George Gould’s Cookham House

I always think that historical archaeology is a discipline that readily invokes feelings of nostalgia and sentimentality. The familiarity of the material culture makes it particularly easy to romanticise artefacts, to imagine oneself in the past. Shoes, in particular, are an artefact that lend themselves to these types of thoughts and feelings. It may be because of the adage ‘to put yourself in someone else’s shoes’, but when holding a pair of shoes from the 1860s it is easy to wonder about who might have worn them. Were these shoes worn by a settler when they climbed the Bridle Path and stood at the top of the Port Hills looking out over their new home for the first time? Were they chosen for their sturdiness, given the boggy and haphazard roads of early Christchurch? Did the wearer sigh in winter as they pulled them on and went out into the cold and wet? Did they polish them every night to keep them looking their best? The personal nature of shoes- the individual taste in style, the practicality of design, the wear that they suffered over their lifetime- provide a tangible link to a time and place that we can only imagine what living in was actually like.

Shoes are a common find on our archaeological sites in Christchurch. They show up in most of our domestic assemblages indicating that once they had been outgrown, or worn past the point of repair, the wearer would throw them away. It is these shoes in particular that evoke the feelings described above. We often know who was living at the site, meaning that we can put a name to the wearer of the shoes, and flesh out some of the details of their life. We can metaphorically ‘walk a mile in their shoes’ when we analyse them.

A pair of shoes from a 19th century Armagh Street archaeological site, what do these shoes tell us about the person that wore them? Image: C. Watson.

The shoe assemblage that I’m writing about today is slightly different. These shoes were never sold, never had the opportunity to be worn by an early Christchurch settler. They never made it out of the shop, and instead were thrown out as discarded stock. But that does not mean that they don’t have their own story to tell. It just means that it’s a slightly different story, one about commerce and business. And at the centre of that story is George Gould, one of 19th century Christchurch’s wealthiest men.

George Gould, the owner of our shoe assemblage, but not the wearer. Image: Press, 25/10/1930: 19. 

George Gould was born in April 1823, at Hambleden Lock, Oxfordshire. He came to New Zealand in 1850, arriving first in the North Island but shortly after coming to Canterbury. His house and store that he built in Armagh Street was the first wooden building finished in Christchurch. From May of 1851, he advertised that he had opened a general store. This general store was to be the foundation of Gould’s wealth, yet it was not easy running a store in 1850s Christchurch. All goods arriving into Lyttelton had to be transported to Christchurch, and with the tunnel not yet built and a carriage costing 30s to 40s, Gould reportedly carried many of his loads of stock on his back over the hill. Gould went into partnership with Grosvenor Miles in 1855, moving to a new store in Colombo Street, where the shop sold a range of goods including shoes and clothing. In 1859, he split from his partnership with Miles. Miles was to continue the general store on the western side of Colombo Street, while Gould would move to a new store on the eastern side of Colombo Street and take the shoe and clothing portion of the business with him. Gould named his shop Cookham House, and it was so successful that by the end of 1862 he had already outgrown the building and moved to new store further along Colombo Street. Gould’s business was threatened when a fire broke out in 1866, damaging his shop and his stock. Gould reportedly responded to the fire by writing out an order for new stock as he watched his building burn to ensure that it would make the mail ship to England the next morning.

In addition to Gould’s shoe shop, he had a chemists shop and he was a large rural landowner. He was the first to export wheat from New Zealand to London and at one time was the largest exporter of wool from Canterbury (Cyclopedia Company, 1903). It was Gould’s agricultural interests that supplied most of his wealth, but his various business interests complimented each other. He had a prominent roles in the Christchurch Gas Company and the New Zealand Shipping Company, as well as other banking, insurance, and building societies. All of these business interests made Gould a wealthy man. He built his large mansion on the corner of Bealey Ave and Springfield Road in 1866, naming it Hambledon House after his birth place (sadly this building did not survive the earthquakes). He was a generous benefactor to the Canterbury Museum, Christs College, the Wesleyan Church, the YMCA, the Canterbury A & P Association, and numerous other Christchurch societies and working mens groups. Gould, in many ways, epitomised the ideal Victorian colonist. He started with very little capital, but with hard work and good judgement was successful, and then shared the fruits of that success with those who were less fortunate. The eulogies written in the newspapers following his death in 1889 focus on this generosity and it is hard to find a bad word written against him.

