Tag Archives: archaeology

Cutting Edge: The Banks Peninsula Timber Industry

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We have often mentioned on the blog how Christchurch was built on a swamp (and the inevitable drainage problems that this caused!), but another big issue for early settlers living in a swamp was the lack of available timber and firewood. There were, of course, the small areas of bush standing at Riccarton and Papanui, but these were not sufficient to sustain a developing township, and it was not long before these sources were felled or reserved. A significant amount of timber was actually imported into Christchurch – from elsewhere in New Zealand, from Australia, or from further afield – but that is a topic for another day (hopefully by our magnificent leader Kirsa Webb who just finished her Masters degree on the topic). By far, the largest wooded area within close proximity to the Christchurch settlement was on Banks Peninsula, and so, for a number of decades, timber milling was the dominant industry on the Peninsula.

Long before the arrival of Europeans, Tangata Whenua had cut timber to build dwellings, forts, canoes, and other structures in native woods, but the level of this felling had little impact on the natural forests. During the 1830s, sailors who came to New Zealand as whalers also began to fell the native bush, often assisted by local Māori, and this began the origins of European timber milling in New Zealand. By the mid-1830s, about a third of the European men in New Zealand worked in the timber industry (Swarbrick, 2007).

On Banks Peninsula, former sailors had begun to settle in the numerous bays by the 1840s and mill the dense bush. Following the arrival of the Canterbury Pilgrims in 1850, other landless drifters and squatters soon joined them (Ogilvie, 2007: 119). By the 1860s, there were numerous timber mills in operation throughout the Peninsula (Ogilvie, 2007: 5).

Map of Banks Peninsula, with the shaded area representing forest cover in c.1860 and the location of sawmills indicated with stars. Image: Wood and Pawson, 2008: 455.

Many of the earlier timber mills were of a more temporary nature than those established at a later date. For example, George Holmes mill in Pigeon Bay that he established in 1862, appears much to be a more haphazard building than William Coop’s second mill and home complex that he established at Little River in 1873, further up the valley than his original 1863 mill. Many of these early millers were contracted by governing bodies to fulfil specific orders. Ebenezer Hay of Pigeon Bay was contracted by Canterbury Association in 1850 to supply timber for the new township of Lyttelton, and George Holmes was constructed to supply timber for the Lyttelton Tunnel in the early 1860s.

George Holmes timber mill at Pigeon Bay in c.1865. Image: William Locke, 1865.

William Coop’s home and timber mill at Little River. Image: Cantage – Canterbury Heritage

The bushmen who worked for the mills were often landless drifters and squatters who built primitive whares adjoining the bush they felled. Ogilvie notes that it wasn’t uncommon for most of their earnings to go on grog and they were an unruly element in the small Peninsula communities (Ogilvie, 2007: 119). A survey plan of Okains Bay in 1860 shows the footprint of numerous buildings located within the vicinity of the modern Okains Bay township, which are believed to be the location of the various whare occupied by early bushman in the area.

Photograph of bushman John Raddings outside his slab and totara bark whare located on the spur above Okains Bay. Image: Ogilvie, 2007: 121.

Detail from Black Map 120 showing Okains Bay in 1860, indicating the location of a number of small buildings believed to be the whare of early timber millers (blue circles). Image: Archives New Zealand, 1860.

Initially, the early sawyers concentrated their operations at the heads of the various bays, where they could more easily ship their cargo to their destinations. From the mid-1850s, as the bushmen moved up the valleys, they began to employ the use of mechanical mills, with the first water-driven mill being established near the head of Akaroa Harbour in 1854, and the first steam-powered mill at Le Bons Bay in 1857 (Wood and Pawson, 2008: 453-454). As techniques improved, more and more timber on Banks Peninsula began to be cut. The two largest mills (in terms of potential output) constructed prior to 1880, were William White’s at Little River and John Thacker’s at Okains Bay, which could produce up to 60,000 and 70,000 super feet per week respectively (Wood and Pawson, 2008: 454). By the 1920s, the vast majority of the timber on the Peninsula had been felled.

Deforestation of Banks Peninsula between 1830 and 1920. Image: Boffa Miskell, 2007: 27.

As milling operations moved further and further inland, the bushmen were required to transport their timber cargo over greater distances. The most common form of bush transport was to ‘skidd’ the logs along the ground using teams of bullocks harnessed together in wooden yokes. Sometimes this method brought bushmen in conflict with their local road boards, as logs skidded over roads often caused significant damage to the road’s surface that the road boards worked hard to maintain. John Thacker, for example, was brought before the Magistrate on a number of occasions by the Okains Bay Road Board for just such an offense (Lyttelton Times, 14/8/1875: 3; Akaroa Mail and Banks Peninsula Advertiser, 30/1/1877: 2). To speed up the timber delivery system, larger sawmills began to construct wooden tramlines to connect their mills with the bush they were felling and to the jetties from which they dispatched their cargo. John Thacker was again in trouble with the Okains Bay Road Board in 1875, when he constructed a tramline along a public road reserve to his mill in Okains Bay without obtaining permission (Lyttleton Times, 21/8/1875: 3). In some cases, the wooden trams required timber viaducts to traverse streams, rivers or particularly unaccommodating terrain. In Thacker’s case he constructed a timber viaduct over the Opara Stream to reach the jetty.

Photograph of a 16-bullock team pulling a log through bush in Northland. Image: Mahoney, 2007.

Photograph of a three-horse team pulling a trolley with a rimu log along a wooden bush tram, probably in Taranaki. Image: Mahoney, 2007. 

Photograph of a John Thacker’s wooden mill tramway viaduct over the Opara Stream in c.1889. Image: Ogilvie, 2007: 120.

Ship with a consignment of timber on a jetty in the 1910s, probably located in the Nelson district. Image: Frederick Nelson Jones.

From Banks Peninsula timber could be shipped around New Zealand or further abroad. Significant consignments of the Banks Peninsula timber were shipped to Lyttelton and then transported via train into the Christchurch township where it was offered for sale at various timber yards in the city.

Front cover of the Kauri Timber Company’s catalogue for their Auckland factory in 1906. Image: Swarbrick, 2007. 

The development of steam powered timber mills was an important advancement for the New Zealand timber industry from the 1860s. During the first decades of settlement in Canterbury, the majority of timber used in the interior of houses was still being imported from overseas. This was because it was cheaper to import foreign finished timber than it was to prepare domestic timber by hand. The development of machine timber processing in New Zealand meant that not only was the cost of domestic timber lowered, but it also materially increased the consumption of timber grown in New Zealand, lowered imports, and provided local employment. The first large scale use of steam power for timber sawing in Christchurch was by Mr F. Jenkins in the early 1860s. Jenkins later extended his business to use machinery to also prepare the timber. But it was not until the early 1870s that this industry really took off in Christchurch, with about five companies branching into the steam timber milling industry during this period (Lyttelton Times, 15/2/1875: 2).

