Affordable Eating: Meat and three veg in Victorian Christchurch

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Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ll be aware that Aotearoa New Zealand is facing a cost-of-living crisis. That weekly visit to the supermarket seems to be getting more expensive each time. Throughout history people have sought ways of making their household budget go that little bit further. Turning cheap cuts of meat and inexpensive vegetables into a delicious meal for the family has been the subject of books and newspaper articles for generations, including in the 19th century. This blog will look at what kinds of evidence we have for the types of cuts of meat people were using and how this reflects social status. We’ll then have a look at the kinds of dishes that Christchurch’s residents might have served up during the 19th century and the differences in the kind of dishes working-class and upper-class households might have enjoyed. Finally, we’ll undertake a bit of experimental archaeology and try cooking one of the more economical 19th century recipes, and get feedback on what my family, and UOA team thought of it.

First published in 1861, Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management was written by Mrs. Isabella Beeton, who lived in London during the height of the Victorian period. The book is a compendium of recipes, cleaning tips, and advice on children-rearing, finances, and the how to manage the day-to-day running of a good household. The book had sold nearly two million copies by 1868, making it a common guide for households across the British Empire, including here in New Zealand. The recipes within the book are typical of Victorian trendy cooking, with dishes such as Lobster Curry, Mock Turtle Soup (sans turtle and instead using a calf’s head), an assortment of preserves, puddings and cakes, and many French recipes (such as Boeuf a la Mode or Claves head à la Maître d’hôtel). The recipes are usually easy to follow and generally include the cost, presumably based on the prices in London at the time of publication.

The title page to Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1861 Wikicommons.

What is clear from reading a book such as Beeton’s, is that those in the Victorian period ate a lot of meat-based protein. To cater for this need, butchers were there to provide. Because of a lack of refrigeration, most people went to the butcher daily or every few days (although Mrs Beeton has advice on ‘restoring’ meat that was getting a bit old and dodgy). Butchers themselves also didn’t have refrigeration, so would rely on a quick turnover of goods to ensure everything was nice and fresh. Nineteenth century butcher shops would often hang their stock off the shop front or verandah. This utilised the natural cooling effect of the breeze and helped promote their stock to potential customers. Catering to all sorts of budgets, butchers would sell almost every part of the animal; a truly nose to tail experience that has gained a revival in recent years. Just as it is today, the best cuts were expensive, while others, such as offal and those that required a bit more preparation, were more affordable.

The delivery carts wait to be loaded outside G. Bull’s butcher’s shop in Cashel Street, Christchurch, in the 1870s.Christchurch City Libraries.

Faunal remains are a component of the archaeological assemblage that comprise bones, shells and other surviving elements of animals. In New Zealand historical archaeological sites, faunal remains include beef, sheep and pig bones, shellfish (such as oyster, cockle, pipi, and mussel), bird bone (such as chicken, goose, turkey and duck), as well as other species, such as rabbit and deer. The kinds of species present and the types of bone can shed light on the types and cuts of meat being consumed by a site’s occupants. Just as they are today, certain cuts of meat were more expensive than others and the amount of disposable income people had would often determine what cuts of meat they were eating on a regular basis. This isn’t to say that the working-class of 19th century Christchurch were not eating nice cuts of meat, but rather that these expensive cuts were probably consumed less often in favour of more affordable cuts.

Butchery has changed since the 19th century, and this means that the way in which meat is butchered has changed. The cuts we see at the butcher now is not necessarily the same as those going to the butcher in the 19th century would have seen. As such, we need to be careful comparing the remains we find in archaeological sites to the kinds of cuts we can buy from a butcher now. Thankfully, historical archaeologists have undertaken studies to compare and account for these differences using archaeological assemblages, and historic documents like that from Mrs Beeton and others, to identify the kinds of cuts that existed in the 19th century. Researchers in Australia used this research to categorise the types of bones found in archaeological assemblages and related them to the cultural quality, or ‘class’, for the cut of meat (in this case beef). They also gave an example of the kinds of recipes given by cookbook authors of the period. Cuts like sirloin and rump were considered ‘First Class’ cuts; middle-rib, and flank – Second Class; chuck and brisket – Third Class; while sticking-pieces (from the lower part of the neck), shin, head (e.g. cheek and tongue), hocks, trotters, and marrow bones fall into the lowest classes, from Fourth to Sixth.

Table 1. Individual cattle skeletal elements recorded for Quadrant interpreted as beef cuts of various quality (after Table 3 in Colley 2006: 50-51).

Skeletal Element Gross Body Part Butchery Section
(Steele 1999a)		 Beef Cut(s) Beef Quality Beef Recipes
Horn core Horn core Head Non-food Various Not applicable
Vertebra Spine Trunk Unknown Various Various
Rib Rib cage Trunk Various Various Various
Pelvis Pelvis Hindquarter Aitch-bone and/or rump Various Various
Acetabulum Pelvis Hindquarter Aitch-bone and/or rump Various Various
Long bone fragment Limb Unknown Unknown Various Various
Unidentifiable Unknown Unknown Unknown Various Various
Articular cartilage Unknown Unknown Unknown Various Various
Lumbar vertebra Spine Trunk Sirloin First Class Roasted baron of beef; roast fillet of beef (larded)
Sacrum Spine Trunk Rump First Class Beef-steak and kidney pudding; fried rump steak
Ilium Pelvis Hindquarter Rump First Class Beef-steak and kidney pudding; fried rump steak
Patella Lower Hindlimb Hindquarter Thick-flank Second Class Beef a la Mode
Thoracic vertebra Spine Trunk Fore–rib and/or middle-rib First and/or Second Class Various
Sternum Rib cage Trunk Brisket Third Class Boiled or stewed beef; excellent
salted, boiled & eaten cold
Scapula Upper forelimb Forequarter Chuck-ribs Third Class Roast beef with bone or rolled
Ischium Pelvis Hindquarter Aitch-bone Third Class Beef stew; salted beef; poorer quality
roast beef
Pubis Pelvis Hindquarter Aitch-bone Third Class Beef stew; salted beef; poorer quality
roast beef
Costal cartilage Rib cage Trunk Thin flank and/or thick flank Second and/or Third Class Various
Femur Upper hindlimb Hindquarter Aitch-bone and/or buttocks Second and/or Third Class Various
Atlas Spine Trunk Sticking piece Fourth Class Beef soup or a cheap beef stew
Axis Spine Trunk STicking piece Fourth Class Beef soup or a cheap beef stew
Cervical vertebra Spine Trunk Sticking piece Fourth Class Beef soup or a cheap beef stew
Humerus Upper forelimb Forequarter Clod Fourth Class Beef soup or a cheap beef stew
Radius Lower forelimb Forequarter Shin Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Ulna Lower forelimb Forequarter Shin Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Radius and Ulna Lower forelimb Forequarter Shin Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Tibia Lower hindlimb Hindquarter Hock (shin, leg) Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Fibula Lower hindlimb Hindquarter Hock (shin, leg) Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Astragalus Lower hindlimb Extremity Hock (shin, leg) Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Calcaneis Lower hindlimb Extremity Hock (shin, leg) Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Centroquartal Lower hindlimb Extremity Hock (shin, leg) Fifth Class Excellent beef stock or soup; top of
shin beef stew
Skull fragment Cranium Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Maxilla Cranium Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Hyoid Cranium Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Mandible Jaw Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Tooth Teeth Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Incisor Teeth Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Canine Teeth Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Premolar Teeth Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Molar Teeth Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Deciduous tooth Teeth Head Cheek and/or tongue Sixth Class Beef stews and soups
Caudal vertebra Spine Trunk Ox-tail Sixth Class Stewed ox-tails; cow heel jelly; beef
stock for stew
Carpal Lower forelimb Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
Metacarpus Lower forelimb Extremity Marrow bones Sixth Class Boiled marrow bones
Tarsal Lower hindlimb Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
Metatarsus Lower hindlimb Extremity Marrow bones Sixth Class Boiled marrow bones
Sesamoid Foot Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
First phalanx Foot Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
Second phalanx Foot Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
Third phalanx Foot Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
Metapodial Lower hindlimb Extremity Marrow bones Sixth Class Boiled marrow bones
Phalanx Foot Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel
Carpal or tarsal Foot Extremity Cow heel (trotters) Sixth Class Fried ox-feet or cow-heel

