Burke Manuscript

The Whole Transcript

[loose sheet inside front cover]

In that garden were grown by that energetic Scot, William Wilson, Cabbage (after his first effort at the Bricks, now the Star and Garter locality) thousands, aye millions, of quicks, thorns, for fencing purposes, forest and fruit trees of every description, which were sold and distributed all over the land, and to day represent some of the splendid and massive shade and shelter trees that have changed Canterbury from its nakedness to a comfortable and beauteous scene. Some have sneered and jeered at William Wilson, but, with all his failings, he did yeoman service for his adopted country, and those who knew the wreck of the sturdy frame, can only form an idea of the energetic man of the fifties.

View Page 2

[loose sheet inside front cover]

At the time of the Pelorus-Wakamarina rush, about 1864, a number of waggoners came overland from Otago. Even then rabbits must have been pretty numerous in places between here and the South, for they brought lots with them.

Parlby’s Accommodation House, Selwyn, Fifties – On the site, I think, of the present Hotel, or near it.

View Page 3

[loose sketch on lined paper, inside front cover]

1857-8 - Christchurch Post Office [piece torn away] St, Between Bowker’s and Money’s

View Page 4

[loose page inside front cover]

HINDS	after Bishop Hinds
ADDERLEY HEAD	Right Hon C.B. Adderley
LINCOLN ROAD	Earl of Lincoln
HEATHCOTE	Sir Wm Heathcote
GLADSTONE (Kaiapoi)	W.E.Gladstone
ASHLEY	Lord Ashley, later Earl of Shaftesbury
ASHBURTON	Lord Ashburton (Baring)
ELLESMERE	Earl of Ellesmere
ALFORD	Bishop Alford
HAREWOOD	Earl of Harewood
COURTENAY	Earl of Courtenay
BULLER	Rigt [sic] Hon Charles Buller
GREY	Earl Grey

All of these were connected with the New Zealand Coy. and the Canterbury Association.

View Page 5

[loose page inside front cover]

There was a [piece missing] overflow into Canterbury from the Gabriel’s Otago rush – The Melbourne crowd of used ups, last ups, rag, tag and bobtail, after going through in Otago, amongst the old identities, of the habitual Victorian performances of cutting contracts, competition, bankruptcy and fraud, exhausted the South, and made for Canterbury. The place became loaded with builders and contractors, such as McRae, Dobson, &c&c.

View Page 10

Arcades Ambo, 22, 245

AGITATOR, 39

Alone, 46

ARISTOCRACY, 195

ARGUMENT, 192, 320

View Page 11

Atheist, 186, 239, 5, 3, 2

Athletics, 102

America, Pal in, 1, 99

Anak, 262

Actor, 244, 272, 60

Bible, 196, 109, 50

Bankrupt, 188

Bishop, 187

Blue Stocking, 239

Beer, Brewers, 299, 152, 150, 263, 299

Barmaids, 149

Burke, 132, 94

Baths, 73

Bail, 67

BEACONSFIELD, old, 2, 187

Bribery, Pam, 1

Blue Stocking, 239 [sic]

Blarney, 329

Bag Pipes, 318

Beauty, 293, 43

Busybody, 292, 190

Barbers, 283

Bad, 7, 54

Birthday, 21

BEE, 5, 54

View Page 12

Critic, 130, 294, 27

Credit, 134

Charms, 263, 245, 22, 23, 46, 191

Cunning, 259, 22

Consistency, 260, 67

Conscientious, 260, 311

Candour, 247, 2

Childhood, 281, 57

Curse, 55

Chase, 55

Cruel, 192, 198

Christ, 122, 327, 285

Courts & Judges, 151, 214, 215

Corruption, 113

COLONIES, Old, 2, 250

Convents, 246

Content, 325

Contempt, 55

CREEDS, 183

CHURCH, 328

CAREFUL, 329

CANNOT, 328

View Page 13

Doubt, 305, 13, 53

Disappointment, 26, 60

Distance, 28

Deserted, 41, 212

DELAY, 67

DAUGHTER, 22

Drunk, 185, 152

Death, 196, 238, 24, 33, 49, 51, 53, 54, 56, 60, 66, 221, 191

Doctors, 113, 242, 311, 293, 193

DEVIL, 307

DINNER, 35, 21, 330

DEFOE, 46

DETERMINED, 328

View Page 14

Engineers, 150, 144

Extremes, 26

Enchantment, 28

EQUAL, 67

ETERNITY, 158

Evolution, 100, 261

Education, 270

ENGLAND, Merry Old and, 325, 290, 34, 45

ENEMY, 30

EASY, 328, 279

View Page 15

French, 140

First Step, 240

Failure, 304, 186

Fat, 291, 21

FREEDOM, 299

FAIR, 325

FAULTS, 205

Fame, 191

Fop, 100, 227, 75

Friends, 245, 242, 23, 30

Fighting, 243, 43, 280

Fidelity, 244

Flattery, 328, 50, 54

Flowers, 37

FUN [no pages listed]

FAREWELL, 47

FUTURE, 48, 27, 114

FROUDE, 298

FORGIVE, 278

View Page 16

Gratitude, 171

God’s justice, mercy, 246, 32, 328

Gourmand, 330, 19, 49

GOOD, 31, 40, 49

GRAVE, The, 221

GLORY, 191

Gray, 76

Grammar [illegible] [no pages listed]

GOLD, 31

GONE, 36, 304

GOOSEBERRY, 58

GAMBLING, 94

GUILT, 165

View Page 17

Hurry, 158

HOPS, 24

HARD WORDS, 27, 327, 278

Humbugs, 192, 113, 296, 329

Hypocrite, 8, 183, 174, 313, 33

Habeas Corpus, 82, 73, 67

HISTORY, 232, 222

HAPPY, 325

View Page 18

Judge, 151, 262

Jobbery, 134

Jesuit, 246

JEWS, 42

JOHNSON, Dr, 198

JUDGEMENT, 184

JUSTICE, 208

Inventions, 143-4, 135, 88, DIS 2, 276

Ireland, 131, Palmtn. 321, 94, 199

Immortality, 238

Impossible, 309, 27, 328

INSTINCT, 53

Independence, 54

ILLUSIONS, 288

View Page 19

Knowledge, 102, 263

KNIGHTS, 244

KAISERS, 315

View Page 20

Laws, 32, 136, 122, 112, 108, 106, 62, 122, 73, 244, 111

Life, 43, 48, 56, 233, 324

LIAR (M’Cty), 2, 244

Laughter, 282

Lazy, 33

LEARN, 94

LEGAL, 220

LONDON, m’nly old and [no pages listed]

“Lillebullero”, 321

LOVE, 26, 48, 56, 57, 58, 66

LUCK, 54

LUXURY, 193

View Page 21

MARINES, 276

MAN, 37

Mystery, 48

Memory, 68

MAYOR, 194

MILLAR, 185

MONKS, 93, 281

Magpie, 296

Middle classes, 61, 195

Merchants, 242

Music, 59

MACAULEY, Old, 1, 64, 175

Mean, 270, 308

Magistrates, 265, 253, 308

Mob, 248

Misfortune, 243, 57, 287

Marriage, 240, 239, 237, 17, 19, 23, 29, 35, 68, 184

MONEY, 37

Melancholy, 60

MAD, 184

MOTHER-in-law, 139

View Page 22

NZ, 60, 295

Nobody, 266, 243, 27, 35

NEWS, 296

NOW, 164, 175

NECESSITY, 27

View Page 23

Opinions, 188, 210

OBSERVE, 195, 28

OBLIVION, 266

Old age, 69, 242, 238, 43, 329, 277, 16, 19, 210, 266

Outcast, 240

OPPORTUNITY, 164

View Page 24

Parsons &c, 149, 141, 133, 98, 112, 183, 96, 84, 270

Propriety, 149

PRIESTS, 93

Pettifoggers, 122, 62, 217

Politicians, 63, 138, 54, 137, 68, 308, 134, 113, 121, 176

People, 137, 195

Pensions, 121

Prostitution, 121, 240, 306, 21

Personalities, 268

Patriotism, 248, 243, 36

Popularity, 248, 244

Philosophers, 240, 195

POMPOSITY, 47, 54

Pretender, 68, 189

PRIDE, 192

PARTIALITY, 186

PROSPERITY, 21

PUNISH, 165

Paltry, 137

Plagiarism, 254, 228, 189, 221

Prudence, 75

PALMERSTON, Old Book, 1

Public taste, mnly good, 220

Pedigree, mnly 254, 246, 240, 173, 35

Poets, 249, 295, 28, 51, 287

Prayer, 242

POOR, 325, 308, 276, 63, 67, 22, 94, 328

Petty, 275

PATIENCE, 236, 217, 213

PROHIBITION, 297

PROMISES, 176

PERSEVERENCE, 269

PROVERBS, 251

Prophets, 284

View Page 25

Quarrel, 5

QUIET, 45, 204

View Page 26

Riches, 246, 16, 24, 63, 65, 175

RETORTS, 305

RIDER, 28, 53

RAIN, 40

ROWS, 42, 47

Rivals, 68

ROAD [no pages listed]

Revenge, 147, 218, 213

Resignation, 235

Retorts, 230

Reporters, 130

Ridicule, 114, 186

Religion, 112, 270, 51, 183

Recreation, 259

Regrets, 20

ROGUE, 33

REAL, 288

View Page 27

Suffrage [no pages listed]

Scheming [no pages listed]

Saints & sinners, 151

Singing, 212, 59, 15, 209

Suitors [no pages listed]

Sneers, 201

Scriptures, 196

Silence, 172, 278, 41

Starvation, 172

Scribbler, 70, Mc, 20, 47

Success (Palmt.1) 37, 209

Suicide, 304

Sea, 303, 64

Shoemaker, 294

Schoolmaster, 278, 270

SPRING, 17, 66, 324

Strength, 27

SMELLS, 37, 243

SORROW, 328

SOLDIER, 55

STEAM, 61

SLANG, 187, 328

SWINDLES, 199

Sucked orange, 225

Self Esteem, 284, 235

Scandal, 26, 190, 238

Solicitors (Courts 215) 221, 217

Secrets, 205, 212

Study, 177

Speech, 172, 255

Sleep, 163

Speculation, 164

Sterne, 88

Satire, 86, 301

SWIFT, Old and, 4

Spouter, 256, 56

SCOTTY, 241, 329, 28, 45, 299, 55, 193

Science, 286, 270

Second Fiddle, 16

Shaking hands, 26

Sophistry, 187

STATESMAN, 47, 63, 68

SYMPATHY, 188

SIMPLICITY, 258

SOUP KITCHEN, 183

SAINTS, 235

View Page 28

Tact, 178, 157

Troubles, 166, 306,37, 44, 328, 183

Tea, 239

Tears, 309

Truth, 291, 30, 176

TRELAWNEY, 25

Trifles, 41, 42

TEMPTATION, 148, 74

TRUISM, 298

Turncoat, 178

Teetotallers, 150

Tailors, 98, 322, 8, 224

Thackeray, 60, 4, Old 2, 8, 139, 277

TO-MORROW, 23

TO-DAY, 28, 31, 189

TRIFLES, 183

TRICKED, 175

View Page 29

Uoures [sic] 86

Unobserved, 28, 195

Ugly, mly, 2, 271, 192

Upper Lips, mly, 2

View Page 30

World, 159,88, 243, 200

Wonders, 320

WEBSTER, 276, 94, 196

WISDOM, 237, 209, 205, 189

Whispers, 307

WAR, 274, 287

Witness, 151

Women, 154, 151, 259, 243, 239, 241, 237, 26, 36, 184

WORDS, 187, 158, 150

Writing, mnly, 60, DIS 2, 30, 57

Wealth, 246

WELSH, 31

WINE, 299

WORK 284

View Page 31

Youth, 134, 76, 69, 329, 5, 57, 58

YESTERDAY, 158, 304

View Page 35

One of the characteristics of Mr C.C. Bowen, on the Bench, was to get hold of a nice fresh piece of blotting paper, and with head down, pen in hand, begin something of this sort (mind artistically, not a bit like this) then, add bit by bit “atom on atom, thus the mountain grew”, occasionally lifting his head to ask a question.

[sketch here]

I do not know if the thing is in the gardens; at last it would get so elaborate that the paper would not hold any more. Then smaller flourishes would begin, then faces, the lawyer, witness, policeman, &c.

Mr Bowen in those days, like other distinguished men, made a wonderful sign manual, that ordinary people puzzled over. More than one cut the signature out and stuck it on the envelope, as an address.

View Page 36

Samuel Bealey, one of two brothers, the other John, the original owner of Dr Prins’ house and grounds. All the old trees were planted by him. Samuel was a straight forward gentlemanly man, not a busy body or meddler and when Mr Sefton Moorhouse, as Superintendent, had made a hash of Provincial politics, was called in as Superintendent to put matters on a sound footing.

Charles James Percival was one of three brothers, early arrivals, Spencer and Augustus, all at one time living on the Papanui road about the neighbourhood of the present Rhodes’ property. They were said to be in the succession to the Earldom of Egmont. The two elder brothers were as unlike Colonials as could be and after some years returned Home. Charles at one time had a run near Porter’s Pass. He was a jolly, racketty sort and as may be supposed, like many more went down the hill.

George Gould, who died a man of wealth, was it is said in England a carpenter and a Railway guard, in fact on the same line as Thomkins the 1^st owner of the Albion. He started business in a little building behind the old Golden Fleece in Armagh Street & made money. Then removed to the now Peircy’s grocery, where he was joined by Grosvenor Miles. They gave notice that except on Saturdays they would close at EIGHT every evening. That was how people made money in those days.

View Page 37

William James Warburton Hamilton first saw the Colony I have heard as Draughtsman on H.M.S. Fly(?), on board of which ship was also Mr Cheetham Strode, once Commissioner on Gabriel’s Gold Rush, 1861. Mr Hamilton, afterwards became Commissioner of Customs at Lyttelton and Receiver of Revenue. On the present Sir John Hall visiting the Old Country in 1860-61, Mr Hamilton acted as Resident Magistrate in his absence. He held other Colonial Government offices, and afterwards drifted into newspaper proprietorship under the guidance of the late William Reeves. Mr H. was notoriously the most perfect embodiment of Red Tape, who ever held office in Canterbury. His memos and questions upon documents were masterpieces, and calculated to try the patience of the most saintly. As a Magistrate he was drawler and doubter and questioner who ever sat on the Bench of Christchurch. He had a supercilious style when he chose to be offensive, and was very inquisitive. “Who is that d-d fellow, Morgan?” asked he of an old soldier acting as policeman orderly. “I don’t know, Sir”. “Don’t know! You ought to know!” In a few minutes Morgan saluted. “Yes?” “That gentleman’s name is Wiggins, Sir”. “How do you know?” “I asked him, Your Worship. I told him you wanted to know”! Mr H. did not bother the old soldier again on such subjects. One of his holy hatreds was on the arrival of the Irish police Sherman, Pender, Walsh &c with their grand uniforms and gloves. It quite upset him. “Look at that d-d fellow!” would he remark on seeing one of the aristocrats going by with snow white gloves.

View Page 38

These sketches and likenesses are not put forward as exact pictures, but as giving an idea of the men, or place.

Samuel Bealey – Fifties

C.J. Percival 1850-60

Augustus Percival

G. Gould – Fifties

W.J.W. Hamilton – Fifties

E.J. Wakefield 1860

F.F. Hawkins Fifties

View Page 39

The first Council in 1853 or 4 was composed entirely of early arrivals. Mr Fitzgerald, Capt. Simeon, as Speaker, Mr Tancred, Mr Hall, Bealey, Hamilton, Cass, Aylmer, I.T. Cookson, Dampier, C. Bowen, R.H. Rhodes. Captain Simeon was I think, an official, under the Association. Mr Cass surveyed Chch. Mr Aylmer was a member of a well known Home family. C.E. Dampier was a solicitor. Mr Cyrus Davie, was Clerk (surveyor) I.T. Cookson (Bowler & Co)

The description given by Mrs Mulrooney of the Old Provincial Parliament is a very correct one. The sketch of Mr. Charles Bowen, the Speaker, is himself to the life. He was a most painfully proper person. Not a man of any talent, just an ordinary respectability. Mr Tancred, later on, was also Speaker, he was said to be an able man but he had a great drawback in his voice which had a peculiar nasal twang which people had to get used to. Mr William Thomson was a burly Scot, with a large voice and a big laugh, who made a grand picture lounging at his ease. Mr Leonard Harper was once Clerk and later on a Mr Quinn, a dark, swarthy Eurasian looking person, with a sly eye who gabbled over Clause X Section 2 in grandly unintelligible style. Mr Joseph Brittan was undoubtedly a man of talent, but an unpopular one. His features were not winning. There was a rat trap like expression about his mouth and a tongue always ready with a bitter jibe, that caused people to take the other side. Mr T.W. Maude from Chief Clerk in the Secretary’s office was made Secretary and got in for Heathcote probably. He was not a success as a Parliamentarian, and in the fierce fighting over the buying of land at Heathcote for the Railway, which was surrounded with suspicion, he had to stand the onslaught of much abler men. In that battle royal, Mr Fitzgerald, Brittan, Harman and others assailed the Moorhouse administration.

Mr Rowland Davis, the landlord of the Canterbury Inn, Lyttelton, was a devoted follower of Mr Moorhouse; as a politician he was a nobody.

[“Mrs Mulrooney” is a character in a series of newspaper articles by “W. Ernest Messervy”, thought to be a pseudonym of Burke’s.]

View Page 40

Capt Westenra, a retired army officer, was a kindly inoffensive old gentleman, meddling very little in public affairs. Mr T.S. Duncan, a long time Provl. Solicitor, was a very handsome man, with a magnificent brown beard and one of Mr Moorhouse’s strongest supporters, as was also Mr Robert Wilkins who had then not long arrived and was looked upon as a sound, strong man. Mr E.T.B. Harston the founder of the “Garrick & Cowlishaw” business, was also a member – a man of unbounded cool assurance, but not equalled by his ability. He however, got his name up, for he was the defendant in the first seduction case tried here. Houlihan v. Harston in the old wooden Town Hall. A lot of the members as politicians were ordinary men, Messrs Peacock, Hargreaves, Bradwell, John Murray, Fredk. Thompson, Fyfe G. Armstrong, and there is nothing much to say about them. The day of the next crowd had not arrived. Messrs Montgomery, Dr Turnbull, W. Williams &c.

Gold was struck on the West Coast in the middle sixties and an inroad followed of played out Otago gold people, our own crowd, and a rush from Victoria, &c. The Coast then formed part of Canterbury, and every now and then an adventurous one would find his way over by land or sea. Long before the rush 200 ounces were brought from the Grey to Nelson. Of course the Hokitikians were in the seventh heaven and looked down on the plodding crowd in the East, they would have Home Rule. In the meantime they were granted four members in the Canterbury Parliament, and they sent Casscius, a Polish Jew, Cominskey, Waugh and a sort of Keir Hardie named Barff , who posed with broad belt on & quite a so-called digging turn out.

View Page 41

One of the most prominent men of Christchurch through all the fifties and sixties was William Wilson, a Scottish nurseryman, who had had large experience in the old country as a practical gardener, amongst others for the Earl of Rosse, of telescopic fame, at Parson’s Town, Ireland. Mr Wilson was in his prime a man of big, powerful mould, with a strong intellect and an immense flow of language. He was as a successful man of a somewhat arrogant disposition when so disposed and had when in those moods a biting insolent tongue. He was a power in electioneering affairs and was a determined supporter or enemy. He was unceasing in his advice to grow shelter trees, and proved the good of his advice by the full bearing fruit trees of every description and all sorts of ornamental trees in his nursery, in the fifties, covering the block from Edwards, Bennett & Co to Cashel St and Madras St. He became a very large land proprietor owning some of the very central Town Sections, such as the past Triangle block, the Empire block, &c. all bought early at small prices.

Mr Wilson was apt at repartee and could turn a joke. Witness on election day at Kaiapoi, where he was a candidate. On arrival in the morning he saw a pole at the bridge in the Township with a good headed cabbage at the top of it, intended by his opponents as a jeer at his well known familiar name. When evening came and the poll declared, returning thanks, he pointedly remarked “that he felt sure of winning, for had he not seen on his arrival in the morning, Cabbage at the head of the Poll.” Jack Hart, a butcher, often interrupted William, on one occasion mentioned the Cabbage growing business, and got “Yes, I sold cabbages. You sold mutton. I’ve gone up – You’ve gone down. This respectable and numerous meeting will not be interrupted by noisy and unsuccessful persons.”

View Page 42

[cartoon tipped in]

A partial eclipse of the sun, July 21 1876

View Page 43

W. Wilson, Sixties

John Anderson Sixties

Rev. C. Fraser, 1860

Travis, Watchmaker, 1860

T. Adams – Fifties

W. Pratt – Sixties

Wig blown off Election day

View Page 44

Kerr, W. Wilson’s Clerk, Fifties

As showing the go as you please style in which business was carried and the opportunities men had to establish themselves by credit, Mr William Wilson once gave notice in 1862 that “All goods accounts supplied from January 1857 to 31^st Decr 1860, have recently been posted, or delivered. It is requested to settle by cash or bills bearing interest, else will be sued for” Happy days! Some, close on five years running.

