A club for Christchurch gentlemen

Posted on 27 September 2013 by Jessie Garland

At the start of an archaeological investigation we often consult historical documents to learn as much as we can about a site’s past. Such research can identify the buildings that were once present, the people associated with the site through land purchase and occupation, and the kinds of activities undertaken at the site. This helps us determine what kind of archaeological remains we can expect during excavation. Often the archaeology meets these expectations, although sometimes a site can completely surprise you.

The excavation of the Canterbury Club is a good example of an archaeological investigation in which the archaeological evidence did not quite match up with information gained from the documentary sources. This evidence was not contradictory. Instead it supplemented the documentary information and ended up providing us with a more multi-faceted interpretation of the site.

The Canterbury Club on the corner of Worcester Boulevard and Cambridge Terrace c. 1882. Photo: Christchurch City Libraries, PhotoCD13, IMG0060.

The Canterbury Club, on the corner of Cambridge Terrace and Worcester Boulevard, was established for the professional gentlemen of Christchurch in the 1870s. Many noteworthy gentlemen of Victorian Christchurch were members and the building itself was considered to possess plenty of aesthetic and architectural merit (e.g. Press 20/12/1873: 2). The club, and the men associated with it, was therefore well documented in the formal histories of Christchurch and the gentlemen’s clubs of New Zealand. The club itself produced its own published history in the 1970s (Lamb 1972).

Here’s what the formal histories told us about the site. The Canterbury Club was a Victorian gentlemen’s club in the style of its English predecessors – institutions where men of wealth and status met socially and conducted business. By the mid 19^th century these clubs had become an integral part of the upper and middle class British male lifestyle, reflecting the Victorian obsession with class (Manning 1991: 1). As a written history of another such club put it:

Having securely anchored his wife at home with a large family and at the same time established himself as ‘the master’ who could do no wrong, the Victorian husband would spend his leisure no longer in drinking to excess and gambling but in surroundings of luxury never excelled, where the house, the food, the wine and the service bore comparison with those found in any royal palace.

Macdonald 1956

Brooks Club, London, one of the oldest gentlemen’s clubs in England. Image: Hatton 1890: 13.

In 1856 the Christchurch Club was established on Latimer Square, providing a ‘house in town’ for Canterbury’s rural landowners. In contrast, the Canterbury Club was established by urban, professional gentlemen wanting a club that represented their own social sphere (Opus 2006). The 151 founding members purchased Town Section 403 and part Town Section 407 for their establishment, and the buildings were designed in ornate Italianate style by William Armson and Frederick Strouts. The main club buildings were completed in 1874 (a detailed description of the buildings appeared in the Press during construction and can be found here). The club’s service wing was located discretely behind the club and connected to it via a passageway, which was frequented by the club’s serving staff (Press 29/5/1873: 2). These included a cook/housekeeper, kitchen-, scullery- and house-maids, a steward, waiters, a barman and a billiard marker (Lamb 1972: 30). Once the buildings were finished they were furnished by local suppliers J. Ballantyne & Co and Morrow, Basset & Co (Lamb 1972: 23). The club’s crockery – white with a maroon band and a ‘Canterbury Club’ monogram – was ordered from London. The club was opened officially on 24 October 1874 with an inaugural dinner.

Advertisement calling for founding members for the Canterbury Club. Image: Press 10/7/1872: 1.

When excavation began at the Canterbury Club site it was expected that the archaeology would substantiate the information from the written sources. However, only one rubbish pit, containing a minimum number of 165 artefacts, appeared to be related to the club. Moreover, the artefacts recovered from this pit did not quite match up with the written descriptions.

The ceramic artefacts consisted of a mix of ware types. Two large whiteware basins fitted for indoor plumbing and manufactured by J. Tylor & Sons of London were the largest and most complete ceramic vessels recovered from the rubbish pit. Whiteware cups, saucers and plates were the most common vessel forms, but a stoneware bottle, a bone china cup and dyed-body tiles were also found. While cups, saucers and plates were identified in the assemblage, no other forms associated with food presentation and consumption, such as serving vessels, were found. However, variety was evident in the decorative transfer print patterns on these vessels. The ubiquitous Asiatic Pheasant print was identified on one of the vessels, but the basins were the two only vessels bearing the same pattern. No vessel recovered from the rubbish pit could be positively identified as part of the monogrammed set ordered from London for use in the club.