 

Underground Overground Archaeology has recently completed a project within the four avenues than spanned across parts of seven former town sections. During the project, numerous rubbish pits were identified and these yielded a range of faunal remains. These remains showed the people who occupied these sections were consuming a wide variety of animal protein sources including: beef, lamb and mutton, pork, rabbit, chicken, fish, and shellfish including oyster and cockle. Most of the cuts of beef tended to be from cheaper cuts, such as brisket, chuck, flank, foreshank (shin), and neck. But we also had a few examples of bones related to rump cuts, suggesting the occasional splash out on good quality meat. Shellfish and rabbit were common within the assemblages, and were affordable protein sources at the time. Lamb and mutton was also well represented and based on the published prices during the 19th century, was also an affordable option for families on a budget. All in all, the assemblage that we uncovered suggests that the occupants across these town sections were working-class, and the faunal assemblage suggested that they were frugal and purchased cheaper and more cost-effective cuts of meat.

But fear-not dear reader, Mrs Beeton gives recipes for all sorts of types and cuts of meat, including fancy cuts like rump, as well as ways to turn ‘economical’ cuts into something that everyone will enjoy. Let’s dive in and have a look at some of the recipes she has for us. Bones from the rump meat cut were found on our site, but as mentioned previously, these were identified in limited numbers, suggesting that rump, a ‘First Class’ cut, was only consumed occasionally. However, bones relating to beef shin, a ‘Fifth Class’ cut, were some of the most common faunal remains we found. This suggests that beef shin was a regular on the menu of the working-class families. So, what kinds of dishes were these cuts turned into? Let’s have a look at two recipes from Mrs Beeton: Rump steak and Stewed shin of beef.

Rump steak in Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management. Internet Archive.org

Stewed shin of beef in Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management  Internet Archive.org

For these recipes, Mrs. Beeton gives a cost of around 2s per pound for the rump steak and 4d or four pence per pound for the beef shin recipe. For reference, the beef shin recipe calls for a whole shin, which equates to about 4kg (or around 8.8 lbs) bone-in weight, giving a cost of around 2s 11d for a meal for seven to eight people, which equates to around 4 ⅓d per serve. Meanwhile the rump steak serves half the number of people at a cost of around 6d to 9d per serve, and that doesn’t include any side dishes.

Prices of meat in Christchurch (Lyttelton Times 19 September 1860)

The price of beef in 1860 Christchurch appears to be fairly similar to the London prices suggested by Beeton, with the cheaper cuts of beef probably being 4-5d per pound, however this fails to take into account the price of the vegetables, sauces, etc. In 1861 the median real wage for unskilled labour was estimated to be £1 4s 7d a week, or £64 6s 7d per annum (Brooke 2011). This meant that Beeton’s beef shin recipe for eight people equated to around 12% of the real wage, while the fancy rump steak for eight people equated to up to 22% of the real wage! That’s quite the difference!

Always interested in history, and even more so in saving a few dollars feeding my family, I decided to give the beef shin stew recipe a go. Most of the ingredients were fairly simple to find. I was even able to find the mushroom ketchup in the supermarket. Mushroom ketchup is the OG ketchup in Victorian times and Isabella Beeton says “is one of the most useful store sauces to the experienced cook” (Beeton 1861: 227; link to her recipe for mushroom ketchup here). For the savoury herbs, I used what I had in my garden: rosemary, thyme, sage, parsley and bay leaves. I couldn’t find turnips, but substituted with a half a swede (which, after all, is actually just a Swedish turnip). Next was the beef, which I got from my local supermarket. After following the recipe, I was left with an appropriately beige-brown stew of shin beef, which smelled pretty good.

For a half portion of the recipe, it came in at a cost of around $44. Based on the recipe, this was meant to serve four people, but in truth it was more like five to six serves. So, how does the cost compare to today? If we still assume that the half portion results in four very large serves, then it would mean that the full recipe would have cost around $88. The current take-home median weekly income in Aotearoa New Zealand is around $948.34. This means that a modern recreation of Beeton’s beef shin recipe for eight people equates to around 9.3% of the real wage. Mrs. Beeton’s economic cooking still seems to be on the money (pun intended). Oh, and as for the cost of rump steak; is it still 22% of the take home wage to feed 8? Apparently not, and now steak for a family of eight will set you back around $65, or just 6.9% of the weekly wage. Mind you, this is just for the steak and doesn’t account for any side dishes. So, while it seems there is certainly a cost-of-living crisis happening at the moment, and things seem to be getting more and more expensive, spare a thought for those living in the mid-nineteenth century.

An appropriately brown-beige dish of stewed shin of beef. Image: N. Bruer.

But how does a 142-year-old recipe taste? To find out, I served it to my wife and 14-month-old son. The verdict? The vegetables are a bit soft, and the gravy was definitely flavoured heavily by the turnip, but the mushroom ketchup made for a really tangy, salty, umami gravy, and the beef was meltingly tender. The little one also found his delicious, with most ending up in his mouth and only minimal amounts ending up in his hair.

This tasty recipe was small human approved. Image: N. Bruer. 

