A humble home

Posted on 21 June 2013 by Jessie Garland

Today’s post presents the story of William Bowen, a prominent Christchurch builder, as told by his residence at 441 Madras Street. Archaeologists recorded this building using building archaeology techniques before and during its post-earthquake demolition. 441 Madras Street was initially numbered 9 and then 13 Madras Street before the Christchurch’s street addresses were reorganised in 1911.

William and Ellen Bowen emigrated from Birmingham in 1873 and settled in Christchurch (Macdonald Dictionary of Canterbury Biography B604). William plied his trade as a carpenter in the city over the next decade. In 1891 William and Ellen purchased an empty section on the St Albans extension of Madras Street (LINZ 1891). Here William constructed the house that became the Bowen family home.

The house that William Bowen built at 441 Madras Street.

Over the next 18 years William developed a very successful construction business in Christchurch, becoming one of the city’s foremost builders. As well as his St Albans residence, William owned large premises on Kilmore Street in the central city from which he operated his construction business (Press 2/3/1910). William worked on many major building projects in Christchurch. Some of these became well-known buildings of 19th century Christchurch, such as the Theatre Royal on Gloucester Street (Press 2/1/1907) and Warners Hotel in Cathedral Square (Press 12/7/1900). William was also very active in the building industry’s political scene, being the director of the Industrial Building Society (Press 21/5/1897) and president of the Builders and Contractors Association of Canterbury (Press 29/7/1906). He also seems to have enjoyed participating in Christchurch’s social and recreational clubs. William was vice-president of the Christchurch Amateur Rowing Club (Press 3/9/1904) and a member of the Canterbury Automobile club, for which he drove a ‘French car’ in their Easter rally (Press 8/4/1904).

William Bowen’s professional advertisement (Star 1/5/1908).

William also dabbled in property development. The year after they purchased 441 Madras Street William and Ellen Bowen bought the neighbouring property at 443 Madras Street and built a house there before selling it in 1896, presumably for a profit (LINZ 1890). This building was also recorded by archaeologists before it was demolished.

William Bowen died in 1909 (Star 8/10/1909). At the time of his death he owned another house and section at 483 Madras Street and two more undeveloped sections on Madras Street near Canon Street (Press 8/12/1910). The auction of his estate in 1912 provides an insight into his lifestyle through the list of chattels.

Advertisement for the sale of 441 Madras Street (Press 21/9/1912).

In contrast to his thriving professional and social life, the archaeological investigation of his house at 441 Madras Street revealed a surprisingly modest residence. The Bowens purchased 441 Madras Street at a time when the outskirts of Christchurch were rapidly developing their suburban character. William Bowen, with his residential life in St Albans and large business premises in the inner city, was typical of the movement towards separation of work and living space that was becoming increasingly common as the city of Christchurch grew and developed.

The section at 441 Madras Street was originally larger than it is today, with room for stables, a carriage shed and a motor shed (perhaps used to house the French car’ that William drove in the 1904 Automobile Club rally). However, the house itself, with eight rooms, was surprisingly modest for a man of means with a large family. In contrast, John Cracroft Wilson built himself an 11-roomed house in Cashmere for his family of three (in the 1850s). Bowen’s house was a single-storey weatherboard villa typical of those constructed in late 19^th century New Zealand and, like most villas, was formulaic in design. The house was situated on the street front, with a verandah on its front elevation. A central hall ran the length of the house, with rooms opening off to either side.

Floor plan of the house at 441 Madras Street. Image: K. Webb.

No overt indications of conspicuous display were identified in the house. One might have expected a man such as William Bowen to have had a two-storey house, with ornate decorations, such as stained glass and cast iron work, on its exterior. The only stained glass around the front entrance of 441 Madras Street was installed in the 1980s. However, several decorative features were recorded inside. These included a mosaic of tessellated tiles at the foot of the front door, a moulded plaster hallway arch, and several ornate ceiling roses and picture rails. These features are not unusual in late 19^th century Christchurch houses, and are particularly common in houses occupied by the respectable middle-class.

Decorative features in the house at 441 Madrass Street. Clockwise from left: the mosaic of tessellated tiles at the foot of the front door; detail of the moulded hall arch; detail of a picture rail; one of the moulded ceiling roses. Images: K. Watson.

