What we find from the Antipodes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maria Lillo Bernabeu

References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The archaeology of natural disasters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kathy Davidson

References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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