When I found a domino underneath a house in Lyttelton recently, I thought it probably wasn’t the first time that a stray piece of a children’s game was discarded, overlooked or lost. Children’s toys aren’t known for their longevity, and one could speculate that this game piece was easily separated from its comrades through a sudden distraction, followed by a slip of a hand and a lack of regard by its young owner… Or so I thought before I started further researching this entertaining artefact. While dominoes were a recognised children’s game in the 19^th century, just as they still are today (if kids actually still play anything that doesn’t require an electronic controller?), it was actually a popular pastime for Victorian and Edwardian adults as well.

The domino in question was typical of the Victorian type, rendered in a dark ebony wood backing with a front panel of bone, which was carefully incised with numerical dots. The two pieces were connected with two small brass nails, the copper element of which had left a greenish residue on the front. What a fun artefact to find, and presumably, the domino’s original owner also had their share of fun with it while it remained in their possession (however briefly)! So who could this owner (child or adult) have been, and what might they have been doing with it? Was it child’s toy, a game piece from an illegal, back ally gambling den, a leisure item from a workingman’s club or something more obscure; like a piece involved in an attempt to break a domino stacking record (Press 17/10/1938: 4)?

Dominoes are said to have found their origins in a small lonely cell of a monastery, where two monks were serving a punishment for breaking their vowel of silence. The pair attempted to alleviate their boredom by playing with some nearby marked stones (Manawatu Herald 18/7/1890: 2). While this tale may or may not be completely factual, the game progressed from this crude diversion into the form that we know today.

Dominoes experienced a dynamic spark in popularity around the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries (Hastings Standard 29/1/1914: 3). The trend was so marked that London shop assistants were reported to have been embezzling from their employers to pay off their dominoes gambling debts (Mataura Ensign 17/11/1911: 7). Viennese wives were also reported to have ‘dobbed in’ their husbands to the police for partaking in (what was then) an illegal gambling enterprise, in order to prevent them from squandering family fortunes on domino gambles (Mataura Ensign 31/3/1911: 5). The popularity and the longevity of the game could possibly be explained by how varied it can be. A newspaper article from 1895 reported that if you made ten moves a day for 118 years, you could not exhaust all of the moves that are possible in a game of dominoes (honestly, was that really worth calculating? (Grey River Argus 15/10/1895: 4)).

What I found notable (and slightly amusing) was the juxtaposition of the negative and positive attitudes towards dominoes in the 19^th and early 20^th century newspapers. Dominoes are reported to have been associated with gambling dens, which were linked with crime (including violence and drugs; NZ Truth 17/11/1923: 6), not to mention, the debts that domino gambling produced. Dominoes were even the direct cause of several deaths! The most unusual of which included death duels that were decided by domino games (over girls!) and death by (non-accidental) swallowing of the pieces (Figure 3, Nelson Evening Mail 25/05/1882: 4).

These reports contrast with how commonly dominoes came up in my newspaper searches as a decent and respectable game that was allowed to be played by prisoners, supplied to tramps, was an acceptable game for children in child rearing handbooks, was played by children in convents and was donated to public libraries (Lake County Press 13/9/1877: 3 Lake Wakatip Mail 19/11/1893: 3 New Zealand Herald 7/6/1928: 9, Wanganui Herald 3/4/1868: 2; 27/8/1872: 2).

There also sometimes seems to have been an elitist attitude towards the game. I found a ‘humours’ article where a man of lower class was invited to a party, and made a social faux pas by mixing up the dominoes game with the style of fancy dress, of the same name (Otago Witness 6/7/1888: 38). I also found numerous references to alternative and intellectual ways to play the game (New Zealand Herald 21/05/1938: 8). If you’re feeling confident in your arithmetic and problem-solving skills today (or just feeling pretentious), you can perform the “mental exercise” in the article below… It made my head hurt.

A slightly more unexpected use for dominoes in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries was more mystic in nature. Prior to the invention of the daily horoscope text message or an app that delivers a regular personalised reading to your smart phone, some Victorian and Edwardian fortune seekers may have found solace or guidance in a medium who gave fortune readings from dominos. More conveniently, save yourself a trip to the travelling carnival and learn how to read your domino fortune yourself! (By the way, how does one drink liquor at a distance? (Figure 5)).

If this article intrigued you and you’d like more information on how to draw and interpret your mystical dominoes, or if you really just aiming to draw a five-two so you can go to a 19^th century water party (whatever that is), please read on below. (But fair warning, the readings may heavily contradict what you read above. Gloriously confused? Me too).