The first mention of SYDENHAM was a crockery shop kept by one Charles Prince near Cookham House, afterwards burnt down. The Railway land as it was called, now Sydenham, originally belonged largely to the Wakefields. E.J. Wakefield exchanged the land on which some of the Railway Station stands for an imported entire horse with Mr Moorhouse. With adjoining land 126 acres were auctioned in 1861, by Aikman & Wilson, specially called “Railway Town”. I think Mr Prince afterwards removed to the neighbourhood and kept a school but cannot say if that had anything to do with calling “Railway Town” Sydenham.

There was also a block of some ten acres which the elder Wakefield gave to William Schmid (who had been his servant in Wellington) which he afterwards sold to Mr Thomas Russell of Auckland, who had previously bought a large block.

View Page 45

The Theatre Royal was originally a Music Concert affair of which I think Mr Harston was the promoter. That continued for a time. Then that universal genius John L. (Johnny) Hall, was running an Opera Company on a small scale, and with backers, for Johnny had believers, changed it into a Theatre. Old Mr Furby of Mirth, Magic & Music had a Beer Shop on the North side, which gradually fell into line, and a passage was opened into the Theatre. Then Mr Beatty came upon the scene. He had been a policeman. Making himself agreeable to Mr Furby’s only daughter, he not only married her, but became by some hocus pocus [word here erased] the landlord of the Beer House to amplify from the Q.C.E. into Palace Hotel with the Theatre Royal as an appanage. And now it has all vanished.

Before that the Opera Company, Carandine, Sherwin, Dick, Kohler, &c played at the Town Hall.

About this time, 1863, Dick Kohler, who was a grand instrumentalist, with his brother Jack took Taylor’s land the Maze on the Lincoln Road, by the now State School, and converted it in to Kohler’s gardens. Dick made it a gay shop for a few months, but the population then could not keep it going.

Dick Kohler.

View Page 47

John Ollivier arrived about 1854, with a large family. He was then a man about 38 or 40, a strong, vigorous, active man endowed with an abundance of cheek and go and a very fluent tongue. He like many others entertained the romantic own vine and fig tree idea, and went upon land on the Lincoln Road. That was soon abandoned. He then started the usual commercial agency affair & auctioneering, and was soon in the thick of politics, attaching himself to the fortunes of Mr William Sefton Moorhouse.

Mr Ollivier’s first place of business, about opposite the present Rotherfield.

On Mr Moorhouse coming into power as Superintendent in 1857, Mr O. became Provincial Secretary, “Prime Minister” of Canterbury, and led the battles in the Provincial Council where at times there was fierce exciting work, there being some very able men amongst the old Provincial politicians, such as Messrs Fitzgerald, Joe Brittan, the present Sir John Hall, Cracroft Wilson, and more of the real old settlers.

Mr Ollivier was great as Chancellor of the Exchequer, and manipulated surpluses with financial dexterity – surpluses got out of the sale of the freehold of the grand Canterbury plains at Two pounds per acre, revenue never to return.

View Page 48

As to Mr Ollivier’s judgement, an idea may formed by mentioning that he introduced and passed in the Council an Act by which the Bench of Magistrates was compelled upon the production by the applicant of a paper with twelve householders’ signatures favourable to the granting of a license, to give it. That was in the sixties. Hence there were licenses in abundance. There was a Pavilion about Urquhart’s watch shop, The Chop House on site Aitken & Roberts, a beer shop, where now Sandston. The British Lion, kept by Styche, where now Gas Office. The Caledonian next Piercey’s grocery, Tattersalls sale yards, &c&c. The absurdity of the business was soon apparent. On Mr Moorhouse’s downfall, Mr O. went into auctioneering and a few years after was made an Auditor, Magistrate, &c, and finished up with a substantial pension.

View Page 49

Barracks

Old Police shanty 15 x 12 corner Terrace & Armagh before Barracks built

Gosling’s forge on Treleaven site Money’s stable

One Speaker John Ollivier

C. Bowen Speaker fifties

Barracky Smith sixties

Johnny Williams – Billy Barnes gong Market Place

Ben Austin Butcher where Bachelor St fifties

The General Whish – Sergeant at Arms

C.C. Bowen, age 22

George Oram

View Page 50

John Leith Leithfield called after John Leith. He had been a shepherd, and started the accommodation house in the fifties. He was an intelligent, enterprising man. But later matters went wrong. Wood’s Mill on the Windmill Road was I think bought by him and removed here.

Duncan & Donald & Cameron, Saltwater Creek. Dampier’s Township, two brothers, very persevering and obliging men.

Halswell after Mr Edmond Halswell cnr. Native Reserve/41

Linwood is so called from the name of the residence of Joseph Brittan, on the Avon. His sections extended back from the river and of course have all been cut up, and the name followed. Richmond used to be called Bingsland, and before that was called the Church Land. Mr C.B. Fooks, once Secretary of the Land Board, held long leases of a very large block and resided there. It afterwards passed to one BING, a Hungarian, and was spoken of as Bing’s land, hence BINGSLAND.

Prebbleton was called after the Prebble family.

Fendalton after Mr Fendall. Both very early arrivals.

Spreydon was originally Spreydon Farm belonging to Augustus Moore, called the Doctor. He was an early arrival and called it after some familiar place in Devonshire.

New Brighton then a sandy wilderness was so christened by George Oram, landlord of the Clarendon who had bought a section there and always said it would be a watering place. Thomas Raine at that time a busy soda water man, also bought and others followed suit.

Addington was so called by Mr Sewell, a lawyer and politician of those days who owned all the frontage on Lincoln Road and Selwyn St. which was cut up into blocks and sold by Messrs Harman & Stevens, in quarter acre up to five acre blocks in 1863. It was a dry, shingly, hungry looking country originally.

View Page 51

The old Mill, Hereford St, was built by Mr Daniel Inwood, about 1857, and carried on by him until 1862, when Mr W.H. Lane, an arrival from Adelaide, took possession of it. At first there was a very narrow dangerous sort of bridge just wide enough for a dray unloading wheat, then owing to the danger an agitation caused a narrow foot way to be made as a protection for passers. It was a busy place in the sixties before exportation of wheat had become a business and drays might be seen waiting to unload, extending up the Terrace, on one occasion as far as the Royal.

Mr G.B. Fooks Fifties

Col. De Renzie Brett an old warrior, once Col. of the 18^th Royal Irish. A fiery, impulsive man, went into farming and called the place KIRWEE.

The Colonel

Thomas Raine Fifties

One of the mysteries of New Brighton and its sand is the disappearance of Venner in the sixties. Never traced.

Mr Sewell Fifties

An old identity before New Brighton

W. De Froy

View Page 52

The first TOWN HALL

It was low on the studs, with a frontage of about 30 feet on the Ferry Road as High St was called, and a depth of about 60. Here the Supreme Court first sat when removed from Lyttelton, Gresson being the Judge. The present Sir John Hall, Sheriff, about 1858-9. Mr T.S. Duncan Crown Prosecutor.

It was done away with and a stone building on the present site of Strange’s built in stone, Gadd contractor. It was one of the first stone buildings and almost at once had a cracked wall.

In these buildings all the early politicians held their electoral meetings, Fitzgerald, Hall, Weld, Cracroft Wilson, Sewell, Moorhouse, Crosbie Ward, Brittan, Tancred, Wakefield, and the next generation of Montgomery, Turnbull, W. Williams, &c.

Here also were held the Balls, Provincial Balls, as it were, where all the “quality” were to be seen – the Russells of Ilam, Lance, Creyke, Mallocks, Walker, and here the old musicians used to play to their dancing. Ben Button, Fuller, Thompson, Tankard, Button [sic] Crooks, Coombs.

Mr Charles Merton was great on Trafalgar’s Boy, the Death of Nelson &c. Mr Carter gave them My Pretty [illegible].

Mr Joe Brittan Mr Merton Coombs

View Page 53

F. Slater 1861

The 1^st man who drove horse and dray over the bridle Path in 1852 – fifties – W Thomson – called Greeks and Britons

W Thomson

W. White – the “Bridge Builder”

Dobbs – fifties

Mr Rolleston 1860

Mrs Potter Sixties

Dr Turnbull

T.S. Duncan

Jos. Brittan “Watercress Joey”

C. Daviie surveyor Fifties

View Page 54

What is now the Market Hotel, Dirty Dick’s, was originally the Hope Coffee Shop, opened by C.F. Worth, a plasterer, and most ardent Teetotaller, who denounced drink in loud Cockney accents in company with old Tom Cooper, H. Bennetts and others. The Coffee Shop fell into line and became a Grog Shop, I think under Mr Ollivier’s Act, and Mr Worth himself became a model publican in Wellington. Such are the transformations in life. Mr Michael Brennan Hart, the founder with another of the White Hart Inn was the keeper of a Temperance Coffee Shop in London and a Teetotal spouter. Mr J.E. Fitzgerald said that in the old Provincial Council.

Along the same footpath, towards the Oxford, one Swale set fire to a house, and burnt it to the ground. A man was burnt with it. Swale was hanged. That happened about thirty years ago. The par excellence, demi-monde of the day, Nellie Duncan, was mixed up in the affair.

[note at bottom] R. Bethell [possibly name of man who died?]

View Page 55

In the Sixties there was quite an inroad of auctioneers, played out persons, mostly Dunedin-cum-Victoria people. There was the Jones McGlashan crowd, who took Barnard’s Tattersalls; an original a nice, pleasant speaking old yellow-belly R.D. Bush who started markets, &c. there was Bob Teek and others, and the whole lot ended in smoke. With Jones, McGlashan, Carl of the Empire began his ChCh career.

View Page 56

John Scott Caverhill was then about 1857, a fine athletic looking man about 46, with strong open decided features and a peculiar light coloured, but strong crop of hair, from which his sobriquet of White Headed Bob. He then had Motunau run, up North, was a jolly merry, loud voiced man, and reckoned a thorough judge of sheep and stock, and well up in squatting matters. Like others he had his ups and downs and reverses.

William Guise Brittan was one of the very earliest settlers and had some connection in England with the formation of the Canterbury Association, as Secretary or other office. There is, I think, on record a memo giving him certain sections of land as a gratuity for his services. One of these is the Englefield section originally 50 acres, now the Hon. Mr Stevens. In the fifties, cricket matches were played in a nice paddock opposite the House, and W.G. B. used to play with a substitute runner. The old trees that remain were his planting. On the corner between the dwelling house and the River, there was a “cob” built malthouse, used I think first by Mr Fooks, and afterwards by Hamilton Ward and Croft when they started the Brewery, which afterwards passed to Lee, who sold to the Company, and returned to England, a young man with a fortune – He had a partner, Douglas.

View Page 57

William Montgomery, arrived about 1862 from Australia and had with him a confidential man named Samuel Needham. He first lived at the Carlton landlorded then by George Oram. He started business at the Christchurch Quay Ferry Road, then lived by schooners and small craft, coming over the Sumner bar, with timber from the Bays, and cargo from the Home ships in Lyttelton Harbour. He afterwards had a Town Yard, and offices, on the site of between the Press and Rotherfield and did a large timber and wine and spirits business. He went into Provincial politics in the “House of Many Gables”, and was a contemporary there of Dr Turnbull, W. Williams, &c. In politics he was always looked upon as a man who was going to do something great, but somehow never did it.

Mr Bainbridge was a clerk in the Provincial Govt. buildings in the early days, I think in the Treasury or audit. He was immense. A perfect jovial swell. A man evidently intended for the Army, or something of the sort, but with the early crowd he had drifted here, and had to be provided for.

View Page 58

Dr. Alexander Back, was an early settler, and originally had land on the Lincoln Road. He became postmaster here, in a small building on the Market Square, later Mrs Pope’s. He had an assistant named “Smutty” Thompson, and Bill Moore, a sailor man, who brought up the mail from Adams’ cottage at the Foot of the Hills, and then distributed the letters on horseback, coo-eying people out to get them. He afterward became mixed up with provincial Immigration, when thousands were being poured in, and was also Sheriff. He was a remarkable man in appearance, with strong black eyebrows, always very neatly dressed in black. A man of an honest fidgetty temperament.

[within the text is a sketch of a small building and the note: about 18 x 12]

View Page 59

W. Guise Brittan, owned Hon. Stevens house and 50 acres

W Montgomery rear view

Dr Back, when Sheriff. Once Postmaster, where Mrs Pope’s old shop.

Front, 1868.

Bainbridge

“White Headed Bob” J.S. Caverhill, Motunau

View Page 60

Mr Mingles	John Ingles
Mr Studum	John Studholme
Signor Alfredi Cawx	Alfred Cox
Hon. J. Awl	Sir John Hall
Mr F.H.M.W.Perambulator	F.M. Walker
Mr Night"	Wm Day
Mr Eastenra	R. Westenra
Signor Costa	E.S. Coster, Manager NZ Bank in sixties
Mr Dick	E. Richardson
Mr Sottle	Henry Sawtell
Mr Deal-the-main	F.W. Delamain
Rev. W. Tossle	Mr Tosswill
Mr W. Kentheway	W. Kennaway Acting Prov.Sec now Secy Agent" Govt, London
Hon Washington Brownlow	John Evans Brown, brother-in-law John Thomas Peacock

[beneath cutting a note] The above not" mine

View Page 61

Hexall	Joe Exhall a reporter “Holy Joe”
Gray	Jimmy Grey, a reporter
Nairne	David Nairn, nurseryman see 246

Mr Sewell

Mr J Inglis

View Page 62

Roughly, the old PLOUGH INN now RICCARTON HOTEL, John Dilloway, landlord. (Murray, first) Present John Dilloway, then a boy.

John Dilloway, was I believe a Birmingham man and a gunsmith. He started in the line in Town. Then took the Plough from Murray and kept it till his death. He was a somewhat peculiar person, of a sharp, shrewd sort. Fond of a yarn and a laugh. The house in his time did a large business. The Bush Inn was not in existence nor was the Railway. After the Railway, it fell to nothing.

Before, all the bushmen, shearers, sawyers, bullock drivers, stockmen, made it their camping place, and there were scenes at times. All the “characters” of those days knew well the Plough.

The freehold of the section 2acre, was sold by Henry Washburne to Murray for 15.0.0

Hagley Park, Not a tree. Growing at times, crop of grain, and Station teams’ bullocks turned out.

Mr Washburne Fifties

View Page 63

Stewart, 1^st landlord Royal running Andy out

Saml. A. Andrews sixties

Husband, Mermaid

Allen, Dentist, sixties

Sandsteen

H. Thomson, sixties

Geo.Griggs Fifties

W. Wilson new seed shop 1859, Lichfield St.

Slater. J.S. Duncan sol: after T.J. Joynt

John Goodman Sixties

Tom McClatchie Sixties

View Page 64

Acclimatisation. The first bees were brought from Nelson, by Mr T.J. Cookson (Cookson, Bowles & Co) of Heathcote Valley.

Mr W.J.W. Hamilton in 1852, offered blue gum seed for sale.

The first wool weaving was done in Dunedin in 1853

First peacocks near Ferry Road Wharf, at Mrs Peele’s, Heathcote

The first Suffolk Punch draught horse was used by Richard Sutcliffe, about ’60

In 1852, George H. Tribe had ferrets for sale.

Inwoods Mill, 1853, Avon 1857

“Colonial Bank of Issue” Defaced or worn notes withdrawn, 1853

Flower show

Cattle show, 1853

The first launch, Caledonia 1853, 20 tons, by Grubb

Heathcote windmill, 1853

In ’65 Mr John Scott Caverhill was licensed to keep foxes

Sir Julius Haast got his first moabones, Aorere Valley, Nelson, 1862

The first 3d beer by A.A. Adler, Oxford Hotel

In 1857, G.H. Moore found moa bones at Glenmark

The first telegraph charge 2/6 for 25 words.

Mr Henry Laing leased an island in the Waimakariri, it was with [sic] stocked with rabbits. He let out the shooting to parties.

The first artesian wells cost 1 foot. In 1862, Hadley put down one for Gee 12/- foot.

In ’62 the first American Merinos were imported by Yankee Store Taylor & Co

First Wesleyan Minister Rev. J. Aldred 1854.

Mr W. Laing Fifties

S.E. Tarr Sixties

View Page 65

The writer in 1863 brought from London and kept for some time a goldfinch and a linnet, the first that he knows of in Canterbury.

As to Sir Julius’ journeys, Dr Sinclair’s death and burial, at the Head Waters of the Rangitata, there is a man still alive who was with them, and could have given a lot of details of the journeys. He looked upon them more as Holidays. Being then a strong young fellow used to “hard graft” & he simply laughed at the hardships of exploration.

SEFTON	called after Wm SEFTON Moorhouse
ROLLESTON	Wm Rolleston
WEEDON’S “	one Weedon, who kept" the pub in the early sixties, started by one James Main as an Accom. House. One Ranger also had it.
CHANEY’S CORNER	Mrs Chaney, the fattest" woman in the “fifties”
KAIAPOI	was first" dubbed GLADSTONE
WOODEND	the original BUSH. It" ended there
ASHLEY	Lord Ashley (the Earl of Shaftesbury (the Costers’ friend)
LEESTON	Leeston in Eng. (Named by Mr Smith, of that" place)
KIRWEE	Col.Brett" christened it
SHAND’S TRACK	J. Shand of Avon Lodge
HALSWELL	Mr Edward Halswell connected with Canterbury Association
SPRINGSTON	The Springs Station J.E.Fitzgerald &c.

View Page 66

Amongst the old ones that some will remember was Mr Elsbie, the then fashionable photographer and his dog Boatswain, a splendid Newfoundland. At that time likenesses meant money, and Mr E. made plenty of cash in a year or two and had ample leisure time on his hands, which he for a good part of the day devoted to catching smelties and whitebait from the bank by the City Mill. Elsbie’s place being that corner shop opposite, once, be it stated with all reverence, the office of that august official the Resident Magistrate. In that rookery, Sir John Hall has held Court, so did W.J.W. Hamilton and Mr Brittan, that is, if the business was not considered sufficiently important to be sent over to the old Lands Office, afterwards Magistrates’ Court and City Council offices. Elsbie had an interesting connection with the Stage. Years before he had played as an amateur with the afterwards renowned E.A. Southern, Lord Dundreary also once an amateur.

The other photographic artists at that time were Christopher Swinburne who once kept the old Royal Oak over the Colombo bridge. His studio was on the Ferry road, opposite what is now Bassett’s public house, but then was a six roomed house built by a carpenter of the name of Mouritz, and afterwards bought by the present Mrs Coker, soon after her arrival in the country.

The other photographers, but perhaps later, were Maundy and Lamert who had their place on the site of [sic] where now stands the Langham. Lamont was a relative of the much advertised Lamert, the Doctor of peculiarites. Amongst his little adventures whilst here was an action for seduction and so forth brought by the parent of a young person, who assisted in the Establishment, and while we are about that neighbourhood it may be as well to say that the District Court was then held in the old wooden town Hall, opposite, Sir J. Hall acting I think as District Judge. There the Supreme Court also sat after its removal from Lyttelton and a few sensational trials there took place. There Mr Harston, the original of the firm of Garrick & Cowlishaw, who had a small office in Cashel Street, had to face the music in a crim. con. business. It was a stirring affair for a few days. There also a wife and her paramour were tried for the murder by poison of her husband, an elderly and eccentric old Scot. They escaped and lived together afterwards and waxed wealthy.

There also in later years was tried another celebrated case in which a man owning some considerable property was charged with murdering a man by firing his house. He was defended by Mr Wyn Williams, with his trusty henchman Teddy Preston at his elbow, and between them they got him acquitted. The ungrateful fellow who had made over all his property, to prevent in case of accident the Crown coming in, actually years after took proceedings to compel a restitution not only of his own property, but had the impertinence to move the Court that his defender should furnish account of all business between them for years. It caused some talk.

In that old building besides the Society Balls, the Supreme Court, were also held all the important political meetings. Sir F. Weld made a few splendid speeches there, and had on one occasion an encounter with Crosbie Ward who opposed him. Crosbie in the heat of his speech referred to Weld as “that man”. The audience would not listen to another word until he withdrew the expression. But Mr Ward did not often offend.

View Page 67

Elsbie 1863 photographer sixties and his dog “Boatswain” – 1^st Newfoundland dog

Geo Sandrey sixties

Dave Ring, butcher, sixties

Wm James, plumber, sixties

Warner, once Manager Railway, 1866

W.P. Blanchard Fifties

View Page 68

Mr William Robinson (Ready Money) of Cheviot, was in the middle fifties, soon after he arrived here from South Australia (and bought the grand run of Cheviot under the “unborn millions” champion, Sir G. Grey’s regulations) a man in his strong prime, of a shrewd resulote disposition, untouched by an own vine and fig tree romance; hard and shrewd at a bargain, a good judge of stock, of a despotic temper, and a habit of grinding his teeth and letting out musical improvisations. Those not used to him took him seriously. On the other hand men worked on the run for years, and took his outbursts as merely “letting off steam”.