Gould’s 1851 house and shop, the first wooden building in Christchurch. Image: Christchurch City Libraries. 

10 May 1851 advertisement by George Gould advertising the opening of his general store. Image: Lyttelton Times, 10/05/1851: 1. 

So, what do Gould’s shoes say about him? We came across Gould during our excavations at the new Court Theatre site. Gould’s 1859-1862 shoe shop, Cookham House, was located on the corner of Gloucester Street and Colombo Street. North of where the store would have stood, we found a pit that contained a large assemblage of shoes. A total of 2089 fragments of shoe leather were found in this pit, with these representing at least 60 individual shoes (probably more). The shoes were in a condensed layer in the pit, indicating that they had most likely been thrown out in a single dumping event. The 1862 map of Christchurch shows that Gould’s original store had been extended after Gould moved to his new shop and the next occupant took over the building, with this extension capping the pit. From this, we know that the shoes have to have been deposited by September 1862 at the latest. This means that the shoe assemblage is able to give us a good insight into the types and styles of shoes that Gould was selling in the early 1860s.

The location of our pit feature, indicated by the red arrow. Image: Fooks, 1862. 

The original Cookham House located on the corner of Colombo Street and Gloucester Street. This photograph is from 1881 when then store was A. Gee’s Confectionery shop. Image: Wheeler and Son Studio, 1881.

The pit mid-excavation. The shoes were in a concentrated and dense layer near the base of the pit. Image: A. Kelly.

During our excavation of the pit we observed that several of the shoes had been thrown away intact, with the fill of this layer of the pit mainly consisting of shoes stacked ontop of each other. Image: A. Kelly.

A complete boot from the pit. Image: A. Kelly.

The shoes post-excavation and ready to be sorted and analysed. Image: C. Watson.

Looking at the styles of the shoes that were deposited in the pit, while there was some variation, most of the shoes seemed to be repeats of the same styles. Men’s derby work boots with a square toe were common. Most of these had reinforcing on the ball of sole in the form of hobnails, as well as heel plates on the heel. Women’s or youth’s boots, in contrast, seemed to by mostly oxford style boots with a more round toe. Some of these had heel plates as reinforcing, but no hobnails on the sole. The derby and oxford boots dominated the assemblage, but six bluchers, four slippers, and four Wellington boots were also identified. It is interesting to note the gender divisions in the assemblage, indicating that men and women were choosing to wear different styles of shoes. The reinforcing seen in the men’s shoes suggests that there was a practical reason behind the choice in different styles, with men requiring harder wearing boots a reflection of the gendered division of labour in the 19th century. But the more square toes of the men’s derby boots, and the oxford style of the women’s boots, indicates that there was also a stylistic element of men’s and women’s shoes looking different from one and other.

Some of the different styles of shoes found in the pit. Top: upper and sole from a men’s derby working boot. The sole has been reinforced with hobnails. Middle: a slipper and a wellington boot. These styles of shoes are not commonly seen in Christchurch archaeological assemblages. Bottom: blucher boot and women/youth’s oxford boot. Image: C. Watson.

Most of the boots were hand sewn using a welt. This is quite a different manufacture method to what is normally seen in the Christchurch archaeological assemblage. The majority of boots and shoes found in Christchurch were made using methods of vertical attachment. This was when the upper was attached to the sole using a nail or a wooden peg. The use of a different manufacture method to what is typically seen in Christchurch 19th century shoes, is thought to reflect that these shoes were imported.