With lots of leftovers, I next served it up to a panel of perpetually hungry archaeologists and asked for their thoughts. Here was some of their feedback:

“Delicious, soft meat and vege, with some delicious meat water to accompany it.”

“I thought it tasted fine and was nice and tender but could have used a bit more seasoning.”

“Just tangy enough, but try adding more mushroom sauce! It won’t necessarily be beneficial, but I did accidentally pour in about four tablespoons worth, so that probably influenced the flavour profile. And I loved it!”

“Nah, it was alright. It is a pretty classic European cuisine that seems like it is trying to double down on the savoury flavours. I think I’m glad for the greater variety spices and seasonings that we have now because the recipe did seem a bit limited; you’d throw in way more other stuff were you making the same thing now”

So, the beige colour was matched by a somewhat similar beige flavour. But there you have it, a bit of experimental archaeology: looking at faunal remains from a Christchurch site, selecting an economical recipe from the 1860s, and giving it the taste test.

Nigel Bruer

References

Colley, S. A Preliminary Beef Meat Cuts Typology for Nineteenth-Century Sydney and Some Methodological Issues. Australasian Historical Archaeology 24: 47-54.

 

 

 

 

Displaying Wealth and Status in Buildings: Part Two

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Welcome back to Part Two of ‘displaying wealth and status in buildings’. Now, before we get into the interior of the building, I want you to use your imagination when looking at the upcoming photos. Prior to taking these photos, this grand old dwelling was rented out by room and when people moved out… well they left a lot of stuff. There were also squatters who broke in and appeared to have a party in multiple rooms (and a small fire or two). I’m sure it wasn’t the type of sendoff the Ballantynes envisioned for their house but it’s the one it got. I’ve tried to spare you all of some of the horrors I faced in this building, but some may have slipped in. It is surprising the things building archaeologists have to face in our line of work, but a lot of the time in Christchurch the damaged buildings we work in have been squatted in… so we find some very interesting and gross things. But they make great work stories and sometimes blogs!

Anywho, the Ballantyne dwelling surprisingly had many original features remaining in the interior, including a couple that I hadn’t seen before. This may be due to my limited years working as a building archaeologist or the fact I have mainly worked on smaller cottages and villas that were not owned by people of the same status as the Ballantynes.

First things first, the layout of the dwelling. The Ballantyne home was laid out similarly to almost every other Christchurch Victorian home. It had a central hallway with rooms coming off it on either side and a staircase that led up to more rooms. The dwelling would have had 15 rooms originally, with all of the public rooms and smaller utilitarian rooms on the ground floor of the building. Bedrooms and servant quarters would have been on the first floor. This hypothesis is based on the grand scale of the front rooms and smaller back rooms on the ground floor. On the first floor, it is probable that the larger front rooms were the bedrooms for the Ballantyne family while the smaller back rooms were the servant quarters. Below I have rejigged the floorplans for the ground floor to show my theory on how the dwelling was originally laid out.

My imagined floorplan of the Ballantynes original dwelling. Like most 19th century dwellings, it had a central hallway that connected the main rooms of the house and went all the way to the back. The three rooms that have been labelled as ‘public rooms’ were highly decorative and were likely the parlour, dining room and drawing room – rooms that the Ballantynes would host guests in but also would use in their daily lives. The two utilitarian rooms off to the side, I’m not sure what the exact use of these rooms were. I like to imagine that they might have been a small scullery that servants could use to serve guests from while the Ballantynes entertained in the adjoining room.

Now the fun bit of the blog. Below I have singled out some stunning decorative features (some were also functional) that showcase the Ballantyne’s style and shows how they portrayed themselves to their guests.

Textured wallpaper on the ceiling of the hallway. Screams wealthy to me!

Only four large ceiling roses remained. Ceiling roses doubled as beautiful decorative pieces as well as providing ventilation to the rooms. These ceiling roses were found in the central hallway, two public rooms and the master bedroom upstairs. There were likely more but had been removed over time.

Cornices, cornices, cornices. The Ballantynes seemed to love their cornices! There is a saying “the bigger the cornice the fancier the room”… ok maybe I just made that up but its true! Large decorative cornices are usually found in public rooms of larger homes and in the case of the Ballantynes, they even put these large cornices in their master bedroom upstairs. Fancy.

The classic Victorian divider. Found in many different 19th century homes, a type of divider was used in the hallway to show a physical divide between the front of the house and the back of the house (think public vs private rooms). Now this timber divider is one I had never come across. The Ballantyne’s used a lot of wooden detail in their house, so it makes sense they had this timber divider. The more common dividers we see are usually plaster archways or the use of plaster corbels.

Please ignore the man in the back and instead focus on this beautiful Rimu staircase. A grand staircase for a grand dwelling. Now you know a lot of money went into this beautiful thing. Don’t worry this staircase found its new home in the North Island. While I am always sad to see a 19th century building demolished, its nice when items are able to be salvaged and given a new life elsewhere.

This may be one of the most beautiful fireplace surrounds I have ever come across. The detail was amazing. This fireplace surround was in the larger front public room. The Ballantyne home had eight fireplaces, which would have been very expensive to put in. Typically, fireplaces were constructed in the kitchen and a public room, depending on the size of the house and the money available. Sometimes we find an extra fireplace in a bedroom or two. But for this house to have eight is extravagant, and truly showed their wealth. (This piece also found a new home before the demolition).

Don’t mind the cast iron register that has fallen out… As a comparison for the fireplace surround above, this one was in the public room at the back of the house. Still a nice wooden surround, but it does not have the grandeur of the first surround. The large front room may have been the main room to receive guests while the back public room was reserved for only some guests to see but was likely mostly used by the family.

While not in the best condition anymore… imagine this timber finger plate with brass inlaid decoration, the brass key escutcheon and timber doorknob with brass decoration in prime condition – they definitely added some elegance to the Ballantyne’s doors.

The true star of the hallway (it also continued up the stairs and onto the landing) was this decorative varnished rimu wainscoting, which had been stencilled with a Greek key variant for the boarder and a four-corner design inspired by classical motifs. This highly decorative feature was added to the central hallway as it would have been seen by everyone that entered the dwelling. Other wainscoting was featured in a public room, but it did not have the decorative stencilling.

I have found that it is quite rare to find a 19th century toilet still in use in a house I’m recording. So, I was surprised to find one! Lucky for you I did not take a photo of the lid up… but trust me it had the original porcelain toilet! It was a ‘Unitas’ which was a one-piece ceramic pedestal closet that was manufactured from 1883. Also, very impressive that the Ballantynes had this toilet connected to the main house.