Mr Robinson took a trip Home, went largely into racing, owning and leasing some well known horses, Eltham [erased] &c. He had a mansion in Park Lane. His friend, Johnny Oakden, of Lake Coleridge out here, always dressed like a gamekeeper and looked like one. He called upon his friend at Park Lane, but had forgotten his card case. He asked for R. when the gorgeous flunky swung open the door. “Mr R. is not at home, my man, and I may as well tell you, all the places are filled.” He took J.O. for a gamekeeper.

View Page 69

I think Mr W. Wilson, was of opinion in the early and middle fifties, that grapes would not be a successful crop in Canterbury. Some years after, however, he built the largest glasshouse then existing, and put in vines on his Ferry Road Nursery Section. The man, I think, who went in most largely for glasshouses was a young man named Lord, on the Opawa Heathcote road towards the valley. He commenced in a small way, hawking his cucumbers in a basket, getting good prices, but he soon enlarged his houses and went into grapes &c.

View Page 70

First building on Burke’s Barretts’s Hotel corner Manchester & High St in fifties. Put up by one George Mouritz, afterwards occupied by Mrs Allen (Coker) on her arrival as a single lady. She afterwards married old George Allen and from him got the land upon which Coker’s public stands. The house was altered and a license got by Mrs O'Hara, the Golden Harp or Harp of Erin and so it remained for some years. Sergeant Pender then got his bride from here, a daughter of the house.

Another pub was on the site of Duncan’s foundry, part of it still standing, a few years ago. One Noonan, or Gosling, first got the license for the Duke of Wellington as it was called. Sam. Williams, the old whaler, from the point, Timaru then kept it and the last Fuchs, when the license was transferred to the building on the other side. Poor old Sam. Williams, a hardy, tough old American whaler man, had been at the point Timaru, before the Town ship, then built a pub, when the old silly married an immigrant girl one Sally Gardner about a third of his age. That laid Sam out. Pub went, and all the rest of it. The old story.

View Page 71

L.E.Nathan 1860

G.C. Stead 1873

Charley Martin 1860

George Allen 1860 first owner of the now New Zealander

Baines a postman sixties

Post

Dr Frankish 1863

Cartmill, Press office, sixties

Micky Hart, sixties

View Page 72

In the middle fifties the French in Akaroa had glorious quarrel amongst themselves about donkeys. Emile Malmanche offered some for sale. Wackerle, still alive, shortly insisted that they were not his, but the property in common of the French settlers. Commodore Berard of the Comte Ville de Paris had, he said, “left the originals to increase, until each settler had one.”

Many persons run away with the idea that Sir George Grey presented the Clock Tower to Canterbury. Sir G. Grey had nothing more to do with it than this. The Clock Tower was ordered in the fifties by the Provincial Government, and paid for by the Province. Owing to some miscalculation as to the weight it was not erected on the Provcl.Buildings Tower, being too heavy. It was then stored in the Municipal Yard. On the abolition of the Provinces all Provincial property became Colonial as did the clock. But the Govt of which Sir G. Grey was the head, did - what else could they do in decency? – allowed [sic] it to become the property of the Municipality, and there it has remained ever since. The idea that Sir George gave it to Canterbury is a myth.

View Page 73

The Provincial Government Buildings were put up by instalments. The first, that portion extending from the stone building with the wooden tower and afterwards the Northern portion. The Council chamber was built later. Fedk. Jenkins was the builder of the first portion, and Forgan of the stone building. The trees were planted and the ground levelled between 58-59 when so many immigrants were on hand. There was a pretty little foot bridge for many years over Gloucester St and also an old foot bridge at the Worcester St. Above that, no a few years later, the Gov. bought the block from the new Supreme Court to the Art Gallery, upon the Terrace frontage of which there were some houses and shops, Smith & Jones, plumbers &c. all bought out at good prices.

Mr Forgan senr.

View Page 74

The IMMIGRATION BARRACKS built about 1858-9, where all the Māori Indiana Regina Clontarf Cashmere &c. immigrants were lodged. On the block Market Place, with back to Armagh St, opposite Palariet &c.

View Page 75

G.D. Lockhart Fifties

Sir G. Grey Fifties

Hyman Marks 1861

R.J.S. Harman 1860

Dr Barker fifties

Dr Parkerson Fifties

Bishop Harper Fifties

View Page 76

In Montreal St South, I think, there are still some relics of the Fifties, in the shape of old cob houses, that have been polished up and made somewhat modern. Two old identities, Frederick King and Joe Bargrove were great artists in the cob building line.

Windmill Road – Shearers’ Arms, James Blake

One of the early nurseries was opposite this House, its proprietor Mr W. Hislop. He had in it a very fine assortment of ornamental and other trees.

View Page 77

Martin Birmingham Tuam Street

Martin Birmingham, a very old identity from Hobart Town, had a grand orchard in this block in the fifties. He had the freehold of eight sections, from Tuam to Montreal and St Asaph Streets. I.L. Fleming leased the corner and put up a public. E.W. Samuels was the 1^st landlord. Later on H. Gaslaad. When Martin died, no will was found, but a piece of paper made in the Zetland Arms public when kept by John Parker, by which he gave the eight sections to his wife, but there was an error in the numbers of two of the quarter acres. The old lady had some difficulty but in the end got all. She then got married to a young fellow, both took to drinking, and the end was that the landlord of the public not only got the public house, but the other sections and the old lady died a pauper and he flourished in luxury.

View Page 78

[sketch of Cashel Street – marked gully -showing buildings on either side, with caricatures, and captioned thus]

From memory, anno domini 1858 (From Crosbie Ward’s Town of Chch)

And there’s loud resounding

From the iron foundry

And the Union Bank

Has an office there.

First shop of E.REECE

Then David Clarkson DUNSTABLE HOUSE

W.MOULE left his property to Old Men’s Home – Watson, Tailor

J. ANDERSON

[other side of street]

SUTCLIFFE, carrier, site Press

1^st offices, Stewart Macdonald Coster Lloyd

KISSELL – gaoler after 1^st Bank of NZ when first started

Dorset

EDGAR Tailor

WATERLOW pork butcher

View Page 79

A.J. Bradwell, printer, fifties

ASHTON’S STABLES in White Hart yard, fifties

Redman the Town Crier and his Tilbury, 1865

Reston, the gaoler, 1860

Richard Sutcliffe, carrier, fifties

The old White Hart Inn about 1856-7

Saml. Smart trying it on for fun.

Tom Cook’s beer shop 1857-8. Packer’s brewery, site Bank of Australasia once residence Superdt. Fitzgerald.

View Page 80

Hereford St/High St. FISHER, Grocer Prebble, Shoemaker Suckling Prebble, Hair dresser H Moss clothier

Gloucester/Colombo St Stringer, Pastry Cook Whincop, painter A. Ritchie, baker

View Page 81

When the Great Pro Consul, as he is termed, came to Canterbury in the sixties, he reviewed the troops in Hagley Park, opposite the State School. Joe Stringer was his orderly. When the army was going through some evolution the Pro Consul who wore a white plume of cock’s feathers, like Henry of Navarre, was galloping with his aides de camp and so on, to some particular point, when one of those unseasonable winds that used to blow over the open plains took charge of the ornament, and they saw “his white plume wave”, for off it flew before the breeze, and Joe full pelt after it – it was very undignified. It was, I think, upon that visit he gave, or promised, that grand gift to the “unborn thousands”, the silver grey rabbit, the joy of unborn rabbiters.

View Page 82

Hordell[?] shop painter

Nash Edgar, tailor

Kessell saddlery

Tompkins tailor

R. S[illegible]

F. Thompson

Thacker [missing]

Lockhart

Fooks

Union Bank, Stewart Manager A.Money employed here, sixties.

Mr Mount, Zetland Arms

Round corner, Bailey & Smith

C.D. Dampier solicitor

After C. Cooper dentist

Joynt Auctioneers site past Ballantynes

(And the Union Bank

Had an office there

And there’s hoy villas

With weeping willows

And one with pillars

In Cashel Street Crosbie Ward’s Town of Chch)

Mr Jos Palmer Sixties

View Page 83

Bobby King, 1870 – son John King, grocer, boy about Triangle 1860

R.W. Walters, sixties

R.M. Morton, sixties

Schmidt, pound keeper, 1864, after New Zealander

Robertson of Mortons, 1864 Morton & Robertson

Mr Webb 1865

Geo McKercher 1860

Joe Gregory

View Page 84

This is, roughly, what the Market Place was like in the end fifties and early sixties. Then, the immigration barracks were built here, and other buildings along Colombo St. Some time after this, Colombo bridge was built. The Oxford Hotel section had a lean to upon it. Mr C.W. Bishop’s business place was beyond the pound, on Colombo St corner, opposite Oxford. Afterwards Miles & Co. Over the bridge where now Dr Irving’s, was William Gosling, the horse shoer, beyond that Edwin Coxhead’s building, later the Royal Oak. The first weigh bridge was near the old Market House (Post Office)

In Kilmore St in the “sixties”, Miss Nellie Duncan, the fashionable demimonde, held her court. On the Papanui Road, opposite now Moor’s Coach place, was the Willow Pattern Plate, another establishment. Earlier a Hobart Towney, one Jones, had a seraglio at the Junction of Mill lane and the Park. About that time, there was another up Colombo St North. One girl burnt to death. Amy Bentley was a notoriety – also Mrs Fleetwood, the Graingers, [paragraph not completed]

View Page 85

First lock up and Police Station about 15 x 10 – Oxford Terrace

First Public Works office, Mr E. Dobson, Engineer, James Henwood, Clerk of Works

Wooden bridge

Market Hall, about 59-60, afterwards altered for Post Office. Richard Brunsden, an early arrival, first had charge of the market. Ben Ward, builder.

H.E. Alport, saddlery, boots &c, removed later to corner

Mrs Williams (before Jas. Swinburne) 1^st Glasgow House

H J Thompkins, Tinsmith

View Page 86

Sir John Cracroft Wilson was an early settler, bought largely land, including the beautiful Cashmere Estate, then swamps and tussocks, raupo and flax; on the Selwyn and Rangitata, on the latter a fine sheep run, returned to India, where he was Judge of Mooradabub, was in the thick of the mutiny 1857, quarrelled with “Clemency” Earl Canning, Governor General, he who wrote of the “Nabob” in his great mutiny despatch “that Mr John Cracroft Wilson, Judge &c had saved more Christian lives than any man in India”. The Nabob was a daring, high spirited, proud man, brooking no contradiction. He returned after the mutiny, brought an Arab stallion “Nobleman”, entire donkeys (to “destroy thistles”) as he jocosely said, dogs, Indian servants, and also imported Scotch shepherds, drove his four in hand brake, went into politics, abused Vogel and all his works, made Cashmere a name for hospitality to visitors, from the Duke of Edinburgh and Lord Charles Beresford, to Billy Hoskins, [illegible] Colville, and any strolling player, played the flute at Town Hall concerts, lectured on India, the taking of Delhi, talked sheep and farming and was an all round man generally, of whom many amusing anecdotes are told, and was a grand pioneer settler.

He had all the domineering belief and pluck that had taken India and kept it. “They are educating the Natives. The day will come when they will regret it. Education, newspapers and the telegraph” said the fiery old warrior, “will be the downfall of British rule in India.”

There used to be any amount of yarns, for example, that he once put in an advertisement about “seven” tooth sheep.

He made it a rule never to refuse a man work, but not at the highest pay. But he must not get drunk. He would have good food and a good sleeping place. He was welcome to go at any time, could he better himself. Some men remained for years.

View Page 87

Teddy’s cottage 1858, corner Salisbury-Montreal St

W. Reeves, sixties

Weber, pianist, sixties

Chris. Swinburne, photographer, fifties

Sir Cracroft Wilson, K.S.I. fifties

T.W. Maude, sixties

H. Davis pawnbroker sixties

View Page 88

A very busy man in the sixties, was Mr E.G. Wright of Ashburton. He contracted largely in West Coast Road making, and other undertakings and was very successful. He was then a fine handsome man, with an acute, but pleasant expression and remarkably active and energetic. Like R.H. Rhodes, in the fifties, he was here, there and everywhere, flying round on a good horse. He was always a man of good repute in business matters and well spoken of by his men, and he employed many.

View Page 89

The second Freemason’s Lodge in Chch was opened in Manchester St in a building somewhere near Coker’s present. The moving spirit was John William Oram, and it was a regular Cave of [illegible] and a house of refuge and reception for [illegible] of aspirants to Masonry who were sternly refused a passage over the threshold of the Select Home of the Craft.

View Page 90

The GOLDEN AGE (roughly) on corner of present HEREFORD. This was the “General” William Warner’s first venture. It was afterwards enlarged.

The General, in those days, posed as an American man, and flew the “gridiron”. The house was built by J.G. Ruddenklau, of the City, who put W.W., his employer in, and afterwards transferred to him. He did a large rough trade there, and was well supported by the Volunteers, he being well up amongst them.

All through the Pelorus, West Coast, Thames and Canterbury gold excitements, William made this expedition & prospectors’ head quarters. Lumps of golden quartz were all over the shop, and tin dishes, buckets, picks, tents and swags were strewed around.

From here he passed to the COMMERCIAL, & WARNERS established about 1861, by William White, sen. the bridge builder.

View Page 91

Sergt. Jack Price

Charley Turach, fifties

Jim Hoult, sixties

Jack Rowley, fifties

G. Dell

John Moodie a road maker fifties

Wm Codling St Albans fifties

Revd. Jacobs 1860

W Withey got up for the job

Jimmy Mann, 1^st landlord A.1.

Plaintiff Houlihan v. Marston fifties Mr Houlihan tailor

View Page 92

The ROTHERFIELD was opened by one Burnell, who had a seed shop. It had experiences in the fire line. One E.H. Banks was barman. It passed to Robert [illegible] a North of Ireland youngster, and has been in many hands since. At starting it was a mere bar.

Judge Strange Williams was his partner there. At the other corner of Lichfield St J.T. Peacock and Beverley Buchanan built stores. C.W. Turner afterwards. Financial agents, outside of Mr Peacock.

The inside block on the Triangle, Cashel, High and Manchester Streets, when first built upon had a cottage with poplars, exactly opposite now Stranges, a forge at the Manchester corner, kept by Griffin or Steel, and the wooden store at the corner opposite Tattersalls’ “Matheson’s Agency”. J. Drummond Macpherson, Manager. Afterwards all the inside of the Triangle was used as a stables by Joseph Page. Mrs Butler started a bonnet shop at the Manchester corner.

Now Delamain’s &c, First when cut up, Jack Gray’s stables, Jacob Ladbrooke’s, Tattersalls’ &c.

View Page 93

The stables in Cashel St, near Queens were built for Cobb & Co’s (L.G. Cole Ltd) line of coaches, soon after they first came from Otago, in the early sixties. One Capt. Anderson, an army officer (son in law of the once so much talked of Money Miller, of the Bank of Victoria &c) One little episode of his residence here, was horsewhipping C.J. Brooke, the apothecary, who in his style as the “Babbling Brook” as John Ollivier called him, had allowed his tongue to wag about the Captain & his affairs. Anderson soon dissolved and disappeared. Last at Vancouver’s Island. L.G. Cole & Co made money here, having the cream of the work, fat mail contracts, big travelling fares, parcels, &c. H.R. Mitchell was manager.

The “Queens” was originally a butcher’s shop, kept by Tom Cook of the boarding House, and was built for a Licensee, but it was not granted. Later others got it. Then it got into the hands of Smith who made money in it. Two horse jobbers, Beattie & Douglas, once kept it. It was pretty rowdy.

Opposite on the corner was the original Yankee Store, run by two or three young Americans, Bullick &c. C.W. Post was a clerk with them. They only remained 2 or 3 years and away to Chicago &c.

T.W. Duncan’s office, between Cashel St and Bedford Row, first house, where Judge

W. Wilson’s garden was subdivided. Cobb & Co’s drivers & guards were Fox, Young, Burton, McKercher, Nettlefold. Young afterwards had coaches in the North Island. R.H. Mitchell was manager. They first stabled on Oxford Terrace and opened the Timaru line.

When the West Coast rush broke out Cobb’s coached on past Kaiapoi to Leithfield &c. Afterwards when the Gorge road was making, worked that.

Burton about this time started on his own to Kaiapoi with a small coach, and Cook, the cabman, was guard. Sam Lee was on with Cobb’s.

The “Warwick”, now Queens, built about 61-2.

View Page 94

FOLEY’S CIRCUS about 1856,7. on about site EMPIRE. On corner opposite White Hart Stockyard, High St, Cashel St 1859-60.

Where W.D. Barnard, original owner of Tattersalls’ auctioned cargoes of horses and stock about 1859. The riding show ground was the public road. Tattersalls’ was built about 1861. George Mallison, architect. On the same block in 1856 or 7, Foley opened the first Circus in Chch.

Further to the left, on the adjoining block, was built Wesleyan Church, now the “Hall” and a school.

The above block after lying in tussock, belonging to an absentee, was squatted upon by Barnard, who one day received summary notice to quit, William Wilson having found the owner in England and bought, about 1861. It was soon after cut up in foot frontages, and leased for 21 years at about 1 a foot. Thomas Atkinson, formerly of Tweed Beer House, Cashel St, took the block on which stands the Empire and got a License. It was then a wooden building.

Barnard’s first auction room (about ’58) on about the South side of BEATH’s now. Exactly opposite on 15 foot frontage, corner of CAF lane, old Geo. Furby put up a little shop as a House Bell fitter, afterwards used by JACK COKER, as a fish and beef shop. FURBY about 1858-9 gave entertainments in old Town Hall – MAGIC, FUN & FANCY &c.

When W.D. Barnard applied for a license for Tattersalls’, W. Wilson opposed him. He got the licence. The joke of the day suggested that it should be called The Blighted Cabbage.

View Page 95

John Delloway Jnr Sixties

Mr Abrahams, a kindly Israelite of the Fifties

Dr Haast Fifties

Rich. Bethel

G.F. Tribe, Sixties

C.E. Pritchard, sixties, Press

View Page 96

This is a sort of likeness of Captain Wilson, (once I think of the S.S. Airedale, one of the old fleet that ran in the sixties and seventies up and down the Coast, the Lord Ashley was another). He was a big, heavy man with a voice that thundered out commands like a roaring bull. He was simply superb as Chief of the Fire Brigade in the Sixties. He actually armed himself with a speaking trumpet and thinking of old times, roared orders out as if from his quarter deck. He did not last long. He took to healing, magnetism, or some other idea; reduced tumours, and that sort of thing. He treated one lady for a considerable time for an immense tumour, and the more and more he coaxed it, the more and more it grew, until at last her friends called in old Scotty Turnbull, who curtly said “She would be worse, till she was better” and so it turned out, she brought a fine boy to add to the population. The Captain got somewhat chaffed. Even called a charlatan by that outspoken other Wilson, the Nabob.

View Page 97

Meinertz Hargen

T. Mollet sixties

John Cameron

Jack Hebden, a reporter

Osborne, a reporter

Mr Malet

Goodacre

C.H. Williams

(roughly) Dr Donald

Sir John Hall, Fifties

Ladbrooke

View Page 98

William David Barnard, who built Tattersalls’, was a Birmingham Jew, who, starting as a hawker, developed into an auctioneer, first odds and ends of goods in a little place on now Beath’s, then as a horse seller, and a rare good one, that was acknowledged, and at starting he was supposed not to know a horse from a mule. He did a large trade. Then took the White Hart &c. Got married, and all ended in financial smash. He was away to Samoa. It was said by some that the lady he married about ’62 was none other than Madeline Smith of Water of Leith celebrity. But that was not so. Madeline was in West Australia for very many years, married to a professional man.

View Page 99

W. HOBBS, Tailor, Cathedral Square. Hobbs’ Tailor’s shop stood by itself for some time. Then I think Bridge builder White was the next to built on what is now Warner’s Hotel. It was called the Commercial, and had a regular coterie of customers & frequenters, amongst sheep men, &c.

Hobbs, Tailor, sixties

Atkinson, shoemaker, sixties

Cain, baker, sixties

View Page 100

The original City Hotel frontage. From High St corner to Colombo St corner. A big gully through the section from Cashel St on to Cathedral Square. The land from the City to the Grain agency belonged to one Buchanan a milkman. He sold it to WmWilson for a/c due & cash, about 80. The first houses on City block were built on piles – a deep gully running through.

J.G. Ruddenklau, Pie shop &c.

Eales Boarding House

Hopsack, Grocer

T. Thompkins [?] Baker

Afterwards Ruddenklau got Eales’ House, and a Beer License. Then the others, and made it into the City Hotel, which has since been altogether rebuilt, when it got into the Brewery hands. Fitzgerald called the artesian sunk in 1868, opposite City, “a fine specimen of a seedling pump”.