The house had five fireplaces, four of which remained in their original condition. These fireplaces had moulded timber surrounds and were decorated with embossed patterns or colourful painted tiles. One fireplace was of particular interest. Along with decorative tiles, the fireplace had embossed panels emblazoned with the words ‘The Congo’ and the head of a mustachioed man flanked by two lions. This man was identified as Sir Henry Morton Stanley, a Welsh-American journalist and explorer famous for uttering “Dr. Livingstone, I presume” upon discovering the missionary in Tanzania in 1871. Stanley had a long and complicated association with the Congo region, one that has subsequently been approached with criticism (Driver 1991). It is not clear why Stanley’s head was considered appropriate decoration for a suburban fireplace in Christchurch. Perhaps it was created in celebration of his feats of exploration. Or perhaps it was produced by a fireplace manufacturer named for the Congo. At the height of his popularity, Stanley’s image was used to sell “everything from soap to Bovril” (Driver 1991: 134).

Fireplace panel embossed with the head of Sir Henry Morton Stanley. Image: K. Watson.

The historical sources depict William Bowen as an extremely industrious and successful tradesman, active in both professional and social organisations. He was not only employed on major construction projects, but dabbled in property development and was presumably wealthy. The archaeological examination of his residence adds a new dimension to this image. While a comfortable residence, 441 Madras Street was more modest than what could have been expected of a prominent tradesman with a large family. It is possible that the house was built before the height of William’s success, and the family did not feel the need to change it. Alternatively, the residence could be attributed to William’s personal taste, and presumably that of his family, and may have been related to his religious faith.

William Bowen was a member of the Methodist (Wesleyan) church, and prominent in Methodist affairs in Christchurch. Several contemporary newspaper items indicate that both William and Ellen were active members of the St Albans Crescent Road Wesleyan Church (Press 1/5/1897) and that William was president of the Wesleyan Sunday School Union (Press 8/12/1900). The Methodist church emphasised discipline and social responsibility (Shoebridge 2012), and their religious affiliation no doubt influenced the Bowens’ lifestyle, including the house William built for his family on Madras Street.

Rosie Geary Nichol

References

Driver, F., 1991. Henry Morton Stanley and his Critics: Geography, Exploration and Empire. Past and Present 133: 134-166.

LINZ, 1890. Certificate of title, CB144/91. Landonline.

LINZ, 1891. Certificate of title, CB147/38. Landonline.

Press. [online] Available at: http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast.

Shoebridge, T., 2012. Methodist Church. [online] Available at: http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/methodist-church.

Star. [online] Available at: http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast.

Christchurch: a global city

Posted on 23 May 2013 by Katharine

Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps. It sounds pretty exotic, right? As it happens, bottles that contained this schnapps are frequently found on 19^th century archaeological sites all over the western world. The particular example of the bottle we’re featuring today was found during the excavation of the site of H. F. Stevens Ltd’s premises. Stevens was a wholesale chemist who was based in Worcester Street, near Cathedral Square, from the early 20^th century And no, the chemist wasn’t drinking on the side – the schnapps was marketed as a medicine, and its presence at the site is representative of Christchurch’s position within a global trade network.

A Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps bottle found at the former site of H. F. Stevens’s wholesale chemist. Image: J. Moyle.

Our modern economic system is based on mass international exchange: the exchange of ideas, of labour and of goods. It’s all too easy to think that this system is a product of the late 20^th century. In fact, international trade goes back to the Stone Age, but it was developments in the 19^th century that really saw a global economy develop. Mass production, the forceful opening of new markets through colonial expansion and the rise of modern capitalist structures such as joint stock companies in the 19^th century enabled the building of big business and the export of products all over the world.

Christchurch’s 19^th century archaeology offers tangible evidence of this system. Many of the artefacts we find on 19^th century sites in the city come not just from England – the country that most European settlers in Christchurch called home – but from all over the world. Amongst these, Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps provides a particularly good example of the development of trade and industry in the 19^th century.

An 1877 advertisement for Udolpho Wolfe’s Schiedam Aromatic Schnapps. Image: Evening Post 21/6/1877:2.

