“A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words” -Alfred Charles Barker and his photography

When it comes to researching properties and places around Christchurch, we historians review and compare a wide range of resources in order to figure out exactly what was happening there during the 19th century. By far one of the most valuable resources we have are photographs – as the saying goes: “A picture is worth a thousand words.” When it comes to early photographs of Christchurch, there is one man to whom we are forever indebted: Dr Alfred Charles Barker (1819-1873). So, this week on the blog we thought we would give a wee overview of Dr Barker’s life in Christchurch and some of the amazing photographs that make up his legacy.

Photograph of Alfred Charles Barker with his camera in 1864. Image:Canterbury Museum, 1864.

The Barker family arrived in Canterbury on board the Charlotte Jane in December 1850, and Dr Barker was among the first colonists to come ashore. Barker selected Town Sections 717 and 718 (located on the northeast corner of Worcester Street and Oxford Terrace) as the site for his family home. In preparation for the family’s departure to New Zealand, Barker had purchased a consignment of timber with which to build a dwelling. But upon his arrival in the colony, he found that his timber had been sold. As an alternative, Barker purchased the studding sail from the Charlotte Jane and used it to construct a dwelling for his family on Town Sections 717 and 718. This early dwelling was affectionately known as Studdingsail Hall. Barker did a good deal of sketching during his first years of settlement in Canterbury, and some of his earliest sketches provide views of the exterior and interior of Studdingsail Hall. The outdoor stove being tended by the women on the righthand side of the sketch is also believed to a cooking stove taken from the Charlotte Jane (MacDonald, 1952-1964: B124).

Sketch by Dr Barker in January 1851, showing the Barker family’s first dwelling ‘Studdingsail Hall’. Image: Alfred Barker, 1851.

The Barker family’s residence was in close proximity to Christchurch’s earliest public building, the Land Office, which was located on the opposite side of Oxford Terrace, where the Municipal Chambers building currently stands. As such, the Barker’s home witnessed a number of important public events in the history of the fledgling township. For example, when rural land was first made available for selection by the Canterbury pilgrims in February 1851, large crowds gathered around the Land Office building and the Barker family provided hospitality to those who gathered. The Lyttelton Times records:

Dr Barker’s tent, which stands immediately opposite the land office, and is constructed of an immense studding-sail, formerly belonging to the “Charlotte Jane,” was remarkable for its seasonable hospitality (Lyttelton Times, 22/2/1851: 5).

Dr Barker was Christchurch’s first doctor, making Studdingsail Hall Christchurch’s earliest medical surgery. His practice is known to have been innovative, with Dr Barker being an early adopter of chloroform as an anaesthetic during surgery, as well as designing and building his own steam bath (Turner, 1990). Barker’s tent does not appear to have remained long on the property before he replaced or converted it into a more substantial timber dwelling. A sketch drawn by Barker in December 1852, shows the Barker family’s timber dwelling standing on the corner of Oxford Terrace and Worcester Street.

Detail from a photograph of Alfred Barker’s 1852 sketch of Christchurch, showing the Barker family’s timber dwelling (red arrow). Image: New Zealand Graphic and Ladies Journal, 1897.

Dr Barker’s early sketches of Christchurch show his artistic side, but it was not until 1856-1857 that he discovered what would be his lifelong artistic passion: photography. It is not clear exactly when Barker was first introduced to photography, but he is believed to have been taught the art by his friend Benjamin Mountfort, who was himself advertising as a portraiture photographer from April 1857 (Lyttelton Times, 7/3/1857: 9; MacDonald, 1952-1964: B124). Photography itself appears to have begun to take off in Christchurch in 1857, with the Lyttelton Times proclaiming in May 1857:

Photography has broken out like an epidemic among us. Quite unknown in the place a year ago, we have now a professional artist well known in the northern provinces, and another on the point of coming; two students practising the art, and, we believe, one amateur. Canterbury will now be able to look itself straight in the face (Lyttelton Times, 9/5/1857: 7).