The Ballantyne dwelling is a great showcase of a dwelling built for a family with some wealth and status in the community. As touched on in Part 1, the exterior of the dwelling was well decorated and would have been impressive to view. The features they chose to have on the exterior set the tone for the rest of their house and it was the first impression a guest would have of them and their status. They clearly wanted to give a very prominent impression. On the interior there were decorative elements throughout the rooms, but they were mainly focused within the public rooms. This shows the Ballantynes were conscience of the way their house was viewed by their guests and that they made an effort to make the rooms that guests would enter be highly decorative, showing the Ballantynes as upper class.

Now, while all these features together are impressive, and they would have cost the Ballantynes a bit of money, these features can be found throughout different 19th century homes of families with different wealth and status. What makes the Ballantyne’s dwelling impressive is the combination of all of these features and the use of them throughout the dwelling.

Jamie-Lee Hearfield

Bonus content!

Our very lovely historian found deep in her files two photographs that I wanted to share with you all.

The first is this photograph from ca.1912 of Josiah Ballantine and his family in front of their stone motor garage in their new 1912 Unic. The stone garage behind them was sadly demolished prior to our involvement. There was a local legend about this stone building, that it was actually a small chapel, sadly this is not the case and instead it was just a very impressive garage! Image: Ogilvie, G., 2004. Ballantynes, The Story of Dunstable House 1854-2004. J. Ballantynes & Co.

The second is of this model of the Ballantyne house! Apparently, it is housed somewhere at the Canterbury Museum, but we have only ever seen this photo of it. As you can see this was created prior to enclosing the veranda and balcony. Image: Christchurch City Council, 2020. Property File. 

 

 

Displaying Wealth and Status in Buildings: Part One

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The act of showing off wealth and status through material is a concept that has been happening throughout human history. This does not necessarily mean that the person had the wealth and status they were portraying, instead some people just wanted to give the illusion that they were more well off than they actually were (known nowadays as ‘keeping up with the Joneses’). The Victorians were well involved in the concept of showing off their wealth and status to the public through how they decorated and organised their buildings both inside and out.

We see this in many of the Christchurch buildings we record. Depending on the person’s budget, a Victorian dwelling in Christchurch would have the street facing façade as the decorative exterior elevation (sometimes the sides of the dwellings also had decorative features – dependent on the view from the street and/or if the owner could afford to). Inside the dwelling, the decorative features were mainly focused on the rooms that guests would view and use (sometimes referred to as ‘public’ rooms).

Before we jump in let’s first familiarise ourselves with common features of a 19th century building. Luckily, I have prepared this one below (full disclosure this drawing is three different buildings I’ve recorded combined into one so I could show different features that we find on 19th century buildings in Christchurch. This is not a legit building…):

A diagram showing different decorative elements on 19th century buildings. Purely for educational purposes.

The case study in this blog today was a dwelling built for a member of the Ballantyne family, a wealthy family in Christchurch who established the well-known Ballantyne’s drapery business in central Christchurch. The land was purchased by Jessie Montgomery Ballantyne, the wife of Josiah Ballantyne, in October 1889. The Ballantynes appear to have constructed their residence on the section ca. 1892 and remained there throughout the remainder of the 19th century. The property was then sold by the Ballantynes in 1927. The dwelling was a two-storey timber framed weatherboard bay villa with a T-shaped gable roof clad in corrugated iron. Unusual for such a grand building, no architect could be found connected to the design of this dwelling.

So, with the background of the dwelling complete, I hope you are now thinking ‘what does a dwelling owned by a member of a wealthy family in the 19th century look like?’ Well, lucky for us, a fantastic photograph was taken of the building in 1898.

Photograph of Josiah and Jessie Ballantyne’s house in c. 1898. Image: Canterbury Museum, 1898.

Now, as a comparison, this is how the dwelling looked when I started recording it in 2020 (122 years later):

Photograph of Josiah and Jessie Ballantyne’s house in c. 2020. Image: J. Hearfield.

It may initially be a bit of a shock to see the state in which the grand house ended up, but when you look past the modifications, you can see many of the remaining decorative features the Ballantyne’s put into their home. I’ve compiled a few comparisons below to show these features.

If you ignore the tv dish, the hole and the plyboard in the right photograph – this gable hasn’t really changed! The highly decorative gable features circular designed carved bargeboards finished with rosettes, and decorative timber stickwork detailing. The first-floor triple sash window set had a traditional style architrave, a moulded flat pediment and decorative aprons. Very fancy.

Once again: ignoring the modern additions (this time modern material to stop the squatters from getting back into the building…). The bay window appears original with dentils under the roof and decorative aprons underneath the sills. The bay window featured three sash windows and it’s not super obvious in these two photos but above each sash window was a coloured glass leadlight window with a geometric floral motif reminiscent of the Art Nouveau style (I’ll post a photo of the windows below because they are beautiful).

The beautiful Art Nouveau style leadlight windows, photo taken inside the dwelling. Now, don’t worry, these windows were all salvaged prior to the demolition.

The same post just 122 years between the photos. The timber worked chamfered post was incorporated into the enclosed veranda and only one fretwork bracket remained for this post. Above the post you can see the fretwork lace still in situ.

The veranda and the balcony were extremely detailed with fretwork lace and brackets. It would have been very eye-catching for the public walking past. While the right photo is the west elevation of the balcony, it shows the original timber fretwork for the balcony, and it was the same as the street-facing elevation fretwork. It also shows that the original posts in the 1898 photo were still in situ, they were just incorporated into the enclosure of the veranda and balcony. This photo also shows the closed west wall of the balcony (the original leadlight window was removed prior to demolition but look below to see it before it was removed)

I don’t know about you, but I think this was the original leadlight window. A lancet-shaped window isn’t super common, let alone a lancet-shaped window with a colourful leadlight pattern for a balcony! This was also salvaged and is hopefully living a new life in someone’s home for the next 100 years.

The front façade of the dwelling was the first impression the public and guests would have had of the Ballantynes. Based on the exterior of their house, it appears image was important. As you can see from the images above, they put a lot of effort (and money) into the presentation of their home. This dwelling would have been very impressive to look at from the street. For comparison I’ve added below another historic photograph of another dwelling I have recorded in Christchurch, an 1880s dwelling owned by the Whitehead family.

Photograph of George James and Mary Ann Whitehead outside their house, Kilmore Street, Christchurch in c..1920. Image: Alexander Turnbull Library, 1920. Just a side note: this is actually one of my favourite photos I’ve come across because if you look real closely you can see George James Whitehead looking lovingly at his wife Mary.

This dwelling had decorative elements such as fretwork on the barge boards, fretwork brackets on the veranda and sash windows with decorative moulded pediments in a classical style. While these decorative features are nice, they are nowhere near like the conspicuous features the Ballantynes presented. George James Whitehead was a post-office clerk, so it’s likely the Whitehead family were more middle class and their dwelling gave the appearance of some wealth on the exterior but had a small simpler interior. Unlike the Ballantynes, who went all out on the interior of their home. However, I must stop here as this concludes Part One of this blog – to see how the Ballantynes decorated the inside of their home (well what remained of the original features) tune in next time.

