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“A few filthy features”

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As archaeologists we almost exclusively describe and interpret the physical evidence of past human activity in visual terms, through maps, photos, and descriptions of what the archaeological features or artefacts look like. Although this makes perfect sense, lately I’ve come to ask myself:

“Okay, so if this is what life in 19th century Christchurch looked like, what on earth does this tell me about what life in 19th century Christchurch smelled like?”

Unfortunately, we can only learn about the smells of the past indirectly through archaeology. Smells are not physical things that can be dug up and most don’t stick around for very long anyways. The smells of times past have long since been replaced by the smells of the present.

Historical records such as 19th century newspaper accounts, however, point to a number of different urban smells that were nothing short of offensive in the extreme for both local authorities and the general public.  And, despite the best efforts of those authorities, many such smells simply refused to go away.

In this week’s blog, for your eye-watering olfactory pleasure, I present you with a ‘few filthy features’, bringing the 19th century alive in all its ‘stink and glory’. Enjoy!

Drains and sewers

Before the Christchurch Drainage Board was established in 1876, the Christchurch City Council and other local authorities dug a number of drains and ditches, and built culverts, sewers, and roadside channels to remove stagnant and polluted surface waters. Draining mostly into the Avon and Heathcote rivers, these conduits were never intended to carry sewage and other offensive matter, although they inevitably did.

Image:

A newspaper clipping from the …., outlining local legislation on the disposal or rubbish and waste in city drains. Image: Press 01/04/1871: 3

The gently flowing Avon soon became an open sewer by proxy. As one observer noted, it “oozed a mass of putrid and decaying animal and vegetable matter” (Star 21/11/1872: 3).

Box culvert Image: H. Williams

Part of an 1870s timber culvert found underneath Ferry Road. Image: H. Williams.

We have found some evidence of these early drainage conduits, such as a boxed timber culvert that carried the Ferry Road drainage ditch beneath Ferry Road (above), and early pipe drains, which were crudely constructed by modern standards. One such pipe drain, found on Oxford Terrace, was laid on a flat gradient, meaning that the filth and water it once carried can’t ever have been able to drain away freely (a factor that no doubt contributed to its eventual silting up). Worse still was a crudely made and un-trapped connecting house drain, which may well have resulted in the sewer stink travelling up this drain and entering the house. Yuck!

Image: H. Williams

An earthenware pipe drain sewer with an un-trapped house connection, and sediment build-up found inside. Image: H. Williams.

By 1882 the Drainage Board had helped to remove some of the sewage stink from Christchurch through the construction of a sewerage system that carried waste eastwards out of town towards the estuary, and stormwater via a separate network of sewers into the rivers. Many of these sewers, of brick and concrete construction, have been relined and are still in use today. We also know that for some disgruntled 19th century ratepayers, the sewers, and the Drainage Board itself, carried with it the reek of corruption. Although he never publically admitted it, the Drainage Board’s Engineer Mr Charles Napier Bell was accused of profiteering from a 5% commission on all the earthenware sewer pipes the Board was importing from Britain (Wilson 1989: 18).

One of the old sewer outfalls into the Avon River, still in use today. Image: E. Clifford.

One of the old sewer outfalls into the Avon River, still in use today. Image: E. Clifford.

Cesspits

Despite the expansion of the sewer network, many households did not connect to the sewers and instead continued the medieval practice of using backyard latrines/privies with subsurface cesspits for disposing of their bodily wastes. Typically unlined, these cesspits were directly implicated in the transmission of fatal water borne diseases such as typhoid and dysentery, with seepage contaminating the groundwater of nearby wells. Emptied by hand (before they were later abandoned and filled in with rubbish, much to the excitement of us archaeologists), ‘night soil’ was carted away and dumped on the fringes of town. From 1886 in Christchurch,  a specially converted tram was employed between the hours of midnight and 5am to take tanks of ‘night soil’ waste out to the Council’s newly established ‘rubbish reserve’ in Linwood  (Alexander 1985:11).

We have excavated a surprisingly small number of cesspits in Christchurch, the deepest of which was 1.8 m deep. The bottom of this deep cesspit was stained a light tan colour and was of a puggy, sticky consistency, which we have interpreted as the residues of decomposed poo. Layers of ash, and a white powdery substance (probably lime) found within one of these pits may represent deodorising agents.

Julia sitting in the cesspit feature she just excavated. Image: H. Williams.

Julia digging out a cesspit feature in the Christchurch CBD. Image: H. Williams.