It is possible that Dr Barker was the ‘amateur’ mentioned by the Lyttelton Times, but despite his amateur status, Barker appears to have been infatuated with the artform and began dedicating much of his time to his new hobby. It did not take long for Dr Barker to start losing interest in his medical practice, and by the end of 1858 he had given it up entirely (Turner, 1990). As photography had only just reached Christchurch in 1857, he had to get creative to obtain the equipment he needed. He is said to have built a camera from a tea chest lined with paper and with a lens barrel made from a large empty pill box whose lid was used as a combined lens hood and shutter (Early Canterbury Photography, 2008). When he couldn’t get his hands on the glass he required, he was known to cut panes of glass from his windows to make wet plates, and when he couldn’t get hold of the necessary gold and silver salts used in the photographic process, he use to melt down sovereigns, silverware, and cutlery to make his own (MacDonald, 1952-1964: B124). He even cut his own paper and treated it with egg white (Early Canterbury Photography, 2008). Many of Barker’s early photographs are domestic images – portraiture of his family and friends around his home and garden – and so he constructed a dark room in his home on Worcester Street in which to develop these domestic images (Turner, 1990).

Photograph of the Barker family playing croquet at their home in Worcester Street in the 1860s. Image: Alfred Barker, 1860s.

Photograph looking west along Worcester Street in 1872, showing Dr Alfred Barker’s house. Image: Alfred Barker, 1872.

It was not long before Dr Barker began to adventure out to take photographs around the Christchurch township and further afield. As the wet plate process required the images to be developed almost immediately after taking the photograph, he constructed a four wheeled buggy with a dark room on the back so that he could develop his plates wherever he might be. One story told is that when Barker was processing photographs in his mobile dark room in Sumner, the horse was startled and took off with him trapped inside. When the horse was finally recovered, he emerged looking like a Dalmatian dog covered with blotches of nitrate of silver (MacDonald, 1952-1964: B124).

Photograph of Dr Alfred Charles Barker and his homemade photographic trap in April 1869. Image: Alfred Barker, 1869.

Photograph of Dr Alfred Charles Baker at Cave Rock in Sumner with his photographic trap in 1867. Image: Alfred Baker, 1867.

Dr Barker’s extensive portfolio of photographs taken throughout his life has become a significant source of information for researching early Canterbury. Some of his most valuable images are the early photographs of Christchurch, which show how much the settlement has grown from a small timber township to a thriving city.

Photograph looking northeast towards the Victoria Street bridge in 1860. Image: Alfred Barker, 1860.

Photograph looking south over Cathedral Square on Market Day in 1871. Image: Alfred Barker, 1871.

Photograph looking along High Street in 1872, Image: Alfred Barker, 1872.

Dr Barker died at his Worcester Street residence in March 1873 (Lyttelton Times, 21/3/1873: 3). Shortly after his death, the Barker family moved away from the property, and the family’s household furniture and goods were sold off (Lyttleton Times, 16/4/1873: 4). Dr George Lilly Mellish temporarily took up occupation in Barker’s former premises, but in July 1878 the trustees of Barker’s estate decided to remove the house from the property (Press, 2/7/1878: 4). Dr Barker’s house was purchased for removal by Mr. Furhmann in July 1878, and was finally removed from the section in February 1879 (Lyttelton Times, 20/2/1879: 4; Press, 19/7/1878: 2). A photograph taken from the spire of the Cathedral in early 1881, shows Dr Barker’s former property after the removal of his house and garden.

Photograph looking west from the Cathedral’s spire in 1881 showing no buildings present on Dr Barker’s former property. Image: Wheeler and Son, 1881.

While Dr Barker’s photographs are an amazing resource for researchers today, they are not the only material left behind by photographers for us to view. The photographic process requires all manner of equipment, chemicals, and other sundries in order to produce an image, and these items also come to form part of the material culture of early Christchurch. Unfortunately to date, we have not encountered any of Dr Barker’s photographic equipment, but our archaeologists have encountered other examples of photograph material from time to time.

When excavating a site occupied by Mr Samuel Charles Louis Lawrence, photographer, in Oxford Terrace in 2013, out team encountered the usual material culture relating to Lawrence’s occupation of the property in the 1860s and 1870s: tea and table wares, food containers, alcohol bottles, personal hygiene items, pharmaceutical bottles, smoking pipes and shoes. But among these typical items, our team also found evidence of Lawrence’s photographic pursuits – a bottle made by R. W. Thomas who made all manner of chemicals and other sundries used in the practice of photography  – Check out the full blog on Lawrence’s site here.

R. W. Thomas bottle from the site on Oxford Terrace. R. W. Thomas operated as a photographic merchant from 1851 until 1894, becoming R. W. Thomas & Co. and then R. W. Thomas & Co. Ltd in the 1880s. Thomas sold all manner of photographic equipment, from dry plates, dark tents and cameras to the chemicals and products necessary for the development of the photographs. Image: J. Garland.