Jamie-Lee Hearfield

References

Alexander Turnbull Library, 1920. George James and Mary Ann Whitehead outside their house, Kilmore Street, Christchurch. Whitehead, Henry Norford, 1870-1965 : Negatives of Napier, Hastings and district. Ref: 1/1-022247-G., Wellington, New Zealand./records/29948500

Canterbury Museum, 1898. Houses, Linwood, “Waverley” Worcester Street. Christchurch City Council Property File

A man named Wuzerah

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Much of the historical information we have available about 19th century Canterbury was written by and about individuals with access to property, resources, money, time, and influence. In this blog post I want to look at an individual who didn’t have access to any of these things and look at two things. Firstly, what was his story? And secondly, how and why was that story told?

The small and unassuming newspaper reference that inspired this blog. Originally, I was going to write on the Cashmere Drains Historic Area, but when you live in a city that was very very proud of its English roots when it came to naming geographic things (I’m looking at you nearly every single street in Central Christchurch), a name like Wuzerah’s Drain stands out. And so, down the rabbit hole I went. Image: Lyttelton Times 11/5/1877: 3.

The man at the centre of this blog was called, or at least referred to in historical sources, as Wuzerah. The name Wuzerah means minister or butler (Drury 2016: 28), indicating his name could have been either a personal name or a work title. Wuzerah, title or name, is spelt in a variety of ways in the primary historical sources, including Wazero, Wizzero and Wiggers (Press 23/3/1941; Press 24/10/1927: 15). Sometimes Wuzerah is referred to with the identifier ‘a Mahomedan’, ‘Moosalman’, or even just as ‘Indian Natives’ or ‘Hindoos’, and the connection between the article and the man is only made clear by reference to his employer (Drury, 2016: 28; Lyttelton Times 9/7/1859: 5; Press 8/10/1869: 3; Star 9/12/1886: 3; Press 11/12/1886: 1). Europeans had a poor grasp on ethnic or religious distinctions of these groups at the time, and these terms are often used to lump together disparate peoples. Wuzerah and his family were Indian, and were possibly Afghan-Pashtun folk, based on the etymology of Wuzerah’s names and the names of his eldest sons, Pero and Mero (Drury, 2016: 28). Wuzerah’s sons took his first name as their last name, which is a traditional Muslim custom.

Wuzerah came to New Zealand, with his wife Mindia and his two eldest sons, under the employ of Cracroft Wilson in 1854. Wuzerah was a member of the Indian workforce that Cracroft Wilson employed in the creation of what is now known as the Cashmere Drains Historic Area,and on his large Cracroft Estate. Most of what we know about Wuzerah is framed in and around his employer, who was a significant and powerful individual within early colonial society in Canterbury (we have another blog on Cracroft Wilson here). Unlike Cracroft Wilson, we don’t have an entry in Te Ara to tell us who Wuzerah was and what his life in early Christchurch was like. Instead, we have to use legal records: court records, coroner’s inquest reports, records of accidents, deaths, and sometimes donations, available to us through historic newspaper records, to try and piece together his story. This often doesn’t build a very detailed or personal view of individual lives, but sometimes enough details are recorded to give an impression of someone’s life.

Wuzerah first appears in historical records by name in 1858, when he charged Goordeen, another Indian man employed by Cracroft Wilson, with larceny (Lyttelton Times 13/03/1858: 4). Drury (2016: 29) notes that Wuzerah was the first Muslim man involved in a court case in New Zealand, indicated by the article reporting that Wuzerah and Goordeen were sworn into the court on an English translation of the Qur’an (spelt ‘Koran’ in the article). Wuzerah brought a case against Goordeen (also spelled Goorden in the same article), another servant of Wilson’s who attempted to steal his purse and Mindia’s necklace while they slept. Wuzerah tied up Goorden and took him to the Magistrate’s Court in Lyttelton on a charge of larceny. A Mr P. Ashton acted as interpreter for both Wuzerah and Goorden, since neither of them spoke English (Lyttelton Times 13/03/1858: 4). The article states that Cracroft Wilson and his overseer Mr Irvine were called on the side of the prisoner Goorden, and that his account differed greatly from Wuzerah’s account under examination. Goorden claimed to have gone to Wuzerah’s house for a light and woke Mindia to ask permission. The charge against Goorden was dismissed, and it was assumed by the court that the charge was laid against Goorden for an old grudge between him and Wuzerah. It must have been some grudge that made Wuzerah capture Goorden, walk him over the Port Hills to Lyttelton, and pursue a charge against him in a court system where he did not speak the official language, with his employer advocating for the accused.

Wuzerah next appeared in the historical record for a 10-shilling donation to the ‘Indian Relief Fund’, which was established to provide aid to British colonists that were affected by the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 (Lyttelton Times 8/5/1858; Drury, 2016: 35). He was identified as “a Mahommedan” in the article, which could be read as either a point of interest or an identifier in place of a last name. A search of other newspaper articles in the same years referencing ‘Mahomedan’, ‘Mahometan’ and ‘Mussulman’ show othering and racist narratives where Muslims were framed as a foreign other, and Wuzerah’s identifier here likely continues in this vein. We have another blog on the Sepoy Mutiny, which you can read more of here. Wuzerah’s donation to the Indian Relief Fund is an indication that he disagreed with the revolt, or possibly as an expression of support for his employer, who was in India at the time working with British forces to put down the revolt (Ogilvie, 2009: 235). Wuzerah’s choice to donate to the fund, and to include his name on the donation list can be read as an act of agency. Cracroft Wilson was not known for generous wages, and Wuzerah’s choice to publicly donate money to the fund indicates that he used resources available to him to publicly express his views.

Donation list to the Indian Relief Fund. The Indian Relief Fund was created to support British colonists who suffered under the Sepoy revolt, and Wuzerah’s donation here likely indicates disapproval with the mutiny. Image: Lyttelton Times 8/5/1858: 5.

Wuzerah returned to the courts in 1859 on a charge of larceny issued by his employer (Lyttelton Times 9/7/1859: 5; Lyttelton Times 3/9/1859: 4; Lyttelton Times 7/9/1859: 4). Cracroft Wilson charged Wuzerah with stealing tools and a copper boiler from his estate. Phillip Ashton once again interpreted for Wuzerah, and two other witnesses spoke on his behalf: Gunga Ram and Bhowanee Singh. Cracroft Wilson accused Wuzerah of stealing multiple tools and the copper boiler, and located these items in Wuzerah’s house after it was searched. Wuzerah was recorded as saying the following “The things are all yours, take them and forgive me” (Lyttelton Times 3/9/1859: 4). Phillip Ashton, when asked about this wording explained that this was a figurative form of apology used in India rather than an explicit admission of guilt. Here the Lyttelton Times notes that “several other witnesses were called whose evidence was of a conflicting character” but “The hour at which the report reached us precludes us giving any further details” (Lyttelton Times 3/9/1859: 4).