One such Christchurch yard that converted into steam powered milling was the Victorian Sawmills and Timber Yard located on Lichfield Street between Durham and Colombo Streets. Established by James Booth in c.1863, these yards covered half an acre of land. By 1872 Booth had converted his sawmill into steam power and offered a wide range of timber products that could be planed, grooved, beaded, and bevelled to the purchasers needs (Star, 15/2/1875: 2). The business continued to run on the site under various management until 1895. In June 2014 we excavated the site of the former mill and uncovered a large complex of paved brick that is believed to be the main working floor of the sawmill buildings. In addition, we found other paved brick surfaces outside the building, stone and brick footings onto which we suspect the sawmill’s machinery was once fixed, as well as the foundations of the sawmill’s chimney and the likely location of the timber storage yard. You can read more about our excavation of Booth’s sawmill on our blog here.

Photograph showing part of the paved brick floor complex of the Victorian Steam Sawmills and Timber Yard in 2014. Image: Hamish Williams.

Another timber yard that harnessed the power of steam for its sawmill was William Montgomery’s yard located on the southeast corner of Colombo and Tuam Streets. Established in 1873, Montgomery’s business is an example of a successful timber import business from 1862 adapting into a domestic timber milling business in 1873. Montgomery’s business was very successful and in 1876 he constructed a handsome stone office building on his mill premises at the corner of Colombo and Tuam Street. The business continued to run on the site under various management until the 1930s. Between November 2020 and March 2021 UOA excavated part of the former sawmill and timberyard premises and encountered a number of features associated with the old mill, including a brick floor associated with one of the factory buildings, part of the tramline used for transporting timber around the site, and other brick and concrete foundations associated with the various machinery that were used on the site.

Photograph looking southeast towards W. Montgomery and Co.’s brick office building on the corner of Colombo and Tuam Streets in c.1876, not the stacks of timber on the right-hand-side. Image: Early Canterbury Photography, 2009. 

Detail from Strouts’ 1877 map of Christchurch, showing the footprints of the buildings present on W. Montgomery’s premises (outlined in red). Image: Strouts, 1877. 

Photograph showing part of the paved brick floor associated with Montgomery’s steam sawmills and timber yard. Image: Michael Healey.

Photograph of part of the tramline used to transport timber around the timber yard. Image: Michael Healey.

The Banks Peninsula timber milling industry impacted the way in which the City of Christchurch was constructed. Although the timber industry pre-dates the settlement of Christchurch, the arrival of the Canterbury colonists in 1850 led to an increase demand for timber and provided the manpower needed to fell it. For decades timber milling was the dominant industry on the peninsula. It resulted in technological developments, provided cheaper materials with which to construct Christchurch, and ultimately changed the environment and landscape of the peninsula. Today we encounter the remains of the 19th century timber mills right in the heart of the city. These mills not only show a direct link between the city and peninsula, but they also provide a sense of the scale of the industry which was so crucial to the development of Christchurch in the 19th century.

Lydia Mearns

References

Boffa Miskell, 2007. Banks Peninsula Landscape Study: Final Report. Prepared for Christchurch City Council by Boffa Miskell Ltd.

Ogilvie, G., 2007. Banks Peninsula Cradle of Canterbury. Christchurch: Phillips & King.

Swarbrick, N., 2007. ‘Logging native forests’. Te Ara – the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, [online] Available at: <http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/logging-native-forests>

Wood, V., and Pawson, E., 2008. The Banks Peninsula Forests and Akaroa Cocksfoot: Explains a New Zealand Forest Transition. Journal of Environment and History. Vol. 14, No. 4, pp. 449-468.

 

There’s Gold in Them There Hills!

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Today on the blog the lure of gold is taking us over the Southern Alps to the wild West Coast. Anyone who is a fan of The Luminaires is aware of the thrill, drama, and hardship that was a day in the life of the West Coast gold fields. The boom in industry saw hundreds of prospectors try their luck at making their fortunes, and populous settlements soon followed with thousands of people flooding into the region during the 1860s. But it wasn’t long before the rush began to decline, claims went dry, and the booms went bust.

What is now left behind is an archaeological landscape of industry. Ghost towns, sluice faces, water races, along with hut sites, shafts, tailings, and more that mark the once bustling countryside. Many of these features have been left for the native bush to slowly reclaim, but we know it’s all there – just ask a local. But despite this loud and rusty landscape being an archaeologist’s paradise (or at least mine) much of the remnants of the West Coast gold fields have not been archaeologically investigated.

A recent survey near Nelson Creek for a new gold claim in an area previously mined (around 150 years ago) found several archaeological gold mining features. These humble and hidden remains provide a glimpse into the lives of those hardy gold miners and highlight the types of mining features hidden deep within the West Coast bush.

The West Coast Gold Rushes

Firstly, a bit of background. By 1860 the West Coast was still very much considered an inhospitable wasteland, known for its dangerous beaches, swollen rivers, impenetrable forests, miserable weather, and sandflies the size of small dogs. Even early explorer Thomas Brunner (the discoverer of West Coast coal) once described the place as a dismal wilderness. Nonetheless the discovery of gold in Otago (Gabriels Gully – 1861) and the following gold rushes caused mounting pressure for the Canterbury province to find its own goldfield. The pressure was so great that from 1861 a reward from the Provincial Government was offered to any man who discovered gold within Canterbury (Figure 1). This included the West Coast, which was part of the Canterbury Province until 1868.

Figure 1. Advertisement for the Discovery of Gold (Lyttelton Times, 4 September 1861: 7)

Prospecting attempts quickly began on the eastern side of the divide, but soon proved futile and instead some prospectors dared to venture to the West Coast. Gold was quick to show in the pan and several discoveries were made over the following three years. In mid-1864 gold was discovered at Greenstone Creek, a tributary of the Taramakau River, by local Māori Ihaia Tainui and Haimona Taukau. The gold of Greenstone Creek proved to be of commercial quantity and with that the West Coast gold rush kicked off!

After the discovery of gold at Greenstone Creek the frenzied rushes of 1864-1867 ensued. The initial rush centred on the mining of the easily collected alluvial gold that lay in the riverbeds and on the black sand beaches. Settlements and claims soon sprung up along the many West Coast Rivers and alluvial gold towns appeared everywhere from as far north as Charleston, to the remote south at Bruce Bay. During this period the population of the West Coast exploded from less than 500 people to over 30,000 in the space of only a few years. Very quickly the quiet bush was cleared and replaced with extensive water races, fluming, sluicing, and tent towns that soon became the new scenery of the riverine valleys (Figure 2). Gold workings were left, right and centre, and during the initial gold rush period, a whopping 1.3 million ounces of gold was recovered (Smith 2001: 81). That’s over 2.3 billion dollars worth of gold based on today’s gold prices – getting gold fever yet?

Figure 2. Example of fluming at Dillmanstown (West Coast Recollect).

By 1866-1867 things were starting to slow down with much of the easy gold having been fast collected. Many of the settlements that rapidly emerged from within the bush quickly disappeared again once the gold began to run out. Despite the end of the rushes and all that initial excitement, alluvial gold mining continued (and still does – looking at you, Ross). Additionally, attention was turned to hard rock mining as the discovery of gold bearing quartz in 1870 in Reefton (aka Quartzopolis) sparked a new round of gold fever. However, this industrial landscape was far different from its alluvial counterpart as hard rock gold was more difficult to procure. That’s not to say it was not worthwhile though as Reefton, was so profitable and successful that in 1888 it became the first place in New Zealand AND the southern hemisphere to have a public supply of electricity – with miners being among the first to use it! (Just a humble brag there).