When excavating a well in Invercargill’s CBD a few years ago, our New Zealand Heritage Properties partners encountered a wide range of photographic equipment relating to a photographic studio which occupied the site during the early 20th century. The material includes parts of a wooden camera, bottles which held ink, glue, lubricating oil (possibly for the camera parts), and mascara (theorised to have been used for editing photographs as Victorian and Edwardian formulas generally consisted of coal and petroleum jelly, providing a thicker consistency than many inks), and glass plates (Check out the excavation here).

Timber camera components. (A) front and back of handmade camera component. (B) shutter mechanism closed (left) and open (right). (C) part of shutter mechanism. (D) front standard. (F) bone page turner/spatula. Image: N. Woods.

Selection of photography related glass vessels and blank plates in two sizes and materials (glass and porcelain). Bottles clockwise from top left: oval cross section bottle, ink, square cross section bottle, perfume/mascara bottle, cobalt blue chemical bottle top and small phial. Image: N. Woods.

Photography came early to Christchurch, with a number of studios being established from 1857. But one of the earliest and most dedicated amateur photographers was Dr Alfred Charles Barker, who took numerous shots around Canterbury between 1857 and 1873. His legacy of photographs is one of the most valuable resources we have to view early Christchurch, and we researchers are forever indebted to him. Thousands of his photographs are available to view on the Canterbury Museum website and we encourage you to check them out! But it is not just the photographs themselves which our early photographers have left behind, but also a unique material culture of photographic equipment that we are looking forward to uncovering more of in the future.

Lydia Mearns

End of the Line: short life and strange death of a white elephant

At shallow depth, just inside of the gates of the Linwood Cemetery, lies buried the remains of a white elephant, or, perhaps more accurately, just the archaeological trace remains of her 19th century tracks. More than eight years ago now I wrote one of my first archaeology blogs, which was about the archaeology of our old city tramways. Back then, lots of old tramline remains were resurfacing as a result of the post-earthquake   SCIRT infrastructure rebuild. In that blog I made brief mention to the tram line that once ran out to the Linwood Cemetery, and the strange saga of the Council’s tramway hearse. I was excited to discover that not only part of that 1880s cemetery tramline still survives to this day, but of all the many old tram routes the city once had, this particular one had perhaps the most interesting tale to tell. And so, some eight years down the track (no pun intended), the time has finally come to further flesh out the story of the city tram that once went out to the Linwood Cemetery, (or sort of once did), and the tramway hearse that, for better or worse, never got a chance to fulfil its true potential (or at the very least, fulfil its intended function). So, dear readers, the time has finally come to buy the ticket and join us for the ride, (don’t worry, in this instance a one way ticket is fine), for today we get off at the last stop, the cemetery at the end of the line.

Map of the Linwood Cemetery. Image: Christchurch City Council [online].

The Linwood Cemetery

Located off Butterfield Avenue behind Bromley Park, the Linwood Cemetery is the fifth oldest public cemetery in Christchurch, established in 1884. Although now surrounded by suburbia, 139 years ago this was a sparsely populated rural spot that was located a safe distance outside the city limits. This was important, as by this time there were genuine public health concerns about the practice of continuing to bury the dead in cemeteries that were located within built up urban areas. Christchurch’s biggest cemetery, in Barbadoes Street, was filling up fast (with over 300 internments a year), and the Council were starting to receive complaints from local residents about the objectionable odours that emanated from the swampy cemetery grounds, and of fears that the groundwater in their backyard wells would become contaminated by the decomposition of the dead (Bowman et. al. 2009). And so, in October 1883, the City Council formed a cemetery committee (made up of Councillors Bowman Vincent, Louisson, and Kiver) to look into finding an appropriate new spot where the dead could be buried a safe distance away from the living (Star, 16/10/1883: 4). The chosen location in Linwood was a most suitable one. It wasn’t too close to town but not too far away (something of a ‘Goldilocks Zone’). Spread out across a rolling sand dune, the sandy ground here was easy to dig, with tests confirming that except for the spots where there were hollows, no groundwater was encountered at a depth less than six feet (Press, 29/11/1883:3). In a peculiar irony, the first person to be buried here was Sarah Ann Freeman, the wife of the cemetery’s first sexton (caretaker/gravedigger), on 10 July 1884, a few months before the cemetery was officially opened in October (Burgess et. al 2006:12).