The eccentrically named Udolpho Wolfe was a Jewish-American of German extraction. His family was notable in the United States even without their schnapps legacy. Udolpho’s father was a major in the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812, as well as being a friend of the fifth American president, James Monroe. Young Udolpho started his career in the 1820s, working for his elder brother Joel, a wine and sprit merchant. At the age of 21 Udolpho became a partner in the business. In 1839 the business went international when the brothers opened a distillery in Schiedam, Holland. And in 1848 Udolpho (now the senior partner) introduced Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps to the world.

Unlike the sweet fruity schnapps many will be familiar with in New Zealand today, Udolpho’s schnapps was a grain-based alcohol, flavoured with juniper berry essence. The spirit savvy amongst you will realise that this means that it was just plain old gin. What made the schnapps special was the way it was marketed. Sold not as a ‘frivolous beverage’, Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps was instead marketed as a wonderful medicine. In the (somewhat elaborate) words of the manufacturer:

As a tonic and corrective it is a positive specific, and will be found to prevent and remove the troubles occasioned by malarious influences or impure water, and is therefore an indispensable vade mecum for travellers and those who are unacclimated. At the same time its palatable flavour, and generally salutary qualities render it eminently desirable as a healthful substitute for the fiery potations which, in this country especially, are productive of such deleterious consequences.

New Zealand Herald 29/9/1874: 3

Once described as a “vigorous advertiser” (Putnam’s Magazine 14 (23): 638), it seems that Udolpho Wolfe did everything he could to make sure that this was the perspective held by all potential consumers.

An 1874 advertisement for Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps. Image: Auckland Star 14/3/1874: 1.

His approach must have worked, as the business of schnapps went from strength to strength. Supposedly over 90,000 cases of a dozen quart bottles (or two dozen pint bottles) were being moved per year by the 1870s; that’s at least 1 million schnapps bottles sold around the world.

Aside from this prodigious quantity, the international aspect of the trade is quite remarkable. After being produced in Schiedam, the schnapps destined for consumption in the United States, Central America and the Caribbean was shipped to New York City for bottling and distribution. Meanwhile, schnapps to be sold in Europe, South America, Asia, Australia and New Zealand was sent from Schiedam to Hamburg, where it was bottled and then shipped away. This, then, was an American company, producing liquor in Holland, bottling it in America and Germany, and exporting it to the four corners of the globe. Because of this massive trade one can now find bottles bearing the label ‘Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps’ in archaeological sites around the globe.

Having finished its long journey from Europe to Christchurch, the schnapps – and other medicines – would have been distributed by H. F. Stevens to chemists in the city, thus enabling the citizens of Christchurch to indulge in the ‘healthy benefits’ of Udolpho Wolfe’s Aromatic Schnapps, along with the rest of the world. Even in the 19^th century, Christchurch was part of the global economic system.

Jeremy Moyle

Bibliography

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

Carter, M. and Moyle, J., 2012. 103-105 Worcester Street, Christchurch: Report on archaeological monitoring. Unpublished report for Nikau Contractors Ltd.

Evening Post. [online] Available at: http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz.

Marcus, J. R., 1989. United States Jewry 1776-1985. Wayne State University Press, Detroit.

New Zealand Herald. [online] Available at: http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz.

Putnam’s Monthly Magazine of American Literature, Science and Art. [online] Available at: http://ebooks.library.cornell.edu/p/putn/putn.html.

Syracuse Daily Courier & Union. [onilne] Available at: http://www.newspapers.com/title_799/syracuse_daily_courier_and_union/.

A gentleman’s home

Posted on 9 May 2013 by Katharine

Imagine you’re John Cracroft Wilson. It’s 1854 and you’ve just arrived in the fledgling settlement of Christchurch. You’re 46, English and educated at Oxford, although you were born in India and spent most of your life there, making a name for yourself in the civil service. You’ve arrived at Lyttelton with your second wife, a daughter from your first marriage, a retinue of Indian servants and some livestock.

John Cracroft Wilson, c.1878. Source: Rolleston album 2. Ref: PA1-q-197-22-4, Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand.

John Cracroft Wilson, c.1878. Source: Alexander Turnbull Library.

You’re here for a couple of reasons. Firstly, you’re suffering from stress and a sabbatical has been recommended. Secondly, you’re looking for somewhere for ex-East India Company employees to retire to. And apparently you have some plans of your own – and money. You tried Australia on the way here, but didn’t much like that, but you think Canterbury sounds pretty good, because there’s land, lots of it, and apparently it’s there for the taking.