Gold mining continued through well into the mid-20th century, with large settlements like Waiuta powering through until the 1950s. Even today goldminers still operate around the traps and certainly to great success. But the extensive, intrusive, and loud industry that once occupied so much of the coast is now silent, moss covered, and waiting to be found.

Nelson Creek

Nelson Creek is located roughly 30km north of Greymouth, up the Grey Valley. Locally the settlement is well known for its famous swimming hole, campground, and friendly wee pub. While you’ll miss it if you blink, Nelson Creek was once a bustling mining township, originally known as Hatters Terrace (Figure 3). It, along with everywhere west of the Southern Alps and south of the Grey/Māwheranui River, was officially declared as a goldfield in 1865, and by 1866 the Nelson Creek rush was in full swing. Kilometres of claims were made along the creek and its tributaries, and at its height over 1000 men lived and worked in the area – hard to imagine now though!

Figure 3. Nelson Creek ca. 1880 (West Coast Recollect).

Like most places initial workings were shallow and saw gold recovered by pan, cradle, or sluice box. But workings soon intensified and the need for water became paramount. This led to the Government funded Nelson Creek Water Race – a first for the region. Advertisements for 200 “Good Pick and Shovel Men” for the construction of the race went out in 1874 and work soon commenced (West Coast Times, 1 October 1874: Page 3; Figure 4). By January 1878 the race was open. Stretching from Lake Hochstetter to Dry Gully the race spanned “18 miles in length, comprising nine miles and a half of open cutting, seven miles of tunneling, and one and a half miles of bridging” (West Coast Times, 26 January 1878: 2; Figure 5).

Figure 4: Advertisement for workers for the Nelson Creek Water Race, 1874 (West Coast Times, 1 October 1874: Page 3).

Figure 5. Map of the Nelson Creek Gold fields, showing the water race in blue and survey area in red (Sketch Plan of the Grey District and Surrounding Country., n.d.).

The completion of the water race was somewhat of an engineering marvel, especially when considering the terrain. Some of the bridge arches spanned 150 feet, with one in particular rising 180 feet in height (Figure 6). The race, and the various offshoots, serviced many claims within the valley and supported mining activity through most of the late nineteenth century. By the turn of the 20th century works were winding down, but the move to dredging saw a brief revival to mining in the area. Gold mining continued sporadically through the 20th century and continues today.

Figure 6. Photograph, circa 1880, showing part of the Nelson Creek Water Race (Perkins, n.d.).

The Survey

Earlier this month I ventured to Nelson Creek with bug spray in my pocket, swanndri on my back, and my faithful ranging pole – that also functions as a great walking stick. I was met by a professional gold miner (10/10 guy – even brought me a packed lunch) and we made our way through the regenerative forest, mostly uphill, in search of mining features (Figure 7). The dense bush, leaf litter, and fern cover made it a little difficult to navigate and fully inspect the area, but it wasn’t long before we found a hut site.

Figure 7. Typical scenery in the West Coast bush. Image: A. Kelly.

The first hut site we found was easily spotted as the base of the fireplace was still in pretty good condition (Figure 8). The square edges of the hearth were well defined, and I imagine many good meals were made on that fire. The second hut site was not in as good condition, with the hearth reduced to a pile of stones overtaken with intrusive ferns (Figure 9). It did however have several ring seal bottles that had been moved to on top of the hearth. So at least the fellows who lived here had access to a tipple or two at the end of a hard day’s work. The last hut site we encountered had been clearly cut into the natural hillslope (Figure 10). It also had a small stone oven constructed in the back wall, pretty state of the art if you ask me!

Figure 8. Hut site with fire place. Image: A. Kelly.

Figure 9. Hut site with a few ring seal bottles. Image: A. Kelly.

A hut site with a small oven feature. Image: A. Kelly.

Historic photographs from the time show us what these sites would have originally looked like (Figure 11). As the huts were made of canvas and wood it is often only the hearths that survive, along with some scattered artefacts.

Figure 11. Some good-looking miners hanging out at their huts, Nelson Creek, ca. 1870 (West Coast Recollect).

In addition to hut sites, we encountered adits – horizontal drive tunnels used to find paydirt (Figure 12). While it is tempting, you can’t always guarantee they are safe to enter, so we typically view them from the portal only. But with the handy help of a torch, we could see that some were deep, and others were only a few metres in length. The short ones suggest that the person prospecting was not hitting any good pay dirt so quickly moved on (Figure 13).

Figure 12. A mining adit. Image: A. Kelly.

Figure 13. Short prospecting adit. Image: A. Kelly.

Finally, we also encountered the remains of Cole’s Water Race, one of the many other water races built in the area. I am not sure who Cole was, but his water race is still looking pretty sharp today. Along the length of the race were small stone stacked sections indicating former side channels (Figure 15). These offshoots would have serviced the downhill claims and they provide one small example of the interconnected and widescale schemes that facilitated mining in the area.

Figure 14. Cole’s Water Race. Image: A. Kelly.

Figure 15. Blocked side channel in Cole’s Race. Image: A. Kelly.

Keen on Adventure?

For those keen on adventure there are plenty of walking tracks and mining relics publicly accessible at Nelson Creek. Nelson Creek also has areas for recreational gold fossicking, or you could head south to Goldsborough and try your hand at gold panning there too.

If you fancy visiting a Ghost town, check out Waiuta, home to New Zealand’s third largest gold mine, or maybe stop in at Ross. DOC also have a range of walking tracks throughout the region, like Woods Creek Track, where there are mining tunnels are safe to enter.

So don’t be afraid to explore, just make sure you stick to the tracks!

Figure 16. An archaeologist in their natural habitat. Disclaimer: this was on a public track. DO NOT enter any unmarked tunnels!

Check out the links below:

https://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/west-coast/places/greymouth-area/things-to-do/tracks/nelson-creek-walks/

https://tohuwhenua.nz/te-tai-poutini-west-coast/waiuta

https://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/west-coast/places/goldsborough-waimea-kumara-area/?tab-id=50578

https://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/west-coast/places/greymouth-area/things-to-do/tracks/woods-creek-track/

Alana Kelly

 

References

Lyttelton Times. 1851-1920. [online]. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/all

Perkins, W. H. (n.d.). Nelson Creek water race, Westland [photograph]. Alexander Turnball Library. https://natlib.govt.nz/records/23039624.

Sketch Plan of the Grey District and Surrounding Country. (n.d.). Archives New Zealand. https://ndhadeliver.natlib.govt.nz/delivery/DeliveryManagerServlet?dps_pid=IE33027512

Smith, N. 2001. Heritage of Industry: Discovering New Zealand’s Industrial History. New Zealand: Reed.