Gated entrance to the Linwood Cemetery, off Butterfield Avenue. Meet you here sometime, Morrissey Photo: Hamish Williams.

The Corporation Tramline and the tramway hearse

In March 1884, while the cemetery site was still being prepared, the City Council decided that given its location out of town, they would need to construct a tramway linking the city and cemetery, in order to make it easily accessible. This tramway, (which became known as the Corporation Line) was intended to have a threefold function. Firstly, it would be used to convey funeral traffic to the cemetery. Secondly, it would be used to convey rubbish and nightsoil to the Council’s rubbish and nightsoil reserve, which was located just past the cemetery, near what is now Rudds Road. And thirdly, it would serve as a passenger service. The council would operate the rubbish and nightsoil service themselves under the cover of darkness, while during the day the business of conveying passengers out to the cemetery (both dead and alive) would be leased out to private contractors (Alexander 1985:11). A substantial loan was taken out by the council to cover the costs of the trams and the building of the tramline, which ran from the Council’s yard on Oxford Terrace, via Worcester Street, Linwood Avenue, and Buckleys Road to the new cemetery and the rubbish reserve. John Brightling won the tender for laying the three miles of track, which took four months to complete, and was officially opened on April 23, 1886 (Alexander 1985:11).

It was Councillor James Bowman, chair of the Council’s Cemetery Committee, that championed the call for the city to invest in a custom-built tramway hearse to operate on the new Corporation Line. The intention was that the tramway hearse, otherwise known as the Corporation Hearse, could be leased out, evidently to funeral directors, to provide Christchurch’s less wealthy citizens with a low-cost funeral transportation option. Local coachbuilder William Moor and Son won the contract to build the special tram hearse, which was delivered to the Council yard in September 1885 at a cost of £300 (Alexander 1985:11). Capable of carrying up to four caskets at a time, it was a painted a dignified black colour, had fine wooden panelling, elliptical plate glass windows, and up top had decorative brass railings where one could fix floral tributes. When not in use, the tram hearse lived at the council yard in a purpose built storage shed.

The only known picture of the infamous tramway hearse. Image: Press 21/2/1970:5.

As well intentioned as the idea of a tramway hearse was, unfortunately, the concept of ‘funeral procession by public transport’ never ever took off and in the end, there would be no [under]takers keen on using it. To make matters worse, little money was to be made from leasing out the line to private operators for a daytime passenger service. Of the three original intended functions of the Corporation Line, the only one that proved to be of any value was the nighttime conveyance of rubbish out to the rubbish reserve. Nightsoil removal by this time was not so much of a pressing issue for the Council, as the Drainage Board’s new sewerage system was well in operation. The night-time rubbish removal trams kept operating on the line until 1902, by which time city rubbish was being dealt with by burning it in town instead of carting it away and burying it. Interested in finding out more about the Municipal Destructor? – we wrote a blog a while back about that too, check that out here.

Sitting idle in the Council yard, the reality that the tramway hearse was in fact just a white elephant soon set in. In late 1887, Councillor Gray considered the tramway hearse to be a useless asset and suggested that it might be sold or otherwise repurposed into something the city might find useful, like a dust-cart (Star, 15/11/1887:4). But the £120 cost of conversion was not considered economical, so it was decided that for now, the council best just retain it as it was, just in case the city was struck by a ‘municipal emergency’ like an epidemic (Timaru Herald, 11/1/1888: 2). Thankfully no big epidemic came, and three years later the Council decided to try to sell the hearse, hoping to recoup at the very least the £90 cost of the 5% interest on the loan raised six years earlier to help pay for its construction (Press,17/3/1891:6). Unfortunately, not a single soul was interested in buying the tram hearse. In 1892, Councillor Gray again brought up the subject of the useless ‘Corporation Hearse’ that was languishing in the council yard and how it might be repurposed or otherwise disposed of (Press, 7/6/1892: 6). Little however came of this, short of Gray having to make a formal public apology to the community, and especially to Bowman’s widow, in respect to his callous character attacking of the recently deceased former Councillor (Press, 14/6/1892:3). It appeared that the Council might possibly just be stuck with this white elephant forever. By July 1894 the Council had still not managed to get rid of it, but at least they had managed to free up some space in their storage yard. The hearse was finally relocated out to the cemetery, where here the proverbial ‘white elephant on wheels’ got a new lease on life, being fixed up by the sexton and transformed into a fowl house (Star, 31/7/1894:2). Fresh eggs anyone?