About 1856-9

From High St Corner to Grain Agency, there were only two shops, like the above, one Pengelly, a tailor, who had I think the very 1^st shop on the Triangle opposite the “Hall”. Later the other was Adams, or Attwood, shoemaker. On the section behind was a forge belonging to two brothers, Hossack.

View Page 101

[newspaper cuttings referring to J.G. Ruddenklau and Mr Tribe, expanded by note]

J.G.R. was a hard working industrious little man, and he was about the only baker ever seen here who carried bread out in an old fashioned basket over the shoulder. He was a strong, stout broth of a man, about 5 feet 2 inches, and used to call himself an Englishman, having been for years sugar baking in Whitechapel, but after the War, when Germany was up, he went back to his allegiance. One evening at a concert in the “Music Hall”, J.G.R. headed a band of his countrymen, and sang the Waters of the Rhine. They did their best.

He was a Councillor, and also Mayor.

Old “Fifties” beer men

View Page 102

The parsons in the fifties about Chch that is the more prominent ones, were Revd. J. Wilson, of Wilson’s Bridge, Opawa, a man said to be very learned; another was the Rev. Willocks, both big strong Church of England parsony men, and neither of them popular. The Revd. Dudley at Kaiapoi made himself more liked. The Rev. Dr Harper arrived in 1856, a fresh coloured, strong, set man. He brought a large family of boys & girls, some of them grown up men & women. The Bishop was no doubt a good man, and all the rest of it, but it is questionable if he ever turned a sinner from the evil of his ways.

One really fine Churchman was Archdeacon Mathiss, a robust, portly man, without an atom of stuckupedness or cant. A charitable good man. Took his beer and allowed others to do so. His religion was broad and charitable. He had something like a funeral, and of real mourners.

In the fifties, the Catholic Priest was a Frenchman, I think the Revd. Chataignier. He was a kindly man.

Even as in the later days, in the earlier, the sixties, there were humbugs trading upon simple credulity. One Powell, I think his name was, got people into his clutches and made them erect for him a building near the now police station, now sold after being a long time idle as a bag factory. He cleared.

There also were scandals. There used to be a story about one who used to kiss a fair young attendant at his “Church”, “I do love you and I would marry you, but how can I? Your mother was cook to my mother. I am so sorry.” The young lady told the old cook and it made things hum. That young lady became a very considerable heiress.

View Page 103

The CAVERSHAM was originally a boarding house for some years and a select lot of a sort made it their home. Mr C.A. Gilbert, P.B. Boulton &c. It afterwards passed to James Rule, the veterinary, who kept it for a time and used the stables. The entire “Skelton” well known in those days, stood there. Poor Rule had his tongue cut out for cancer, and died. Then John Tho. Parkinson, an auctioneer, who stuttered in selling “The Ta. The Tu”. “Go go go ing” took it. Poor fellow. He went under. He used to sit on the stockyard rail in the White Hart yard, and fire away, despite his stuttering, selling horses. At that time McC. [here a space has been left but the name is not completed] used to bring down cargoes from Hobart Town, with Bill Edds, his headman. Bill had the grandest seat on a horse in New Zealand.

Rev. J. Buller, Fifties

Rev. C. Bowen, Sixties

View Page 104

Early days vehicles

As may be imagined the old Pilgrims and Shagaroons did not indulge in stylish carriages and match pairs, or doctor’s broughams, or professional buggies or hack carriages, hansoms and cabs. The modes of conveyance were like the times, primitive. Some old family relics found their way with their owners to the Province. Some antiquated vehicles were imported, and later on some were built.

The first vehicular passenger affairs, after the slow and solid dray, was the spring cart, shaft and outrigger, and for years the traffic to the foot of the Hills and to Kaiapoi, was carried on such. Such for some years was the mode of travel to Timaru, taking two days for the journey, with the saving clause, that the rivers were fordable. That was gradually changed into four wheeled expresses. About the year 1864, Cobb & Co, otherwise Messrs Cole and Anderson, having exploited Otago, brought a coaching plant to Canterbury and commenced operations in the well known gold diggings style, The opened out on the Timaru line running through in twelve hours; following that up with the Kaiapoi line and further north, and later to the West Coast. They had the advantage of all the splendid money making passenger times of the gold rushes to the Coast. This continued until the opening lines of railway in every direction put an end to the system, excepting the West Coast line, as now running.

Mr Abbott, of the North Road, brought with him an old “Shandytag”[?] of an Irish jaunting car.

I think Mr Delamain was about the first to drive a light high wheeled trotting machine.

View Page 105

The Red House a notorious den kept by Martin Cash, Peterboro St. before that he had a lean-to in Salisbury Street.

View Page 106

When the old ruffian Martin Cash arrived, it caused consternation amongst the officials. Mr Moorhouse was Super. and I forget who had charge of the Police. It was however decided to muzzle Martin by making a policeman of him. Accordingly – When Fleetwood poisoned himself the corpse was stowed away until the night burial in the old wooden lock up in the Market place, of which “Jack Price” had charge. Jack was termed a Sergeant. Martin had charge of the dead one. It had on a good suit of clothes. Old Cash said it was a cruel thing that the poor man should be put under with those clothes on. Accordingly he was skinned. The writer of this saw the performance, Martin holding the stiff one up out of his coffin box, and Jack hauling off his trousers and things. Jack actually walked about for months after with them on.

View Page 107

Dalgety, Buckley &c, John McLean, Manager High St in Fifties

1^st Fisher, Thos. Wilson’s store, then owner of Lichfield House, 2^nd Bethel Ware, draper, who built & removed opposite now A.J. White (wooden building)

3^rd J.D. Jones, grocer; then public house. In the and [sic] Dalgety Scotch Stores

Cobb & Sawtell, Mr Dobson’s office

Henry Sawtell, sixties; Mr E. Dobson, Fifties

Dr Prince dispensary, Geo Hollingworth, saddler

View Page 108

FIRST GOLDEN FLEECE in “Fifties”. Booth and Thomson stables.

[corner of] Armagh St, Colombo St

This was one of the first licensed houses in Chch. In 1852 Baron Von Gartner and Ellis, afterwards runholder, Oxford, were landlords. At that time it was the farmer’s house. It was afterwards landlorded by Westby Hawkshaw Percival, and Rich. W. Rayner; by J.F. Ballard, a great man for volunteering. Here the first volunteer meeting was held, about 1859, a certain Captain Atkinson, Barwell, a pensioner and some others taking part. “Johnny” Oakes, master of the little Emerald Isle, was also landlord & broke down over it. In the end it fell into the Orams’ hands, and they kept it for some years, getting the freehold. On the Armagh St frontage John Wm. Oram built a brick BOND in the sixties. At one time it became a regular Irish house of call and it saw some real old time drinking.

Baron Von Gartner, Fifties

Balcke, a landlord in the sixties

Robert Cressweell, D. Lewis’ boy

John McHarg, fifties

View Page 109

[newspaper clipping, completing Martin Cash’s story]

View Page 110

[half paragraph, crossed through]

View Page 111

In the neighbourhood of the Golden Fleece then Thomas Wilson a brother of Wm kept a bakery which he afterwards converted into a pub and called the Caledonian next to Piercy’s the latter was then shopman in the same shop for Gould & Miles. Wilson had a lot of surroundings, there was Jack McHarg, John Hicks, Kerr and others, and Henry Crooks lately Councillor and shopman with Joseph Dann. One Charly Bishop was also there. Next to Wilson’s, one John Younghusband, kept a small stationery book shop. He was a very decided austere man, got mixed up with John Lewis’ financial difficulties &c and departed. Mummery kept a pie shop next to Derik’s, and afterwards got a license for a beer shop afterwards extended into the Britannia corner Kilmore & Victoria St. Cook & Ross was not built. Geo. Fletcher had a little tailor’s shop. Kearne, an ironmongery, C.W. Wratt snr an office, Mr Longden also had an office – that comprises the footpath, I think.

Mr Crooks was one of the early missionaries.

View Page 112

No man did more towards organizing Provincial Institutions, than the present Sir John Hall. Then a man I suppose barely thirty, he at once took a leading part, and displayed in those days the same passion for order and regularity that distinguish him now. He admonished the Speaker of the young Parliament for his want of punctuality. He objected to the Governor’s or Superintendent’s “veto”, “one man more liable to err than many”. He was the first Chairman (not then called Mayor) of the first Christchurch Council. He it was, who organized the Westland County.

I rank Sir John Hall as one of the very best settlers New Zealand has seen. He, and men like John Grigg, who came in the sixties, G.H. Moore of Glenmark, William Robinson of Cheviot, Gould and Cameron, William Boag, Cracroft Wilson.

All that class of men, real settlers, have been the back bone of Canterbury. Not the wind bags of politicians, and birds of passage.

View Page 113

There was a great “battle royal” over the appointment of the first clerk to the Provincial Parliament. One candidate was Frederick Thompson, father of the “wall-eyed” solicitor, who vamoosed. He was objected to, and they wanted particulars of this and that; another was G.A.E. Ross, a son in law of parson Wilson. He got in. Later on he had experiences also.

View Page 114

(Roughly) Standard printing office of the Canterbury Standard, James Willis & Co. in the fifties (Joseph Brittan was said to be Editor & first proprietor). On the block from Harper’s offices to Walton’s Bond.

Mr James Willis, sixties

Printing office, Hereford Street Standard Oxford Terrace-Then not a tree, or fence, on the river.

Here the present James Willis, George Hart, and several more were printer boys.

The Standard died and changes came and the House was turned into the Royal Standard public House. It only lasted a year or two. J.E. March, the Government factotum was a sort of clerk and collector in the above, and then got a lucky shift into the Provincial Immigration Charitable Aid Department, and a good many stories could be told about those offices.

View Page 115

A paper called the Canterbury Guardian was started in the fifties early, somewhere about where the Salvation Barracks stand but it only lasted a few months. I think J.E. Thacker was the owner. He had a store at the corner of Cashel St and Oxford Terrace, the [sic] went to the Bays, trading in timber &c.

Buildings this style of architecture, later inhabited by Martin Cash, Mrs Hollingworth, &c. In the sixties.

On this, near this, John Bligh a cook and his wife, opened a small cook shop gradually developing into a big restaurant and boarding house. They did an immense trade and made money. Bought land &c Bligh’s Gardens at the Horse Shoe. He was not so successful after.

Trent, the original of the Trents, had a grocery here, in company with Knapman.

J.S. Buxton, a saddler, also started here in a shop. A very shrewd, grasping and unpopular man, but all there at money making.

View Page 116

Foot bridge Sup.Court Office Land Office Added for R.M. Court Oxford Terrace

Worcester St all unmade – about ‘57-60. One of the earliest residences in Chch –Dr Barker

Dr Turnbull, afterwards lived where J.T. Bell

Old Govt. Buildings now Clarendon. Old building remaining added to by Rowland Davis and others

C. Cuff, Sixties

In 1868 the highest flood that had been experienced since the settlement took place. The Avon overflowed, and came feet deep through marked X, from where is now the Drillshed, Thomsons &c, on through to Colombo St and the Market Place.

[X refers to Oxford Terrace]

View Page 117

The original madhouse was in Port Cooper, Lyttelton, where horrible cruelties were perpetrated upon poor lunatics. Of course there was no proper accommodation and it was a make shift business. Then the Government bought the section on the Lincoln Road, and commenced the gloomy pile that now stands there. There were lively times, yes, there were, in the “Mad House” on the Lincoln Road, in the Sixties.

The first Borough Council 1862 – elected, John Hall, 154 votes; John Anderson, 123; Grosvenor Miles, 112; W. Wilson, 109; W.D. Barnard, 98; Edward Reece, 89; John Barrett, 88; H.E. Alport, 80; G. Gould, 78; Defeated Mr Stringer &c. (not John Barrett of Burke’s Hotel. The J.B. was one of four brothers. He took what is now New Zealander from George Allen.) Mr John Hall (now Sir John) 1^st Chairman of Christchurch Municipality.

Benjamin Napthalie Jones was a man much after the build of Peter Cunningham, and was like him, fair with the same strong, energetic expression. He was a good all round actor, from burlesque to tragedy, ranting at times. He was later on Stage Manager of the biggest Sydney Theatres. He had an active bustling little wife, who also at one time used to take her share in the comical tragical business.

One of the theatrical damosels of the “sixties” was Miss Jennie Nye. Her peculiarities were a splendid development of leg, and a most determinedly prominent “conk”. “As big as Jenny’s nose” meant something out of the common. She was a nice dancer. Even at that time she was, well – no longer young.

Miss Dolly Green, the “evergreen” – Dolores Drummond – well, she also must be in the same category.

John Dunn was a merry jolly man, a sort of Paul Bedford. Ben Jones’ Lyttelton (Clarendon) was full of them

View Page 118

What is now the CLARENDON was called the LYTTELTON when Rowland Davis got the first license. He added to the old buildings the bar frontage on Oxford Terrace. The old building had been the Government Offices and Provincial Parliament House. It went into many hands – Ben Napthalie James the actor, once had it, and all the old play crowd J.L. Hall, John Dunn, Pollock, Howe, [illegible], Mathews, Jennie Nye &c. were familiars there. After changes it passed into George Oram’s hands, who christened it Clarendon and made a name for it.

George Oram (of the public house family of Orams) was then a fresh coloured man about 38. A good humoured strong face, plenty of talk and full of business.

The Duke of Edinburgh and his crowd, Lord Newry, Lord Charles Beresford, Elliott Yorke and the rest of them stayed there on their visit.

The two blue gums are about the oldest in Chch.

Mr Crosbie Ward in his Groves of Blarney ballad, the Town of Christchurch, in the fifties, wrote: (alluding to the building being the Gov. House)

“But them that governs		Now the rooms are spacious
This noble province		And multifarious
Has a gorgeous office		The Chief Secretary’s is
That" you’ll quite admire;		Under the tiles.
But" the way into the building		But the elegant" Chamber
Is most" bewildering		Of the Legislature
So the officials and children		Is the grandest" feature
Slip through the wire.		Of this noble pile.”

And there there’s verandahs
Above two of the windows
But" the other end is
Entirely bare.

And there’s a big sun dial
Stuck up for a trial
How long the sky will
Continue fair.

View Page 119

When Ben Jones had the Lyttelton (Clarendon) a brindled bull terrier took up his abode with him. Some lodger had left him. When they began to enforce a dog tax, the “Irish Police” sued Ben for the dog money and he was ordered to pay although he swore the dog was not his, he did not want it. A few days after, Peter Pender, Sergt., got a nice hamper by carriers, of course a present from some grateful publican or other. There was so much to pay. Not a great deal for carriage. It was paid. When the hamper was opened “a bird began to sing”, the brindled bull terrier sprang out to Peter’s infinite disgust.

Another. There was a great row about the Rev. Mr Bluett of Leeston (the “Squarson” mixture squire and parson) having imported and landed a Jersey cow, against the Act &c. The police were particularly active. They found the cow. She was ordered to be killed. Accordingly, a cow was killed, but it may be added, that it is not quite certain that the valuable imported cow was that one. A month or two after, the Himalaya a Home Ship arrived. Sergt. Ponder received positive and secret information that there was a Home Cow on board, that would be landed. A warrant was got ready, and off the police went to seize the cow. There was none. The captain’s name was COW.

Mr Bluett was a fine, pleasant manly fellow. He gave up the Church and went in for farming, dealing &c at Leeston.

View Page 120

When the brick drains were first made conveying the drainage to the River near the Hospital, one of them had a large grating. This was a novelty to the kiddies, and they must somehow extract fun from it. There was a respectable old boy, who used every evening to get mellow at the Zetland or A.1, and his way home was on this pathway. They waited for him. Just as he passed the grating an unearthly cry came. He started! Then came a warning voice to the old toper to Beware! That staggered him. He almost fell! Again came the ghostly voice of warning. Just then someone came in sight. He appealed for help and succour. The new one was a hard boiled egg. He took in the lark. The next thing was a roar from the beauties on the River Bank who were talking up the drain.

View Page 121

“SKILLICORN’S Corner” in the “fifties” – opposite Hereford.

Miss Skillicorn, a very early comer, here kept a millinery shop. It afterwards passed to “Axup, Steward & Bell” three young draper men. The middle one being the Mayor, later Speaker of the House of Assembly. [here sketch of building and caricature of] Mr W.J. Steward, sixties.

Below is the original SHADES opened by Joseph Bennett of Burnell, Bennett and Sprot, who had Auction offices opposite. It did a roaring trade for a time, being carried on on novel lines. It afterwards passed into the hands of H.G. Brown & Co. brewers, with W. Savage as manager. Since it of course, has been rebuilt and has been in many hands, but has never had the prestige it had in those days.

Behind in a cottage lived Josiah Hadley, an eccentric blacksmith, a sort of genius in his way, who yet could be fool enough to dry wet gunpowder by the side of his forge fire. He blew the front out of it. He began sinking pipes wells, and later used the carrot shape, perforated point, since patented as the Abyssinian well. He was the first Artesian well sinker in Canterbury: who ever may claim it, Hadley was the originator.

SHADES 1^st Freemason’s Hall about site Colonial Bank

W. Savage sixties

View Page 122

The first Union Bank in the fifties was in Cashel St. About 1860, removed to Hereford St, its present site; but now another building.

The N.Z. was first in Cashel St, removed to its present site about ’63 or 64. One John McCosker had the contract, also for the Wesleyan Church &c. Financial difficulties – Interesting story – Joe Bailey finished the Bank. The section of land passed through several hands, until it reached the Bank, once at 200 The Bank it was said gave 1500. About the gold rush time there was a make shift barber’s shop on it.

At the rear about the business place was where now Kay & Carter. I think it was occupied by Walton, Warner & Co (originals of J. Shand) about 1854, when they arrived. Then Mr S. Moorhouse, Macfarlane, Nottedge &c had it as law offices. W.J.W. Hamilton, had his Treasury in it. Then H.H. de Bourbel, had a turn &c.

In the “Fifties” in the angle Schmidt Warner’s, one Henry Lowther and his sisters had a sort of drapery. A Dr Chapman also had a cottage there.

View Page 123

In its natural state the Avon had a big horse shoe bend. Thinking to make it navigable to Chch (the Bricks, now Star & Garter) a cutting was made. In the fifties, now and then a small craft came up to the Bricks. Called the Bricks because bricks had to be landed there and stacked for sale. Thacker, one of the early settlers, proposed a small steamer in the fifties, but it came to nothing.

Illsbury one of the contractors of the horse shoe cutting in the Avon

Mr Marshman in those days usually wore a cabbage tree hat.

View Page 124

The Railway Managers.

When the line was first opened from Heathcote to Chch (the tunnel was not through) and after from Town to Selwyn – one of the Managers was Mr John Marshman, an early arrival, an educated, but free and easy man, affected a cabbage tree hat &c. There is no doubt whatever that the concern was manned by a drunken lot, and the engine was often driven by drunks. Things got hot and there was an enquiry. One point was, the guard, he was charged with on one occasion, being drunk when passing Hillsborough. Mr Marshman, in his evidence, gave as his opinion, that a guard was not drunk if he recognized Hillsborough and could shout it. An Irish Sergeant McGrath, of Melbourne (a saddler in Christchurch in the fifties) told the Magistrate, “That he did not think a civilian drunk, unless he was holding on to the floor”.

Another said “He is not drunk, who from the floor ) Mr Marshman’s was

Can rise and drink and call for more ) a new test

But he is drunk, who prostrate lies

And can neither drink nor rise.”

Mr Henry Thompson was not a success as a manager, nor was Mr Warner.

Mr Conyers had a reign of a few years. But, when it came to the pinch of economy, he succumbed.

Mr Back (like the fly in amber, “How the devil he got there”) not only managed well, but has been a great success in Tasmania.

View Page 125

The first “PAWN SHOP” in Canterbury, opened by Alfred Isaac Raphael, about 1863. Corner of City Hotel and High St. Site now City Hotel.

Fuchs cabinet maker Asmussen watch maker

A.1 corner 1857-8 Blanchard surveyor

David Anderson watchmaker & dentist on site now E. Reece & Sons

H.Packer, Fifties

At the rear was Richard Packer’s Brewery, afterwards Craig, H.S. Brown &c. Also the site of the starting of P & D Duncan, as plough makers, &c.

Alfred Pigeon’s Wine & Spirit store- Cashel St, about NZ Clothing factory shop. Here almost daily a knot of old timers used to gather and do justice to Pigeon’s taps. Westby Hawkshaw Percival, father of the Sir Westby, a big, brawny, bearded man. Joseph Fantham who for years squatted in the unclaimed Twigger, Lincoln Road land. Frank Guinness, father of A.R. Guinness, sol. Harry Jackson, a rough Riccarton diamond, and many more, old Edward Ashby.