Seven of the shoes from the feature had the initials “J B” incised on the insole. J. Burrows and Son was a shoe manufacturer based in Cookham, England, and in operation from at least 1852 (Slater, 1852: 20). The company was still in operation in 1883, but appears to have ceased operations by 1895 (Historical Cookham, 2023). Descriptions of the company indicate that they were manufacturing boots and shoes for the wholesale market and that they were a major employer in Cookham, with many in the village employed in their factory. Advertisements in the newspapers indicate that Gould was importing boots from Burrow and Sons and it is likely that Gould’s Cookham House was so named for Cookham in England, with Cookham boots being well known (Lyttelton Times, 6/10/1860: 2).

The various JB marks that were seen on the shoes from the feature. Maker’s marks aren’t common on shoes found in Christchurch archaeological features, so to get so many in one assemblage was really unusual. Image: C. Watson.

Gould’s advertisements indicate that he was importing shoes in large quantities. In July of 1859 he advertised that he currently had 3,500 pairs of shoes in stock and had another 3,500 arriving (Lyttelton Times, 27/07/1859:6). In October 1860 he advertised that he had 6,000 pairs of shoes recently arrived and available for purchase (Lyttelton Times, 3/10/1860: 5). In July of 1861 he advertised that he had 6,500 pairs of shoes recently arrived and another 7,500 pairs arriving (Lyttelton Times, 6/7/1861: 5). Given that the population of Christchurch was only about 3,000 people in 1862 (Christchurch City Council, 2023), it is unlikely that Gould was importing stock only to sell at his shop. Instead, given the quantities that Gould was importing, it seems most likely that Gould was probably selling to other shoe shops and general stores in Christchurch and wider Canterbury and New Zealand, acting as a middleman, so to speak, between the shoemakers in Cookham, England, and the shoe shops in New Zealand. While Gould likely had shoes available for purchase at the Cookham House store, it does not seem possible that the shop could have a stock turnover of at least 7,000 shoes a year selling just to off the street customers with Christchurch’s population at this time.

One of Gould’s advertisements stating his current stock levels. Image: Lyttelton Times, 6/7/1861: 5.

Searches of newspaper advertisements reveal that there were at least eight other shoe shops operating in Christchurch and Lyttelton during the 1859-1862 period. Six of these appear to be small business cobblers, working either alone or with a small staff, making shoes and boots from scratch and offering repairs (S. Webb, W. Holmes, John Bennington, T. Yates, W. Walker, Joseph Suckling). These small business cobblers do not appear to have advertised extensively, and it is likely that there were more operating than is listed here.  The two other businesses appear to have been larger and similar to Gould’s Cookham House. Henry Moss’s Monster Clothing Hall sold a large range of clothing and imported boots and shoes, while S. Goodman’s Boot and Shoe Warehouse also advertised that they sold imported shoes and boots. Goodman and Moss seem to have been Gould’s main competition at this time, although Moss’s business seems to have been more focused on the clothing side, with shoes and boots complimenting the clothing sales. Henry Moss opened on London Street, Lyttelton in 1858, with a Christchurch branch opening on High Street in 1862, while S. Goodman opened his Colombo Street business in 1860. This makes Gould’s business the earliest, with Gould advertising imported boots at his first store back in 1851, suggesting that the others may have observed Gould’s success and opened up in competition with him.

The main advantage of importing shoes, rather than manufacturing, appears to have been the price point at which they could sell shoes to the customer. This difference in business model, between manufacturing on site and importing pre-made shoes, is seen in the Christchurch shoe shop businesses beyond 1862. The difference is highlighted in two advertisements from an 1884 edition of the Star. John Goodman’s shoe shop, Cheap Boot and Shoe Depot, was a successor of S. Goodman’s Boot and Shoe Warehouse operating under the same business model of importing shoes from England. Goodman’s advertisement, pictured below, highlights cost as being the main reason why customers should buy from him- he advertised the prices of his shoes and claimed he had the cheapest shoes in Christchurch (and he literally called his business ‘Cheap Boot and Shoe Depot’).

Goodman’s advertisement, hilighting price being the main selling point for buying from him. Image: Star, 11/3/1884: 1. 