And take it you do: Cracroft station (one of Canterbury’s biggest runs), High Peak station and Broadlands station were all taken up by Wilson during his first sojourn in New Zealand, along with land in the suburb we now know as Cashmere. This is where Wilson made his home (he had managers on each of his stations) and it’s this home that interests us.

Back to imaging that you’re Wilson and it’s 1854. Christchurch is pretty new at this point, and building materials are in short supply. The nearest timber is at Riccarton, Papanui or on Banks Peninsula. But anyway, you’re from a class of English society that believes in building in permanent materials. Unfortunately, however, the brick industry’s not really established in Canterbury yet and, well, it’d be a whole lot cheaper to make your own, especially as you have all those servants and some useful materials nearby.

And so that’s what Wilson did. He used sun-dried mud (adobe) bricks for the exterior walls of his house and for the internal walls on the ground floor, while the walls on the first floor were mud-and-stud. The mud bricks were made by Wilson’s Indian servants from a mixture of earth, clay, sand and vegetable matter, much of which would have been sourced nearby.

Top: An external wall, Cracroft House. Bottom: An internal mud & stud wall on the first floor. Photos: I. Hill.

Analysing these bricks tells us that the mixture was set into wooden frames (with four sides) that sat on a bed of straw, the excess material raked off the top and the bricks left to dry in the sun. The resulting bricks were 1 foot long, 6 inches wide and weighed 7.5 kg each. Wilson also used some lightly fired red bricks in the external walls and used these bricks and mud bricks in the chimney. The mortar used in the walls was also a cob mixture (but contained no vegetable matter), and the walls were coated with a thick clay plaster, with a thin lime plaster on top of this.

Top: Sun-dried red bricks. Bottom: Sun-dried mud bricks. Note the ridges on the top of both bricks, and the variation in shape and size. Photo: I. Hill.

Sticking with the theme of using locally available materials, Wilson used basalt blocks for the house’s foundations (these would have come from a quarry on the Port Hills). On top of this layer of basalt sat a layer of gravel and earth, and then a layer of mud mortar. The base course of the external wall was a layer of relatively small high quality red bricks (also clearly made in a wooden frame set on the ground).

The use of timber in the house was kept to a minimum. Some timber framework was used in the internal walls and the roof was timber, including the shingles. Timber was also used for the veranda, doors, windows, architraves, skirting boards and floors.

The original shingles of Cracroft House being revealed during demolition. Photo: I. Hill.

Wilson built himself and his family a pretty basic house, for the most part using locally available – and probably relatively cheap – materials. But Wilson was no ordinary man. He was a descendant of the Cracrofts of Hackthorn Hall in Lincolnshire, a prominent figure in British India and would become a prominent figure in colonial Canterbury. This sort of man does not build himself an ordinary house. He builds himself a house with 11 rooms. That’s right, 11 rooms. In 1871 (the first year for which statistics are available), the average New Zealand house had just under four rooms. None of these rooms was a toilet or bathroom, facilities that were no doubted located a suitable distance from the house.

Wilson, then, had lots of space for entertaining, as befitted a gentleman of his status. History tells us that Wilson – who was later knighted for his role in the Indian Mutiny – was known for both his generosity and paying low wages, as well as his egotism, arrogance and kindness, and his honesty. To me, his house reflects the contradictions in Wilson’s personality – it was a large house, built with rooms and space to share, and it was a plain house, built honestly and cheaply using local materials. It was also a farm house, not a city house. And unlike many farmers who built relatively simple homes in the early years of settlement, Wilson never replaced his house, dying there in 1881. In this way, too, Cracroft House epitomises Wilson’s frugality.

North elevation, Cracroft House. Image: K. Webb.

Katharine Watson

References

Acland, L. G. D., 1975. Early Canterbury Runs. 4th ed. Whitcoulls, Christchurch.

Kristiansen, T., 2012. John Cracroft Wilson. Dictionary of New Zealand Biography. [online] Available at: http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/1w31/wilson-john-cracroft.

Ogilvie, G., 2009. The Port Hills of Christchurch. Phillips&King Publishers, Christchurch.

Toomath, W., 1986. Built in New Zealand: The houses we live in. HarperCollins Publishers, Auckland.