Mr Pigeon, Fifties Duncan

View Page 126

Amongst the flotsam and jetsam in Ike’s pawn shop were lots of slop clothing. A Kaiapoi man rolled in one wet day and wanted to look at a suit. It was shown him. Yes, he would try it on. Accordingly he did so, put it all on, leaving his old left offs there. “I’ll come in next week and pay for them”. “No you don’t”, said Ike. By that time the other was near the door and made a bold stroke for the pouring old “Sou Wester” and gave the stuff a drenching. “You won’t let me have ‘em – all right, I’ll take’em off!”. “Well, I’m ---“, said Ike, “that’s a new one!”. That beat even what he had seen in Melbourne.

Joseph Fuch 1858

View Page 127

F.J. Hoskins, the present Town Clerk, was in the thick in the Fifties of all these people and was the high cockalorum and village bush lawyer. He kept a store, Post Office &c. His old father lived with him. In 1861, Mr Hoskins transferred all his worldly goods to his parent and left for the Otago Gold Rush. Mr L.E. Nathan, was associated in business affairs with him, in fact, had a good deal to say about him. This is what that exceedingly just man, Mr Judge Gresson had to say.

[here several lines have been left blank]

There was a good deal said about the Gressons later on.

[here several lines have been left blank]

There was also a Mr Jennings, that people insisted was the right heir to the Jennings millions. He was the person who educated the boy, William Meddings. Mr Winter also lived about, a dark, saturnine looking man. In winter time there was a terrible bit of road from the Papanui corner to Rhodes’ residence – many a time the Kaiapoi spring cart conveyance got stuck there.

View Page 128

The original of the Tisch’s was Philip, a rough German, who arrived early and settled at the Styx. There were a number of his countrymen in the locality. The first Kissell had a section. The original Treleaven, Samuel, an athletic powerful Cornishman, with a big voice, was near. He was one who helped to demolish Papanui Bush. He and Tisch were forever at loggerheads. The Kaiser had a voice like young thunder and a voluble tongue. It was amusing. Tisch was a powerful man, though short. The writer once saw him, for a wager, carry five good sized men out of a public house onto the road. Treleaven afterwards got a license for the House at the 7 Mile as it was called. The Dannage’s all had property near the Styx. Thomas Preston had charge of the Messrs Bealeys’ fine sections. He was somewhat of a character.

One of Philip Tisch’s adventures was going to Melbourne in chase of the absentee owner of a section of land opposite of the North Belt to Cashel St. He followed up the track as he thought, to Doylesford, a mining place. No success. But he had experiences. He came down to Melbourne in a hurry to catch the boat for N.Z. Just then a sensational murder had been committed in Doylesford, in fact, just before Phil left. Of course he must have done it, leaving so quick. They followed him to Melbourne. It was all police moonshine. Then he used to have some fun with “stills”. He also had a shot, on paper, on Bills, for the Golden Fleece.Went away and kept a pub at Alford Forest.

Tisch junior P Tisch, 7 Mile peg

View Page 129

Dick Taylor’s brewery

Mr Worsley, artist

Papanui Road, not made in the middle Fifties

First Chch Club. Then removed to present buildings, Worcester St. W. Collins, Steward. Afterwards Devonshire Arms G.B. Woodman.

These “old timers” of the “fifties”, when roadmaking always had a keg of “Dick Taylor” on tap for themselves and friends going by – and felt hurt if you passed the barrel without sampling.

View Page 130

First ChCh Club – Steward Mr Collins – afterwards Devonshire Arms, G.B.Woodman, now Gladstone

John Wadsworth shoemaker

There was a story or two told in connection with the house when it was the Devonshire, Jack Hart, once a butcher, keeping it. A man of a certain position, well he was a merchant and politician, used to go the rounds, and, wise man, as he thought, when he began to feel tight, on one occasion he gave the landlord his watch and appurtenances, worth a large sum, and then poor silly, off he went for a few days fly round, and on pulling up, missed his property, forgot what he had done with them, concluded he had been robbed, flew to the police and promised them a tenner if they recovered the goods. The force, quite willing, went round the pubs and first shot were told by Hart that he had the goods and at once gave them up. Then the fun commenced. Three of the police were in it and got the ten pounds and divided it. But that was against the rules. It should have gone in to the general pot. Inquiry. Youngest of the three gave evidence first, denied getting the ten pounds (They had agreed to that) two others admitted it. Young one had to clear.

View Page 131

Another card who made a sensation in the village for a time was Dr Carr, a tall adventurer from Australia, whose specialty was phrenology and mesmerism. He had a good following while the show lasted and sometimes gave free shows in the street; one I remember outside the Hart where he mesmerised one of his “buttons”, and made him go through a lot of queer proceedings, tasting garbage, &c.

And talking of mesmerism, Edwd. J. Wakefield (Teddy) effectually mesmerised a violinist of the name of Douay (Poust & Douay) well known in those days, and left him in that state in Morton’s pub, while he went off for a few days’ spree. It was said, I believe correctly, that Douay never recovered, became mad.

View Page 132

Old William Meddings was a blacksmith in the fifties on the site of the Papanui Hotel. He put an addition to his dwelling house and applied for a license. After some time he got it, and rejoiced Papanui by opening it with a dance. There were some queer cards, bushmen &c one sort and another in that neighbourhood. Flashburne, amongst them, a practical joker. Old Medding, while still blacksmithing, used to fatten up pigs, one was a boomer. It was killed and hung up in an outhouse. The blacksmith, a big, country Englishman, was proud of his “peg”. “Come in and see my peg – Isn’t it a grand ‘un” he would proudly ask. It hung for a day or two. One morning the “peg” had gone away into the unknown. The boys had “conveyed” it. It was never again seen, but a good deal heard of. Old Mr Medding often remarked that he would like to know &c “He’d take it out of his skin!”. Those were old time practical jokes. They would now be hanging matters. The old pub was the Sawyers Arms kept by Harry Rose, an old English character. At times he had a very rough squad to deal with. A good many solid men made a start in Papanui bush, and many a one made a living afterwards grubbing up the roots.

In the sixties one Jack [blank] lived about the Styx. He was a hard boiled egg. He ordered a farm dray from [blank] on six month’s credit. Eight months not paid. Draymaker “Jack, when are you going to settle for the dray?” “Well, I am sorry for you. I filed this morning. Have a drop of beer”. This in the Sawyer’s Arms. “Have they gone up yet?” “No.” “Well, Jack, let us have it back. They won’t be any the wiser.” “It’s too risky.” “You might do it for me. Here, have another drop of beer.” “Oh! Dam I don’t like seeing you lose your money. Give us a receipt for it that it was yours all the time, only lent to me.” He gave it. “Get a horse and take it away”. Done. All over. “Look here! I haven’t filed. But you don’t palm off a green wood dray on Jack – It’ll want soaking for the next three months. I ain’t hurt it!”

View Page 133

The first telegraph office was I think opened in a building at the corner of Colombo St and Cathedral Square, next Fahrmann’s. It was afterwards removed to opposite the Rink in Gloucester St. There a little escapade happened. Two gentlemen. One now dead, largely engaged in financial matters, the other what is termed a “limb of the law” got into the establishment in the “still hours of the night”, and by curiosity, or perhaps by interest prompted, overheard the secrets of the wires. There was a row. They I believe only escaped gaol, through a big payment to charitable matters. There was a man at the head of affairs not to be trifled with – Sir John Hall.

View Page 134

It was proposed in the ‘fifties’ to run a tram to Sumner. But the idea was too early for the time.

View Page 135

In legal matters, amongst others, there was a little episode where a Writ had been issued for a dishonoured Bill, endorsed with 12.12.0 costs, and in which, after the man against whom it was issued had paid debt and costs, it was discovered the the Writ had never seen, had never smelt, the sacred precincts of the Supreme Court Office. There was a row, and a threatened “off the rolls” business, but the astute one who had done the deed, knew enough of the other party to compel him to keep still. And, in certain other matters, when things were getting very, very hot, the same tactics prevailed.

Gresson, the son, who was not like his father, such a Joseph, once in a gay mood smashed a lady love’s (called Big Liz) windows. Mr W. Williams got him out of the scrape.

He also had done business with [blank], and [blank] held bills which were the more likely to be met, because they were forged, and the name upon them was, a high personage. Now [blank] and Teddy Preston, W.W.’s manager, were chatty and chummy, and Teddy on an emergency naturally told his master how matters stood. Can you comprehend?

View Page 136

When Jack Coker, was landlord of the Commercial (Warners) he put up, or some one for him, a Music Hall, at the rear, which was afterwards used for years as a sample room. There used to be concerts and other shows in the Hall. It also got into use for political meetings. Mr W. Williams, loomed up largely. The “Dirt & Darkness Club”, an association for the reform of the Muncipality, held its seances in it, W. Williams, his henchman, Teddy Preston, who died a Supreme Court Judge in Honolulu, and another oddity one Oswald, a Johnny all sorts man, were the leaders. “Was there – what for? Why Mister Williams,

Wish his Kristian [sic] name is Win –

Before the enlighted free electors

His yarn was neatly there to spin” – Policeman “X” the Poet.

Mr W. Williams was then quite democratic, and talked of the absurdities of coronets and crowns. He afterwards became quite pleased to talk of my brother, Watkin Williams, Her Majesty’s Sol. General, who afterwards was made a Judge, by that great judge of human nature, Mr Gladstone. He was a great Nonconformist and devoted himself largely in Parliament to Dissenting affairs. Sad to say, Judge Williams was found dead in a brothel, his companion a girl of eighteen.

Mr W. Williams was often in hot water. Such as for example when he said of Mr (now Hon.) Ed. Richardson, “There’s the b----y navvy who came here to do all our contract works”, and of Mr W. Pratt, “That he thought himself d-----d clever because he was a City Councillor”, and “That he knew a thing or two about Mr Pratt”, &c.

His 1^st office X this window Oxford Terrace Now a bond

View Page 137

Yes indeed, Mr W. Williams did let his tongue run loose. He has many times.

This represents one of Mr W. Williams monied clients (in a rough way) His name it was Darby Maher, and he had a deal of business in Mr W. William’s office, with the intermediary of Mr Teddy Preston, the office confidential man. Teddy in those days was a [sic] rather short, podgy, with a passably full belly, and a habit of twiddling his thumbs. He dressed in broadcloth and wore a billy cock. He was rather short sighted, but had a twinkling eye, and a fair fund of anecdote. He could tell stories in abundance and his legal reminiscences were at times racy. For to a crony, he would at times unbend, and let out the secrets of the sanctum. Teddy was, I believe, admitted to be a grand office lawyer. At all events he was the backbone of Williams’ office. Then Mr Preston entered for examination as a Solicitor, but he found obstructions, easily understood, placed in his way. He left, and ended as Judge in Honolulu.

Mr W., after one or two successes, got very bumptious, so much so, that Gresson the Judge once said to him “Well, if that’s law, Mr W., I give it up.”

View Page 138

Mr Geo. Henry Moore settled on Glenmark about 1854, when he bought under Sir George Grey’s benevolent Land System, when he as agent for Mr Kermode, of Mona, Tasmania, bought “40,000 acres of freehold, 28,000 at 10/- cash and [three thousand pounds] deposit on 12,000 acres. If not worth more than 5/- an acre, to be put up by auction”. Good old Sir George. He brought sheep from Tasmania, and from Norfolk Island the Wm Hyde in 1855 landed 65 Head cattle and 75 Leicester sheep.

Ah, Sir George was a study, and took some fathoming. Some man wrote in 1852, when he was Govr. of the Cape:-

Mankind has long disputed at the Cape, about the Devil’s colour and his shape,

The White man had declared him Black as night; the Nigger sturdily pronounced him White!

But now they split the difference and say, The thing is certain, that Old Nick is GREY!

The good old man in the sixties presented a buck and two does “silver grey” rabbits to Canterbury, and foretold what wealth their furs &c would bring in. They were the original Silver Greys in Canterbury.

Mr Moore has been a very successful sheep farmer. In the fifties and sixties he had hard work with the scab, both in cleaning and in the Courts. He found Moa bones on Glenmark in the fifties. In the sixties he was burnt in effigy in Cathedral Square, because so it was said, a swagger was refused shelter or food, at Glenmark, and died in the snow.

Mr Moore also secured under the Grey “Regulations” a splendid block in the Ashburton country.

View Page 139

Sir Everard Home a well known naval officer of the fifties, gave a large number of very valuable books to Sir George Grey “for the people of New Zealand”. Probably these may now be in the Auckland Library, as Sir Geo. has made it a gift.

Joseph Brittan, also brought rabbits early.

C. Bills had a good innings with the Prov. Gov & Accli. Society re importing birds &c. He made many trips from Home. The rooks were brought by him.

View Page 140

One of the early breweries was the Reliance on what was called the Ferry Road, somewhere near Smith, plumber. The owners were Mr W.T.J.Travers, the veteran lawyer, and a Nelson man, Oldham.

John Manning, the father of Samuel Manning, started business as a Maltster and porter brewer on premises opposite the now Catholic Church & Schools which then did not exist. Samuel was then a mere lad, but a shrewd, enterprising one, as proved by establishing & converting into a Limited Co. Samuel Manning brewery.

The Crown Brewery was started early by Mr May, and joined by Burrell Parkerson, son of the Dr. They were not hard business people, and it passed into other hands, (A. Moore &c) eventually into the Louisson family, through Alfred Louisson the first of the family here. A very shrewd person.

Roger Deacon who was with Richard Packer in the Brewery, started on a section in the Reserves a small brewery “on his own”. He was afterwards joined by William Vincent, who had been a shearer and keeper of the Rakaia accommodation house, as Deacon & Vincent. Deacon got out of it. Vincent was joined by Todhunter, ultimately, all going over to Ward & Co.

View Page 141

H.S. Brown, who had been working Parker’s brewery in Cashel St was joined by T.W. Maude. They put up that “white elephant” now the Southern Cross on the South Belt. One Capt. Crawford, father of the Oamaru solicitor, was manager. Expense and Extravagance in every direction in plant &c. Result as may be expected.

There was another small brewery on the Windmill Road, worked by Innes.

In the middle fifties, there was a cob built malthouse on the corner of Hon. Stevens’ section, River Road & East Belt. I think it belonged to Mr Fooks. It afterwards went into the Croft and Ward business.

On the same footpath going South, was the Windmill, owned by W.D. Wood. Some years after it was bought by John Leith, of Leithfield, and removed there. Mr Wood had built and removed to the Riccarton Mill.

The first “Gingerpop” people, with the good old yellow bottles, had the cork fast with a string, were old R.P. ADAMS, Thomas RAINE, Geo. CLARK, Joe [blank]. These men had the first prices.

View Page 142

One of the excitements of the fifties, was the Ferry Road drain.

Bankruptcy in the form that it is at the present day, and for many years past was not the mode of procedure of the fifties and early sixties – assignments were of course then as now. But there was no Bankruptcy form handy to shelter the debtor. A summons or a writ, judgement execution, no goods, to gaol. “Over the Hill” as the phrase went. The creditor had to pay five shillings per week for the Debtor’s keep, if not paid the jailor kicked him out. In one instance as man was kept 15 months, or more, in jail. Things changed in the after sixties. There was a perfect inroad into Canterbury of “used ups” from Otago, the furore of the gold rush had cooled. These were mostly people who had done the round of Victoria to Otago. And they were mostly hard cases. So called Contractors, publicans, agents, auctioneers, and such like. They introduced the accursed Victorian cutting system. Tenders for everything – even to a W.C. That of course spelt Bankruptcy recklessness &c. By this time a Bankruptcy Act came in Trustee &c. It was simply a farce. “Filing your Shovel” was a standing joke. Little Jock McGregor used to fill up forms, with the ease of filling a claim to vote. One F.H. Seager was Trustee. He put all the Estates in one pot. J.E. Graham was another Trustee and others. People used to go through like shelling peas. Settlement on the wife &c. Friendly lead. Oh how many little stories could be told.

View Page 143

Cockfighting

In the sixties there was in ChCh an epidemic of cock fighting and be it said, with bated breath, the Headquarters of the Sport, was a Government establishment, and some of the most ardent devotees officials and guardians of the peace.

View Page 144

The Days of Old, The House of the Many Gables

One may wander through its provincially old corridors and passages and bring anew to recollections by their sight the familiar doorways that in olden days led to the seats of power where sat the rulers of the pioneers of the Church settlement and here there creeps over one, however unwillingly, a despondent sad feeling, telling of the departure of the familiar faces of powerful men and the fleeting pace of time. It seems as yesterday that William Sefton Moorhouse, over whose personal appearance, features and characteristics, as transmitted by the sculptor’s art, so much controversy took place and so many memories are contradictory, could be seen striding, with energetic defiant step, pipe in mouth, into what he seemed to consider his own castle. There might be seen buoyant, in the full pride of manhood, with beaming face and cheery voice, his trusty henchman, John Ollivier, the province’s Chancellor of the Exchequer. William Guise Brittan, to whom was entrusted the distribution of the great provincial estate, sat here in state, supported by the old veteran Cass, and having at call busy bustling surveyors young and active, and rolls of untold land mysteries, hydrographical to the uninitiated, but as the alphabet to Board room frequenters such as Soulsby and old Bainbridge, Cass, Marshman, Dobson, Dunn, Chas. Reed, of Ashburton, the best and original gridiron, whose fame has been lost in the attempt to foist upon an eminent political man, the credit of the invention.

In those rooms were arranged many earthly matters, which have since become controversial and subject for political acrimony. Mr Cyrus Davie, “the man who came out in two ships”, Mr Dobson, Mr Marshman, were familiar figures, and William Thomson, then a prominent figure in our streets, portly in presence and strong in voice, could both be seen and heard. There also was Mr T. Duncan of free and pleasing speech, the one who in these days would be termed a masher, an ancient masher; Mr Bainbridge, erect and spruce, who carried out to the letter the well understood unwritten role of the Civil Service unwearied. In these passages day by day resounded the domineering tones of the old Nabob, Sir Cracroft Wilson, and with mysterious air, studious, thoughtful and observant and shrewd could be seen the Bridge builder, Mr William White, holding Engineers according to the Statute in contempt, and buttonholing with also perseverance and judgement [sic]

There used to be a then “power behind the Throne” Mr William Wilson, voluble and plausible, at whose nod maps were unrolled and information at command. Sir John Hall, quick, active, energetic, coming to the point with piercing glance, might often be seen, and Mr Robert Heaton Rhodes, land to the eyes, was always full of business. Yes, those passages and

View Page 145

corridors – had Mr Edison’s phonograph then existed, and treasured up the sayings and doings, the plottings and schemings of the pacers upon those wooden flags, and the assemblers by appointment, and now did it retail to a new generation the mysteries of the early days, in land, in surveys, in contracts, in politics, could tell a very interesting story, and furnish a very material supply of memorials for making history. What intense political excitements, disputes and controversy the battles of the Moorhouses and the Halls, the Brittans, Fitzgeralds and Wards, coming down by a graduated scale to the Rowland Davises and Dobbses and others; and when a later generation of politicians arose in the Montgomerys, Turnbulls, Williamses, the capsizing of ministries, the making of premiers, the plottings and jealousies, the unbending obstinacy of Rolleston, the feeble rule of Bealey, all ending in the Vogellian era, and the hushing of Provincial Greatness to obscurity and relegating the honored [sic] walls of the old Parliamentary hall to the uses of an annual Race ball. Many yet think, the new generation of course has arisen with things as they are – but many cannot at times help feeling that perhaps it was a mistake when so thorough a sweep was made of Provincial Days. There might it may be, have been found a half way house which would have left the old Hall with some financial work to do, and to local hands the acting and legislating upon local matters, which only encumber and embarrass

View Page 146

central legislation and authority, and leave local wants in many ways not well attended to and local aspirations unsatisfied. Yes the old Province had many good points. There was somewhat too much haste in the act of obliteration. Politics fortunately cannot command the power of destroying ancient memories and associations, and the probability is, that when the time arrives on the 16^th December 1900 – how few of the old ones will be there – those who remain, and their descendants, will give the other provinces of New Zealand their idea of an old English Jubilee, in commemoration of the planting upon virgin soil of the first footsteps of the old Canterbury pilgrims, the founders of the glorious Province of Canterbury, the England of New Zealand.

View Page 147

Ruminating

People of today run away with the idea that the old ones of thirty years ago were an outlandish, uncouth rough sort of know nothings, contented with their lot but quite unfit to be mentioned and thought of in comparison with the new generation, with their modern ideas, rules and regulations, and generally, do as you’re told. Poor old chaps!! Some man – was it Dean Swift? – wrote “young men think old men fools, but old men are sure that young men are fools!” The old fellows, excepting those who have fallen by the way side, have been through the furnace, and they have a faint idea that a good many of the young ones of the coming generation have only a very, very moderate notion of the difficulties that are growing and fast accumulating around them at present, and in the future.