Rubbish and rats

As we have mentioned before on the blog, rubbish disposal was a continual problem in early Christchurch. Although in some areas the council did operate a household rubbish collection system in the 19th century, and employed ‘scavengers’ to clean the streets of rubbish and horse poo on a semi-regular basis, many households continued to dig pits in their backyards for disposing of their rubbish, or simply dumped it out of sight under the house or on a vacant section, thereby avoiding the collection fee.

With particularly large rubbish pits, I have always wondered to what extent they may have smelled bad, as they were filled up over time with the household’s food and kitchen scraps and other offensive organic wastes, left to putrefy in the summer sun. To date, we have not found any clear evidence of layers of dirt or sand dumped in pits in Christchurch that would have helped to minimise any bad smells. Pits may have been covered in some way, however, perhaps with lengths of timber or sheet metal, which would have helped to suppress any nasty smell, and we hope, have kept the rats out.

With all the filth and rubbish in, around, and underneath Christchurch buildings, it is not difficult to imagine how easily a population of rats could get out of control. Many a subfloor space in built-up Christchurch may have sheltered a rat family or two, safe out of the cold and with a ready supply of food scraps about to sustain them.

By 1900 the rodent menace reached a crisis point, as civic authorities prepared for the coming of the plague, which had appeared in New South Wales and threatened to spread to New Zealand on infected stowaway rats (Star 27/2/1900: 2). Although the plague never arrived in Christchurch, the threat contributed to a greater awareness about the dangers of filth, and the eradication of urban rat populations.

Advertisement for O'Kearney's rat poison. Image:

Advertisement for O’Kearney’s rat poison. Image: Star 06/11/1888: 2

A wide variety of strychnine, phosphorus, and arsenic-based rodent poisons were available from chemists to deal with rat infestations. Because they were implicated in a number of suicides and murders across the country, after 1895 purchase of these products required a signed declaration from a Justice of the Peace as to their intended purpose, as well as the payment of a government fee (Press 23/10/1895: 4).

At a site on Victoria Street we found two pit features like nothing we have ever seen before, features we have interpreted as archaeological evidence of 19th century rodent eradication activity. This took the form of two hand dug pits, each of which contained only rat bones – the remains of 34 rats in one pit and 21 in the other.

Rubbish pit filled with the remains of numerous rats, and some of the skull and jaw fragments found within. Image: H. Williams.

Rubbish pit filled with the remains of numerous rats, and some of the skull and jaw fragments found within. Image: H. Williams.

Whether both these pits were dug, filled, and covered over in the same day we will never know, nor what stinky state of decomposition these rat corpses may have been in when buried, nor whether these rats succumbed to poison, traps, or the resident tabby cat. What both these rat bone features do tell us, however, is that at the end of the day, it was the people of Christchurch who not only through their individual actions or inaction contributed to the filth and the stink, but were ultimately also the individual agents of change who helped play their part in cleaning it up. Such is the sweet retrospective smell of history.

Hamish Williams

References

Alexander, M., 1985. Rails in the roads – the steam and horse tram era in Christchurch. Christchurch NZ: Christchurch Transport Board / Tramway Historical Society.

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

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

Wilson, J., 1989. Christchurch: swamp to city. A Short History of the Christchurch Drainage Board. Christchurch NZ: Christchurch Drainage Board.

A penny for your thoughts…

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Money, as Liza Minnelli has told us, makes the world go around. It is such an intricate and constant part of the societies we live in, a factor upon which so many of our actions – collectively and individually – are based. It is also, as so many television shows and books have taught me, an excellent source of information about people and their motivations.

We don’t often find money in archaeological sites, for the simple and entirely obvious reason that people tend not to throw their coins away (except in the figurative sense of the phrase, clearly). Those examples of currency that we do find, however, are curious reminders of past values and costs of living, as well as the physical differences of living with a currency that is so different from the way our financial exchanges work now.

A Victorian penny minted in 1863. The top image shows the penny found in Christchurch, while the bottom image shows a cleaner example of an identical coin. Image: J. Garland.

A Victorian penny minted in 1863. The top image shows the penny found in Christchurch, while the bottom image shows a cleaner example of an identical coin. Image: J. Garland.