“He’s jist sharpening his teeth”

Posted on 2 May 2013 by Katharine

One of the exciting things about being an archaeologist in Christchurch at the moment is that we’re digging up lots and lots of artefacts. And the more artefacts you dig up, the more chances there are of finding something rare or unusual. Sometimes the rarity relates to the monetary or sentimental value of the artefact, such as the fobwatch we talked about a couple of weeks ago. And sometimes the unusual artefact is something pretty ordinary.

Like a toothbrush.

Bone toothbrush handle found on an archaeological site in Christchurch. This was made by S. Maw, Son & Thompson. Their trademark is impressed on the handle, along with the words “ALPASS LIVERPOOL” (Photo: K. Webb).

This teardrop-shaped bone toothbrush handle was found during archaeological work on an historic hotel site in Christchurch, along with a ceramic toothpaste pot (below) and other personal artefacts. We were pretty excited to find it, since toothbrushes (or even parts of them) aren’t often found on 19^th century archaeological sites in New Zealand. Our research suggests that this may be a result of vastly different attitudes towards oral hygiene at this time, not only in New Zealand but throughout the world.

John Gosnell and Co. cherry toothpaste pot and lid found along with the toothbrush. The lid is decorated with a polychrome transfer print that features the image of a young Queen Victoria. More information about Gosnell’s products is available here.

The humble bristle toothbrush originated in China, although ‘toothsticks’ and the like are known to have been used for thousands of years. These earliest bristle toothbrushes weren’t so humble, being made of expensive materials like ivory, gold (imagine!), silver or precious wood. So only the very wealthy could afford them, although there were some cheaper toothbrushes around. In Europe, however, people cleaned their teeth using sticks or rags… Toothbrushes were available in England from at least the 17th century but weren’t common until a certain William Addis was thrown in jail in 1780 for starting a riot. At least, that’s how the story goes. Whatever the truth of the matter, Addis is credited with introducing cheap bone-handled toothbrushes to England, and no doubt kick-starting a revolution in dental hygiene. Addis’s toothbrushes were typically made from animal bones and the bristles also came from animals. Badger bristles were apparently the most expensive but pig bristles were more common.

Pages from Maw and Sons Book of Illustrations to S. Maw & Son’s Quarterly Price-Current.

We know that from c.1850 on many toothbrushes were imprinted with trademarks, slogans or details of the manufacturer and our toothbrush is no exception. It’s stamped with the mark of S. Maw, Son & Thompson (see photo above). From this, we know that the toothbrush was made between 1870 and 1901, when this firm was in operation.

The Maw firm was the largest pharmaceutical wholesaler in Britain and was actually a distributor of toothbrushes, not a manufacturer (i.e. a middleman). From 1870-1901, they sold toothbrushes made by William Addis & Son Brushworks, the company founded by William Addis almost a century earlier and continued by his son. The words “ALPASS LIVERPOOL” were also stamped on the handle and probably indicate the place of manufacture: Alpass Road in Liverpool, England. The number ’29’ stamped below the head indicates the manufacturer’s model number.

So why are toothbrushes – and toothpaste pots – so rare on 19th century archaeological sites in New Zealand, given that they’re such everyday items today (not to mention items that are thrown out pretty regularly)? Lots of chemists and druggists in New Zealand were advertising toothbrushes for sale, so they were definitely available.

We think that the rarity reflects a lack of awareness of the importance of dental hygiene, and possibly also that a rag – which would always be readily available and would cost nothing – would do the job just fine, thanks. And dentists in the 19th century had a pretty fearsome reputation, so anything to do with dental hygiene may have been a little suspect. But there might have been some other factors too, including the cost of toothbrushes.

Press, 18 February 1874

So who used our toothbrush? It could have been the proprietor of the hotel, or a guest. If it was the proprietor, however, we might have found more toothbrushes, given that probably even 19th century toothbrushes needed to be replaced regularly. Our guess, then, is that it was used by a guest. We don’t know for certain that the same guest left the toothpaste pot behind, but it seems reasonably likely, given the rarity of both artefacts in 19th century archaeological sites in New Zealand. And who knows, maybe a hotel servant who chanced to see this guest brushing their teeth thought the guest was in fact sharpening his teeth.

Kirsa Webb

Taranaki Herald, 1 November 1880.