Both Gunga Ram and Bhowanee Singh testified that the tools were in Wuzerah’s possession before they left India, and that the boiler had been given to Wuzerah by Mrs Wilson more than four years beforehand. Mrs Wilson and others of the estate denied this claim (Lyttelton Times 7/9/1859: 4) The court ruled in Wilson’s favour and found Wuzerah guilty. A small note at the bottom of this report notes that a second charge of larceny was brought against Wuzerah, but “the case was of so trifling a character that we reserve our available space for a more interesting matter”. This indicates that Wilson evidently bought multiple charges against Wuzerah. If it seems a little odd that man as powerful and influential as Cracroft Wilson would bring multiple charges against a man under his employ for supposedly stealing a copper boiler and tools which he used as part of his employment, it is. Regardless of whether Wuzerah was telling the truth, and two witnesses speaking on his behalf definitely support this, Cracroft Wilson had the means and ability to handle this matter internally on his estate. Instead, he dragged Wuzerah through a months long court process, which Cracroft Wilson knew would result in publication of Wuzerah’s name with the offence, and then won the case against Wuzerah. Cracroft Wilson made an example of Wuzerah and punished whatever perceived transgression with institutional power structures.

The Old Stone House was built to house Cracroft Wilson’s Indian workers, and it’s possible Wuzerah lived here at one stage. This photo shows Old Stone House in a neglected state with farm implements outside, Cashmere, Christchurch. Williams, Edgar Richard, 1891-1983: Negatives, lantern slides, stereographs, colour transparencies, monochrome prints, photographic ephemera. Ref: 1/4-097560-F. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/30634110

The next record of the Wuzerah family is a coroner’s inquest into the death of Pero Wuzerah (Lyttelton Times 5/11/1862: 4). Pero slipped crossing a footbridge over the Heathcote and drowned in the river. The article notes that another boy fell into the river at the same spot within the same week but was rescued by his father. Interestingly, Pero Wuzerah is referred to as “the son of one of the Mahomedan natives of India employed by Cracroft Wilson” whereas the other child is referred to as “a son of Mr Jas. T. Fisher”. This difference in identification between Wuzerah and Mr Fisher is a clear contrast: Wuzerah is referred to as a nameless employee of Cracroft Wilson, whereas Fisher is identified by name and honorific.

The next mention of Wuzerah involves yet another court experience for charges issued by Cracroft Wilson. Cracroft Wilson brought charges against Wuzerah for the cost of £38 9s 3d in 1873 (Press 8/5/1873: 3). The reason for this quite hefty charge is indicated in a Star article months later, which recounts a meeting held by Cracroft Wilson for his constituents as the member for the Heathcote District in the House of Representatives (Star 21/10/1873: 2). A tax of £1 per household had been issued for education purposes, which Wuzerah had apparently neglected to pay. Cracroft Wilson, as the advocate for this particular tax, brought charges against Wuzerah for non-payment of this tax. Cracroft Wilson tells his constituents that Wuzerah, identified in this article only as ‘the Mahomedan’, said in Hindostanee [sic] that “he would not pay for nothing and that he would therefore send his boys to school”. The implication for Wuzerah’s statement is that if he had to pay the tax, then he would be sending his sons to school to benefit from that education funding. Cracroft Wilson, known for paying remarkably low wages, publicly charged Wuzerah with a hefty £38 fine for failing to pay an education tax of £1 that he politically championed. This charge by Cracroft Wilson is not only hefty and punitive but used here to make a political statement to reinforce Cracroft Wilson’s political convictions.

Cracroft Wilson was a Member of the House of Representatives and heavily involved in politics. One of his more controversial acts was the 1865 Masters and Servants Bill, designed to provide legislative guidelines  for disputes between masters and servants. Unsurprisingly, given Cracroft Wilson’s wealth and status as well as it being well known that he employed Indian servants, he was heavily critiqued for introducing legislation that would personally benefit him. In this satirical comic the master is likely Cracroft Wilson. Image: Punch in Canterbury (Periodical), 1865. Punch in Canterbury: What may come of the Masters and Servants Bill. Original question. “That a disobedient servant be imprisoned.” Mr Punch’s Amendment. “That a master, if he misconduct himself, shall be liable to hard labour.” Punch in Canterbury, 19 August,1865. Ref: A-315-967. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/22336950

Wuzerah was evidently familiar with the court system following his initial experiences, and brought charges against a William Harges in 1869, and a Lane in 1885 (Press 8/10/1869: 3; Star 7/10/1885: 3). Wuzerah was charged by a J. Sheriff in 1875 and a return charge was issued by Lane in 1885 (Lyttelton Times 18/11/1875: 3; Lyttelton Times 22/10/1885: 3). The only charges named are those to and from Lane, issued by Wuzerah for cartage, and returned by Lane for repairs to a dray (Star 7/10/1885: 3; Lyttelton Times 22/10/1885: 3). For every charge Wuzerah was involved in, brought by him or accused, the court finds in his opponent almost every time, except for the charge brought by J. Sheriff, where Cracroft Wilson speaks in support of Wuzerah. Appearances in court were not unusual in the 19th century, but Wuzerah didn’t speak English very well. Taking people to court in an unfamiliar language is a pretty bold move, especially when the legal system didn’t often rule in his favour.

Wuzerah also went to court for his youngest son Noora. Noora (written as “Noer alias Noorwa”) was charged for putting stones on railway tracks, which could have resulted in a serious accident (Star 24/6/1874: 2). Wuzerah testified before the court that he had already punished the boy, and that he would pay a £20 bond as security to ensure the boy’s good conduct in the future (Star 24/6/1874: 2). There is a ‘recognizance of the peace’ file under the name Wuzeera [Wuzerah] in 1874, possibly for this same bond payment (; Drury, 2016: 32).

