budgeree pipes are often decorated with scenes featuring Aboriginal and European figures, while the ones found in New Zealand (so far) appear to be plain. Image: M. L. Bernabeu.

Another beautiful ceramic vessel. This time, it’s a saucer decorated with the pattern ‘Dresden Vignette’ and made by William Smith and Co. between 1825 and 1855. Image: M. L. Bernabeu.

Marbles! So many marbles! Several of the sites we’ve been working on lately have had different marbles in the assemblages. We’ve got German glass swirl marbles (top row and third from the left in the second row), ‘commie’ marbles (far right of third and fourth rows), onionskin marbles (far right of second row), Bennington, or glazed ceramic marbles (second from left in third row), pipe clay marbles (second from left in fourth row), and porcelain marbles with fine banded decoration (far left in third row). Phew. Did you get all of that? Some of them have been heavily used (might have been a child’s favourite marble, who knows!), while others are in pretty good condition. I think my favourite is probably the onionskin: it’s got a great name, and the colours are fantastic. Image: J. Garland, C. Dickson, M. L. Bernabeu.

A serving dish or tureen lid decorated with the Wild Rose pattern, a decorative motif that depicts the gardens at Nuneham Courtenay (near Oxford, England) and was extremely popular in the 1830s-1850s period. Image: M. L. Bernabeu.

This is easily the coolest thing we’ve found in a while. These stemware drinking glasses were coloured using uranium diuranate, which creates the distinctive yellow colour seen in the image to the right. But (wait for it), when you put them under a blacklight, they glow green with the light of a thousand superhero origin stories. Or alien colour schemes. Take your pick. Image: J. Garland.

It’s Friday afternoon, how about a wee tipple of gin? This fragment is from a labelled bottle of Nolet’s finest Dutch geneva. Nolet’s was established in Holland in the late 17th century by Johannes Nolet and is still in operation today. It’s the first label of its kind that we’ve found in Christchurch. Image: C. Dickson.

The ‘Grecian’ pattern, with the potter’s initials J. T. There are several different pattern variations known as ‘Grecian’ or that incorporate Greek and/or neo-classical themes into their motifs. Image: C. Dickson.

Another elaborately decorated saucer, this time displaying the Neva pattern. Confusingly for us, this is not the only 19th century ceramic pattern found under the name of ‘Neva’. This example was made by Thomas Bevington (1877 until 1891). Image: J. Garland.

How’s your reading comprehension? Up to 1870s standards? We found these pages from ‘The Royal Readers’, first published in the early 1870s, inside the walls of a schoolhouse in Governors Bay. Image: J. Garland.

The expressions on the faces of Victorian dolls never fail to amuse me. Image: C. Dickson.

Also found in the walls of the Governors Bay school house, this excerpt from ‘The School Journal.’ If you look closely you can see the typewritten words “Governors Bay, Lyttelton” in the bottom right of the fragment. Image: J. Garland.

And last, but not least, this wonderfully labelled wine bottle was identified as Champagne Vineyard Cognac, ‘Boutelleau Manager’. It appears to have been a well regarded product, if that extract from 1877 is to be believed. The bottle was found on the same Lyttelton site as the gin bottle shown above – someone had good taste! Image: C. Dickson.

Jessie Garland

The Waverley Wine Vaults

Few would suspect that the now empty lot on the corner of Worcester, Gloucester and Manchester streets was once home to the famous Waverley Wine Vaults.

Previously known as the Australasian Wine Vaults, the business was established in the late 1870s by New Zealand pioneer Edwin Coxhead Mouldey (Press 22/5/1897: 5). Mouldey, along with parents Moses and Eleanor, siblings Moses, Mary-Ann, William, Phoebe, Eleanor and relatives Henry and Sophia, were one of the pioneer families who emigrated to New Zealand on The Cressy in 1850.

In 1869, leaving the confectionery business he had established in Lyttelton to his eldest son Walter, Mouldey purchased 4 ha of land in the Heathcote valley. Here, Edwin established his vineyard, featuring plum, apricot, pear, peach and tomato plants. Mouldey also built a homestead on the site, where he, his wife Jessie Landers and their five children Ethel, Walter-Edwin, Frederick, Amy-Eleanor and Eva-Rebecca resided (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

The Mouldey homestead in Heathcote valley. Image: Ogilvie 2009.

While life in the valley may have seemed oh-so-sweet, it was not without tragedy for the Mouldey family. Frederick Mouldey, who was a keen rabbit hunter on the Heathcote hills, was found dead after failing to meet his father at the family bach in Sumner in 1914. His death was listed as accidental, as it appeared his shotgun had mistakenly gone off and the shell had lodged in Frederick’s throat (Press 09/03/1914: 9).