The above hopefully illustrates some interesting possibilities for the life of our domino before it was lost or discarded underneath a house in Lyttelton. Whether it was clumsily lost by a child, a gambler, a fortune-teller or a well dressed man-about-town, it is evident that we should not immediately assume that all dominoes that are recovered from archaeological sites have been lost by children, and thus represent the presence of children at such sites. On that note, let me leave you with a topical joke…

“While I was playing a game last night, black spots came in front of my my eyes.”
“Oh dear, you must see a doctor!”
“I was playing dominoes.” (Auckland Star 7/6/1933: 16).

Funny, right?

Chelsea Dickson

References

Auckland Star. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Evening Post. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Hastings Standard. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Lake County Press. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Lake Wakatip Mail. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Manawatu Herald. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

 Mataura Ensign. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Nelson Evening Mail. online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

New Zealand Herald. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

NZ Truth. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Otago Witness. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Press. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

Wanganui Herald. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz. [Accessed February 2016].

We’ve talked about food in the 19^th century before on the blog, but we’ve mostly focused on the weird and wonderful (because, let’s face it, therein lies the fun stuff). In reality, a lot of food in the 19^th century would have been bland and basic, especially for those of lower socio-economic status, who may not have been able to afford to buy the more flavoursome ingredients. In fact, much of it may have only been made palatable by the addition of the humble condiment, otherwise known as the saviour of tastebuds everywhere. The Victorians (and Edwardians) loved their condiments, from catsup to Worcestershire sauce, with an enduring appreciation that is more than evident in the archaeological and historical records.

Here in Christchurch (and, indeed, throughout the country) we find quite a lot of condiments on 19^th century archaeological sites. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes, many of them elaborately designed and decorated, from ‘gothic’ or ‘cathedral’ pickle jars to ‘swirly’ or ‘twirly’ salad oil bottles. Although we define the primary function of such bottles as ‘food storage’, condiments were also public objects, in the sense that unlike a lot of other food containers (jars, for example), condiment bottles were intended for use during a meal, at the table (much as they are now). As such, they were affected by the same philosophy of display and presentation that created decorated dinner sets and serving dishes: the things we put on our tables are almost always nicer than the things we use in our kitchens.

Most of the condiment bottles we find are unlabelled, and the only clue we have to their original contents lies in the shape of the bottle, a correlation that (as we’ve mentioned before) is based on several – sometimes erroneous – assumptions. We have, however, been lucky enough to find several condiment bottles here in Christchurch with surviving labels or embossed glass, letting us know exactly what they originally contained. These labels have included everything from J. T. Morton’s vinegar, the ever present Lea and Perrins Worcestershire Sauce and its not-quite-so-famous relative, Mellor’s Worcester Sauce to Champion’s Vinegar, Olson’s Tomato Sauce, Weston and Westall’s Table Salt, George Whybrow’s ‘sublime’ salad oil and Crosse and Blackwell’s Mushroom Catsup.

Some of these are familiar to us. Lea and Perrins is still in business today, as is Crosse and Blackwell (as a side note, Lea and Perrins Worcestershire Sauce began life as the ‘disgusting’ result of an attempt to make a spicy sauce – it wasn’t until after it had been forgotten for several years that it evolved into the sauce known today). Others are less familiar. Olson’s Tomato Sauce, which faded from mention in newspapers during the 1890s, seems to have been something of a forerunner to Watties, with “the red substance” produced in a factory in Auckland from the 1870s onwards. Mushroom Catsup (or ketchup, as it is now known), while still around today, is far more unusual now than it was in the 19^th century.

It’s not all savoury, however. Sweeter accompaniments such as the fantastic calves feet jelly and Kirkpatrick’s jam have also been found in the city. Kirkpatrick’s, another New Zealand product (manufactured in sunny Nelson from the 1880s onwards), was famous throughout the country and overseas – with the ‘K’ brand winning awards in various exhibitions and expositions in the 1880s and 1890s. Calves feet jelly, despite the rather off-putting name (we do like to disguise where our food comes from now, don’t we?), was apparently a fairly mild tasting jelly marketed largely to invalids.

Jams and jellies aside, most of the condiments we find would have been used to spice up savoury dishes and many of the advertisements we find for them in contemporary newspapers list foods like roasts, cheese, fish, mutton, gravies and soups as the things most likely to benefit from the addition of condiments. Interestingly, the word of choice to describe the flavour of the condiments themselves seems to have been ‘piquant.’ With ‘relish’ coming in a close second. Whether ‘piquancy’ was actually a flavour sought after by Victorian consumers or a buzz-word imposed by advertisers on those consumers, I don’t know. Possibly a little bit of both?