West Coast Recollect. [online]. Available at: https://westcoast.recollect.co.nz/

West Coast Times. 1865-1916 [online]. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/all

Enterprise in a New Street

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**TRIGGER WARNING: This blog talks of infant death and sex work**

 

Time forgives and forgets, dulling the harsh effects of first-hand accounts of shocking life events to a point where one can laugh at unfortunate events, or even become engrossed in the salacious accounts of someone’s long gone, some would say best forgotten, life. This ‘best forgotten’ approach to unfortunate historical events means history tends to present the winners in life, the successes, and the ideals of what a ‘good life’ is, skewing many a family history and leaving many questions and surprises for those who decide to delve.

In many of the histories we research we do get the opportunity to write about Canterbury’s success stories, but we also research the residential lives of the average colonial settler brought out to a new world. Despite the Canterbury Associations’ self-assured hubris, campaigning for the ideal Anglican settlement, life did get in the way. The need for immigrants to help play out the grand scheme of things brought working class innovations: the good and, in the Victorian’s eyes, the morally questionable.

Enter the world of a smallish new street, a right of way in the beginning, in the residential northeast of the city. It was a patchwork of small worker’s cottages with dodgy drainage. Most of these cottages were leased, and some were sold to those who ventured to better themselves by owning a property. Little was happening on this street during the early 1860s, but by 1868 the section we are going to focus on in this blog was sold, and a small cottage was built. The property went through a few owners with little fanfare. In July of 1878 the property sold to Mr John Hannan, who already lived in the new street. Hannan, hoping to extend his property portfolio, took a mortgage out with a Mr Michael Murphy. Hannan’s property empire wasn’t to be and, as mortgagee, Mr Michael Murphy, took over the property in 1879. It was from this time that life started to get interesting in the new street – yes you can cue the ominous music now (LINZ, 1860).

While this is not our street it does give an idea of early cottages in Christchurch in the 1860s – albeit in a nicer area! Image: Barker, Alfred Charles (Dr), 1819-1873. Canterbury Museum, 2016.13.7.

Michael Murphy, according to George Ranald Macdonald in his Macdonald Biography of Canterbury Project, along with his brother John ‘were two of the greatest rouges in the history of Christchurch’ (MacDonald, 1952-1964: M753a). It’s quite an accusation but Macdonald did go on to say, so vast and numerous were their appearances before the courts it was too much to record in the biography project. So, with this opinion of Mr Murphy and his brother in mind, the following events could be deemed unsurprising.

The year of 1879 for Murphy was relatively quiet year regarding court appearances. In July 1879 Murphy was fined 10 shillings and costs for allowing a cow to graze on Cambridge Terrace (Lyttelton Times, 15/7/1879: 3). Later in the same month Murphy was sued by a C. Hensley for the recovery of £15 for a dishonoured cheque. A Mr McConnell represented the plaintiff (Hensley), and Mr Izard represented the defendant (Mr Murphy). Murphy obtained £15 from his brother John in exchange for a cheque of the same amount. When John went to use cheque, it was returned endorsed with ‘payment stopped’. John then paid away the cheque to Mr Howe in liquidation of an account, and then Mr Howe paid away the cheque to the plaintiff, Mr Hensley in settlement of wages (still with me here?). Hensley made his way to the bank to deposit his wages, not noticing the endorsement, and duly had the cheque returned to him unpaid. Murphy disclaimed liability stating the cheque was given for a gambling debt. This resulted in some ‘very hard swearing’ and Murphy, in a peremptory manner, stated he could provide independent witnesses to state the contrary. It is at this point, dear reader, we find out that Murphy, true to form, had called in at his so-called witnesses’ office that morning to cross question him about the cheque and said if he leaned towards Murphy that it would be ‘worth his while’. Once the witness had stated the account to the court Murphy’s defence lawyer, Mr Izard, picked up his hat and quit the court room leaving Murphy to defend himself. Murphy then wondered if the Magistrate could adjourn the case stating, ‘I am left to myself’, with the Magistrate replying, ‘I don’t wonder indeed’. This left Murphy asking irrelevant questions of the incorruptible witness before asking for a verdict deeming, he had proved his case that the cheque had been produced under the influence of alcohol to pay a gambling debt. The Magistrate failed to see the case with Murphy having to pay all costs (Lyttelton Times, 18/7/1879: 6). This was a case among many of the Murphy Bros, sealing their reputation in Macdonald’s dictionary.

A day in the Magistrates Court… you can only imagine! Image: Addle-headed Justice on the Auckland Bench. Hangum J.P. (to smashed-up plaintiff): it serves yet tight far goin’ inter theae sort et ‘oases; so, let this be a warning to yer. The prisoner is discharged without a stain on ‘is character. ‘ (Observer, 27 May 1899). Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/5813200

So back from that brief interlude to characterise Murphy, to our property in the new street. Murphy, as the ‘mortgagee’, decided to sell. Three freehold sections were advertised for sale in the new street; all had been in the ownership of Hannan and all had three-roomed cottages (Lyttelton Times, 7/3/1879: 8). The properties did not sell, and it was the property’s next appearance in the newspapers that sealed its fate. In April of 1881 in the magisterial column of a Saturday paper it noted ‘Larrikin Prostitutes’, Josephine Ellen, Nellie Ross, Alice Hulbert, and Jane Wilmot, all but one being of a young age, were brought up under the ‘Vagrancy Act’ and charged with having no lawful visible means of support. It was deposed that they lived at a house, in the new street, owned by Mrs Michael Murphy (it has to be said that Murphy himself was in Lyttelton gaol awaiting a perjury trial). The arresting sergeants disposed that the girls’ occupation of the property caused great disturbance to the neighbourhood. The accused were described as prostitutes, with one neighbour, Mr J. McDonald, who lived near the house, disposing that orgies had taken place at the property. The Bench responded in a severe manner about the degradation of the neighbourhood by the defendants, who were then sentenced to prison for three months with hard labour (Globe, 9/4/1881: 2; Lyttelton Times, 11/4/1881: 3). Another newspaper article said the prisoners had flippantly informed the Bench that indeed they did have support, so much so that they had considered purchasing the house they rented from Mrs Murphy (Star, 9/4/1881: 3). Josephine Ellen, the elder of the women and deemed the keeper of the brothel, exclaimed ‘Vel, vot am I do mit my little dorgs!’ (New Zealand Herald, 21/4/1881: 3). It was not known what happened to the dogs and no further records could be found regarding Josephine Ellen, her name likely to be an alias. Mrs Murphy continued to let cottages in the new street and in October of 1881 one of the cottages burnt down (Star, 31/10/1881: 3).

In 1882 Murphy sold one of the properties to an Eva M Boyd (LINZ, 1860: 600). You could surmise it may have been the now empty section, as Boyd already lived in the street and had purchased a property with a shared boundary in 1881 and another later on in 1897. Boyd styled herself as ‘Mrs Boyd’, ‘Ada Boyd’, and ‘Mabel Ada Boyd’. Nothing was found with current research regarding a Mabel Ada Boyd prior to this time or an Eva Mabel Boyd.