Most of the currency used in New Zealand in the 19th century was British, naturally, by virtue of this country being a British colony. We’ve found several British pennies and at least one halfpenny in sites in Christchurch and Lyttelton. Pennies, such as the one shown to the right were embossed with the likeness of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria on the obverse and variations of the image of the figure Britannia, seated in her chariot, on the reverse. The particular likeness used on the penny in the image to the right is known as the ‘bun head’ likeness, in reference to her hairstyle. The bun head design was preceded by what is known as the ‘young head ’, used from 1838-1859/60, and followed by the ‘old head’ (also known as the ‘veiled head’, used from 1895 until Victoria’s death in 1901). Not the most flattering of names for Her Majesty’s head that I’ve heard…

During the 19th century (and for much of the 20th), it took 12 pence to equal a shilling, and 20 shillings to equal a pound, meaning that a single penny was 1/240th of a pound. To put that in perspective, in 1863 (when our bun head penny was made), a person could buy, at wholesale prices, a dozen quart bottles of pickles for one pound,  a pound tin of ground coffee for one and half shillings, or a pound of sultanas for eight pence (Lyttelton Times 13/6/1863: 3). It can be problematic to relate the value of money in the past to the value we give it now, thanks to inflation and the constantly shifting values of different currencies and market values, but it’s interesting to consider the relative cost of these items today. For example, a 400g bag of Sultanas costs c. $3 at Countdown now, while the equivalent amount of ground coffee is around the $10 mark.

An advertisement from 1863, showing wholesale prices for goods in Lyttelton. Image: Lyttelton Times

An advertisement from 1863, showing wholesale prices for goods in Lyttelton. Image: Lyttelton Times 13/6/1863: 3.

Pennies, and other 19th century coins such as these, provide an interesting link, not only to the monetary system and values of the 19th century, but to the physical production of royal currency.  In 1860, for example, the Royal Mint ceased  to manufacture pennies from copper (which they had done since the first minting of the cartwheel penny in 1797) and began to make them of bronze instead. The size of the coin also changed, from 34 mm in diameter to 31 mm. The process of minting coins, particularly the penny, is one that ties into other technological developments of the time (including the switch to a steam-powered mint in the late 18th century) and the achievements of famous figures (such as Matthew Boulton; Selgin 2003). It’s also a process that is integral to the economic growth of the British empire and her colonies, like New Zealand (Royal Mint Museum 2014).

The bronze penny (left) and half-penny (right) recovered from Grubb cottage.

A bronze penny (left) and half-penny (right) recovered from Grubb cottage. These coins were particularly interesting due to their association with Masonic ritual. Image: R. Geary-Nichol.

However, as well as British coins, we’ve also found alternative forms of currency in Christchurch’s archaeological sites.  A Belgian ’10 centimes’ coin was found in Lyttelton following the earthquakes, manufactured in 1863 (again!). Of course, the presence of coins in archaeological sites is not always related to their primary use as currency, as we’ve mentioned before on the blog in reference to Masonic rituals . A Belgian coin found in Christchurch doesn’t necessarily hold any meaning as money in this context, but may instead provide other avenues of information – such as a connection between Belgium and Christchurch, be it familial, commercial or otherwise.

The 1863 Belgian '10 centimes' coin found in Lyttelton. Image: L. Davies.

The 1863 Belgian ’10 centimes’ coin found in Lyttelton. Image: L. Davies.

One alternative to British currency that does relate directly to the monetary system of Christchurch, though, is the humble Christchurch token. We’ve found a couple of these on sites in the city now: flat circular pieces of metal that bear every resemblance to coins, except for the insignia of local merchants embossed into the surface.

For much of the early decades of Christchurch’s settlement, it seems, small currency was difficult to come by. Local businesses and settlers combated this shortage of actual money by creating their own, known as ‘trade tokens’. Tokens became recognised as legal tender in Christchurch and were used as currency in the city from 1857 until 1897, when they were demonetised by the government. Interestingly, many (if not most) of these tokens only had value in Christchurch and were considered worthless in other cities in the country (Thomas & Dale 1950: 11).

An example of a Henry J. Hall halfpenny token, identical to the one found in Christchurch. Image: Victoria Museum.

An example of a Henry J. Hall halfpenny token, identical to the one found in Christchurch. Image: Museum Victoria.

Although they were struck in Australia, and then shipped to Christchurch, tokens were stamped with the names and insignia of local traders and businesses. One such example found on an archaeological site in the city bears the mark of Henry Joseph Hall, reading “HALF PENNY / HENRY J. HALL / CHRISTCHURCH COFFEE MILLS” on one side and “H.J.HALL / FAMILY GROCER / WINE & SPIRIT MERCHANT” on the other.