A whiteware basin recovered from the Canterbury Club rubbish pit. Photo: R. Geary Nichol.

A collection of ceramic artefacts recovered from the Canterbury Club rubbish pit. Photo: R. Geary Nichol.

The faunal remains recovered from the pit also contrasted with written information about the type of fare served to club members. Lamb (1972: 26-27) states that goose, turkey, duck, rabbit, pheasant, hare and several types of fish were ordered from the local fishmonger and butcher and served up at the club. A maximum of four species were recovered from the pit – oyster, cow, sheep, and possibly pig. The meat cuts that could be identified – beef chuck, mutton leg and forequarter – were cuts typically used for boiling, mincing and roasting. There was no sign of the more exotic fare known to have been eaten at the club.

A pair of shoes, belonging to an adult male, was also recovered from the pit. These shoes were interesting because they were made with a combination of leather and canvas. It is possible that these were lighter summer shoes, or perhaps a poorer quality shoe than the full leather pieces often recovered from archaeological contexts in Christchurch. Another possibility, given the use of canvas, was that they were used as sports shoes.

Few glass artefacts were recovered from the pit, and this too was inconsistent with known consumption of alcohol by Club members.

The artefacts from the Canterbury Club rubbish pit did not simply reiterate the information in the written sources and so forced consideration of alternative interpretations. It’s possible that these artefacts represented the less formal side of club life and are the debris of run-of-the-mill activities. For example, the basins in the club bathrooms may have been deemed old-fashioned and discarded. Informal lunches, beverages and snacks may have been served on common dishes rather than the monogrammed crockery, which may have been reserved for formal occasions. Similarly, these meals may have consisted of plainer fare than that served on special occasions. A pair of worn sport shoes, forgotten by a Club member after a cricket match, may have been discarded after they went unclaimed. These are the kind of mundane details that do not make it into the formal histories.

A pair of leather and canvas shoes recovered from the Canterbury Club rubbish pit. Photo: R. Geary Nichol.

It is also possible that the artefacts relate to the staff of the Canterbury Club rather than its members. The difference in status between members and staff could account for the common dishes and plain fare represented in the rubbish pit, assuming the staff ate separately. The staff would have been present at the club each day, as opposed to the more transient club members, and their everyday meal is unlikely to have consisted of exotic delicacies served on fancy crockery.

The archaeology of the Canterbury Club site highlights the way in which historical documents and archaeological excavation can supplement each other and result in a more multi-faceted understanding than could be reached by either research method alone. Whether the artefacts represented consumption by club members or staff (or both) they are evidence of the more mundane details of club life that were excluded from the formal histories. Details of daily life are often taken for granted and ignored in favour of more glamorous narratives. However, the artefacts of everyday activities are instantly recognisable even today, and forge a common bond between the past and the present. It is often through these artefacts, rather than the glamorous histories, that a strong connection with the site’s history is made.

Rosie Geary Nichol

References

Lamb, Robert C., (1972), The Canterbury Club 1872-1972: Centennial Notes. Christchurch: Whitcombe and Tombs Ltd.

Hatton, J., 1890. Club-Land: London and Provincial. [online]. Available at: http://archive.org/details/cu31924077731317.

MacDonald, G. R., 1956. The Christchurch Club: A History. Christchurch: Whitcombe and Tombs Ltd.

Opus International Consultants, 2006. Conservation Plan for the Canterbury Club, 129 Cambridge Terrace Christchurch. Unpublished report for the Canterbury Club.

Press. [online] Available at: <http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz>.

‘It isn’t all beer and skittles’

Posted on 4 August 2013 by Katharine

– Thomas Hughes, Tom Brown’s School Days, 1857

It’s hard to picture what many of Christchurch’s buildings looked like before the earthquake. For many locals the torn down remains of a building or an empty lot remind them of a favourite hangout, a birthday or even the best burgers in town. The archaeology that has been excavated and collected from these sites and buildings provides evidence of earlier and equally personal stories and events, proving these buildings were full of life for over a century. One example of this is the Oxford Hotel, also known as the Oxford Family Hotel, the Oxford Victualling Co. and latterly as the Oxford on Avon.

The Oxford on Avon Hotel post-earthquake, 8 November 2011. Photo: M. Hennessey.