‘Mrs Boyd’, as she was referred to, is noted in newspapers linked with the street from March 1881 where she was associated with a court case of a Frederick Walter Berry on a charge of vagrancy. It was deposed during the court case that Berry had been cooking for Mrs Boyd (Star, 20/5/1881: 3). Mrs Boyd started to make regular appearances in Magisterial proceedings where her home was described as a ‘house of ill-fame’ and a ‘brothel’ (Globe, 14/6/1882: 3; Star, 14/6/1882: 3). It seems Mrs Boyd picked up where Josephine Ellen left off. The following is a little unsettling, so reader beware.

Things came to a head in the street in 1883 when three people, Alice Hulbert, Ada Willett, and Alice Willet, were arrested on a charge of disposal of a body of a child. A woman, Boyd, also had a charge of concealment but had yet to be arrested. The body of the child was found ‘secreted’ in the garden adjoining the house occupied by Mrs Boyd. Some boys playing in the garden found the body concealed in brown paper. The body had been buried. It was not known at the time if the child was still born (Star, 3/5/1883: 3). As the court case progressed, Mrs Boyd was eventually found in Dunedin and arrested. Boyd was later noted in court attacking a Constable Neale, the principal witnesses in the case. The constable was said to have ‘parried’ off the attack very skilfully, suffering no injury from his ‘formidable assailant’ (Star, 15/5/1883: 2). As the details of the case transpired, it was a girl named Amy Dyson, a lodger with Boyd, who had died and had been pregnant. On hearing that the boys had found the body, the Willets, and Hulbert removed the body and reburied it elsewhere. None of the witnesses testified to have seen or buried the child (Evening Star, 5/5/1883: 2).

It was in these reports of the case that Mrs Boyd was referred to as Mabel Ada Boyd (Star, 15/5/1883: 3). Later, in the police gazette, it is recorded that the four women were charged of the offence of concealment of birth, but in consequence of a legal difficulty, the Crown Prosecutor presented an indictment (New Zealand Police Gazette, 8/8/1883: 140).

From 1884 Mrs Boyd appeared to have a consistent account of keeping a disorderly house and being described as a ‘nuisance’ in the new street. In a Magisterial hearing, Mabel Ada Boyd was accused of acting as the mistress of a house of ill fame. Her lawyer, Mr Joyce, even suggested she lease the property and close her business. One neighbour across the road from her property described the goings on as a ‘regular terror to the neighbours’ and it was a ‘very bad house’. Another neighbour also offered his property for sale to Mrs Boyd, in order to escape the bad character of the neighbourhood. Mrs Boyd stated that she did not live in the house. Mrs Boyd was noted as living on the corner of the street in a rental property belonging to a Mr John Goston, which incidentally had recently burnt down (Press, 9/4/1884: 2; Lyttelton Times, 24/4/1884: 3). In 1885 another fire in the street burnt down a four-roomed cottage owned by Mrs Mabel Ada Boyd. The dwelling was considered old and had not been inhabited for 12 months. It was also stated that Mrs Boyd had gone to Wellington, and the property was to be leased to Mrs John Hannan. In a strange twist, this was the wife of the same Hannan that owned the properties originally (Lyttelton Times, 7/2/1885: 5; Star, 7/2/1885: 3).

The perceptions of prostitutes in 19th century New Zealand. Image: Blomfield, William, 1866-1938. Blomfield, William, 1866-1938: The Seven Ages of a Lost Sister. New Zealand Observer and Free Lance, 12 October 1889. Ref: H-713-095. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/22306446

After this eventful phase in the street, things seem to have settled down. Mrs Boyd was gone, having moved to Wellington and styling herself as Ada Boyd.  Again, Mrs Boyd is accused of bringing down the tone of a neighbourhood, this time in Boulcott Street Wellington.  The newspapers titled Boyd as a ‘notorious woman of ill-fame’ in an article titled ‘A Den of Iniquity’ (New Zealand Times, 10/9/1885: 3). Boyd was charged with keeping a disorderly house, frequented by idle and disorderly persons, and having no lawful visible means of support. Apparently, the nuisance had been tolerated by residents of Boulcott Street for some time, and it was hoped that it would be abated. The house was located in a very respectable area of town and close to two schools. The house was owned by a leading citizen of Wellington, no other than Mr John Plimmer. Plimmer stated that the lease was held by another woman called Farris. A Detective Chrystal gave evidence that Boyd kept a brothel with three girls called Carrie Williams, Sarah Williams (with an alias of Brighting), and Clara Mitchell.  A woman called Woodroofe, from Christchurch also resided at the property. It was stated that Boyd had been convicted of similar charges in Christchurch (New Zealand Times, 10/9/1885: 3). Boyd was later charged on remand and by 22 September had left the house in Boulcott Street (Evening Post, 22/9/1885: 3).

As for the new street? By 1891 it was renamed and the mysterious Eva Mabel Boyd, now listed as an Auckland spinster, seems to have purchased another section of land in the street in 1897. By 1899 the property was acquired by a building firm, who quickly subdivided, and developed the property into respectable residential sections – deemed no doubt by the Victorians as a more palatable enterprise for a new street.

-The Historian, Underground Overground Archaeology

References

Akaroa Mail and Banks Peninsula Advertiser, 1877-1839. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

LINZ, 1860. Canterbury Land District Deeds Index – A/S – Subdivisions of Christchurch town sections. Archives New Zealand, Christchurch office.

Lyttelton Times, 1851-1920. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Evening Star, 1865-1947. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Globe, 1874-1882. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

MacDonald, G.R., 1952-1964. Macdonald Dictionary of Canterbury Biography project. [online] Canterbury Museum. Available at: <https://collection.canterburymuseum.com/objects?query=maker_name%3A%22George+Ranald+Macdonald%22>.

New Zealand Police Gazettes, 1877-1945 [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

New Zealand Herald, 1863-1945. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Star, 1868-1920. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

 

Hall’s Oriental Turkish Bath

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It’s very easy to think of 19th century New Zealand as being a place isolated from the rest of the world. Yet as we research and investigate colonial Christchurch, we are constantly being reminded of the connections that existed between New Zealand and the rest of the British Empire. Most often we see those connections archaeologically through artefacts, but every so often we see them in a different way. Today’s blog is on a Turkish Bathhouse we excavated at the end of last year. When I think of 19th century Christchurch, a Turkish Bathhouse is definitely not the first thing that comes to mind. Yet Turkish Bathhouses became fashionable in Britain in the 1860s and from there spread to the rest of the empire, with Turkish Bathhouses opened in New Zealand in the 1870s (Press 31/12/1874: 2).

The Turkish Bath, or Hammam, is a public bathhouse that is associated with Muslim culture and found across the Islamic world. Hammam have been in existence for over a thousand years and evolved from similar public bathhouses used by the Ancient Romans. The Hammam was both a place to get clean, and a place to socialise and conduct business. The introduction of the Hammam to the British Empire was down to one man: David Urquhart. David Urquhart was a Scottish diplomat and politician who worked in Constantinople (Istanbul) in the 1830s and travelled throughout Europe and the east over his lifetime. In 1850, Urquhart wrote a book, The Pillars of Hercules, based on his travels through Spain and Morocco in 1848. Urquhart dedicates two chapters of his book to bathhouses, describing both the history of the bathhouse and the bathhouse process.