Henry Joseph Hall was an agriculturalist and pastoralist turned grocer who arrived in Christchurch in 1857. He opened a grocery business in Cashel Street west in 1864, subsequently converting the Wesleyan Chapel on High Street into a large store in 1865. During his time as a grocer, he issued a total of 19 varieties of penny tokens and three varieties of halfpenny tokens in Christchurch, struck by the Melbourne medallists W. J. Taylor and Thomas Stokes, as well as W. J. Taylor of London. These tokens were circulated throughout the city as money in relatively large numbers and could be used, not only with  the issuing firm, but with all other traders in the city (Thomas & Dale 1950 56-61; Museum Victoria).

We’ve talked about the entrepreneurial spirit of 19th century Christchurch a few times here on the blog, in reference to so many of the individuals and businesses that contributed to the economic and social growth of Christchurch as a city. It strikes me now, that in people like Henry Hall and other manufacturers of trade tokens – people who made their own money – that entrepreneurial spirit is even more pronounced.

Money is a curious thing, so vital to our everyday existence in this world and yet so completely a construction that we, as a society, have created to be necessary in our lives. It can be very easy, I think, especially in this age of electronic transactions, to forget where our money came from in the first place. Artefacts like these – be they royally issued coins or locally struck tokens – are a somewhat disconcerting reminder that we made it ourselves.

Jessie Garland

References

Lyttelton Times. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz

Museum Victoria. [online] Available at www.museumvictoria.com.au

Royal Mint Museum. [online] Available at www.royalmintmuseum.org.uk

Selgin, G., 2003. Steam, hot air, and small change: Matthew Boulton and the reform of Britain’s coinage. The Economic History Review, 56, 478-509.

Thomas, E. R. & Dale, L. J. (eds.), 1950. They made their own money: the story of early Canterbury traders & their tokens. Canterbury Branch of the Royal Numismatic Society of New Zealand.

A few of our favourite things…

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Over the last few weeks, we’ve been excavating a site in the CBD that’s yielded some of the most interesting artefacts we’ve see for a while. So, today on the blog, we’ve selected a few of these fascinating things for your viewing pleasure. Clay pipes, candlesticks, pepper shakers and bowler hats: scroll down for a veritable feast of pictorial splendour! Or something along those lines.

A bowler hat! This hat is made of felt and may have been worn by either a man or a woman (women used to wear hats like these with riding outfits in the lat 19th century). If you look very closely at the rim of the hat, you can see the remnants of the ribbon trim that once decorated it. Image: J. Garland.

First up, a bowler hat! This hat is made of felt and may have been worn by either a man or a woman (women used to wear hats like these with riding outfits in the late 19th century). If you look very closely at the rim of the hat, you can see the remnants of the ribbon trim that once decorated it. Image: J. Garland.

A lovely brass candlestick (used by Colonel mustard in the library, perhaps...). We think that the pieces of fabric stuck to the metal are just the remnants of the wrapping it was thrown out in, rather than a functional or decorative part of the candlestick itself. There's even a candle stub still visible inside the holder, near the base. Image: J. Garland

A lovely brass candlestick (used by Colonel Mustard in the library, perhaps…).The pieces of fabric stuck to the metal are  probably just the remnants of the wrapping it was thrown out in, rather than a functional or decorative part of the candlestick itself. There’s even a candle stub still visible inside the holder, near the base. Image: J. Garland

This lovely little saucer is decorated with a Chinese motif, known as 'Chang'. It appears to show one man cooking, while another stands around smoking a pipe. Not such an unfamiliar scene, is it? Image: J. Garland.

This lovely little saucer is decorated with a Chinese motif, known as ‘Chang’. It appears to show one man cooking, while another stands around smoking a pipe. Not such an unfamiliar scene, is it? Image: J. Garland.

This is really, really cool. This clay tobacco pipe appears to have been made locally, here in Christchurch, by or for the Trent Brothers. The Trent brothers were coffee, flax and chicory merchants based in Christchurch in the second half of the 19th century. The lovely people over at the Lost Christchurch blog have an excellent series of posts on the brothers and their business. As far as we're aware, no other pipes like this one have been found before in New Zealand. Image: J. Garland.

This is really, really cool. This clay tobacco pipe has a local connection, being made by or for the Trent Brothers, Christchurch. The Trent brothers (Frederick and James) were coffee, flax and chicory merchants based in Christchurch in the second half of the 19th century. The lovely people over at the Lost Christchurch blog have an excellent series of posts on the brothers and their business. As far as we’re aware, no other pipes like this one have been found before in New Zealand. Image: J. Garland.