Advertisements for condiments are actually really interesting, not just because of the fascinating insights you get into Victorian and Edwardian food (and there were some amazing recipes, seriously) and other things (I stumbled across an amazing rant about puns, for example) but because of the ways those advertisements reflect the world around them. For example, 19^th century adverts emphasise the tastelessness of foods, the tried and trusted nature of the products, the familiarity of the tastes, but by the early 20^th century and the advent of World War I, there’s a notable shift to an emphasis on the economic advantages of using condiments.

This is particularly relevant to archaeology, since condiments have been considered signifiers of wealth – or at least economic status – in archaeological assemblages before, because they are inessential items. You don’t need condiments to survive, but they make the foods you do need to survive more palatable (although it could be said that a lot of material culture is inessential, if you wanted to be technical about it). The logic follows, therefore, that the presence of condiments indicates the ability to afford extra ‘luxury’ items. Yet, as those advertisements from the early 20^th century indicate, we have to consider the theory that condiments actually reflected a lower economic status household or, at least, the practice of economy within a household. People could easily have bought simpler and cheaper foods, because they knew they could spice it up with condiments, rather than more expensive food that required no such additions of flavour.

It’s something to think about in our own culinary habits now, I think. Especially in a culture and an era in which so much emphasis is placed on the health benefits (and social status, to a degree) of fresh ingredients and ‘good quality’ non-processed foods, despite the plethora of processed foods and sauces that surround us every day. What would our condiment consumption say about our society now, I wonder? What does yours say about you? Is it a flavour issue, a preference of taste? Is there an economic benefit to our consumption of condiments? How much do our tastes reflect the changing culture, influences and social context in which we live our daily lives? How much do they reflect our past? The remnants of our colonial heritage are evident in more than just our buildings or our flag (ooh, topical!) – they’re present in our food as well. Even more than that, they’re present in our tastes.

Think about it. Honestly, what does your taste in food say about you, and your history?

Jessie Garland

 

They’re one of the most ubiquitous aspects of 19th century houses, a feature that functions as both a source of warmth and light and a decorative element in the interior design of the house (as so many things do). We see a lot of fireplaces during our work in the city, as we record 19th century buildings damaged by the earthquakes. Some of them are elaborate, some of them are basic and some of them have been modified over the last century, evolving to reflect changing fashions and taste in interior design. All of them have a story to tell. The following images include some of the best and most interesting examples seen by our buildings archaeologists as they investigate the built heritage of the city.

Peter Mitchell, Kirsa Webb, Francesca Bradley and Jessie Garland. 

When I first started studying to become an archaeologist, the dangers and difficulties of working with asbestos wasn’t really something that had ever crossed my mind. I knew what it was, in a vague sort of way, and that it was bad for you. That’s about it. After the earthquakes in Christchurch, however, as a result of our work on sites with asbestos contamination (especially the recording and monitoring of building demolition), we’ve all come to learn a lot more about it and how it can affect the process of an archaeological investigation or recording.

Recently, we were called to investigate the archaeology of a Christchurch site with asbestos ground contamination. The site was located in the central city, an area active from the earliest phases of European settlement in Christchurch, and was situated near several other sites where we’d discovered archaeological material in the past. The crew were bulking out the site in order to prepare for the foundations of a new building.  This meant (a) the large scale disturbance of asbestos and other soil contaminants; and (b) a high probability that archaeological features would be discovered.

All of which culminated in the situation we found ourselves in a few weeks ago, kitted out head to toe in protective suits, gloves, gumboots and respirators, digging in the dirt under the relentless sun, trying to ignore the sweat condensing inside our masks and occasionally submerging our noses if we bent our heads the wrong way.

Such a glamourous job, this.

The site contained several archaeological features, from a large fill deposit and a circular brick-lined well to a deep pit filled with artefacts and timbers laid down at the base. Unfortunately for us, in this case, we found a LOT of artefact material in these features, presenting us with something of a problem. We lack the facilities here at Underground Overground to safely decontaminate material in our own lab (ideally, we would need a method of air control, as well as the ability to dispose of the material safely). The most obvious solution was to analyse the material on-site, a task that presented its own set of problems.

Ordinarily, our artefact analysis is carried out by one person who, after the material has been washed (when appropriate), sorts and identifies the individual artefacts to material, function, object form, manufacturing method and age, etc. That information is entered into a digital spreadsheet and most of the artefact assemblage is then photographed, using an SLR camera and light box set-up. It’s all very civilised.