Alfred Crook’s advertisement, located just above Goodman’s in the newspaper, is a direct contrast:

I- Alfred Crook- do hereby confess that I do not possess the required knowledge to enable myself to promise to perform the extraordinary act of selling my Goods at Less than Cost Price, or even at Cost Price. I do NOT boast of making those Wonderful Sweeping Reductions in the Price of my Goods, to mislead and to mizzle my fellow working men; but I have sufficient impudence in myself to assert that I make my Goods of such high class quality that they by far EXCEL THOSE THAT ARE SOLD ELSEWHERE. Remember! I Manufacture ALL my Own Goods, and do Not make Trash; therefore, I challenge all others at the game, and to relieve myself of the trouble to resort to the customary Blowing System, I respectfully invite you to visit Cheapside Shop.

Alfred Crook’s very pointed advertisement, making it clear that he thought cheap imported boots were ‘trash’. Image: Star, 11/3/1884: 1. 

The very pointed wording of Alfred Crook’s advertisement shows the difficulties that local cobblers faced when trying to compete with businesses importing shoes from overseas. Ultimately, given the number of cobblers making shoes from scratch today, it is obvious which business model succeeded.

When considering the Gould’s shoe assemblage, an important question is why were the shoes thrown out in the first place? While shoes and boots should have travelled reasonably well, not being as fragile as ceramic and glass, there was still the potential for them to be damaged during the journey. In 1862 Mr S. C. Philips advertised that he was selling at auction 136 pairs of boots that had been damaged by sea water (New Zealander, 13/09/1862: 1). It was possible that the shoes disposed of represent stock that was damaged by salt water during the journey from England and weren’t in a saleable condition. There is also the possibility that the discarded shoes may represent surplus stock that remained unsold and was thrown out when new stock arrived. Gould’s main reason for moving to a new premise in 1862 was that his business had outgrown the store on the corner of Colombo and Gloucester, and that he needed more space. In a similar vein, there is the possibility that the shoes represent an order that was never claimed. If Gould was acting as the agent between Cookham in England and Christchurch retailers, then it is likely that the local businesses would have placed orders with Gould. If one of the businesses that placed the order went bankrupt, or could not pay for the order for some reason, then Gould may have chosen to throw it out rather than try to sell it, possibly for the storage space reasons already mentioned.

So, we return to the question of what do Gould’s shoes say about him? I think the main thing that they say is that while he may have owned a shoe shop, Gould was a businessman, not a cobbler. The relative completeness of the assemblage, the lack of any shoe-making off cuts, the presence of the “J B” Burrow and Sons mark, the presence of multiples of the same style of shoe, all speak to that the assemblage represents imported and unsold Cookham House stock. And that Gould could throw out so many shoes, speaks to the success of his business, that he could take the loss of whatever reason was behind the discard and not need to try and recover the cost.

We find hints of stories like Gould’s all the time in the archaeology of 19th century Christchurch. Most of the artefacts that we excavate are examples of the commercial relationships that existed between Christchurch and the rest of the world. But with Gould’s shoe assemblage, we can put ourselves in his shoes, so to speak, and imagine what it would be like running a business in Christchurch in 1851 when a year could pass between placing an order and the stock arriving. Would you pay for a carriage or carry deliveries on your back from Lyttelton? What would you do if your stock arrived mouldy and damaged, or burnt in a fire? And, if you were incredibly successful and grew to be very rich, would you be as generous with your money as George Gould was?

Clara Watson

References

Lyttelton Times, 1851-1914. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/ (accessed April 2021).

Press, 1861-1945. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/ (accessed April 2021).

Slater. 1852. Slater’s Directory of Berkshire, 1852. Slater, Berkshire.

Star, 1868-1920. [online] Available at: <https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/> Accessed April 2021.