We found another New Zealand branded pipe at this site, this time stamped with the mark of Twentyman & Cousins. Messrs Twentyman & Cousins (wonderful names!) were Christchurch retailers

Surprisngly, we found another New Zealand branded pipe at this site, this time stamped with the mark of Twentyman & Cousin. Messrs Twentyman & Cousin (wonderful names!) were Christchurch retailers originally based in Cathedral Square. In the 1880s they moved to new premises at what is now 93 Cashel Street, into a building designed by renowned architect B. W. Mountfort (Press 17/06/1882:1). Image: J. Garland.

This Willow patterned salt/pepper shaker is a surprisingly unusual find: they're not often found in Christchurch's archaeological sites. It's one of my personal favourites from this assemblage. Image: J. Garland

This transfer printed salt/pepper shaker is a surprisingly unusual find: they’re not often found in Christchurch’s archaeological sites. It’s one of my personal favourites from this assemblage. Image: J. Garland

A pig snout gin bottle with a prunt or blob seal on the shoulder.

A pig snout gin bottle with an anchor decorated prunt or blob seal on the shoulder. Seals like these were most common in the first half of the 1800s, although they were still being added to bottles at the end of the century (usually to gin bottles like this one). This particular prunt is embossed with ‘Van Dulken Weiland & Co/ Rotterdam’, well-known 19th century Dutch gin manufacturers. Image: J. Garland.

A child's plate! We've featured plates like this before on the blog, although none quite like this one. It reads "...in passing along they beheld on the ground/ ... man stretch'd along in a sleep most profound". Image: J. Garland

A child’s plate! We’ve featured plates like this before on the blog, although none quite like this one. It reads “…in passing along they beheld on the ground / … man stretch’d along in a sleep most profound”. Image: J. Garland

And to finish….

These gorgeous shoes are in excellent condition. The adult size one (top)

Shoes! We’ve found a surprisingly large number of shoes (adult and child size) and fabric artefacts from this site, all in fairly good condition. Both the child sized shoe (bottom) and adult lace up shoe shown here (top) are among the only examples we’ve found with the complete upper portion of the shoe intact. Usually, we’re only recovering heels and soles. Aren’t they gorgeous!  Images: J. Garland.

Jessie Garland

Brewery to bonded store (or a tale involving beer, misfortune and the casualties of long distance trade)

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From Staffordshire pottery to American made glass-ware, we’ve come across artefacts from all over the world on archaeological sites here in Christchurch. This prevalence of internationally made artefacts, and what it means for the city’s history, is something that’s come up frequently in previous posts on this blog. Today’s post continues to discuss that theme, albeit from a slightly different perspective – that of the importer.

Over the last little while, we’ve been looking at the artefact assemblage from a site in the central city that was associated with a bonded store from the 1860s onwards. Bonded stores (also known as bonded warehouses) were buildings in which goods could be stored and remain exempt from customs duties. They were usually used to store goods and bulk merchandise until they were distributed for retail, at which time those duties and taxes would have to be paid.

We found numerous archaeological features (mostly rubbish pits) on the site, almost all of which contained artefacts. Many of these rubbish pits contained a large number of alcohol bottles. This is not particularly unusual. What is unusual is that within each feature most of the alcohol bottles were identical and almost all of the bottle tops found were still sealed – with cork, wire seal and metal capsule.

One of the rubbish pits found at the site, containing a large number of J & R Tennent sealed bottles.

One of the rubbish pits found at the site, containing a large number of J & R Tennent sealed bottles. Image: J. Hughes.

One rubbish pit contained a total of 130 artefacts (in 454 fragments), 126 of which were black beer bottles. Although the bottles were broken, the tops and bases were almost equal in number. More significantly, all of those black beer bottles were still sealed, or found in association with their corks and capsule seals, and every single seal bore the distinctive trademarks of J & R Tennent’s Pale Ale, brewed at the Wellpark Brewery, Scotland. Most of the capsules were also stamped with the mark of Betts & Co, the company who patented and manufactured this type of metal capsule seal for bottles. Similarly trademarked bottle capsules have been found at other 1860s-1880s sites throughout New Zealand, although not in such large quantities (Petchey and Innanchai 2012).

A couple of the J & R Tennent sealed tops found in the rubbish pit. The side of the seal reads: "Bottled by J & R Tennent" and (not pictured) "Betts & Co/Patent/Patent/ Trade Mark/ London."

A couple of the J & R Tennent sealed tops found in the rubbish pit. The side of the seal reads: “Bottled by J & R Tennent” and (not pictured) “Betts & Co / Patent / Patent / Trade Mark / London.” Betts & Co were the original patentees and manufacturers of metal bottle capsules like these. They were founded in 1804, but weren’t established in London until 1840. The company continued to manufacture bottle capsules until the 1960s: these particular seals were probably made between 1860 and 1915 (Nayton 1991). Images:  J. Garland.