Obviously, we couldn’t replicate this on site. Especially considering that everything we took onto the site – tools, cameras, containers, recording equipment – needed to be either washed down with high pressure hoses or thoroughly cleaned with wet wipes and/or water before we could take it away again. Everything. We were also under time pressure, to get all the archaeological investigation and artefact analysis completed while there was still room on the site for us to work.

We ended up with a team of two, an iPad, a camera and almost five thousand fragments of artefact material. Each feature assemblage was sorted, analysed and photographed, with one person doing the identification and photography and the other transcribing the information into a spreadsheet on the iPad. Anything that we thought was of archaeological significance and could be safely cleaned on site (washed and rinsed in clean water to remove every speck of dirt) was removed from the site and everything else disposed of then and there. This meant we were able to recover a large proportion of the ceramics, a fantastic collection of clay pipes and a small quantity of bottles. Leather shoes, textiles, metal artefacts, most of the bottles (which couldn’t be easily cleaned on site) and any things we felt it wasn’t safe to remove were left behind, after being carefully analysed.

We learned a few things about the process (and ourselves) along the way.

• It’s really difficult to use a touch screen while wearing gloves, especially if the gloves are even the tiniest bit loose.
• Respirators muffle the voice quite a bit, which may result in some interesting misunderstandings between the dictator and transcriber, not helped by loud machinery nearby. It’s really important to have two people familiar with the same artefact terminology to mitigate this as much as possible. We still ended up with some fairly hilarious mis-transcriptions.
• Communication throughout the whole excavation was made more difficult by the respirators, actually, not just between the archaeologists on site but also between us and the machine operator and other crew working on the site.
• Sunny days are the worst. Not only are they hellish to experience in suits and masks, the shadows cast by the light made artefact (and site) photography more difficult than it needed to be.
• Tyvek protective suits probably weren’t made with archaeology in mind: however tough they are, they were still, on occasion, defeated by the sharp edges of artefacts as we were digging.
• On a note specific to this one particular site: people have terrible taste in music and may, sadistically, play the same song ten times in a row if they feel like it. We happened to be working right next to the Dance-O-Mat (a usually awesome Christchurch landmark created by Gap Filler), which was not as conducive to our continued sanity as you might have thought.
• Sneezing while wearing a respirator is a very bad idea. Seriously. Think about it.

We also found a lot of really cool things. From clay pipes shaped like soldiers, decorated with tragedy/comedy masks or functioning as temperance propaganda to elaborate ceramic teapots, beautifully patterned ceramics, unusual glass bottles and an 1835 half-crown, this was a site that contained a wide variety of material culture. We haven’t completed our research into the history of the site as yet, but many of the artefacts were manufactured between the 1840s and early 1870s, suggesting that they may have belonged to people living here in the earliest decades of the city’s European settlement.

The ceramics, particularly from the pit with timbers at the base, included several blue and white “romantic” landscape patterns and Asiatic motifs popular in the mid-late 19^th century. Other artefacts, especially the bottles, were discovered to be products and brands that had been made since the early 19^th century. We identified torpedo bottles from Schweppes, Pitt and Webb, all of whom were aerated water manufacturers established in the first few decades of the 1800s. Other artefacts included products made by ink manufacturers, druggists and perfumers all operating from a similar period of time onwards. Exactly when they were deposited remains unclear for the moment, but we’ll figure it out.

We do know that, later on in the site’s history, several health professionals lived on the site, including a doctor and a dentist. Dr William Deamer constructed a two-storey brick surgery on the site in 1865 (Canterbury Heritage), which stood until the early 20^th century and some of the medicine related artefacts we found may have originally been used in his establishment. The well that we found, in particular, contained a small assemblage of artefacts that were almost exclusively pharmaceutical bottles, as well as an incised measuring jug that may have been used in the preparation of medicines.

All things considered, it’s a pretty fascinating site and assemblage. I will admit, it was a little bit sad to see so much of the physical material disposed of on site, but the most important thing is that we’ve preserved the information that material had to offer. This is what archaeology is about, after all, the insight and knowledge into the lives and behaviour of people that we gain from the material traces of those who came before us.

If it means suffering through sweaty protective suits and masks to do this, then we will, and gladly.

Jessie Garland

References

Canterbury Heritage, 2008. 1879 Christchurch Panorama. [online] Available at www.canterburyheritage.blogspot.co.nz.