The Oxford Hotel was located on the corner of Oxford Terrace and Colombo Street and was one of the city’s older hotels. Originally established as a boarding house by Antill and Sarah Adley in 1860 or 1861, the hotel gained a licence to sell alcohol in 1862 and began operating as a pub as well as a boarding house. It was at this time that the establishment was renamed the Oxford Family Hotel (Greenaway 2007: 14). Adley had proprietorship of the hotel until his retirement in 1873 (The Cyclopedia of New Zealand 1903) and continued to own the land and lease it out until 1903 (Christchurch Deeds Index C1 c.1853: 616). The hotel lease was purchased by Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Dann in 1875, who transferred the lease to Mr. Bately, who rebuilt the building in 1883 (this was the building that stood until the earthquake; Star 5/6/1883: 3). What we found from the archaeological data and historical records is that this building not only acted as a hotel but as a central hub for the wider community, which was not uncommon for 19^th century hotels in New Zealand.

View from the Colombo Street bridge looking south to the Cathedral: at left is the Oxford Hotel and at right is Market (Victoria) Square, c. 1885. Image: Christchurch City Library, File Reference CCL Photo CD 02 IMG0020.

Image: Star 22/4/1878: 4.

The hotel was nice and close to Victoria Square, first known as Market Square and a centre of activity in early Christchurch. This must have been good for business and it allowed the hotel to cater to the wider community, hosting meetings and events, acting as a morgue or emergency room in some cases (Press 15/4/1879: 2; Star 4/2/1890: 3), and all the while supplying cheap alcohol from the pub. During Dann’s operation of the hotel he offered membership to a skittle alley and often hosted skittle and quoit tournaments. Mail and messages could be left at the Oxford by or for patrons (Star 28/4/1869: 3), so it functioned as a post office too. Most importantly, though, the Oxford Hotel was a pub: Dann’s advertisements in the local newspapers constantly mentioned the array of spirits available, with an emphasis on the cheap prices.

Of the 925 glass artefacts recovered from the site, 395 were black beer bottles, 196 were wine bottles and another 99 were other liquor or spirit bottles. There were also 52 porter or stout bottles. Sounds like a lot of alcohol, right? Think again. To put it into context, even if only one bottle of alcohol were drunk a day, this would represent little more than two year’s drinking. So where did all the other bottles go, then? Well, the Avon River was conveniently close…

Adley advertisement. Image: Lyttelton Times 23/8/1862: 3.

Sample of black beer and wine bottle bases from the site. The black beer bottles that make up the bulk of this assemblage become less common after 1880. As such, it is likely that these bottles were associated with either Adley or Dann’s period at the hotel. Image: K. Webb.

A number of smoking pipes were also found, confirming that the combination of alcohol and tobacco was just as common in the 19^th century as it is today. Many of the pipes were made by Charles Crop, a manufacturer from London whose pipes have been found on hotel and residential sites in both New Zealand and Australia (Brassey 1991: 30; Macready et al. 1990: 57). Tantalisingly, the embossing on some of the pipe stems hints at the origins of some of the smokers: “QUEENSLANDER” and “LACHLANDER”. Perhaps the smoker purchased these as a reminder of home.

‘Crop’ smoking pipes. Image: K. Webb.

Examples of pharmaceuticals. Image: K. Webb.

One surprising aspect of the archaeological assemblage was the large array of pharmaceutical bottles. The bottles included anything and everything, from Barry’s Tricopherous – which claimed to preserve, restore and beautify the hair, preventing baldness and grey hair (Nelson Evening Mail 29/1/ 1870: 3) – to items such as Piesse and Lubin’s perfumes. Items of medicinal use were also recovered, such as Kay Brothers Essence of Linseed, for those pesky coughs, and J. C Eno’s Effervescing Fruit Salts for indigestion. A toothbrush and toothpaste jar were also recorded. Perhaps these were personal items used by the proprietor’s family, or by guests who stayed there. Or perhaps these were offered to guests in the way that complimentary shampoo and conditioner are offered today – after all, it was advertised as first class accommodation.

Image: Star, 24/12/1874: 4.

A significant quantity of cups and saucers were also found, indicating that the hotel was serving more than just alcohol. The tea cups and saucers collected from the site were largely porcelain and decorated with a gilt tea leaf or sprigged design. A number of whiteware teawares were also gilt-banded and it may have been that the hotel had a gilt decorated tea set.

Porcelain ‘sprigged’ ware. Image: K. Webb.