“The operation consists of various parts: first, the seasoning of the body; second, the manipulation of the muscles; third, the peeling of the epidermis; fourth; the soaping, and the patient is then conducted to the bed of repose. These are the five acts of drama. There are three essential apartments in the building: a great hall, or mustaby, open to the outer air; a middle chamber, where the heat is moderate; the inner hall, which is properly the thermae. The first scene is acted in the middle chamber; the next three in the inner chamber, and the last in the outer hall. The time occupied is from two to four hours, and the operation is repeated once a week.”       

-Urquhart 1850: 31

To call Urquhart passionate about bathhouses would be an understatement. His chapter on the bathhouse process begins with a very Victorian description of the morality of cleanliness, followed by an extensive description of the bathhouse process. Urquhart bases his description of bathhouses on the Hammam he had visited in Turkey and is quite critical of the Moorish bath he visited on his travels, providing a comparison between the Moorish bathhouse, the Turkish bathhouse, and Roman bathhouses. Urquhart ends his chapter with a very lengthy description of the benefits of introducing bathhouses to Britain. Richard Barter, an Irish physician who established St Ann’s Hydropathic Establishment, read Urquhart’s book and collaborated with him to open Britain’s first Turkish Bath in Ireland in 1856. In 1857 a Turkish Bathhouse opened in Manchester and in 1860 another opened in London. Over the next 150 years, over 600 Turkish Baths were opened in Britain.

I visited a Turkish Bath when I was in Turkey. I didn’t take any photos, but thanks to the magic of the internet I was able to find a picture of the one I went to. It was a few years ago now, but I remember both enjoying the experience and finding it a wee bit strange being washed by a stranger. My experience started with a sauna. Following that we went to this room where we were scrubbed and washed. We then had a massage and ended with face masks. All in all, it was relatively similar to what Urquhart describes – particularly the “peeling of the epidermis” and the “soaping”. Image: Tripadvisor. 

In August 1884, John Charles Fisher and Duncan Beamont Wallis leased a section of land on Cashel Street and constructed a Turkish Bathhouse. Construction was completed in October 1884 and the baths were open for business by the 21st of October. While Fisher and Wallis constructed the baths, they did not operate it for long and management was taken over by W. Dation in January of 1885. Dation himself did not operate the baths for long, and by June of 1885 was advertising the sale of a large amount of the bath’s furniture and fittings (suggesting he may have had financial difficulties).

Robert Hall announced he was taking over the proprietorship of the Oriental Turkish Baths on the 1st July 1885. He described the premises at this time as being “Now in First Class Order”, having been “Fitted and Furnished in the very Best Style”, which suggests that Hall replaced much of the furniture and fittings that had been sold by Dation (Star 29/6/1885: 2). He undertook various alterations and repairs to the premises during his proprietorship, adding a third hot room that could reach 200 degrees Fahrenheit. Hall was the proprietor of the bathhouse until 1905, when the business was taken over by Messrs. Young and Co., who operated the bathhouse until the property was sold in the 1920s (Trendafilov et al. 2021).

Photograph printed in 1902, showing the street frontage of Hall’s Oriental Turkish Baths in Cashel Street. Image: Davie, 1902: 304.

An advertisement from 1886, advertising the baths. Image: Star, 27/12/1886: 2.

The construction of the bathhouse was clearly of interest to the residents of Christchurch, and a thorough description of the building was relayed in the newspapers of the time:

The building will be of brick, and will cover a ground area of 60ft by 33ft. In the front are the hair-dressing rooms. A passage runs right through the building from front to back; to the right of this from the entrance are six chambers for hot, cold, and shower baths. On the left are the rooms for the special feature of the establishment – the Turkish baths. The person wishing to enjoy the Oriental luxury will first enter one of the dressing-rooms, of which there are eight, very neatly fitted up; he then passes to the first hot room, at which the temperature is maintained at about 125 deg Fah., and having become accustomed to this, he is prepared to pass to the hotter chamber, of 150 deg on an average. Both these hot rooms are of the same size — 12ft by 9ft 6in, floored with red and white tiles, and plastered; they are heated by hot-air flues passing round them, and connected with a furnace at the back. Special attention will be paid to ventilation, not only in these rooms, but in all connected with the baths. Disc ventilators in the walls and ceiling, that can be opened or closed at will, are the description made use of for the purpose. After he has had enough of the hot-air process, the visitor will pass to the shampooing room, in which is the “needle bath.” The operation of this is to throw from a number of small jets sprays of water gradually decreasing from warm to cold, thus preventing the danger to the bather of suffering a chill after he has finished his Turkish bath. Sulphur and vapour baths are also provided in the shampooing room, on leaving which the visitor pushes aside a crimson curtain and finds himself in the “cooling room,” a large, handsomely furnished apartment, in which files of the illustrated and other papers are kept, and where one can enjoy the dolce far niente till he feels disposed to return to the dressing-room. All the rooms, except those in front, are lighted by skylights (Lyttelton Times 15/8/1884: 6).

Sadly, the original bathhouse was long gone when we excavated the site last year. However, we found a couple of features that we were able to associate with the bathhouse, which was most exciting. One was a large brick structure, found at a depth of 750 mm. The feature was a trapezoid shaped lined brick pit, 3.4 m long and 1.4 m, which was located within the footprint of the bathhouse and was interpreted as being one of the baths.

The bath feature, first exposed by the digger. The feature didn’t look like much when it was first uncovered, but careful excavation revealed something interesting. Image: A. Trendafilov.

The bath emerges. Image: A. Trendafilov.

Angel does some phenomenology and puts himself in the place of a visitor to the baths. Image: site contractor.

We suspect that the bath was constructed as part of the purpose built building and was probably sunk into the ground which has led to it surviving. Interestingly, as Angel was excavating the feature he found several bits of radiator, along with a lead pipe with evenly distributed holes along the side. The 1884 description of the new bath house mentions that there were two hot chambers available, with temperatures of 125° Fahrenheit (51° Celsius) and 150° Fahrenheit (65° Celsius), connected to a furnace at the back of the building. It is probable that the radiators were used to transfer the heat to these chambers, either through the use of steam or hot water. The small lead pipe found in the feature may have been part of the ‘needle bath’ described in the same account: “the operation of this is to throw from a number of small jets sprays of water gradually decreasing from hot to cold” (Lyttelton Times 15/8/1884: 6). It is highly likely that the evenly distributed holes, which measured six mm in diameter and were spaced at intervals of approximately 50 mm, in the pipe are those small jet sprays described in the article.

The radiators were clustered down on end of the bath. Image: A. Trendafilov.

The radiator pipes. Image: A. Trendafilov.

The lead pipe with evenly spaced holes. Image: J. Garland.