Bibliography

Mattick, B., 2010. A Guide to Bone Toothbrushes of the 19th and early 20th Centuries. Barbara E. Mattick, USA, available from Xlibris Corporation.
Maw, S & Son, 1869. Book of Illustrations to S. Maw & Son’s Quarterly Price-Current. Butler & Tanner, London. Available at: http://archive.org/details/bookofillustrati00mawsuoft.
Press, 18 February 1874, page 3.
Taranaki Herald, 1 November 1880, page 4.

Telling time in days gone by

Posted on 17 April 2013 by Kirsa

A little while ago, archaeologist Matt Carter was investigating a brick-lined basement on a site in Christchurch when he came across what turned out to be a small 19^th century pocket-watch (below). You can imagine his surprise (and excitement) – artefact finds like this are rare in archaeological excavations, since people tended to hold onto and take care of valuable items like watches (as we do now).

Engraved gilt-metal pocket watch found in a buried basement in Christchurch. This watch is currently on display as part of the Canterbury Museum’s Quake City exhibition. Photo: K. Webb.

Of course, our watch didn’t look quite like this when Matt found it. Although it’s been cleaned carefully since being excavated, the corrosion on the watch means it’s difficult to make out many characteristics that would help us identify it further. What we know so far is that it’s likely to have been gold-plated and it has an engraved fish scale-like pattern on the back and a decorative engraved floral pattern on the gilt face. It’s just possible to distinguish the black enamel numbers on the face. We think that the watch probably used a keyless wound lever mechanism: such mechanisms were introduced to watches during the 1850s and 1860s to replace winding methods that required a separate key to work.

3D CT scan of the pocket watch found on the wreck of the Swan. (Image: National Museums Scotland.)

Computerised tomography (CT) scanning may be able to reveal engraved maker’s marks or manufacturing dates on the watch. This technique has been used successfully for a pocket watch found on the wreckage of the Swan, which sank in 1653 in the Sound of Mull, off the coast of Scotland. The resulting images revealed not only the type of mechanism but also the name of the maker – “Niccholas Higginson, Westminster” – engraved on the back.

Gilt-metal ‘clock watch’ by German watchmaker Peter Henlein, dated c. 1510. (Image: Wikipedia.)

The first watches evolved after the coiled spring was introduced as an alternative form of motive power to the pendulum. This meant that timepieces no longer needed to be big enough to house the pendulum, but could be made small enough to be carried unobtrusively.

Some of the earliest watches have been attributed to the maker Peter Henlein of Nuremberg. An example of one of his watches is kept at the Germanisches National Museum, Nuremberg, Germany. Dated 1510, this ‘clock watch’ is contained in a gilt metal drum-shaped case with a single hand indicating the time on an engraved gilt metal dial. These early examples were designed to be hung around the neck by a cord rather than carried in the pocket.

Some early examples of watches have been depicted in contemporary paintings such as this untitled painting attributed to Tommaso Manzouli dated c. 1560. (Image: Science & Society Picture Library.)

Around the time of the introduction of pockets to clothing during in the first quarter of the 17^th century, when a pocket was a fabric pouch worn underneath your petticoat or tied around your wrist or belt, watches developed into the form we know today in order to be carried in the pocket. The watch was housed in a case and a crystal or glass cover was added to protect the hands and dial.

The site where our watch was found was once the property of Herman Franz Fuhrmann, an affluent German immigrant, who owned the section until his death in 1907. Fuhrmann was an undertaker and cabinet maker and had established himself in Christchurch by 1869, having arrived by way of Melbourne. In 1873 Fuhrmann expanded his business to include a saddler and the following year became involved in the insurance industry. He also made profits buying and selling Molesworth station (in Marlborough).

A newspaper article advertising a watch similar to that found in the Christchurch basement.

From the small size of our watch (just 3 cm in diameter) we know that it was probably owned by a lady. She must have been a lady of some wealth – intricately detailed gilt pocket watches such as this were not cheap, although they were available in Christchurch from at least the 1860s and were advertised in local newspapers of the time.

What we don’t know is why the watch was discarded. Watches such as these were repairable and a quick search of Papers Past indicates that watchmakers were well represented in Christchurch so it is unlikely that it was broken. Was it thrown out deliberately? Was it lost accidentally? These are the kind of questions archaeologists seek to answer every day, to help us better understand the lives of those who came before us.