Early closing! Bless the novices, why thirty years ago, Bethel Ware, who built the first portion of Messrs. A.J. White & Co big furnishing establishment, and the leading draper suggested early closing and the remainder Mesdames Williams, Coe, and Skillicorn, and Mr Lowther and one or two others agreed. So that the poor old benighted ones of those days, were even earlier in the field than the agitating Mr Clark. But, love you, did it last? No. Why? Because in that age, individualism triumphed uncontrolled. The energetic to the front, and no tape measuring and making people in one mould, as at present seems to be the controlling idea. Men had to face bread at a 1/-, Salt butter 2/-, Eggs 3/-, Flour 20/- a cwt, mutton 6d and 7d, beef 7 and 8d, Pork 9d, and old Waterlows, the original pork butcher’s sausages one shilling, with sugar, decent brown, 6d to 8d, and Price’s candles 2/-. Very different to this day, and yet, it is on record and known, and people live who know it well, some now successful farmers and tradesmen, that unemployed meetings were not unknown, and the Government compelled to find work – yes, work at, for able bodied men, 3/6 and 4/- a day, and at that price the grounds around the Government buildings were made, and Cathedral Square levelled. Oh yes, the old fellows had some difficulties, not trades unions strikes, or factory Coys or any of the well studied notions arising from a too developed civilization – call it so – and a great amount of comfortable conveniences, but, little bothers arising in the struggle of rough work, building lean-tos and sod huts, fencing

View Page 148

road making, making footpaths, gardens, parks, and endless other and variable labours, which all combined, and which many a poor fellow has not lived to enjoy, form the beautiful city of Christchurch, which the young people of to day have almost brought themselves to believe they made for themselves, and are in no way indebted to those who have gone before. Certainly, it cannot be disputed at times there was a struggle for work – for men – never, not as now, never for boys. Boys then were valued, and there was no necessity to go begging to place a boy. They were wanted and sought for. Has it ever occurred to the bitter strugglers of to day that the evils that exist largely rose from sweating – not the much talked about tailors and printers sweating – but sweating, for it is nothing else, in the form of competitive tenders for buildings, for works for everything? Result, tenders too low, progress payments, evacuation of the premises, merchants and tradesmen unpaid, workmen lamenting, and greater curse, sub-contracting. Perhaps thought out, competitive tendering and contracting in every line has had as much to do with the evils that now irremediably exist, as extravagance. Could the trades union strugglers get that abolished? The men that drive competitive tendering off the face of New Zealand’s earth will merit remembrance. The old rotten so called free trade cry of Bright and Cobden, “Buy in the cheapest and sell in the dearest market” has proved, is proving a curse.

View Page 149

Old Canterbury

Relentless time is slaughtering the old Pilgrims and the men of the fifties and sixties. One by one they travel. The old Scythe bearer has laid low George Braund Woodman, an early pioneer, and an old sport. A carpenter, pushing, energetic, he drifted into road contracting, and the streets of Christchurch and the roads surrounding, were then familiar with the name of Woodman & Wright; and the money so well earned, was well invested in the fat lands of Ellesmere. The present Gladstone, called him its first landlord, under the name of the Devonshire Arms, and, in the old house, in pre-licensing days, foregathered to their miniature club all the elite of the old Canterbury swells. There could be seen Watts Russell, Creyke, the Mallocks, Lances, Tancred, Clifford, Weld, Hall, Ward, Domett, settlers and visitors, the old pilgrims and their chums. From there the club migrated thirty years ago, to its present abode, where every visitor, worth inviting, has been entertained; Sir Charles Dilke, the man of many experiences, and Anthony Trollope, the immortaliser of Australian “blowing”; Lord Lyttelton (Gladstone’s friend) and Mr Selfe, the London Magistrate; and many others, Governors, officials and globe trotters. Those were the times, the grand old times, with none of your modern Millar and Parkerism and union boycotts, but a homely and contented set of the old sort, picking, shovelling, levelling, wheelbarrowing, with a cask of old Packer’s, or Dick Taylor’s Colonial on tap, within sight, for general use, out of a good tin pannican, thus keeping their spirits at a merry flow and making contentment reign. They were the old originals, full of British muscle, beef and beer; none of your high heeled, snipey, colonial cockneys, with their endless discontent, affiliations, rules and regulations.

View Page 150

Yes, times are changed. When in the early fifties, a warm hearted man like the departed Isaac Luck upon finishing his contract of a twenty by ten lock up in the Market Place for the early and beery pilgrims, invited his friends to a house warming and a ball in the establishment, just to show how nice and snug would be the future occupants. A sort of fatherly foresight, making things familiar. Yes, good old days that are gone, when Judge Stephen, fined Mr King, a solicitor, practising in his court at Wellington, �20 for giving his client bad advice. How applicable now. Yes, good old times, and what would the boycotters say to this – when the Canterbury Association clapped immigrants in Lyttelton Gaol for passage money, which they refused to pay, saying it was enough that they had come 16,000 miles to oblige the Association, without being bothered about cash.

Yet another. S.C.Moule, a quiet, reserved man, of not many words, but pleasant to meet. Once as well known as the Cathedral Tank, on the footpath in Cashel Street, where was his old dwelling and workshop, and next door was David Clarkson, the originator of Dunstable House; nearer the corner the original Birmingham and Sheffield warehouse of Edward Reece; and up and down that footpath C.E. Dampier, solicitor, G.D. Lockhart, the Union Bank, Mr John Ollivier, Inwood, the miller, Mr Mount, an eccentric of the olden days, Mr Watson, the tailor, and others of the old boys had their places of business, or abode. Most of them if they would only oblige by revisiting could tell us of that little mystery “When we have shuffled off this mortal coil”, but they will not, and we must just wait patiently. It will not be long, for what one writes about is thirty or forty years ago.

View Page 151

Another who has been laid low, was not a Pilgrim, but a man of the sixties. All theatricals from that date knew him well, from Hoskins, Hall, Jones, Dunn, to Mesdames Jenny Nye, Cissy Matthews, and the rest of the damsels, and some of a later generation. Soon after the late John W. Oram became proprietor of the Criterion, succeeding John E. Coker, Mr Baylie, became his manager, later on landlord. He was, as it were, the last link of the Oram regime, which once held the fort, against all comers, at the Clarendon, City, White Hart, Royal. John had a pleasant bonhommie [sic] about him, was always ready for a joke and was not bad at repartee, altogether a genial old boy whose peculiarities will be remembered with a relish. He knew some little of what was going on when Harry Oram swore by Sir Tatton Sykes, and Harry Prince was a hurdle jock of a former generation, when Lashine[?] and Calumny were household words, and the Bush Inn swept the course. Times are changed and a new generation of owners, trainers, and jocks knowing not the Cator and the Peer, Moorhorse and Betty Martin, Stafford and Ultima, Tom White and Netsail, Martelli and the first Sultan, Viscount, Phoebe, Ladybird, Robson, now rule in place of the old departed ones. Thus the world goes round. Why Musket was not heard of, barely Traducer.

Traducer before he got his name up once changed hands, I have heard, for 40. Viscount belonged to a very early arrival, Mr Leech, a nice, pleasant fellow. He built the stables near Warners, now used by the Tramway. Phoebe was a fine mare of Duppa’s. Traducer was I think imported by Mr David Innes. He was a pleasant sort of man, and for a time lived in a nice place on the Papanui Road, when he married Miss Kate Williams, sister of C.H. Williams. She had a well known hack Silvertail.

View Page 152

Dear me, what one suffered. Why Christchurch existed without an evening paper until Johnny Hall, then in the full fling of Operatic management, started a sort of Entr Acte which drifted into an Evening Mail in which appeared many a racy little tit bit. That, it is probable, was the first evening paper, as was the Canterbury Standard the first morning. Unless you go back to a venture of I think Mr Thacker’s, the Guardian or summat similar, and some of the little boys who were then mischievous little Pilgrim larrikins learning the art and mystery of type and stick and form, are now fine grizzled old fellows; some of them like the old darkey gentleman, who had

“No hair on the top of his head,

In the place where the hair ought to grow”.

But then, what a glorious compensation. Instead of raven, curly, bewitching locks, they have got wisdom. In the place of the bloomy cheeks of happy youth, see how capable they now are, by age and experience, of giving the growing generation sound counsel, and passing unerring judgement. Maturity and age, most assuredly have their advantages, especially age. Look at Mr Gladstone. What prevents any promising young chap from making up his mind firmly to live to one and eighty, and for pastime cutting down the glorious oaks and elms and blue gums that will adorn, but encumber, Hagley park? What man has done, man can do – go in and win, young Kerlonials.

View Page 153

The days of old – the first Hansom cab

For some two or three years, in a yard facing where now is the White Horse Hotel, then occupied by Jonah Wheeler and Edward Nurse, who in a spring cart brought the mails from the Foot of the Hills to Christchurch, and also carried them to Kaiapoi in the same manner – about the years 1858-9-60 – there stood, apparently neglected, but certainly unused, a hansom cab, the first of its race in Christchurch, now par excellence the home of the Hansom Cab in the Southern seas, where the cabs are neater, the horses of a better stamp, taken altogether, unequalled. There it stood, apparently in dock for ever, looking uncared for and not wanted. It was, like many other things, before the age. But its time came. For old Tom Goodger, the parent of all the Hansoms in Christchurch who was then a busy attendant in one of the stables, had his eye upon it, and awaited patiently for the time when circumstances fitted in.

To the astonishment of people, the odd thing was taken out of dock, painted, varnished and gilded, a neat, strong cob in the shafts, and behold, Tom, in gorgeous array, with white bell topper and blue veil, mounted on the box, and at the call of the patrons of the day. The opportunity comes to him who waits, as we have been told, and Tom found it so for his patrons were numerous and questions of one shilling fares were not so closely entertained in those days as they have since become. “Well”, old Tom would say, beaming upon his fare with his old English face and his full round voice, “Well, mum – let’s see – we was at Gould and Mileses, and we was at Miss Skillicorn’s, yes mum – then we called at the Post Office – oh yes, mum, - then we was at Gee’s – well, mum, seven and six, that won’t be too much, mum – Thank you, mum, much obliged” and Tom lifts his gorgeous tile and with a “Git up” starts the easy worked cob to the stand, then occupied by himself and two four wheelers opposite what is now the City Hotel. There might be seen the [continued next page]

View Page 154

original cabs and cabmen of the city, now so numerous, and so smart. But there was then no rushing to the train, no necessity for haste, things went on gently, aye, hardly a telegraph wire, for only a short time before Mr Edmund Green, who, it may be, still lives in the St Albans district, had been specially imported to erect the first line of wires from Lyttelton, over the hill to Christchurch. The thing had previously been done without, a ship arrived, perhaps full of immigrants, its arrival reached town in due time. The monthly mail was in Port, a leisurely gun announced the fact. The mail reached the miniature Post Office, where now stands Mrs Pope’s shop in Market Place, and Dr Back, the Postmaster, Thompson his clerk, and Bill Moore, the Town Deliverer, put the concern through, but do not for a moment imagine that either of those gentlemen worked at the high pressure which Cathedral Square now exhibits. Oh dear no. The affair was done leisurely, and came to an end in due time. Those were not the days of unnecessary haste.

The death of Mr E.G. Griffiths so associated with horses and racing brings back to memory such items of the long days ago, when Canterbury could show in full force its pioneers, the Pilgrims of the early fifties. That gentleman was one of a merry band long since departed and their names almost forgotten in the land. Who knows anything of Dick Groome, or Tom Adams? Who thinks of Harry Poingdestre or Tom White or Freeland, and how many, many more of the first joyous crowd then in the heyday of vigorous young manhood? A few of their contemporaries, old and bent, some looking grey and withered, still remain – few and far between. Ah the old Royal then was gay, and the Avon without a willow or a tree, its banks in all the bareness of nature, sometimes resounded in the “wee sma’ hours” to the doings of the jolly crowd within its walls. Soldierly old Stewart, then mine host, and upon his death, Thomson, could have a tale unfolded of the high jinks of the merry band, of whom so few now remain. But it should never be forgotten, when tales are told of the doings of old, that then people were few, and amusements, such as now young blood enjoys, scanty, in fact was almost limited to hotel life and its surroundings. Now, variety is coming, monotony unknown, then the only hansom cab was idle

View Page 155

Mr Henry Barnes Gresson, who had been an attorney in Ireland, arrived here about 1856, and commenced practice. In ’58 I think, he was made Judge of the Supreme Court, being the first Judge appointed specially for the Canterbury and Otago portion of the South Island. Mr Gresson was then a middle aged man, with a precise, exacting sort of face, posed as being a very religious man and a stickler for the highest morality and unblemished conduct. His example unfortunately did not carry weight, even with his nearest connexions. He was not looked upon as a master hand at law, nor as one of great intellect. Intense respectability was his forte. His remarks from the “Throne of Justice” were sometimes cruelly severe, and no allowance seemed to be made by him for erring man, aye, even for erring youth. He passed some very severe sentences on unfortunate young men, not seeming to think that he was perhaps doing what, by its severity, would blast their lives for ever. But he could be lenient on occasions. How little he foresaw how some of his epithets and scorn might in later years be applied and his own name be byword for fraud.

View Page 156

Mr Laine, Avon, sixties, A most respectable settler of the early days some two miles down the North Bank of the Avon

Mr Heywood, sixties, A very early business man, and one who has always been well thought of

D. Craig, sixties, Came down in the sixties from Auckland, to manage the NZ Insurance

Capt Fisher, sixties, fifties A very early arrival, a Navy man

View Page 157

The days of old – Amusements years ago

For a long time Foley’s circus 1856-7 was the landmark from which events dated. Foley, the amusement provider of the old stagers. He planted his show somewhere about where now is Simpson and Williams, then a vacant block, owned by an absentee. There he pitched his tent and a glorious trade he did while the show lasted. He was succeeded for a considerable time – by no one. Then who came next as an entertainer? Was it Mr Furby, an 1858 eccentric old gentleman who got a full house in the old wooden town hall with “Mirth, Magic and Music”? or a German female itinerant who gave solos and tambourinals, and other little sundries. Then about 1859-60, John Lawrence Hall, the identical Johnny, appeared upon the scene, as clown and general all round man of a dog and monkey show, upon the site of Nancasson’s fruit shop rear the White Hart. Then, soon after, in company with Mr B.N. Jones, now stage manager in Sydney, they gave glorious entertainments 1859-60 in the Town Hall, in which the piece de resistance nightly, was B.N’s Other side of London, with variations appropriate to local doings which was rigidly encased, and the chorus given of the melody of the voices of the gay old boys of those times, mostly now dead and gone and passed into oblivion. They were easily amused, and not so oratorical as their successors have become. Rough benches sufficed for them, and oil lamps and candles shed ample light. They were not exacting.

A change was now coming. Those were the gold days. 1861 saw the Otago rush, and with it the adventurers of every description that a rush brings in its train. Johnny Hall launched out into a theatrical manager in Dunedin, and a year or two after opened the first theatre in Christchurch on its present site. He went largely into matters, ran an Opera Company, and other expensive ventures and landed in what became his almost unvarying haven, Queer Street. That was the beginning of a Theatre proper, where were seen and enjoyed by the homely people old John Dunn, Pollock, Fawcett, Cassy Matthews, Anna Fow, Jenny Nye, Julia Matthews, Wiseman, Miss Cleveland, Mrs Stirling the celebrated London actress, (who it may interest some to know, when celebrities of all sorts are enquired about, occupied a little cottage in Montreal Street opposite the police barracks) [continued next page

View Page 158

Mrs Newton, Ivey Songenheim, Ben Jones running into the days of old Hoskins, and all the people of the later time. And it may be interesting to note, that amongst Johnny Hall’s early enterprises was a sort of “Entr’Acte” which passed from him to one Langridge, and from him merged into a spicy little evening print, The Evening Mail, which was run for some years from a little office somewhere about where now stands the Empire. The Empire originated by an old identity named Tom Atkinson, who previously had run a well known boarding place called Tweed House, Cashel Street East. The Mail for a time was edited by a then well known man, David Scott, the proprietor of what was then the Christchurch High School where now stands the big school on the Lincoln road, and where was erstwhile a place of much resort, Dick Kohler’s gardens. E.J. Wakefield also contributed, and many others, some of whom would hardly care to be reminded of the matter. It fell into the hands of Geo. Tribe, licensee of the Central Hotel, and lived, and lingered, and died; but even so to it belongs the record of having been the first evening paper in Christchurch, and owing its existence to a theatrical, the seasoned Johnny Hall, the man of merry moments and of great vicissitudes. Then, a man of many enterprises, launched the Gaiety, now the general sample rooms, and in which a young lady, with a one act show, whose name has vanished as a dream, but at that time not without an estimate of her own powers of entertainment, finding a Christchurch audience unsusceptible to the charm, indignantly carried them up by saying “That the next entertainment she would bring to Christchurch would be a monkey show”. The ordeal has been passed, and the occasional successes of other and various experiences in the way of entertaining the Christchurch multitude, has shown that the young lady’s judgement was biased by individual experiences. But, is that not so with all? The estimate of the place, in professional decisions, depends upon professional success or failures, a very material question.

View Page 159

The days of old – Suicides

Your remarks upon suicides, inquests and burials, bring back to recollection a case coming under those headings, which occurred in Christchurch in the days of old. Some thirty years, more or less, ago, an immigrant ship arrived in Lyttelton, having as usual a medical man in charge of the passengers. The ship was the Mercury or some similar name, and amongst her immigrants was the first instalment of what has since developed into the organised demi monde of Christchurch; those being some dozen or more reformatory school girls whom some well intentioned people at Home had sent out to distant New Zealand to become well behaved matrons, amid their new associations. The experiment was largely a failure. Indeed to persons with any experience, to expect otherwise, considering the ways of immigrant ships in those times, would have been a very great belief in the impossible – almost. The medico was a proper old time immigrant ship medico, a case hardened sinner glorying in drink and its surrounds; arrived, he went in for an enlarged carouse, and accompanied by one of the trusty band of reformatory girls had a thorough good ending by taking in marriage the young lady. All went merry, until funds failed and credit became exhausted, when face to face, like cases happening in these days, with money troubles and soberizing thoughts he duly honored the White Hart Hotel, in which he had passed many a high old time with his chum, Dr Murphy, by taking the necessary quantity of poison, and stretching himself upon the public room couch, informed his friend that he had taken poison.

View Page 160

“Poison, have ye?” said Murphy gaily, “Then begad Fleetwood take off your boots and die like a gentleman”. That was the Irish gentleman’s idea of the seriousness of the act, and the solemnity of the occasion. He died, was inquested, and presumably, was found by twelve intelligent men, guilty of self murder, for following upon that, and, whether according to the statute in hat case made and provided, or not, his remains were carted to the borders of the beautiful cemetery on the Avon, then not so pretty as now, and in the dead of night, under the supervision of a character then well known in Christchurch Jack Price the policeman, his coffin such as it was, was dropped into a hole outside the cemetery boundary or fence, almost full of water. Such was the end of the romance. Perhaps at that time the act to which you refer was still in force, at all events, the usual formalities of Christian burial were dispensed with. It may be interesting to add that one of the mourners was none other than the one much talked of Martin Cash, the Vandieman’s land bush ranger, who was then in Christchurch, and realised a competency by making the neighbourhood of Salisbury Street much talked of and right occasionally hideous of fights and brawls. The industrious and energetic ex Bushranger, finding things becoming rather hot, called in his bank deposits, and departed for his old home and cronies.

View Page 161

This was one of Ike’s neat little doings. One Thiel, a German, had got into the Net. There was, or supposed to be, some 25 owing, for which the Jew sought judgement. Vain judgement, for poor Mr Thiel, had nothing to be grabbed. So no steps taken. “Don’t bother, Thiel, I won’t hurry you”. “T’ank you Mr [blank], you know I have noding – I have everyting lost”. “Yes, yes, I know.” Thiel had made it over to the wife, carefully.

One day there was a sale in Alport’s room and, amongst other plunder, was a tobacco machine, under pressing orders to be sold. Thiel overhauled it. So did Ike. “What do you think of it Thiel?” “It is not pad, Mr [blank]. It is goot! It is goot! Do you want it?” “Well, if it went cheap. What is is worth?” Oh, perhaps from 18 to 23”. “Well, look here, Thiel, you’ll be here, bid for me. If I bid, Alport will run me. You buy it and take it to your place. I’ll give you a cheque.” Thiel fell into the trap. Bought the article and paid for it. But it was barely paid for before Ike had the law out of it by seizing it as Thiel’s property. That was very neat.

View Page 162

One of the first “quality” weddings was I think in 1856 when Mr Hilton (Dick) as he was called was mated to Miss Westenra daughter of Capt. Westenra. Oh, it was a grand affair. Hanover Square was not in it. Jonah Wheeler and Ned Nurse, stable keepers in the Terrace had the job. Ned Nurse, I think it was, drove the bridal couple in what was afterwards to be Tom Goodyer’s Hansom, and Billy Beechly went round with the imported Bus and gathered up the guests and with the cargo drove to St Michael’s old Church, where the Knot was tied. Necessity is a grand educator. Here they were shown how well, on a pinch, could be done without all the gaudy equipages and cockades of to day.

Talk about the wedding of Ballypooreen, that of Jack Depenheim, a Dutchman, in Port at the end of the “Fifties” was to the Port boys, a most enjoyable affair.