We also found several coffee and chicory bottles in the feature, and overall coffee and chicory bottles made up 13% of the total glass assemblage (normally they might make up around 1% of a total glass assemblage). The ‘Oriental Turkish Bath House’ served tea and coffee to customers, with an article from September 1884 stating that “the room in which, what is, perhaps, the most pleasant part of the process takes place is a large, handsomely furnished apartment, with Brussels carpet on the floor and luxurious couches and chairs around the walls…and small tables disposed in various parts of the room can be used either as card tables or to bear the cup of tea or coffee presented to the visitor” (Star 21/10/1884: 3). It is however surprising that they may have been serving coffee and chicory or coffee extract, both of which can be considered substitutes for ground coffee or the equivalent of ‘instant’ coffee. Their use in the 19th century is often associated with economic hardship and coffee shortages, particularly in Napoleonic France and Civil War era North America (Smith 1996; Smith 2014). It may be that the Turkish Bath House was using coffee substitutes as a matter of taste preference, but it may also have been that they were economical in what they were serving to visitors.

One of the coffee and chicory bottles found in the feature. The bottle was embossed with the mark of Thomas Symington and Co., an Edinburgh based beverage manufacturer. Symington’s Coffee and Chicory, a blended coffee beverage, is relatively common on archaeological sites in New Zealand dating from the 1880s onwards. Image J. Garland.

We also found this Cyprus patterned ewer, which was likely used in the bathhouse. The ewer was made by Thomas G. Booth, a Staffordshire potter who operated the Church Bank Pottery in Tunstall between 1876 and 1883 (Godden 1991: 86). The date of manufacture for this vessel pre-dates the construction of the Turkish Baths, but ceramic vessels during the 19th century often had uselives of up to 15-20 years (Adams 2003), which would overlap with the construction and use of the Turkish Baths. It may be that the name of the pattern decorating this vessel, the Cyprus Pattern, was a deliberate choice on the part of the owners of the baths, as a nod to the geographical location of Cyprus, south of Turkey in the Mediterranean Sea, but it may also have been a coincidence in which the visual appearance of the pattern determined the choice of its use in the Turkish Baths. Image: J. Garland.

Hall’s Oriental Turkish Bath provides a fascinating insight into the cultural melting pot of the British Empire. It’s interesting to see the introduction of Turkish Baths into Britain in the 1850s, and from there, as they became fashionable, spreading through the Empire to reach New Zealand in the 1870s. A Turkish Bath was opened in Dunedin in 1874 (Press 31/12/1874: 2), one in Auckland by 1877 (New Zealand Herald 14/07/1877: 4) while an earlier bath opened on High Street in Christchurch in 1878 (Press 22/02/1878: 1). The collision of different cultures that resulted in the spread of ideas and practices across the empire is perhaps best illustrated in the below article.

A collision of culture. Image: Evening Post 12/07/1879: 3. 

Clara Watson, Jessie Garland, Lydia Mearns

References

Davie, Mort., 1902. Tourists’ Guide to Canterbury. P. A. Herman. Christchurch Press Company Limited.

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

Lyttelton Times, 1851-1914. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/.

New Zealand Herald, 1863-1945. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/

Press, 1861-1945. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/

Smith, S. D., 1996. “Accounting for Taste: British Coffee Consumption in Historical Perspective”, The Journal of Interdisciplinary History, Vol. 27: 2, pp. 183-214.

Smith, A. K., 2014. “The History of the Coffee Chicory Mix That New Orleans Made It’s Own”, Smithsonian Magazine. [online] Available at https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/chicory-coffee-mix-new-orleans-made-own-comes-180949950/ [Accessed March 2021].

Star, 1868-1920. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/.

Trendafilov, A., Mearns, L., Garland, J. 212 Cashel Street, Christchurch (Superlot 6c): Final report for archaeological investigations under HNZPT authority 2020/811eq. Unpublished report for Fletcher Residential Living.

Urquhart, D. 1850. The Pillars of Hercules. Harper and Brothers, New York.  

The Sum of a Life

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Today on the blog we’re taking a look at a pair of neighbours, Joseph Rowley and David Scott. The pair lived next to each other on the south side of St Asaph Street- with Rowley owning Lot 7 DP 51 and Scott owning Lot 8 DP 51.

Following the Kemp purchase in 1848, the land that would become Christchurch’s central city was subdivided into town sections and reserves, and sold off to European settlers. Town Reserve 4 was a four and a half acre section fronting onto Montreal Street, St Asaph Street, and Durham Street. The Town Reserve was sold in 1860 and passed hands a few times until it was purchased by Edward Louis Clogstown and Lancelot Walker in 1875, along with the neighbouring Town Reserve 5. Clogstown and Walker subdivided the town reserve into 40 residential lots in January 1875 and in February 1875 they advertised the 40 building sites for sale.

Town Reserves 4 and 5 are outlined in blue on the 1862 Fook’s map. What would become Lots 7 and 8 is outlined in red. Image: Fooks, 1862. 

Details from DP 51, showing Clogstown and Walker’s subdivision of Town Reserve 4 and 5 into 40 residential lots. Lots 7 and 8 are outlined in red. Image: LINZ, 1875c. DP 51, Canterbury. Landonline.

The sections advertised for sale. Image: Star 01/02/1875: 4. 

Joseph Rowley, a tin slate worker, purchased Lot 7 of the subdivision from Clogstown and Walker in 1875. Rowley, who was originally from Warwickshire, arrived in Canterbury with his wife and eight children on board the Mystery in 1859. Prior to the purchase of the St Asaph Street section, Rowley and his family were living in Montreal Street. Rowley announced in the local newspapers that he had accepted the tender of Mr Verrall for the construction of his house in St Asaph Street in February 1875 and three months later advertised his house and land on Montreal Street as being for sale, suggesting that the St Asaph Street house was completed by May 1875. The Rowley family lived at the St Asaph Street house for the remainder of the 19th century. While Joseph passed away in 1888, and his wife, Mary, in 1895, their daughters continued to live at the property and the house remained in the ownership of the Rowley family until the 1920s.

Rowley’s advertisement in the newspaper that he had accepted Mr Verrall’s tender to build his how on St Asaph Street. Image: Press 13/02/1875: 1. 

David Scott purchased Lot 8 of the subdivision from Clogstown and Walker in 1875. Scott, originally from Selkinkshire in Scotland, arrived in Canterbury on board the David G. Fleming in 1863. Scott was a builder and it is likely that he constructed a residence on the section himself. When his eldest daughter, Lilly Bell, married Donald Munro in July 1888, Scott’s residence was referred to as ‘Abbotsford House’. Similar to the Rowley’s, the Scott family lived at the house for the remainder of the 19th century. When David passed in 1899, the section passed to his wife (also called Lilly Bell), and his son, Richard Linton Scott, and remained in the ownership of the Scott family into the 1960s.

The announcement of Scott’s daughter’s marriage, in which their St Asaph Street house is referred to as Abbotsford House. Image: Lyttelton Times 13/17/1888: 4. 

The two houses shown on the 1877 Strouts Map. Rowley’s house in on the left and Scott’s on the right. Image: Strouts, 1877. 

From aerial photography, we know that the two houses were still standing in the latter half of the 1950s, but had been demolished by the early 1960s and replaced with a commercial building. This building, in turn, was demolished following earthquake damage, and replaced with a new commercial building. We monitored the earthworks for the construction of this new building, leading to our investigation into Rowley and Scott’s former sections.

A photograph from our monitoring. The contractors excavate the areas of the site that they need to for the new building foundations. We watch them dig and if they hit any archaeology, we have them stop and wait while we investigate it by hand. Image: J. Hearfield.