Hats: Curiouser and Curiouser

Hats are one of those clothing items that have mostly fallen out of modern fashion; we use them for warmth and keeping the sun out of our eyes, or for special occasions, but not much in between. Historically, hats were a required part of dress, but they fell out of fashion very quickly in the second half of the 20th century (Hughes, 2017: 9). It’s probably a surprise for most of us to learn that, for a now relegated clothing item, hats and hat making formed a substantial part of the economic, social, and moral fabric of the colonial world. A note on terminology before we disappear down the rabbit-hole of hats: hat makers created hats of felt, straw and eventually silk. This trade employed men, women, and children, who made both men’s and women’s hats. Millinery emerged as a distinct trade from the end of the 18th century, namely trimming and decorating existing hat blanks, although millinery manuals existed for the construction of hats from 1890-1920 (Bates, 2000). Millinery was predominantly staffed and patronised by women, and only created women’s hats (Hughes, 2017: 27). In New Zealand, 19th century dressmakers often completed millinery projects due to an insufficient market to support operating solely as a milliner (Hunter, 2011).

Hat making formed a significant part of England’s import and export trade from the 16th century onwards, to the extent of laws limiting the re-export of beaver skins and hat manufacture in the North American colonies being introduced in the 18th century following pressure from numerous English felt-makers (Nevell, 2007: 4-6). The industry employed both skilled and unskilled workers and remained a largely manual process even following industrialisation. The working conditions of both hat making and millinery were abysmal, even by 19th century standards, with long hours, high risk of fire in cramped workshops, and exposure to chemicals like mercury and sulfuric acid. Mercury poisoning is where we get the term ‘mad as a hatter’ from, as hat markers used mercury salts to break down the oil in beaver fur and breathed in mercury fumes from the furs while they dried (Hughes, 2017: 19).

The hat making and millinery industries also had substantial environmental impacts, namely in the use of beaver fur and bird feathers. Beavers went extinct in Europe in the 1600s, partially as a result of the hat trade, and fur traders turned to North America and Canada to meet supply demands (Hughes, 2017: 15

An example of an exceptionally furry beaver hat was worn by Joe Cannon upon his retirement from Congress circa 1922. Image: Library of Congress.

Bird feathers, wings and even whole birds were used in millinery, particularly towards the late 19th century as hats became larger and more extravagantly decorated (Regnault, 2021: 266). Millinery was held responsible for the extinction of species like the American passenger pigeon, and several pieces of legislation were introduced to curb the use and sale of feathers and skins of native bird species in America as a result (Cramer-Reichelderfer, 2019: 9; Regnault, 2021: 275).

A model wearing “chanticleer” hat, circa 1912. A chanticleer is another name for a rooster. The more you know and can avoid including in your hat decoration. Image: Library of Congress.

Gaby Deslys, an American singer, wearing an extravagantly feathered hat circa 1913. Image: Library of Congress.

An estimated 20,000 tonnes of plumage was shipped to England each year between 1870 and 1920 to be sold for use in millinery and clothing production, including from New Zealand. One London dealer advised an enquirer in 1880 that he had ‘something like 385’ kākāpo and ‘upwards of 90’ little spotted kiwi skins in stock and would be in the market for additional species of kiwi skins if any came available (Regnault, 2021: 264-5). Hector Liardet, a Wellington based ‘feather furrier’, sold a hat made of speckled shag plumage to Baroness Rothschild at the Paris Exhibition in 1890 (Hunter, 2011). Legislative protection for native bird species in New Zealand was slow to develop compared to other areas of the world, with full protection for native species only extended under the Animals Protection Amendment Act in 1910 (Regnault, 2021: 275).

A comic satirising the use of feathers in 19th century millinery with the caption ‘The cruelties of fashion, “fine feathers make fine birds”’. Image: John Hyde, 1883. Sourced from: Library of Congress.

While hats served a functional purpose, i.e. to protect one’s head from sun, hats were also a social and moral requirement, and often had implications for the wearer’s class and place in society. For example, wearing a top hat might indicate wealth and rank, but choosing a top hat that was too shiny, wrongly angled or worn could imply “duplicity, drunkenness or destitution” (Hughes, 2020). Churches, hotels, theatres, weddings, mourning periods, horse races and many other locations and events all required hats or head coverings of some variety for both sexes. Requirements for where and when hats may be worn, and where they must be removed, took up entire sections of society etiquette manuals, and transgressions of these rules were remarked upon in newspapers (Hughes 2016; 2020). For example, hats should be worn to the theatre by both men and women but should be taken off once seated ‘in consideration for those who sit behind’ (Wells, 1891: 338; Hughes, 2020).