Efforts to provide a first class establishment are also evident in the ceramics used as serving ware. Serving wares, such as tureens, and dining ware, such as plates, were also recorded in large numbers. A number of ceramics were decorated with the Asiatic Pheasants, Willow or Beauty patterns, suggesting that the hotel may have had several matching dinner sets. Although all these patterns are common in 19th and early 20th century archaeological sites, they would have completed the dining room experience and that feeling of first rate service for hotel patrons.

A plate decorated with the Asiatic Pheasants pattern. Image: K. Webb.

Faunal remains. Image: K. Webb.

Like many New Zealand hotels, the Oxford Hotel appears to have offered some more ‘exotic’ meats on its menu, including birds, cockles, oysters and a little bit of fish. The remains of these non-mammalian meats are rarely found at 19^th century European archaeological sites in Christchurch, except at hotel sites. As today, people went out to eat more exotic meals than they might have had at home. From the sheep bones, we know that roast legs of lamb or mutton were being served, and may have been the most popular meal at the hotel, followed by cuts from the shoulder.

The evidence from the Oxford Hotel says many things. It tells us how the hotel operated as just that, a hotel. It provided guests with a first class dining experience that included matching dining sets and porcelain tea sets. It was a place where people drank beer and wine while overlooking Victoria Square and the Avon River. But the evidence also remembers the building and the people who operated and frequented a local and successful pub, where alcohol was consumed in quantities, where pipes were smoked leisurely and a game of skittles echoed in the background. It was a hub, a central link to Christchurch’s development and maybe, just maybe, someone’s favourite place in 19th century Christchurch.

Kim Bone

References

Brassey R. 1991. Clay Tobacco Pipes from the Site of the Victoria Hotel, Auckland, New Zealand. Australian Journal of Historical Archaeology 9: 27-30.

The Cyclopedia of New Zealand [Canterbury Provincial District] 1903. [online] Available at: <http://nzetc.victoria.ac.nz//tm/scholarly/tei-Cyc03Cycl.html>.

Greenaway, R.L.N., 2007. Woolston/Heathcote Cemetery Tour. [online] Available at: <http://christchurchcitylibraries.com/Heritage/Cemeteries/Woolston/HeathcoteCemetery.pdf>.

Macready, S. and Goodwyn, J., 1990. Slums and Self Improvement: The History and Archaeology of the Mechanics Institute, Auckland, and its Chancery Street Neighbourhood. Vol 2: The Artefacts and Faunal Material. Science and Research. Internal Report No 92. Department of Conservation.

Press. [online] Available at: <http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz>.

Star. [online] Available at: <http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz>.

Inside an asylum

Posted on 5 July 2013 by Katharine

Bedlam. That’s how most people think of 19^th century hospitals for the mentally unwell. The phrase ‘lunatic asylums’ – which was how such institutions were known at the time – doesn’t conjure up much better images. But what if the situation were quite different? What if, instead of the mentally unwell being chained up, never visited and hidden from sight, the patients of the mid-19^th century were instead treated with respect and kindness, interacted with the broader community through plays and dances, gardened, participated in trades and were never restrained and rarely treated with medicines?

Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum in the 19th century. Image: Te Papa O.034082.

In fact, this is what many mid-late 19^th century asylums aimed for. The treatment of patients at this time was based on a philosophy known as ‘moral management’ and, fortunately for Christchurch residents, one Edward Seager, first superintendent of Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum, was a strong supporter of this philosophy. The four principles that underlay the philosophy were:

patients should not be restrained but should instead be supervised;
patients should be classified according to the degree of insanity and their stage of recovery, both during the day and at night;
patients should be given the opportunity to participate in activities and employment; and
patients should have the opportunity to participate in exercise (Piddock 2001, 2004).

In many ways, the Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum – now Hillmorton Hospital – epitomised these principles in its early years. The hospital was established in 1863, and the complex expanded throughout the 19^th century, with a number of the buildings designed in the Gothic revival style by Benjamin Mountfort. The hospital grounds were large enough to include a farm (initially, at least), gardens, airing yards and numerous workshops for practising trades. Patients resident at Sunnyside worked in the grounds and workshops, exercised in the airing yards and took part in a range of social activities, including cricket, church services, plays and weekly (later fortnightly) dances. The public were encouraged to attend many of these events. This focus on entertainment and engagement with the broader community seems to have fallen off with Seager’s departure, and as the number of patients in the asylum increased (Seager 1987).