At the end of 1897, what to do about the hearse again came up for discussion in Council meeting – and whether the undercarriage of the tram hearse could be repurposed into something useful, like a water cart (Press, 7/12/1897:3). The undercarriage was inspected, but determined unsuitable for conversion, but that it would surely fetch a good price at auction (Press, 21/12/1897:6). Sadly, again no so soul came forward with an interest in buying it (Lyttelton Times, 5/2/1898:3).

For sale: one tramway hearse, mint condition, never been used. Image:  Lyttelton Times, 5/2/1898:3

Eventually, in August 1901, the tramway hearse would finally be sold at auction, for the sacrificial sum of just £3. Local MP Samuel Paull Andrews brought it and gave it a new lease of life. Andrews relocated it to his St Andrews Hill quarry, where it served as an explosives store until about 1906 or 1907. Thereafter, his sons Hastings and George built a wooden pontoon and placed the hearse on it, turning it into a houseboat (or hearseboat?) that had four bunk beds and a collapsible table. It was moored for some time off what was known as Moncks Jetty in Redcliffs, near the site of what is now the Christchurch Yacht Club, and the boys spent many summers living on it. One night, just before World War 1, a storm broke it free from its moorings and carried it across the estuary, beaching it on the New Brighton Spit. It was towed back across the estuary to Mount Pleasant and beached up near the site of the present bowling green. The pontoon had by this time begun to leak badly and often needed a great deal of pumping to stay afloat. The fate of the hearseboat after that time remains something of a mystery (Press, 24/2/1970:18). Do any of our readers know what ever became of the hearseboat? If so, we’d really love to hear from you.

The approximate last known location of the hearseboat, as far as we can tell. Image: Jamie Hearfield.

Archaeological trace remains of the original 1885 Corporation Line tram tracks still survive today within the Linwood Cemetery grounds, and these are well worth a visit to check out. Although since covered over by a thin layer of asphalt, you can still make out where the 2.2 m long timber sleepers were placed in alignment some 139 years ago, set apart at approximate 600 mm intervals. Over time the sleepers have all seemingly rotted away, leaving behind shallow depressions into which the asphalt has sunk and settled, marking their location. There is also a small section where the iron rails, nailed to the sleepers (at the standard gauge of 4ft 8 and a half inches) remain in-situ, because for whatever reason back in the day these weren’t ripped up and removed for reuse elsewhere.

Tram tracks in the cemetery. Image: Hamish Williams.

Tram tracks in the cemetery. Image: Hamish Williams

Tram tracks in the cemetery. Image: Hamish Williams

Tram rails in the cemetery, laid at the standard gauge of 4ft 8 and a half inches. And four-legged archaeologist. Image: Hamish Williams.

Although good intentioned, the fact that the Bowman’s tramway hearse was rejected by the community it had been built to serve and was never used for its intended purpose of transporting the dead – reflect strong feelings of the time that no matter how poor people are, all people deserve more respect and dignity than being transported, en masse, by means of public transport, to their final resting place (Burgess et. al 2006:65). A fine reminder that inextricably tied in with the surviving physical bits of the past that constitute an archaeological site, are the intangible, and sometimes elusive – thoughts, feelings, values, and intentions of the past peoples whom that physical stuff once related to. God bless, everybody.

Hamish Williams

References

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

Bowman, I., Wilson, J., Beaumont, L., and Watson, K. 2009. Conservation Plan, Barbadoes Street Cemetery. [online]. Available at:  https://ccc.govt.nz/assets/Documents/Culture-Community/Heritage/BarbadoesStreetCemeteryFinalPlan.pdf

Burgess, R., Bowman, I., May, J., and McKenzie, D. 2006. Conservation Plan, Linwood Cemetery. [online]. Available at: https://ccc.govt.nz/assets/Documents/Services/Cemeteries/FinalConservationPlanLinwood.pdf

Lyttelton Times [online]. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/

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

Star. [online] Available eat: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/

Timaru Herald. [online] Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

Enterprise in a New Street

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-The Historian, Underground Overground Archaeology

References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

The Sum of a Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clara Watson, Lydia Mearns