Spectators at Riccarton Race Course, Christchurch circa 1905. The Press (Newspaper): Negatives. Ref: 1/1-008259-G. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/23220317. 

A substantial complaint was made by a Wellington reporter in 1907 regarding the size of hats worn to the cricket, and the practice of wearing the hats so “the crown of the hat is perched as far back as the law of gravity will permit” which apparently defeated the hat’s purpose in keeping the sun off the wearer’s face (Dominion 5/12/1907: 3). The same report has equal disdain for women who “look as though they were endeavouring to keep their hats on by their eyebrows”. There is an apparent middle ground for hat-wearing that the frequenters of this cricket match had missed entirely. I would also complain if I had to sit behind either of these women pictured below at the cricket.

A substantial hat worn by an unknown woman circa 1905-1926. Maclay, Adam Henry Pearson, 1873-1955 :Negatives. Ref: 1/2-184033-G. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand./records/30645320.

Another substantial hat worn by an unknown woman circa 1905-1926. Maclay, Adam Henry Pearson, 1873-1955: Negatives. Ref: 1/2-185754-G. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand./records/30119197

Outside of high society, hats were also a source of humour. There’s a rather lovely pencil sketch of an early surveyor around Moeraki lamenting his now squashed wide brimmed hat, which someone had sat on.

Sketch of a great hat tragedy from surveyor Walter Mantell, 1848. Mantell, Walter Baldock Durrant 1820-1895 :[Sketchbook, no. 3] 1848-1849. Ref: E-334-089. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand./records/23225090

The hats we encounter as part of the archaeological record in Christchurch are a far cry from those written about in high society pages or adorned with extinction levels of bird plumage. Most of the hats we find are simple, wide brimmed, woollen felt hats in various states of disrepair, like these ones below:

A mostly complete woollen felt hat that would have once had a hat band and possibly ribbon, or other trim stitched to the brim. Image: C. Watson.

A slightly plainer woollen felt hat with a possible hat band and not stitching or trim on the brim. Image: C. Watson.

A woollen felt hat with quite a bit of metal rusted to the surface. Some stitching remains around the brim, unclear as to whether there was a hat band due to the amount of metal rusted on there. Image: C. Watson.

And some further hats in worse states of repair:

Two woollen felt hats in various states of disrepair. note the double line of felt stitching around the brim. Image: C. Watson.

The problem with the archaeological record is that we mostly see items that people have discarded, and for clothing, that is mostly items that are too worn to be used any longer. Hats like those above are likely men’s hats based on the size, fabric, and what style we can make out after they’ve been flattened in the ground for 150 years or so. There are a significant range of hat styles shown in 19th and early 20th century photography in New Zealand, used both for working and for more formal occasions as shown by the images below.

Makohine viaduct workers wearing a variety of hats, between 1898-1902. If you look carefully one of the men in the front row has lost his serious photo expression when the dog jumped into the frame, or he had to sneeze. Child, Edward George, 1860-1949. Ref: 1/2-057719-F. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/22895851

A group of farm workers wearing a range of hats at the Mendip Hills sheep farm. Godber, Albert Percy, 1875-1949. Ref: APG-0469-1/2-G. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/22822271.

Four men sitting on top of a gate, likely wearing their Sunday best. Gant, Robert, 1854?-1936 :Photograph albums. Ref: PA1-q-962-32-1. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand./records/22886745

This produces an interesting question for us archaeologists, why are we only seeing men’s wide brimmed, wool felt hats in 19th century Christchurch archaeological samples? We know that men and women wore hats, and they wore a variety of styles to a number of different places as required in 19th century society, so why aren’t we finding fancy hats as well as simple ones? Straw, or silk hats rather than just wool? Why just men’s hats as far as we can tell?