J & R Tennent capsule drawing

A drawing of one of the J & R Tennent bottle capsules found at this site. Note that the beer is a pale ale, and the reference to Wellpark Brewery in Glasgow. Image: J. Garland.

John and Robert Tennent were Glaswegian brewers and bottlers who began operating in the 1770s. Their business continued to be run by their descendants throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, right up until the present day (Petchey and Innanchai 2012). By the end of the 19th century they were increasingly known for the quality of their beer and were a relatively large presence in the export market for bottled beer throughout the English speaking world (Hughes 2006). In Christchurch, Tennent’s Pale Ale was sold in large quantities from the 1850s onwards by a number of Christchurch merchants such as Robert Symington, Charles Wesley Turner (my great great grandfather!), Longden & Le Cren, Robert Wilkin & Co, and Tonks, Norton & Co, among others (Lyttelton Times 6/11/1852: 3, 12/8/1865: 1; Star 22/10/1869: 4; Press 18/9/1879: 3,14/1/1891: 8).

A second rubbish pit at the site contained a similar assemblage: 125 artefacts, 88 of which were identical dark green beer bottles. Like the Tennent bottles, almost all of these were still sealed or found in association with metal capsules, wire seals and corks. Unfortunately, the seals from this feature weren’t in the best condition: only eight of them could be definitively identified to the bottler, T. B. Hall & Co, Liverpool. It seems likely, however, given the similarity of the bottles (a handful of which still had the remnants of T. B. & Hall labels on the glass), that all 88 were originally T. B. Hall & Co products.

Some of the T. B. Hall & Co bottle capsules found in the second rubbish pit. Image: J. Garland.

Some of the T. B. Hall & Co bottle capsules found in the second rubbish pit. Image: J. Garland.

This drawing of one of the T. B. Hall & Co metal capsules shows the distinctive boar trademark used by the company. Image: J. Garland.

This drawing of a T. B. Hall & Co bottle seal shows the distinctive boar trademark used by the company. Image: J. Garland.

T. B. Hall refers to Thomas Bird Hall, who operated an export bottling company in Liverpool in the latter half of the 19th century. The company became well known for their ‘Boar’s Head’ brand, which we see on the bottles found in Christchurch.  They started bottling beer under this brand in 1874, much of which was exported to British colonies, including Australia and New Zealand. They bottled a range of beers, spirits and liqueurs, including the well-known Bass and Guinness ales and stouts (Hughes 2006: 131). We have evidence for the brand being sold in Christchurch from at least 1878 until the late 1890s (Press 22/4/1878: 2; Press 23/10/1899: 4).

Interestingly, during the excavation of this rubbish pit, it was noted that most of the bottles were complete, but cracked, while they were still in the ground. Many of them fell apart as they were lifted out, suggesting that they had broken or cracked from the impact of being thrown – complete and still sealed – into the pit.

The partially excavated rubbish pit containing numerous T. B. Hall & Co sealed bottles. A couple of complete bottles are visible, sticking out of the top of the feature: one of these fell apart as it was lifted, due to the cracks already present in the glass. Image: J. Garland.

The partially excavated rubbish pit containing numerous T. B. Hall & Co sealed bottles. A couple of complete bottles are visible, sticking out of the top of the feature: one of these fell apart as it was lifted, due to the cracks already present in the glass. Image: J. Garland.

As archaeologists, we’re used to finding old or broken artefacts in archaeological assemblages  – objects that have clearly been used and discarded, due to damage, age, changes in fashion or simply because they’ve reached the end of their uselife. The fact that two rubbish pits at this site contain artefacts that have clearly not been used and, in one case, were complete when they were discarded, indicates that there must be another reason for their disposal.

Given the association of the site with a bonded store, it seems likely that these bottles were originally imported and stored at the warehouse with the intention of being distributed to local retailers and consumers. The question then remains: why were they thrown out? There are numerous potential answers to this, from damages incurred during transport to a bad quality batch of beer, a lack of demand or old, unsaleable stock. Bottled beer was a hell of a lot more unpredictable – both in quality and preservation – during the 19th century than it is now, and it wasn’t uncommon for batches to go bad, or simply be bad.

This extract from a legal case involving the supply and sale of bad beer lists just a few of the ways beer could go bad in the 19th century. Image: Colonist 26/07/1911

This extract from a legal case involving the supply and sale of bad beer lists just a few of the ways beer could go bad in the 19th century. Image: Colonist 26/7/1911: 4.