As previously mentioned, Wuzerah was part of the workforce employed by Cracroft Wilson to dig the historic drains network that was required to drain large sections of Cashmere (Ogilvie, 2009: 235). An advertisement in the Lyttelton Times called for tenders to deepen the Cashmere River from “Wuzeerah’s Drain to Promontory Bridge (Lyttelton Times 11/05/1877: 3). It Is likely that Wuzerah was part of the Indian workforce employed by Cracroft Wilson to dig this drain network, hence his name associated with a portion of the drain. Mero Wuzerah was injured in a dray accident in 1879 and was treated in Christchurch Hospital (Lyttelton Times 9/9/1879: 4). Mero must have made a full recovery, for he and his father were involved in an incident in 1886 where they were accused of “illegally rescuing cattle” from a ranger to the Halswell Road Board. The charge was dismissed since the ranger didn’t produce identification and neither Wuzerah nor Mero kept the cattle (Star 9/12/1886: 3). A return charge was issued to the ranger for assaulting Wuzerah, but this charge was also dismissed (Star 9/12/1886: 3). It’s not clear whether violence was a common part of Wuzerah’s life based on the information available, but the court ruling against him in charges certainly seemed to be.

Wuzerah spent his later years on a cottage on the corner of Cashmere and Valley Roads, which was provided by Cracroft Wilson’s estate following his death in 1881 (Drury, 2016: 32; Ogilvie, 1978: 132)

Port Hills of Christchurch map with ‘Indians Cottage’ and ‘Old Stone House’ marked with circles. The ‘Indians Cottage’ marked on the map is probably not Wuzerah’s, as his reported house location is shown with a yellow circle. Image: Ogilvie, 1978: 132.

Wuzerah appears to have run a cartage business with a team of bullocks following release from Cracroft Wilson’s employment (Drury, 2016: 32-33; Ogilvie, 2009: 238). Wuzerah apparently favoured two bullocks named ‘Baldy’ and ‘Smuggler’, and James Sutherland recalled that when asked why he always used the same pair he replied “They go quick run it” (Ogilvie, 2009: 238). The Star reported that Wuzerah was one of a team of bullock drivers employed to cart stone into Christchurch for the construction of the Christchurch Cathedral (Star 1/5/1902: 3).

Christchurch Cathedral under construction, late 1879-early 1880. The stone visible in the foreground was locally sourced and transported by bullock teams run by folk like Wuzerah. Ref: 1/2-022786-F. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/23063747

Wuzerah passed away from heart disease on 30 April 1902, and his death notice was published across New Zealand as far as Auckland, Otago, and Wanganui (Press 2/5/1902: 6; Star 1/5/1902: 3; Auckland Star 2/5/1902: 5; Otago Witness 7/5/1902: 30; Wanganui Herald 2/5/1902: 2). A small memorial to Wuzerah and another Indian servant Kulloo, who died the same year, was installed in Sydenham Cemetery by the Cracroft Wilson Family (Star 22/8/1902: 3; Drury, 2016: 34). The memorial was broken by vandals and restored by the Cracroft Community Centre between 1985 and the early 2000s (Press 2/12/1985: 17; Press 18/7/2009: D9; Drury, 2016: 34).


Wuzerah’s death notice in the Star (Wuzerah’s name is spelt Bezire in this article). Source: Star 1/5/1902: 3.

This blog may have given the impression that Wuzerah was a relatively unknown individual from the 19th century, but that’s not quite true. A quick Google search of his name will return 832 results, and his experiences are cited in nearly every publication on the history of Muslim settlement in New Zealand. Wuzerah’s identity was treated as a point of interest by his contemporaries, evident in the creation of a memorial for both Wuzerah and Kulloo in the Sydenham Cemetery, and the publication of his death notice in newspapers across New Zealand. This focus is continued by the restoration and repairs to Wuzerah and Kulloo’s gravestone in the 1980s by the Cracroft Community Centre (Press 27/11/1985: 59; 4/3/1986: 8). Wuzerah was the subject of academic interest in the 20th and 21st century as the first documented Muslim living in New Zealand (which isn’t quite true either, see Drury, 2016: 17-18 and Singh, 2016: 65-69). There was a renewed media interest in early Muslim experiences in Canterbury following the Christchurch terror attacks in 2019, and Wuzerah’s story was retold to indicate historical experiences of Muslims in Canterbury (you can read a couple of examples here and here).

From the 19th century to the present day, Wuzerah’s legacy is drawn solely from his identity as the first Muslim settler to live in New Zealand. Readers of the newspaper clippings and snippets of his life might get a sense that he had a hard life in Canterbury as the first Muslim settler, as one of very few Indian employees to stay on following the completion of his indenture period. Wuzerah was treated unfairly by his employer, he was mistreated by the legal system, newspapers spelt his name wrong constantly, even in his death notice. But these mentions of Wuzerah during and after his lifetime were utilised by newspapers, community groups, media outlets and other platforms (this blog included) because he is known as the first Muslim to settle in New Zealand, rather than any choices he made or actions he took of his own volition. Potentially the only record available that indicates Wuzerah’s personal views or choices is the donation record to the Indian Relief Fund in 1858, which either indicated support for his employer in India, or disapproval of the Sepoy Revolt. Other people have made choices about Wuzerah’s story and have created a significant legacy around his identity. Cracroft Wilson chose to make an example of Wuzerah during his lifetime to reinforce his status as a landowner and as a politician, and Wuzerah’s story continued to be used as an example of early Muslim experiences long after his death. Cracroft Wilson had the opportunity and choices to create his own legacy in the colonisation of Canterbury, which is embedded in almost every aspect of the history of Christchurch. If Wuzerah had choice and opportunity available to him, perhaps he would have chosen to present his legacy differently.

Photograph of Wuzerah and Kulloo’s restored grave. Image: Alistair McGowan, 2023. 

Neda Bawden

References

Drury, A. M. 2016. Once Were Mahometans: Muslims in the South Island of New Zealand, mid-19th to late 20th century, with special reference to Canterbury. Masters Thesis, University of Waikato.

Ogilvie, G. 1978. The Port Hills of Christchurch. Wellington, Sydney, London: A. H. & A. W. Reed.

Ogilvie, G. 2009. The Port Hills of Christchurch. Christchurch. N.Z.: Philips & King.

Singh, H. 2016. From Guru Nanak to New Zealand: Mobility in the Sikh Tradition

Field Notes

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Have you ever sat down and thought about how and where archaeologists record all that information they observe on site and what happens to those records after they’re done? Actually… you probably haven’t, but I’m going to talk about it anyway.

Most of the information recorded on site is collected as field notes. Field notes and field books contain the raw data collected in the field, and are the legacies of archaeological excavation. Archaeologists refer to these notes when writing reports and making observations on different features and sites. To some extent, they are a daily diary that records the results of excavations, surveys and other forms of archaeological monitoring and contain the initial interpretations and other general observations made in the field. Field notes can include data collected on preprinted forms, details scrawled in notebooks, frantic sketches on scrap paper, hurriedly typed notes in work phones or beautiful carefully drawn scale diagrams on graph .

An example of a scale diagram drawn on site. This one is a plan view of a brick barrel drain.