An inspector’s comments after visiting Sunnyside in 1875 (AJHR 1875 H2:5).

In spite of the best efforts of Seager, later superintendents, and the asylum inspectors, the archaeology of the Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum revealed that the reality lay somewhere between the horrors of Bedlam and the ideal of moral management.

A gravel path with brick edges in east airing courts. Image: K. Watson.

Documentary records reveal a range of details about the asylum. Plans tell us that the grounds of the asylum were landscaped with sinuous paths (and the archaeology confirmed this). There is little mention of medication in the records, but detailed descriptions of patient classification systems and the employment and entertainment opportunities they were provided with. What the documentary evidence does not highlight is the degree of separation between staff and patients, nor does it provide much detail about how patients rebelled against the institution. Archaeology, however, does.

Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum china. Image: K. Watson.

During the 19^th century, the separation between ‘us’ (the staff and, by association, ‘normal’ people) and ‘them’ (the patients) was reinforced by forming the male airing courts so that the staff outside looked down on the patients inside. While this would have made monitoring patients’ behaviour easier, it also reinforced the differences between the staff and patients and ensured that both were fully aware of these differences. The staff – and possibly visitors – were also separated from the patients in the airing courts through substantial brick and cast iron fences. At meals, the use of branded asylum china reinforced to patients their position as ‘lunatics’ and, consequently, both their position in society and their ‘difference’ from the rest of society.

The toilet block, with an enclosed drain to the left and the open drain to the right. Image: K. Watson.

The toilet block in the East Wing airing courts, with an enclosed drain to the left and the open drain to the right. Image: K. Watson.

Further evidence that the patients were seen as different, and thus could be treated differently – and, significantly, could be treated badly – was found in the airing courts associated with the East Wing. These airing courts, which were used by male patients, had an open drain running around the inside of the courts. Built to promote drainage, the open drain also carried waste from the toilet block through the airing courts. While sanitary conditions in 19^th century New Zealand might not always have met our 20^th century standards, these drains were built in the late 1890s and were deliberately built as open drains carrying raw sewerage – they were not the result of ad hoc development. Such a situation would have been regarded as unacceptable in any public space, but was somehow acceptable at the asylum, a product, perhaps, of how the patients were seen and how different they were believed to be.

Some of the buttons, with a Hobday button is in the centre. Image: K. Watson.

Some of the buttons, with a Hobday button in the centre. Image: K. Watson.

Evidence of rebellion against the institution, and all that it entailed, was found in the male airing courts, where two features containing artefacts were found. The small artefacts recovered from these features, including spectacle frames, buttons, food remains, and ceramic and glass fragments, were almost certainly deposited there by the patients. The nature of these artefacts suggests that they were unlikely to have been the personal possessions of the patients but were probably items owned by the asylum (the spectacles may be an exception). Thus, it seems likely that these items were stolen from the asylum, perhaps as a small act of rebellion. Petty theft would have been a means of expressing dissatisfaction with a diagnosis of insanity, the living conditions, the staff and the asylum itself.

While some of the archaeological remains confirmed that the practices of moral management were adhered to at Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum, others indicate that this was only part of the story. Those details of life at Sunnyside revealed by the excavation but discussed in little detail in the official reports were, unsurprisingly, the less pleasant elements. Further, the degree to which patients were seen as being different or abnormal is not revealed in the official reports. The archaeology of the asylum, however, has revealed these attitudes, and the small acts of rebellion by the patients against the asylum, these attitudes and their position in society. In so doing, the archaeology of Sunnyside Lunatic Asylum has given the patients at the asylum a voice, albeit a small one.

Katharine Watson

References

Appendices to the Journal of the House of Representatives. [online] Available at: <http://atojs.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/atojs>.

Piddock, S., 2001. Convicts and the free: Nineteenth century lunatic asylums in South Australia and Tasmania (1830-1883). Australasian Historical Archaeology 19:84-96.

Piddock, S., 2004. Possibilities and realities: South Australia’s asylums in the 19^th century. Australian Psychiatry 12(2): 172-175.

Seager, M., 1987. Edward William Seager: Pioneer of mental health. The Heritage Press, Waikanae.

Christchurch uncovered

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A club for Christchurch gentlemen

‘It isn’t all beer and skittles’