It’s easy to forget, in this age of air freight and controlled temperatures, that these goods had to come a very long way in relatively difficult conditions in order to reach our shores (and our stomachs) in the 19th century. British export beers travelled to colonies like Australia and New Zealand by ship, a journey that could take anything upwards of 100 days (by clipper, the fastest non-steam powered ship at the time). These voyages often encountered rough seas and extreme temperatures, both of which could damage cargoes of bottled beer (Hughes 2006). High temperatures (when sailing through the tropics, for example) could cause the beer itself to go off: sometimes, if it caused rapid fermentation, the bottles would explode (my personal favourite). On top of the sea voyage, of course, the bottles had to survive loading and unloading as well as transport over rough roads to their final destination. It’s hardly surprising that breakages occurred!

There were also issues with supply and demand: agents in New Zealand would have been ordering the stock well in advance (remember, 100 days or more to get here), based on predicted demand. If their predictions were wrong, products might not sell and be left, instead, to age to the point where they were both undrinkable and unsaleable, and had to be discarded. All of which leads to rubbish pits such as these, containing the physical casualties and failures of the 19th century import/export trade.

Analysis of this site is continuing but, as you can see from the small part of it that I’ve discussed here, it has the potential to provide us with a window into the realities of the goods trade in Christchurch – internationally and locally. It’s also an excellent example of the importance of archaeological context in the interpretation of artefacts and archaeological features.  Just one of these bottles, out of context, wouldn’t have nearly such an interesting story to tell.

Jessie Garland

References

Colonist. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz

Hughes, David. 2006. “A Bottle of Guiness Please”: the Colourful History of Guiness. Phimboy: Berkshire, England.

Lyttelton Times. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz

Nayton, G., 1992. Applying frontier theory to a Western Australian site: the problem of chronological control. Australasian Historical Archaeology 10: 75-91.

Petchey, P. and Innanchai, J., 2012. Bottle top capsules in New Zealand historic archaeological sites. Journal of Pacific Archaeology 3 (2): 1-16.

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

Star. [online] Available at www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz

Three years on…

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People often ask what we’re learning as a result of all this post-earthquake archaeology. Quite a lot, as this blog reveals. But, to date, the blog has focused on the individual sites and/or stories – there’s not been much of the big picture stuff. So, as the third anniversary approaches, we thought we’d share some of that higher level stuff with you. These are not well-researched, academic observations. These are our own personal observations about what all this archaeological work is telling us.

Buildings

Old houses fascinate me: there’s that sense of walking into someone else’s life and, as with all archaeology, that sense of mystery and the possibility of discovery. In spite of this, when I started to think about this post, I was surprised to realise that I rarely imagine the lives of those who lived in these houses. It turns out that I’m more of a scientist than I thought: I want to quantify the details of these buildings, and establish chronologies and typologies, and then think about what those patterns mean. I guess that’s what makes me an archaeologist.

A double-pane sash window with no lugs, in a c.1875 house. Image: K. Watson.


A double-pane sash window with no lugs, in a c.1875 house. Image: K. Watson.

Thus far, we’ve learnt little details about houses (there’s been no time yet for any detailed overarching study). The progression from double-pane sash windows without lugs, to the same with lugs and then onto single pane sash windows (and then to casement windows, in the early 20th century). There was a change, too, from bow to box bay windows. And a change from match-lining to lath and plaster, although that may have been a class difference (and in some cases room lining related to room function). Rusticated or ship-lapped weatherboards were big in the 1870s. Rooflines changed in shape and pitch as the villa became the predominant house type. And the villa reached maturity in the 1880s.

A match-lined room in a c.1875 house. Image: K. Watson.


A match-lined room in a c.1875 house. Image: K. Watson.

I love the variables that tell us about class, status and use of space: the hallway arch that differentiates public and private spaces; the skirting boards that shrink from the front to the rear of the house; the ceiling roses (far fewer around than I expected, although that may be a product of how well they survive); and that the number of windows into your front rooms (two or three) tells me something about the wealth of the builder/occupant, as does the size of the house.

1870s sash windows used in a late 1880s villa. Image: K. Watson.


1870s sash windows used in a late 1880s villa. Image: K. Watson.

A c.1875 house with rusticated weatherboards on the street front and plain weatherboards on the side. Image: K. Watson.


A c.1875 house with rusticated weatherboards on the street front and plain weatherboards on the side. Image: K. Watson.