View Page 163

This is a rough likeness of James Robinson Clough, (father of George Robinson the Half Caste Wrestler) the man who pulled the British warship into Akaroa and hoisted the “old red rag” on the point, later owned by Mr I.H. Garwood. Johnny was a rare good beer man, that was his failing. At bottom he was a fine athletic rough Englishman, to the core. He married a Māori & had several sons. For some years he lived at Alford Forest, had there a nice orchard in the early days, and was a good bush worker, sawyer or splitter. Occasionally he paid Chch a visit and with his chums, made things lively. But there was nothing malicious about him. Poor fellow! -–he earned good money and fooled it away. I remember on one occasion going up the middle of Papanui road (Victoria St) then in the rough, and picking up shillings half crowns, sixpences and fine old Turnip and steel chain and etceteras, and wondering who had been flying round. Later on I heard that Johnny had passed up “tucking and filling” on his road to the bush public at Papanui, The Sawyers’ Arms kept by old Henry Roil. That was where the spoil had come from. Johnny would change note after note, and clap all in his loose moleskins.

View Page 164

In the middle fifties there was no accommodation house from the Plough at Riccarton until you reached the South Branch of the Selwyn where G.A. Parlby kept a shanty, a makeshift one. Parlby was a singular looking individual all legs and wings, legs at angles and a funny long face. He was active and untiring and simply stuck to a horse’s back. Then you went on to the Rakaia, where William Dunford had the Ferry and House. The Ferry was an important institution in those days, for attempting to ford the Rakaia, excepting the branches, was about as good as drowning. Dunford, who was said to have been an English shepherd, was a grand ferryman, and immovable when his experience told him that attempting to cross spelt Danger to life. For the Rakaia was, and is, no plaything. However, William White the Bridge builder, tackled it.

A year or two later Turton opened a House at the Ashburton. In passing, it may be mentioned, that the mouth of the Ashburton was occasionally used by small craft, but it was risky, and never became a settled traffic. On to the Hinds, where John Hayhurst had an accommodation House, then nothing till the Rangitata where people were generally made welcome by the Scotch shepherds on Sir C. Wilson’s run.

The accommodation houses held their licenses on conditional tenure. Must keep hay &c on the premises and oats, and not sell above certain prices &c

Robson James Main, opened 1^st accomm House at “Weedons” Stableman

View Page 165

Some of the dogs of the fifties were Captain Westenra’s old Tippoo Saib a hard, old fashioned, big limbed bull terrier, more on the side of the bull. He was always at the old gentleman’s heels. Goodacre, a sort of character, had been an all sorts, once had a drapery on the site of “Gas Co’s Office”, and was a house of call for shearers, and up country men for clothes, and “went bung”. Had a very good breed of full, old style bull terriers. David Lewis, the butcher, had a big strong cattle dog, Pincher, always at his heels. Miss Skillicorn had a big, not well bred Newfoundland sprawling about her shop. He took a holiday, and played havoc amongst sheep. That cost her something. Elsbee, the photographer, had a fine Newfoundlander, but not a useful one. The first greyhound, I remember, belonged to Terry Osborne, the undertaker. A big strong dog, but not fine bred. They were not valued in those days. No hares. Dr Fisher, had a very good gun retriever always with him. Tom Wadsworth, a shoemaker, living at the corner of Kilmore and Durham Streets about 1859, brought out a splendid breed of toy black and tan terriers. “Pint pot” affairs. Very small.

View Page 166

In 1858 a skeleton was uncovered upon what is now the New Brighton Beach. It had evidently been landed from a boat, for the pole, in a mouldering state, was still there, by which the coffin box had been carried from the sea. The skull, was a nicely formed one, that of a youngish man, with a fine set of teeth. There were also the remains of a neck tye of some sort, a mere rag, but I think of silk. There also was a piece of tin, which evidently had been written upon, but totally indecipherable. The skull and some other articles were brought to ChCh. The remainder covered up.

S.E. Seager says that he, in 1854, saw all this, and, deposited the skull &c with Dr Haast. Dr Haast was not in Canterbury for many years after 1854. Mr Seager was in Lyttelton, one John Price had charge here, and, the present writer was there, and was "the chiel amang ‘em, taking notes”. His own impression is that taking the whole thing as it looked, it had been there quietly for very many years, from the old Explorer’s time, and that the remains were those of an Officer of some sort. One of the crew would have been tied in a canvas bag and pitched over

View Page 167

As newcomers run away with the idea that Mr William Reeves, sire of Mr W.P. was the founder of the Lyttelton Times, it may be as well to say that the paper was established some time after the arrival of the first ships by Mr Shrimpton a printer, and Mr J.E. Fitzgerald. It after passed into the hands of Mr Crosbie Ward and his brother. About 1860, Mr W. Reeves joined Mr Ward and became Ward & Reeves. Mr Reeves did not arrive in Canterbury till 56/7. Essayed farming at Rangiora, not a success. Then tried draying and carrier business from Heathcote to Christchurch, from the small craft that then unloaded there. From that he drifted into newspapers.

The Press was founded about 1860/1 by Mr J.E. Fitzgerald and the party opposed to the Moorhouse clique. It was first printed in a wooden cottage, still standing in Montreal St, then removed (I think) to Waterlow’s old sausage shop (Aiken & Roberts) and finally to its present stand. Mr Fitzgerald was the Editor until he became Auditor General and there is no doubt, whatever, that there was some exceedingly smart writing in it, for Fitz, as he was called, was a master hand. Sarcasm, irony, humour, fun & fancy, all were fish to him.

Every now and then he seized hold of some local affair, it may be some thing of no great importance but he played round it and invested it with funny interest. Coker & Ell, butchers, advertised “Wanted, a butcher for slaughtering” that was delightful – such a text. Then the Green Grocer – Jack Elmes, had got into the meshes of Ike Raphael and percentages came out. The comments were racy and strong.

Willm. Reeves fifties

View Page 168

Some of the early versifiers were Mr Crosbie Ward, of the Lyttelton Times, who wrote a lot of amusing stuff about all sorts of local odds and ends, putting in some a good dash of humour. Then Mr C.C. Bowen, quite youthful, tried his prentice hand on daffodils and cowslips and such sentimental highfalution. Policeman X (Frank Valpy) in the sixties amused people with the doings of great politicians like Mr W. Williams & Co.

In the very early first four ship days, Mr J.E. Fitzgerald wrote a piece, set to music, about the Charlotte Jane – one of them.

Major Steward (then of Axup Steward & Bell) in the sixties wrote also some very touching poetry.

Policeman X (Frank Valpy) as a burlesque rhymer was good, but in his fun he put in many a home truth.

Charly Martin also had a style of his own, and some of his jingles were capital. Address to a “Lost Sun” – that was a long spell of wet weather, introducing Jack Birdsey and his shiny hat, Elsbee, the photo, Redman and his tilbury &c and other local celebrities.

Mr Mark P. Stoddart, of Diamond Harbour, also sent out a piece or two.

View Page 169

Dr Moorhouse’s residence Oxford Terrace is probably the oldest residence of a medico in Chch. In the middle fifties Dr Fisher lived and practiced there. He always rode a comfortable cob, and generally wore gaiters or boots. His retriever dog always followed him. He had much the look of a well up County Vet in the old country. He was joined about ’59 by Dr Coward and in a year or two left for Home and has resided there since. He was successful here and had a good run on the Rangitata. His most important case here was upon the murder trial of Mrs Greig and Langsteth, for the murder of the husband James Greig.

Dr Moore was one of the early medicos. I think he first lived in the Bays. In Chch his house was near Mr Cyrus Davie’s, Chester St.

Things were lively when Dr J.J. Turnbull took as a wife Miss McLean. The Dr then drove a gay little trap & ponies. The wedding was at a house corner of Manchester St and Cambridge Terrace.

Dr Parkerson, fifties

[written in pencil, upside down to rest of page] In the sixties, G.H. Moore, of Glenmark, was burned in effigy in Cathedral Square.

View Page 170

One of the earliest dentists was Dr Cattlin. He had lived in Akaroa previously. Then practiced in an old time residence opposite Dick Taylor’s brewery in Kilmore St. In those days in winter time fire wood was sometimes up to 6 a cord, the roads being deluged in mud. Result, some neighbours helped themselves. Mr Cattlin’s remedy was boring a hole with an augur [sic] in a nice handy nuggety block and putting in a moderate charge of gunpowder. Result. That nice block first taken, fine winter fire and a little explosion – no more of Cattlin’s timber stolen.

Dr Marshall, was a medico in the sixties, living in a building where now stands Whitcombe & Tombs. He was somewhat eccentric. Laughable and abrupt. He once had a fad for Māori skulls, and with a confidential assistant disturbed some Māori graves - at night. He got a fright and a run for it, that he never afterwards forgot. Old Tom Goodyer, the Hansom cab man, got bilious with prosperity and so many “dog noses” the Dr gave him some doses. Something went wrong. The Dr had to see him. “You had the medicine, pay for it” “But, Dr. I didn’t take your physic.” “That’s your fault.” “I couldn’t swallow it”. “Do you want physic to drink like gin?” “Well, no, Doctor, but you might make it a bit tasty. Besides it was too ropy.” “Ropy! What do you mean?” asked the astounded beak. “Well, your Worship, you might as well have swallowed live worms and they smelt rotten at that!” The Doctor roared.

Dr Patrick, on arriving went into partnership with Dr Marshall, but they were both, well, rather irascible, and they had a jolly row. Dr Marshall went to the North Island.

Dr M. sixties

View Page 171

Captain Brunker a fine dashing, little man a regular attendant at Birdsey’s a remittance man – but it flew. He behaved like a hero at the burning of the Blue Jacket at sea.

Johnny Hart, about 1860s ran a dog show circus in a yard, where the shops are North of the Hart.

B.N. Jones, had a concert affair at the old wooden Town Hall.

Ben Dowling, one of a well known Tasmanian Australian sheep family – He used to make the welkin ring.

St Quentin who painted Jack Birdsey’s windows was a rare decorative artist, probably at his business, almost unequalled, but, poor man, he must go into politics. He fought an election at Papanui. He and old James Wood, the saddler, were at loggerheads. They were old Melbourne acquaintances.

(roughly) Jack Birdseye 1861 The Captain

[two men on a bench representing Fleetwood taking poison and Dr Murphy telling him to take his boots off]

Benj Dowling Mr Maxwell sixties

View Page 172

Bully White was a sea dog of the old race. He made things lively when he was around, as the old Mitre and the City knew. He and Babot and old “Glenmark” Wrauckmore (he was never heard of, or his ship – Bully White was drowned)

A sixty waiter and cook W. Dorset

View Page 173

One of the officials of the “sixties” was Mr James E. Graham. He was sort of Administrator in Bankruptcy, after an Act was passed, and at the time, to a certainty he was busy. He was tall, empty bellied man and the irreverent jokers of the day, taking that with the J.E.G. of his name, christened him “Jimmy Empty Guts”.

A little young curly headed Scotty, Jock McGregor, was his clerk. Poor Jock was out of luck. He ended it. At Temuka, or thereby, he and his young wife killed themselves.

The lads of those days had to amuse themselves as fun dictated for there were not many shows. But they sometimes originated one. Going along the other side of Birdsey’s I noticed a white bell topper on the pathway. “Oh, what does this mean?” I guessed it meant fun. It came. An elderly gentleman, whose name has escaped me, came every morning along up High St, and on that roadway, and he had a habit of kicking everything. He almost seemed to quicken his pace when he sighted “Who stole the donkey?” Coming up to it, he made one very vicious kick, good enough to send it to the other side of London. He was like the duck that grabbed the boiling hot potato, dropped it and waddled on. He gave a sort of pained limp and went on, but he heard a roar. The gay Birdsey crowd, for want of better, and knowing the old gentleman’s passion for kicking everything, had got hold of a new chum’s hat and under it inserted an iron 50lb weight. The old gent hurt his corns. In future he avoided that side like the pest.

Then they varied the play. Jack had a beautiful and, for the day, flash lamp put up. In the small hours, after the “gambling was over”, he was alarmed and disturbed by the supposed police, such as it was, that “his lamp was out!”. That was fineable. When he got up to investigate, a vicious old brute of a well known village Tom Cat, had charge of the lamp, and showed fight, smashing the glass to smithereens.

View Page 174

The old Ferry Road Wharf in the fifties was a busy place. Numbers of small craft always about. Small craft men, towline men, carters, all kept the concern alive. Alexander Webb, the wharf owner, was a fine, intelligent Englishman, then middle aged, who had been in early life gardener in a Nobleman’s Estate. But he was not a strict business man. Things got into confusion. He went under. The writer afterwards saw him, with his then “mate”, as diggers, poor old Joseph Fuchs, on the Otago gold fields rush. Webb, true to his wharf instincts, for years worked the “Waihola” Lake, about Tokomairiro on the gold fields road as Ferryman and Wharfinger. Again he got into litigation. Probably he is dead and gone.

One of the Tow men, with horses and a line bringing up the small craft from the Heathcote ferry to Webb’s was Hugh Stace, a brother of John. He had a tongue, a Bargee tongue – “My Noble”, that was his peculiar familiarity. But, his language was, well, ornamental. Then there were the Lingards, Johnny Scorings and others I forget. John C. Aikman, also had a wharf in the curl of the River; Jones had one; he and his party left for Figi [sic] and were never heard of.

Mr Langdowne had to do with the River Trade with a schooner called the Mary Lucy Taylor owned by Capt. Taylor. She lay under embargo at Webb’s wharf for six long months. Mr Barracky Smith knows that. Once there was a “gay old time” at the wharves about ’59, when John Colin Aikman, a nice fellow, and at that time apparently a prosperous one took unto wife one of the daughters of Mrs Williams – It was lively – Poor Aikman, like more, he went down.

View Page 175

In the Sixties

Dr Foster

Mr Garrick

Mr George Harper was then young

T F Garrick in full dress

Dr Foster [in twice]

Mr W Williams

T.J. Joynt out for the evening

Mr McGregor

O.W. Oakes

Mr J.B. Fisher

Judge Gresson

Lewis

Councillor Coffey

View Page 176

That nice looking old gentleman Mr Macgregor, used to get “fearfully tight”. He on one occasion waited upon his worship Mr Bowen in his shirt sleeves. Mr Willcocks also, an erratic one, used to get “full up” sometimes when on duty. Mr Pritchard, one of the very early ones, did little business, he was chiefly known as riding a tall white horse.

In 1852 in Wellington, Judge Stephen fined Mr King, a solr. �20 for giving his client bad advice.

O.W. Oakes, a little pert Cockney attorney, had an office between B & Beattie and the corner. He went to the West Coast, and made money. Cleared for London & blossomed into a money lender. Before he left Edward Reece made him pay a rotten second mortgage he had taken on his a/c.

View Page 177

C. Duncan

Thomas, clerk to T.J. Joynt

C.A.C. Cunningham

Mr Bertrand

Mr Fisher

After Judge Johnson had been properly “humbugged” in a notorious Timaru case, with some old rubbishing statute of Henry VIII or other old timer monarch, he was always careful. On that occasion two rogues escaped. “This is not another Henry VIII, Mr ?” when mouldy authorities were quoted, he would ask.

View Page 178

Of lawyers’ clerk there were some oddities. There was a most peculiar little shrivelled up man named Bertrand like a sketch from Dickens, who was Mr Joynt’s officer, when he first commenced practice. He was a poor harmless amusing thing, and got very tight. I think he ended in the Mad House. With him as a boy, was one who has turned out a very shrewd man, CA.C. Cunningham. There was also another queer one Tom. Hichens he had been articled to, I think, Gresson and also to Wyatt. He was another rare beer man. Then there was Fisher, clerk to Mr Slater, he was supposed to be a master hand in the Bankruptcy line. Mr Appleby was a retiring modest youth, with Mr Fereday; Michael Hart was articled to Mr J.S. Duncan, Crown Prosecutor, and after serving five years, there was some difficulty as to the articles. Hart seemed to be his right hand man in all criminal procedures. In Harston & Cowlishaw (Garrick) some youngsters were, Guinness, the present member, J.B. Fisher, now one of the firm, I think R.C. Bishop, and a most important little personage of the name of Salter or Slater.

Jimmy Goodman began as a very litttle boy under Teddy Preston, in W. Williams’ office. J. Papprill began with C.W. Wyatt, and has followed the firm, seemingly as Custodian of Deeds. John D. Bamford, was I think, a qualified solicitor, but was for years clerk with Wormald, in Lyttelton, afterwards with Moorhouse and Macfarlane. Joynt, was clerk to Mr Duncan first (or Gresson)

View Page 179

The boys amused themselves, must do something. Joe [blank] was doing “Bachelor Hall” in a cottage opposite the old Town Hall. On this occasion he had prepared a nice pie for his dinner and off he proudly went to his stable business, and, so pleased was he in anticipation of his tasty dinner, that he mentioned it to some of the lads. They appreciated the information for, when Joe at feeding time opened the oven door, he found on cutting the crust that he had to rejoice in a belly full of ashes. They had scraped the pie as hollow of meat as a sheep does a turnip, and filled it with wood ashes.

When the Duke of Edinburgh paid us a visit one most loyal citizen had gone to some trouble displaying posts and flags, but, what was his horror, on finding that the apple of his eye, a fine little fellow, of five or six, had had a green tie added to his neckgear, and a most beautiful rosette of deep green on his little manly breast. With these he had proudly strutted on the day of the Duke’s arrival.

That man did his best to find the author of the embellishments, but did not succeed. Had he, there would have been bloodshed.

Another little pastime. An Irishman, pretendedly loyal, but a rank Fenian, used often to get mellow, very, sometimes. On this day, on making for his bachelor quarters in the small hours, he was horrified to find in his bed a corpse, a decorated corpse, with all the emblems distinguishing the Fenian patriot. Drunk as he was, that straightened him. The others flew. He followed. On getting assistance, they found a mask and a suit of police clothes stuffed with rubbish for the occasion.

When Gilbert Butler and his wife got married they had rented a room in Cashel Street and it was furnished in the primitive fashion of the day. What was termed a colonial bedstead, &c. The scamps cut very nearly through the cross pieces and there was an earthquake. [remainder heavily crossed through and illegible]

View Page 180

The British Flag by W. Staples, Gloucester St, or Union Jack. About site Gas Office, once Edward Goodacre, clothes man &c.

Ballard, now Fuhrman’s Samuels, painter Travis watchmaker Mrs Coe milliner Papprill, tailor Corner, old buildings remain

Gloucester St from Colombo St to Terrace

View Page 181

Noah Edgar fifties

View Page 182

William Goodwin, arrived in 1859 from Hobart Town, and soon after selected on Burke’s run, and called it Greenpark, after an estate in the then Van Dieman’s Land.

Richard Turnbull, after M.H.R. Timaru, was a bit of a farmer on the Lincoln Road. He read prayers to his man, old Trotman. They christened him “Holy Dick”.

Mr William Thomas Locke Travers, was first in practice in Nelson, in the early fifties, and I think was also a District Judge. He came to Canterbury about 1860, his office being an old building at the Oxford Tce Hereford St corner, opposite the old Mill, once used as the R.M. office, by Sir John, then Mr Hall.

Mr Travers afterwards joined W.C. Wyatt, Solr. whose office was about where George Fletcher’s tailor’s shop stands. Something like this [sketch] In the Pilgrim style of architecture. They had offices afterwards in a building now standing erected of red Port Hills stone, and is another and advanced example of the classical style of the day. Here they were joined by an oddity of the name of Lewis, said to have been an offshoot of the London Lewis & Lewis gang. He was a peculiarity. Had a most familiar assurance. Took charge of all, magistrates and others, and was like other very assertive persons, very touchy. He raised awful points of law, the constitution of the Province was all wrong, &c. He departed. The firm was then joined by Mr George Harmer, followed by Wyatts clearing for Home, and the Harpers coming in.

Mr Travers in those days was a fiery, determined man ready with word or blow. He was said to have been in the De Lacy Evans legion in Spain, in the forties.

View Page 183

Mr James Dupr Lance, was one of two brothers, owners of the “Horsley Downs” run in association with the two brothers Mallock. Mr Lance was always, from the early days, a well liked man. His workers liked him and that is a good test. He had been an army officer, I think through the Indian Mutiny. He was a fine type of the early settler, and was a prominent member of the “Ilam” set, Russells, Creykes, &c. Mr Lance was no doubt made a tool of the Fitzgerald party, when they got him to stand against Moorhouse, for thoughtless people then swore full blast for “Railway Bill” and afterwards forgot and neglected him.

One of the caricatures of the day showed Mr Lance as the puppet, and Fitz pulling the strings.

J.E. Fitzgerald, Fifties. Mr F. was a tall loose built man, whose clothes always seemed to hang about him.

“Fitz’s” Circulating Medium. This was Mr Fitzgerald’s pet weakness – He used to driver out to his place “The Springs”, Springston in a machine of this sort.