A quick Google of archaeological field notes will bring up numerous images of pages scanned from various field books all around the world. These are often immaculate examples of perfectly drawn diagrams or beautifully calligraphed notes that look like they are straight off someone’s Pinterest inspiration board and proudly displayed as a part of an archaeological exhibit. The reality of field notes is that they are much more varied and not necessarily pretty. Not every writer in the field records information in a way that you would expect them to as the Smithsonian Institution Archives identified during their Field Book Project. Lockshin and Benett (2018) observed; “Aside from hoarding and creative reuse of material, another strategy of the thrifty writer that may create media legibility issues is the technique of cross writing, self-annotating, and/or use of the field book in reverse orientation from back to front, which can cause headaches for the most attentive user trying to work out the beginning from the end”. I can even think of examples where I have written around the edge or upside down in the corner of a page to further articulate a point while running out of .

A creative use of space by this archaeologist, with their notes encasing their sketch map.

While in this form, the archaeologists utilises both portrait and landscape views to maximise space.

Scribbles in a notebook from a slow day on site. Pages like these provide an insight into the mind of the archaeologist and what the fieldwork was like on that day.

Every archaeologist will, at some point, work with someone else’s field notes. In fact, while I was procrastinating writing my MA thesis in 2021, I went on a bit of a deep dive into numerous papers on the subject. These either lamented or celebrated how legacies of ‘historic’ fieldnotes are used in archaeology and what sorts of information they can add to future research studies. It was slightly (mostly) off-topic… but I’m sure it gave me a broad background perspective and certainly mentally prepared me for working as an archaeologist. One of the papers even interviewed various archaeologists’ regarding their experiences working with other people’s field notes and what they wished their co-workers had included instead (Faniel et al., 2013). However, the most interesting of these studies focused on how re-examinations of original field notes have the potential to highlight assumptions that underpin how archaeological data is interpreted to this day at even some of the most prominent sites across the world (e.g. Ellis, S.J.R. (2008), Ellis et al., (2008), Boozer (2015), MacFarland and Vokes (2016) and Wylie (2017)).

I personally argue that the field notes themselves should always be considered an important part of the archaeological legacy collections. ‘Published’ archaeological writing often conceals the inconsistencies of archaeology by erasing the ambiguities characteristic of tangible archaeological evidence (Gero, 2007). The field notes help highlight the ambiguities so that we can account for them in future interpretations. They provide all of the non-artefactual information recorded about archaeological sites which have been reduced, or destroyed outside of a published report.

“no idea what else this might be – definitely not a soak pit”

Most of the ‘historic’ field notes housed in the Underground Overground Archaeology (UOA) office are contained within the yellow, Rite in the Rain ALL WEATHER METRIC FIELD No 360F hardback notebooks. These notebooks are celebrated for their near indestructibility, especially in wet weather, and have been used for field research in many areas since the early 20th century.  The UOA collection is housed on a shared bookshelf with the date and the initials of the notetaker recorded on the spine.

The archived yellow field books.

Notes in these journals range from journal-like diary entries to bullet-pointed notes and annotated sketches.

An example of field notes written with bullet-pointed notes.

An example of field notes written in ‘journal’ style with drawings and a torn page.

Another example of field notes written in full in a ‘journal’ style.

For larger projects, field notes have been recorded on forms. These are meant to provide reliability in how the information about archaeology is recorded in the field. Forms achieve this by prompting archaeologists to record key attributes about the feature in the interest of ensuring nothing is accidently forgotten. They also offer a clear structure and consistent terms that should (in theory) make writing archaeological report simpler.

Forms such as context, bag and photo registers also assist in the handover of information between archaeologist on site as they allow for information to be quickly summarised at the end of each day. Yet even forms experience somewhat interpretative use, and everyone still finds ways to make them their own.

An example of a context register that helps different archaeologists to know what was last recorded on site.

A blank context record form example.

The environment can also play a role in the legibility of notes, whether that be from trying to write with near frozen fingers on a freezing winter morning or water and dirt covering pages on a particularly muddy site.

An abused field book – the realities of working on site.

A bonus examples with various drawings. This shows a general (not to scale) plan of a project area.

Here at Underground Overground Archaeology, field notes are digitised before the physical copies (either in the form of Yellow Field Books, or binders full of paper forms) are archived for future inspection within our office as part of an ever-growing internal library. Collections of archaeological field notes exist in thousands of repositories worldwide with the intention that they will be able to provide data for and add valuable information to current and future archaeological and heritage studies. They provide data for a critical examination of commonly held assumptions about the past drawn from past research. They are unique, vibrant, (sometimes nearly illegible), windows into the minds of individual archaeologists providing information about their thoughts and processes on site alongside essential insights about the archaeology. Archaeological data is messy, and a strong understanding of the original assumptions and goals of the research that produced an assemblage is often required to critically apply it to new research. Relevant documents that clarify how the archaeological material and artefacts were initially collected are needed to address this meaningfully. I hope this blog encourages you to love field notes as much as I do.

Amy Tuffnell

All fieldnote examples contained within this blog are sources from within the Underground Overground Archaeology internal archive. I would like to thank everyone from the office for the suggestions and contributions.

References

Boozer, A. L. (2014). The tyranny of typologies: evidential reasoning in Romano-Egyptian domestic archaeology. In Material evidence (pp. 112-130). Routledge.

Ellis, S. J. (2008). The use and misuse of ‘legacy data’ in identifying a typology of retail outlets at Pompeii’. Internet Archaeology, 24: 450-457.

Ellis, S. J., Gregory, T. E., Poehler, E. E., & Cole, K. (2008). Integrating legacy data into a new method for studying architecture: a case study from Isthmia, Greece. Internet Archaeology: 24.

Faniel, I., Kansa, E., Whitcher Kansa, S., Barrera-Gomez, J., & Yakel, E. (2013). The challenges of digging data: a study of context in archaeological data reuse. In Proceedings of the 13th ACM/IEEE-CS joint conference on Digital libraries, (pp.295-304).

Lockshin, Nora S. and Bennett, R. William, III. (2018). Smudges, Snakeskins, and Pins, Oh My!. Book and Paper Group Annual. 37:125–142. – https://repository.si.edu/handle/10088/97808

MacFarland, K., & Vokes, A. W. (2016). Dusting Off the Data: Curating and Rehabilitating Archaeological Legacy and Orphaned Collections. Advances in Archaeological Practice, 4(2), 161-175. https://doi.org/10.7183/2326-3768.4.2.161

Rite in the Rain – History, 2023 September 14, https://www.riteintherain.com/rite-in-the-rain-history

Wylie, A. (2016). How Archaeological Evidence Bites Back: Strategies for Putting Old Data to Work in New Ways. Science, Technology, & Human Values, 42(2), 203-225. https://doi.org/10.1177/0162243916671200