Article regarding the death of Frederick Mouldey. Image: Press 09/03/1914: 9.

Walter Mouldey, the eldest of Edwin’s sons, became well known in the community for his strength and as an amateur sportsman. At just 19, Mouldey’s chest measures a staggering 43 inches and he was ranked among the 10 strongest men in the world. In the early 20th century Walter added a gymnasium to the Mouldey homestead, where notable visiting boxers were often invited for a round or two in the ring. One of the more prestigious visitors was Bob Fitzsimmons, who held three boxing world titles between 1891 and 1905 (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

In 1914 when war broke out and New Zealand didn’t immediately join the war efforts, Walter (who had previously fought in the Boer War) purchased a ticket to England and joined the Lancashire Fusiliers. During his time in the Fusiliers, Walter rose to the rank of lieutenant, but was severely gassed in France and sustained a leg injury from a splintering shell. His outstanding physique was thought to be the only thing that saved him from death (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

The grave site of Edwin Mouldey and Jessie Lander. Image: BillionGraves.com

The Mouldeys most prosperous venture was the Waverley Wine Vaults. Originally named the Australasian Wine Vaults, Edwin began his wine making at his Heathcote Valley property in 1869. While the fruit trees prevailed, grapes were not as easy to procure as Edwin had hoped, and so he was limited to making fruit wines (Press 22/5/1897: 5).

In 1888, Edwin moved his business into what was formerly Gee’s school room, on Town Sections 688, 689, 690 and 691. With this move, the wine vaults grew both in size, and success (Press 22/5/1897: 5). The vineyards achieved their peak in 1907, when they produced 1,150 gallons of wine, 105 gallons of spirits, 1,413 gallons of sherry and a staggering 162 gallons of fortifying fruit spirits (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

Advertisements from the period promote the sale of port wine, sherry, verdeilho, red and white constantia and other light wines (Press 27/11/1901: 12).

Advertisement for the sale of liquor from the Waverley Wine Vaults. Image: Press 12/11/1901: 12.

In 1913 after the death of his wife, Edwin sold the Heathcote Valley vineyard to the Booth family, stepping down to allow eldest son Walter to carry on the lease and management of the Worcester Street winery until 1939 (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

Advertisements and articles from the period are a stark difference to the way in which we advertise alcohol today. In an article about Mouldey and the wine business, the industry is described as “commendable” and Edwin describes the need for “encouragement” for people (referring in particular to families) to consume more alcohol, by way of lower prices and a license to retail his wines (Press 22/5/1897: 5)

Article on the Waverley Wine Vaults. Image: Press 22/05/1897: 5.\

The wine business didn’t come without its bumps along the way, however, and the Mouldey family experienced some significant challenges. In 1888, Edwin Mouldey was declared bankrupt just 5 years after he originally leased and mortgaged the town sections on which he situated the Waverley Wine Vaults (Star 7/1/1888: 2). A vesting order was taken out on all the sites in the same year, which is believed to have been the reason Mouldey was able to stay in business.

In 1907, Walter Mouldey was caught delivering a package of unlabelled port wine to George Bales in Ashburton, which was at the time a no-license district. Walter was charged with making the delivery, and further charged with failing to send the requisite notice to the Clerk of the Court (Ashburton Guardian 15/2/1907: 3).

Despite these indiscretions, the Mouldey family were held in high respect within the community. Eva-Rebecca took her love for art and made a distinguished career for herself, under her married name of Mewton. She exhibited some of her water colour drawings in London, which featured scenery from Switzerland, Austria and Bombay, showing the distance of her travels (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

Amy-Eleanor succeeded in a ‘first aid to the injured’ course, passing in the Medallion section, and received many awards during her school days (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

Edwin lived to be 83, and maintained a distinguished reputation within the Canterbury community. The Waverley Wine Vaults was the first distillery in the South Island, and although after 1939 the distillery was re-purposed into a packing facility, several other wine merchants came into business in Christchurch during the middle of the 20th century, following in Mouldey’s footsteps (Ogilvie 2009: 134-135).

From 1959 the Heathcote valley property was farmed by Jack and Lucy Labuddle and Rolfe Bond, after Walter officially retired from the business in 1939 and moved into the seafaring business, followed by his two sons Andrew and David.

Steph Howarth

References

Olgivie, G., 2009. The Port Hills of Christchurch. Phillips and King Publishers, Christchurch.