And these details add up to much more. The fact that you used sash windows without lugs in an 1880s villa tells me that you’re using recycled building materials (yes, even then). The fact that you have rusticated weatherboards on the street front of your house but not the sides tells me that you were aware of fashions but couldn’t quite afford to keep up with them. Your skirting boards are the same size throughout your house? Well, clearly you were well-off – or had more money than sense. Likewise if you had quite an odd arrangement going on with your skirting boards and architraves. Or if you built a brick house – although in this case it was equally likely that you were a bricklayer or a brickmaker.

An arrangement of skirting board and door surrounds only found (thus far) in the 'grander' houses. Image: K. Watson.


An arrangement of skirting board and door surrounds only found (thus far) in the ‘grander’ houses. Image: K. Watson.

So you see, by observing and recording those small details and, yes, by quantifying them, I’m starting to build up a picture of the people who lived in the house. As the book title goes: “in small things forgotten”. And it’s seeing these things in bulk, as it were, that makes a difference. That’s what makes us so lucky to be carrying out archaeology in Christchurch right now: the size of the sample. In the space of three years, we’ve generated the quantities of data that would normally take decades to come by. The next challenge is to do something more with that data.

Artefacts and people

Just a fraction of the material culture excavated from sites in Christchurch over the last three years. So many boxes!


Just a fraction of the material culture excavated from sites in Christchurch over the last three years. So many boxes! Image: J. Garland.

It’s quite difficult to articulate some of the things that we’ve learned from the archaeology of Christchurch over the last three years, largely, I think, because of the sheer scale of material that’s been found. There’s just so much information to be gained from individual objects and individual sites and from those sites and objects as whole assemblages or landscapes.

As an artefact specialist, I have to say that one of the things that has jumped out at me most during my time working here is the diversity of Christchurch’s archaeology and past. It’s not just the variety of artefacts that’s noteworthy – although we are finding a range of artefacts on a scale that’s unusual and exciting – but also the diversity among the people who owned and used them.

A selection of the various artefacts found in Christchurch over the last three years. Top row from left:


A selection of artefacts found in Christchurch over the last three years. Top row from left: trepanned bone toothbrushes, effigy pipe bowl, frozen Charlotte doll, children’s ‘Father Lion’ cup. Middle row from left: toy horse, Pickering’s polish pot, ladies’ fobwatch, ‘Bouquet’ decorated plate. Bottom row from left: bottle (originally found with message inside) with Bass Pale Ale label, Nassau selter water bottle, Codd patent soda water bottle, black beer bottle, torpedo bottle (top), child’s shoe (bottom), clay pipe decorated with lady riding side-saddle (top), 19th century penny (bottom). Image: J. Garland.

As an archaeologist and anthropologist, the variety that exists among people isn’t something that I should be surprised by, but I have been a little, I think, in this context. The ‘English’ origins and culture of Christchurch are so often talked about as one of its defining characteristics as a city, yet we’re finding connections to places all over the world in its archaeological record.

What do you think it says? Photo: J. Garland.

Our message in a bottle, found in a bottle of English beer on a Christchurch site with German and Danish history. Photo: J. Garland.

We’ve found artefacts from  Australia,  England,  Scotland,  Ireland, Wales, Germany, France, the Netherlands, Denmark, the USA, Canada  and China on sites throughout the city. Many of these are just as varied in their uses as they are in their origins, from children’s toys to unusual foods, messages in bottles and barbaric or ill-conceived medical products. We’ve also come across the stories of settlers from as far afield as Palestine  and as close to home as Australia, settlers who came from every echelon of society, with all kinds of social and professional backgrounds. Connections like these – to people, places and materials – remind me that Christchurch wasn’t just a small colonial settlement at the bottom of the world. Instead it was an integrated part of a much broader story of migration, trade, globalisation, and changing ways of living in the English-speaking world during the 19th century. The archaeology of this city has as much to contribute to that story as it draws from it.

However, it’s not just where these people have come from that stands out to me, but also what we’ve learned of their lives here in Christchurch, particularly the way so many of them contributed to building of this city. There’s a real sense of entrepreneurship in much of the archaeology and history of Christchurch, in the stories and products of people like John George Ruddenklau, James and William Jamieson, H. F. Stevens, John Baxter and George Bonnington, James and William Willis , John Grubb, Thomas Raine and all of the city’s soda water manufacturers – even Charles Henry Cox, our resourceful shoe-polish fraudster. So many of these people built and ran successful businesses from the ground up, in a totally new and untested environment and, regardless of whether those businesses were successful or not, it’s this adventurous, entrepreneurial spirit that, I think, plays a large part in the character of Christchurch – both at its origins and now, as the city rebuilds after the earthquakes.

Katharine Watson and Jessie Garland