We found 15 archaeological features during our archaeological monitoring. Most of these were rubbish pits located near the rear of the properties, which is typical for 19th century Christchurch domestic sites. While municipal rubbish collection did exist, people continued to bury at least some of their household rubbish in pits dug in the backyards. The contents of these pits are able to tell us more about the lives of the people who deposited them.

Some of the rubbish pits we found at the site. Once they have been exposed like this by the digger, the archaeologist investigates them by hand. Image: A. Trendafilov.

A mid-excavation photo of one of the rubbish pits from the site. Image: A. Trendafilov.

Because the Rowley and Scott families both built the first houses on their respective sections, and lived at them into the 20th century, we can safely assume that any 19th century features found at the site were created and deposited by them. As an artefact specialist, domestic sites like these are some of my favourite archaeological site types. Quite often we have domestic sites that were rentals in the 19th century with a high turnover of occupants, meaning that while we might know who was living at the site in the 19th century, we are unable to associate the artefacts we find at the site with specific tenants. That’s not a problem with sites like these where there was only one occupant over the course of the 19th century. When we’re able to associate artefact assemblages with specific occupants then we can take a look at some of those more interesting questions, like what the artefacts say about the social and economic status of the people who deposited them. Now is the point in the blog where you might be expecting me to show you all the amazing things that we found that belonged to Rowley and Scott, after all, we usually choose to only share the interesting stuff on the blog. However, if I’m honest, the stuff we found at the site was kind of boring, and says more about the period that Rowley and Scott lived in than their personal choices.

Firstly, we didn’t find a lot at the sites. At Rowley’s site we found 133 artefacts, represented by 444 fragments, and at Scott’s site we found 109 artefacts, represented by 548 fragments, so pretty similar small assemblage sizes. Here are most of the ceramic artefacts found at the two sites. Rowley’s is shown on the left and Scott’s on the right. In terms of similarities, the Asiatic Pheasants, Rhine, and Willow patterns were found at both sites, as were sprigged and gilt banded tea ware vessels. These are decoration styles that we find across the city, and are very typical of the 1875-1900 period. However, like most of our sites, we found a range of different patterns suggesting that the two families were likely purchasing individual items that they liked, rather than focusing on maintaining sets (the teacup with the blue floral pattern from the Scott family assemblage is particularly nice). There are some interesting things in the Scott family assemblage. We found six penny ink bottles and an ink well. A search through the newspaper records show that school lessons were being advertised from the Scott’s house on St Asaph Street. A C. M’Farland is recorded as being the one offering the lessons. I haven’t quite been able to work out how he relates to the Scott family, but it seems likely that the ink bottles found at the site related to M’Farland’s school lessons at the property. We also found a miniature cup and jug, and a child’s plate in the Scott family assemblage.

The Scott’s weren’t the only ones to be offering lessons from their house. Next door, Miss Rowley, Joseph Rowley’s daughter, was offering piano, singing, drawing and painting lessons. Image: Lyttelton Times 17/09/1890: 8. 

Similar to the ceramic assemblages, the glass assemblages from Rowley and Scott’s sites are very typical of the 1875-1900 period. At both sites, alcohol bottles were most common, followed by pharmaceutical bottles and then condiment bottles. These bottles were types we often see on our archaeological sites, such as black beer, case gin, ring seal, hock wine, salad oil, castor oil, and rectangular bevelled pharmaceutical bottles, as well as pickle jars. As you can see from the photos, more complete bottles were found at Rowley’s site rather than Scott’s site. It may be that the Scotts were returning complete bottles back to retailers so that the bottles could be refilled and reused, and were only choosing to throw away bottles that broke, but it also may be that taphonomic processes have resulted in bottle breakages.

In terms of what else was found at the site, the Rowley’s assemblage was quite interesting as we found the soles from seven shoes in one of the rubbish pits. Most of these shoes were made using slightly older shoe making techniques, with the soles of the shoes attached using wooden pegs rather than nails, and at least two had been re-soled. This suggested that the Rowley family wore their shoes until they were completely worn out. That several shoes were found in the one feature perhaps suggests that most of the family got new shoes at one time, with the old shoes finally thrown away. Other finds from the Rowley site included writing slate, a doll’s arm, a safety pin, and a glass cruet bottle. We also found shoe fragments at the Scott’s site, however these hadn’t survived well and were very fragmented. We also found two bone toothbrushes, two porcelain Prosser buttons, and fragments from a basket weave moulded clay pipe. I like artefacts like these as they are such personal items and provide a real connection to the past.

In one sense, I find the two assemblages quite sad. Both the Scott and Rowley families lived at the site from 1875 into the 20th century, and yet all there is to show from their lives are some broken glass bottles and bits of ceramic plates. On other sites that we’ve excavated that have had people living at the property for a long period of time, we’ve found large assemblages with elaborate ceramic sets and unusual items. But that wasn’t the case here.

The small and fragmented assemblages may be a result of taphonomic processes and archaeological excavation strategies. The site was developed in the 20th century, and this may have wiped out some archaeological features from the site and disturbed others. It was also fossicked overnight by bottle diggers during our time at the site, and most of the material from two of the pits was stolen. Knowing bottle diggers, they only go for the complete items which may explain the fragmented condition of what was left in the two pits they dug out. Our excavation strategies also mean that some material was left in situ or not collected. We only excavate features that date to the 19th century, as the legislation we operate under only protects pre-1900 archaeology. We did find rubbish pits that dated to the 20th century at the site, but we didn’t excavate them. We also only excavate within the boundaries of what our client needs to excavate. We had some features that extended beyond the new building’s foundations, meaning that we only excavated the halves of these features that were within the extent of the new foundation, and left the rest in situ.

However, even if we only view what we collected as a sample of what was there, we still have to assume that the sample is relatively representative of the overall assemblages. Both the Rowley and Scott families were working class families, and I’d say that is definitely reflected in the artefacts from the site. The artefacts are all things that we find all the time in Christchurch, suggesting that both families were purchasing things that were cheap and readily available.

Something that is quite interesting is that there was no evidence that any of the rubbish pits represented ‘clean out’ events. We sometimes find large rubbish pits containing lots of complete artefacts where the material has obvious been thrown out intentionally because the occupants don’t want it anymore, as opposed to something being thrown away because it has broken. Sometimes, we’re able to associate these ‘clean out’ events with members of a younger generation throwing out items belonging to the older generation after the older generation has passed away. Both Joseph and Mary Rowley, and David and Lilly Bell Scott passed away at their St Asaph Street properties. With the exception of Lilly Bell, these deaths all occurred in the 19th century. Yet there is no evidence that the children of the two couples that continued to live at the site threw away their parents belongings. This may have been an economic decision as they may not have had the means to buy all new dinner sets, but could also have been for sentimental reasons.

The artefacts we found from the two houses on St Asaph Street represent the sum of Rowley and Scott’s lives. On one hand, some broken black beer bottles and Asiatic Pheasants patterned plates might not say much about those lives. But on the other hand, they speak to what life was like as a working class family living in 19th century Christchurch.

Clara Watson, Lydia Mearns