There are several possible answers to the above questions. Firstly, a survival bias: we find things that people throw away because they’re too worn or damaged to be used anymore. Plain, everyday, work hats are more likely to be used until they can’t be anymore, and then discarded. Hats worn for special occasions or for church were carefully kept to avoid damage, as these hats were a little more expensive and people couldn’t afford to replace them as often. Women’s hats tended to be kept and re-trimmed or re-decorated to keep up with current fashions, and mostly only wealthy women could afford to buy and replace hats to keep up with changes in style. These hats were also unlikely to be thrown away, and were more likely passed on to servants, charities, or to the second-hand clothing market. The nicest examples of hats are kept and end up in museums and private collections.

We also have a taphonomic bias: wool is the most commonly recorded fabric in textile deposits in 19th century Christchurch. This may be due to a higher amount of wool being worn and deposited, but potentially also because the ground is slightly too acidic or alkaline for non-woollen fabric to survive as well as wool. As far as I can tell, our office hasn’t recorded any examples of hats of other fabrics like cotton, linen, straw or silk.

While most of our hats are recovered from domestic rubbish pits, we do have a neat example of a commercial deposit of hats from the Justice Precinct project. Right at the base of the gully that was found on the site were 29 hats, including nine nested hats, some in the process of being blocked, and some completed. These nine hats all had a gilt maker’s mark on the inside, which had transferred partially or completely to the surface of the hat underneath. The mark appears to have read BOURNE / CANADIAN / TRADE MARK around the symbol of a seated lion. Unfortunately, this could not be traced to a specific style or milliner. These hats were accompanied by a number of cotton reels and other fabric fragments, all of which showed signs of burning. This feature was interpreted as a mass deposition following a fire in a nearby dressmakers or tailors’ shop, who also engaged in hat-making and/or millinery (Williams, Garland and Greary Nichols, 2017).

One of the nested hats from the Justice Precinct excavation with the gold maker’s mark from the hat above adhered to the top of the hat. Image: J. Garland.

Hats have a surprisingly varied history, and a curious representation in the archaeological record within Christchurch. We generally seem to find only men’s woollen felt hats in archaeological deposits, even though we can see from the images included above that many more styles of hats were worn in and around Christchurch and New Zealand in the 19th and 20th centuries. This is odd, since hats were a social requirement up until the mid-20th century, and where and how they were worn was significant enough to earn comment in public newspapers. It is also truly saddening to think about the numbers of birds that are now extinct or endangered due, in part, to the millinery industry, especially since hats are no longer a required part of fashion today. Even if our selection of woollen felt hats doesn’t meet with your sartorial approval, the social, economic, and environmental impacts of the 19th century and early 20th century hat trade are interesting to learn about, given how infrequently we consider hats today. On the plus side, you’d have to be wearing a pretty extravagant hat to get written up in the paper in this day and age.

Neda Bawden

References

Bates, C. 2000. Women’s Hats and the Millinery Trade, 1840-1940: An Annotated Bibliography. Dress 27(1): 49-58.

Cramer-Reichelderfer, A. L. 2019. Fall of the American Dressmaker 1880-1920. Unpublished Masters Thesis. Write State University.

Hughes, C. 2017. Hats. London, New York: Bloomsbury Publishing.

Hughes, C. 2016. Hats On, Hats Off. Cultural Studies Review 22(1): 118-43.

Hughes, C. 2020. Review of Stutesman, D. 2019. Hat: Origins, Language, Style. London: Reaktion Books. Fashion Theory 24(7): 1043-1047.

Hunter, K. 2011. A Bird in the Hand: Hunting, Fashion and Colonial Culture. Journal of New Zealand Studies 12: 91-105.

Nevell, M, D. 2007. The rise and fall of the felt hatting industry. In Denton and the Archaeology of the Felt Hatting Industry, The Archaeology of Tameside 7. Tameside: Tameside MBC: 1-25.

Regnault, C. 2021. Dressed: fashionable dress in Aotearoa New Zealand 1840-1910. Wellington: Te Papa Press.

Wells, R. 1891. Manners, Culture and Dress of the Best American Society. Springfield: King, Richardson & Co.

Williams, H., Garland, J., and Greary Nichol, R. 2017. Christchurch Justice and Emergency Services Precinct Archaeological Report Vol 1-3. Unpublished report for the Ministry of Justice.