View Page 184

Rev. J. Twigger, lived in the middle fifties in a house, still standing, on Oxford Terrace, near St Michael’s. His body was found in the Avon, not far away. He had considerable landed property which remained unclaimed for years. The wicked man, he was a parson, had a good looking servant girl. Results followed. A little girl. He had made a will providing liberally for her – but it was not signed. The curmudgeon who got the property later, did nothing for her.

Dr Moore was a big, portly, handsome man, full of bonhommie [sic]

View Page 185

William Stringer father solr.

Humourist

W Thomson

Dr Moore

View Page 186

In the sixties, Mr John Mills, the freeholder and builder of the Foresters’ Arms, in which he was doing a very good trade, took a notion into his head that a nice passenger steam boat would be a good investment for traffic to the Estuary. Accordingly he gave an order to Mr John Anderson “that shrewd Scotch blacksmith” as Mr J.E. Fitzgerald once styled him, to build him a steam boat. It was done, and she was placed upon the river with a flourish of trumpets. But, in some way, there had been a miscalculation or an oversight, for when it came to strict business, it was found that the Madras Street wooden bridge was an obstacle. Mr Mills naturally wanted to bridge taken down, as an interference with river traffic and his venture in particular. The authorities on the other hand said he ought to have measured things, and politely declined. Mr Mills then, like a Bold Briton, said the law allowed him to abate a nuisance and he would do so. So he did. He got willing assistants and chopped a hole in the Bridge. It was repaired. The steamer was idle. No money coming in. All outlay. All ending in loss of steamboat, loss of freehold & hotel, ending in poor obstinate John Mills going round with sheep trotters in a basket for sale.

View Page 187

A building stood for many years, a relic of the sixties, in Oxford Terrace, below the Foresters’ Hotel. It was built by Mr Christopher Alderson Calvert, a somewhat eccentric man, very precise, an English barrister, an early arrival and for many years Registrar of the Supreme Court in an office in the old Town Council Chambers, with Mr Bowron, and Dick Davis, for clerks. Mr Calvert had a fad about building a stone house in his own style of architecture and possibly some stone from his own land in Governor’s Bay. A prominent feature was an arched gateway with the arms of the Calvert family carved in the centre. It was surrounded by holly fences, some of the trees, I think, still stand. Mr C.A. Calvert, a very obstinate, self opinionated man took offence at Mr Stafford, then Premier, owing to defalcations in some office, required every public officer to give surety. Mr Calvert was indignant. He got out of office. Retired to his property in Governor’s Bay on a pension. His Oxford Terrace building passed out of his hands and eventually became the property of Hyman Marks, who had no reverence for gateways or coats of arms, and some years after it was razed to the ground. Mr C. married one of the daughters of the genial Rowland Davis, a descendant of old Irish monarchs.

The Mr Stafford (Sir Edward Stafford) was the first who introduced “economy” into the public service. Hitherto the scribes never mind how trivial the matter, sent away a beautiful double sheet of foolscap, enclosed in a grand envelope. He issued a decree that correspondence was, when short, to be on one sheet only, and strictly ordered that the reverse side also was to be used.

View Page 188

[newspaper clippings]

View Page 189

Jimmy Swinbourne, in the early days, kept a store in the Market place. He then went to Wellington and kept Hotel, built a wharf &c. Went under. Came back and took to his old trade, shoemaking, at Leeston. Once got into a bobbery[?] for some family disagreement when he administered chastisement to the wife with a novel sort of tool, a “puppy dog!”

Mr Henry Harold de Bourbel, an early arrival, was in partnership with Josiah Birch, in a flour mill near Rangiora. Then was a financier in Christchurch.

The Mary Thompson a little schooner the present Henry Thompson, master.

David Lewis, father of Charles, had a butchery by Cookham house, and was a big portly man.

The R.M. Court was then in the Old Council Chambers, and Mr C.C. Bowen, R.M.

Warner, sixties

View Page 190

Coals were not in the early days much used. New South Wales coal cost money (as did the Home article) when some happened to come. Local coal only gradually came in to use, it may be said since reliable supplies of good coal came round from the West Coast.

In /55 Malvern Coal was �6 a ton. In /61 Grey Coal used on Lord Worsley steamer. Piece given to “Museum”.

View Page 191

One of the hardy men of the “Bays” was Mr Fleming, of Port Levy. In the old country he had been a Thames bargee. He made a fine colonist. He was a man of strong build, resolute character and with, when needed, a forcible tongue. In the old days he was a great cheese maker and a hospitable man.

View Page 192

Strange’s, sixties

Mr Watts Russell

Mr Blakiston Fifties

Col. Packe Sixties

Mr Creyke

[and one illegible name]

View Page 193

Dicker Hamilton

Another veteran sport who made his appearance soon after was old Dicker Hamilton, the present Editor of the Melbourne Sportsman. “Tout cela”. Dicker is an energizer. He was then old and now is young, and has come out with a vigour and style of late that have simply astonished old acquaintances. For truth to tell Dicker was reckoned played out when he disappeared from Chch. How wrong ordinary man is in his forecasts. Here is the energizer twenty years after completely eclipsing the Augurs of the Victorian Press.

When Dicker came amongst us he simply took charge of sporting matters. Before long he had a steeple chase under way and to Dicker Hamilton belongs the credit of bringing to a successful issue a grand steeple chase. Armed with his natural cheek, for Dicker was well endowed by nature in that line and a varied experience had added to the gifts of nature and he soon obtained a sway over the local sports who looked up to Dicker as an authority – for he talked with authority.

He had soon organized matters. Old John Stace, of the Sand Hills, “Don’t call me Dapple Tom” said Tommy Tompkins indignantly. “Why not?” said the old one. “I’ll call you Dapple Tom, you call me Gentleman Stace” said the imperturbable. (It wasn’t a fair exchange, Tommy didn’t like the cognizance) Had a farm there, fine country, good fences, everything suitable and, near Town and Dicker who they said was an old Townie of Stace’s in the old country, soon got his consent and before long the programme was issued. There were some good prizes.

Amongst the old sports, of those days were Charley Turner, Jannaway, with a great reputation from the sand lots at Kaiapoi and amongst them they had had a mare called Jessie and with this mare all Dicker’s generalship was brought into play. The thing was very well managed. Got in at the weight. Jannaway on her back and she swept the board. Dicker’s reputation was at its highest.

But you can’t live on one success.

It was a well remembered day to many, for a tremendous downpour came on, and people were soused, and that unpopular man, but lucky publican, Jimmy Blake of the A.1. who had the Booth on the course did a rare stroke.

That was Dicker’s neat stroke. He went up like a rocket and down like the stick. People tire of idols and they got weary of Dicker. In fact he

View Page 194

must have remembrances of Christchurch not pleasant! – But, bah! Former steeplchas [sic] had not been on so extensive a scale, but there had been hard and good riding. Some of the old ones will remember the Avonhead Steeplechases and old Auckland Jack with long legged Tom Adams on his back. He was a rare horse amongst the old ones, and earned many a note for Charley the butcher. He was a rare jumper, and old too. After doing his work for years like a workman, and a racer, he was cast off by his owner and ended his career in the West Coast mud packing for the diggers.

Dicker was, or rather, had been, for he was beginning to be a little over the line, a dashing, good looking sport, rather tall, with quite a “fly” appearance. The old boy, no doubt, was well “stayed up” and all that sort of thing, but, oh dear, his bedroom was a medicine shop.

Christchurch has turned out a good many racing men, officials &c. For example, Mr W. Percival, Secy. Auckland Club with his partner Jeffries, also kept a small grocery by Madras Bridge and L.D. Luckie, the Hawkes Bay Secy. was clerk to a Chch butcher.

Marshall – drove a coach to Prebbleton in the Sixties-Fifties

Mr W. Boag senior, Fifties.

View Page 195

The Holland mentioned on 237 was a relative of the first nominated Bishop, Jackson, and was afterwards in partnership with Jim Moorhouse, a veterinary, brother of Sefton, and they opened as stables, the buildings, some of which remain in Armagh St. as an Old Men’s Home. Jim Moorhouse had something to do with importing Towton & the Peer sire of Durebin.

C.G. Hodgson, was a solicitor, but a very little practising one, a son in law of old John Shand of Avon Lodge.

Sir William Congreve, was one of the wandering baronets. He disappeared, and has been much advertised for from Home.

Martelli, was a handsome Italian looking youngster from Australia, he was, I think, soon after killed at Timaru. A fine horseman.

Joe Dann & Bishop (Augustus) had a shop about where Taylor’s fruiterer stands. They were in business at the same time as G. Gould, but had not his go. Dann afterwards kept the Oxford pub. His brother George kept what was then the Caledonian, site of next Piercy, grocer, and afterwards House corner Colombo St and Kilmore.

By the way, when the footpath was first properly shaped in Colombo St from Cook & Ross to Gloucester St, Mr Isaac Luck, who was sort of Government man, put up not only posts but chains along the wooden kerbline.

View Page 196

George Duppa, had the St Leonard’s run on the Amuri.

Redwood

H.A. Lance “Fifties”

View Page 197

Tom Adams was a dashing, fearless rider of the Lindsay Gordon type, went down like many more. He had to endure the indignity of having “gyves” on his wrists put on by some fellow under the Revell regime of Kaiapoi, as a DEBTOR. He was some time Inspector of Sheep with P.B. Boulton. His peculiarity was a great length of leg.

View Page 198

[newspaper cuttings]

View Page 199

He was a man passing by the name of Tait, a Scotty, a well educated, when he pleased gentlemanly fellow, but like many more, gone down. The story is almost exactly word for word, his, and will give an idea of his characteristics. Good allowance must, of course, be made for lee way.

View Page 200

A little anecdote about a most well known character of those days, Mother Craigie. She had been kindly placed by an individual who made somewhat of a noise then, in a lean-to in a paddock, near Tweed House, a beer shop in Cashel St. on the way to the Belt. The old person on this occasion had taken his Donah to the Dog Show, or such like amusement. On returning about ten or eleven, both of course, so so, they could not find the key hole, hang it, not even the door, the window was gone. Why the place was bewitched. Some of the boys, disgusted with the old beast’s doings, had seized the chance and pitched the whole contents of the establishment down the fifteen feet well, and, with good four inch nails boarded up door and windows. He vindictively longed for the blood of Dick Hustler, Lloyd and the other new chums who lived at Tweed House. The real sinner was long Bob Hall, and his mate Vennell or Varrell.

View Page 201

So great at one time was the pressure upon gaol accommodation that Mr C.C. Bowen, Resident Magistrate, got the Government to build a female gaol for the poor dear things. Accordingly some acres were bought from Harman & Stevens (Sewell) at Addington, and the ornamental concrete pile was put in hand – the miserable white elephant. Mr Bowen could not have been thoroughly satisfied with his experiment, for one of his first experiences was that one of the penitents, who had been in for a twelvemonth, brought into the world a dear little “gaol infant”. Mr Bowen was thoroughly indignant.

The old woman [sic] gaol in the Market Place was nothing more or less for years than a boozing shop and a brothel. It was a “recuperator” for a lot of dear old parties of those days, such as Mother Holmes & Graves & her daughter, Mary McDonald, Hydraulic Jenny, Jane Crawford and a lot more of the old stagers.

View Page 202

Dear old Andy one Sunday walked straight up the aisle at St Michaels, and quite plastered, to the parson’s horror, “Good morning” ‘d him.

View Page 203

G.C. Tripp, of Mount Peel, and Acland, early arrivals, people who have always held their head well up, and respected. The same with the brothers MacDonald, of Orari, they were all a lot of a fine type of settler. In those days Alfred Cox, was amongst them, the De Moulins and Wally Macpherson managing in his absence. It was a beautiful country in its natural state. What could be more pleasant to the eye than the rich well watered plains? And was not Raukapuke Bush a delight? The bush was simply alive with wild pigeons, parroquets, and tuis, swamp hens &c.

Some of those hard shrewd men were thorns in the hides of the big run holders – William Birdling, their stockman, cut a big slice out of the Rhodes’ leases.

Michael John Burke, an Irish barrister, who had a run over a large block this side of Ellesmere. William Goodwin, a shrewd fellow, picked Greenpark out of Burke’s run, to the latter’s dismay.

William Goodwin Sixties

Willm Archer, fifties. Over Asylum bridge. The old school, just by, was then kept by Mrs Percival mother Sir K.B.

View Page 204

On the block where the GROSVENOR now stands, an old identity named Darby Maher, had purchased three or four acres of Reserves upon the seven years’ payment system, and had built a house of this sort [sketch]. Maher used to let others live in it and he generally went away up country, being a good station hand, and earned money. Unfortunately he drank somewhat. The place he had mortgaged, and, it was sold over his head. The house was burnt, and, in it was a man who was roasted. Maher was arrested. The theory was that he had fired it, for revenge. He was tried and acquitted. Great efforts were made to hang him. So good an opinion had Mr Charles Reed (of the Ashburton) the original “Gridironer” that he at once took Darby back up on the station.

View Page 205

Thomas Preece, a second hand auctioneer of the Sixties, was an amusingly important person. Short, with a majestic strut, and a self satisfied voice, he pegged away at cocks and hens, pigs, &c. He began in the end fifties as a hawker, in company with one Harry Manning, and then started shop keeping in Tuam St. He once when he had got into broad cloth went into Lyttelton, and anyone who remembers the fifties and sixties, knows the sort of crowd. Mr Preece was stalking along, head well up, with an air of superiority to the herd, surveying the surrounding buildings. “Beg pardon, Sir, what’s the rent of this place?” “I don’t know, my man” “Oh! – I thought you owned all Port Cooper” remarked the Beach Comber in a quite disappointed voice.

View Page 206

Ally Sloper

This is positively a truthful account of the very first meeting for a volunteer corps. The Mr Ballard mentioned was an enthusiast. The Mr Fawdington mentioned was a fine little good tempered Yorkshireman, and was not gone upon the subject, but merely joining in for the fun of it.

Morgan Drill Sgt. he became later on.

View Page 207

Mr Fawdington was here in the middle fifties, and later on drifted into stable keeping in premises opposite Tattersalls in Hereford St, which he built. Jacob Ladbrooke was his manager. Mr F. like many more indulged somewhat well, at times pretty heavily. Mr Robert Wilkin who was then looked upon as a man of large dealings in runs, sheep, machinery, seeds &c, wanted a Town Wool Store &c, and this would just suit him. The story used to go the sale was effected upon the terms of a pretty large annuity, little Fawdington, being a promising short life with his rippings. The little man took them in. He retired to Yorkshire, became quite a steady person, and for all I know is living still.

Gorby the pensioner, was simply the wearer of a nose (talk of Ally Sloper) indescribable. It bulged out into a grand bottle, throwing out beautiful excrescences at all points. When well fed up with hard stuff, it glistened and shone.

Major Atkinson had been an army man. He did not last long. Samuel Baswell, was a pensioner, having been wounded in the Crimea, and discharged on 1/1 a day. That he had drawn since 1854 – under a Provincial Act, wounded Crimean men got 30 acres of land in Canterbury, if applied for inside of three years. Baswell landed three days over time, and Mr Moorhouse did his best to bluff him out of it. The soldier however stick [sic] to them, got his 30 acres six miles from Town, which he sold in a year for �200

View Page 208

When gold was struck on the West Coast at the Greenstone &c and the rush began in earnest, the Coast belonged to Canterbury, and the anxiety was to get the gold brought East this way, and not shipped from the West. Accordingly an “Ironclad” machine was built on wheels to bring the gold over. It was a romantic idea. The first voyage was I think in charge of Bob Sherman, himself, the Commissioner as he was called, and I think a Sergt. James and Botham, a Constable. It was not a success. The pioneers came back a ragged regiment. The iron article was put into dock & remained. Mr Sale of Oxford, was sent over as representative of the Provl. Govt. Revell having gone over before. Some time after the present Sir John Hall, organised it into a County, Westland.

View Page 209

[newspaper cuttings]

View Page 210

This is a true account of a horse deal in the Sixties. “Big Bosh” was a well known horse coper, named Josh Osborne, a man of six feet with a deep West of England complexion, and a master hand at horse jobbery. “Pipkins” was one Perkins, a ginger beer maker, and a Yorkshireman who thought he knew.

The auctioneer was Mr W.D. Barnard. Jimmy Swallow, was Charly Martin the clerk.

Amongst horsey men then, was “old” Ladbrooke, the brother of Jacob. Used to do a good lot of beer. For pure “cussed” obstinacy perhaps unequalled on the planet. He sat on the ‘brake’ seat, his breaking horse in with a young one, got bogged on the North side of Papanui Bridge where they watered in those days. Would have no help, would not get the horses out, stood all the jeers and chaff for hours – yes, for hours – until at last Jacob took charge and took the horses out.

Jimmy Johnson, a horse jobber, sixties James Torrens, sixties

A.W. Money Joseph Page Sixties

View Page 211

The story used to go the rounds that one Isaac Macauly O’Neale, who bought three acres of the Reserves upon which the Catholic Church stands and who was a devout worshipper and a Trustee or something, made a big effort to insist that the acres were bought for his own use and benefit, but better thoughts prevailed.

View Page 212

Some of the Pilgrim boys about Christchurch in the fifties were Rookwood Bishop, a bright little fellow, his brother a couple of years older, Jimmy Williams, afterwards solicitor. Charley River[?], C.H. Williams, Westenra, Major Cunningham &c

Geo. Hart & Michael were at the White Hart. Young John Dilloway

Two young radicals were sons of E.C. Barnard, watchmaker, founder of the Sandstein business.

A very nice handsome boy was the younger son of Captain Westenra. The Olliviers were in crowds, from Claude, a very nice fellow, then about 17, (he died on the West Coast in the early sixties) Charly, Wilby, Jack, Tom and all the rest of it. A.M. was only a little thing.

John B. Gresson was also a little kiddy. They lived in a house, still standing, corner opposite Prins’, with a big gum tree. Johnny turned into a wild shaver. (The same house was used as a “Dancing Saloon” in the sixties by Jack Coker). The Gressons afterwards lived at Sam. Bealey’s place corner of North belt and Richmond.

View Page 213

Going eeling – an old identity

A hawker, sixties

Flying Peter

View Page 214

“Waterloo Avenue”, the name on the first plan of the road along the River from Market place, to past the Forester’s Hall. By the way, the land upon which that stands was given to the Foresters by E.J. Wakefield in the fifties.

The first pound was in the Market Square, between Colombo St and Papanui Bridge. James Cotton, an old Irishman, and somewhat of a humourist, kept it. Acclimatisation was getting on fast, and all sorts of strange things becoming familiar. “Yes, Mr Wilson, we had white swans, then we had black swans, and now by the powers, there’s no denying it, we’ve got red ones”. This was alluding to Robert Swan (Bob) a Scotchman and a character. He had a perfectly blooming and prominent red as a rose face & nose.

Peter Kerr was a well known character amongst the early ones. He took up a lot of land at the Sandhills now New Brighton, and kept a lot of dairy cows. He was a kindly, canny Scotty. His judgement was considered good upon farming matters, ploughing &c.

Kent the Chartist, a busybody.

Old Smith used to a [sic] standing dish at all the old political meetings, and would persist in asking most inconvenient questions.

Jack Lee was another noisy character.

Dr David Nairne sixties Dr Moore Bob Swan, the “Judge”

View Page 215

One of those concerts in the old time was an enjoyable affair. The local basso Mr Merton was always equal to the occasion in the Death of Nelson, and other patriotic airs. The old wooden Town Hall on the site of Strange’s drapery, was used for the purpose, as well as for balls and other amusements. There was a grand one when the Duke honoured Christchurch with a visit, and for the occasion the old Nabob came out excruciatingly with his flute. He was a study as a flutist. It was not alone the music he extracted from it for a delighted audience, but the attitude of the old warrior was a picture. He surpassed himself for the Duke’s enjoyment. At the same concert his niece Miss Cracroft, came out as a vocalist and warbled to the enchanted ears and admiring gaze of His Highness and his henchmen, the Hon. Elliot Yorke, Lord Newry and company, the patriotic strains of God Bless our Sailor Prince. The jovial Yorke, who had as beautiful an eye as ever was fixed in man’s head, little thought in those merry days that in a few short years, after wedding one of the richest heiresses in England, with every prospect of a happy and a long life, that he would lie cold & stiff at so early an age.

Then a great banquet was given to the Duke at the Government buildings, if I remember rightly in the Council Chamber. As may be supposed all the aristocracy of the Province dined with His Highness. Old George Oram was the purveyor. The Duke’s Highland piper attended in all the dignity of bagpipes and kilts and his other gentleman Mr Farquharson[?] was his personal attendant. The gay and voluble Sir George Bowen, now of Hong Kong and the ruined tool of Graham Berry and Black Wednesday, in Melbourne, gave full vent to his capacity for a joke. The guests were delighted and could not get near enough to Royalty to the great annoyance of the Duke’s own man. One gentleman, an amateur military swell, persistently kept in the neighbourhood and the Scotchman full of resource for the occasion, quite pleasantly took him for a waiter and ordered him to pass on the dishes. Fancy the horror of the military, and imagine the merry twinkle of old George Oram’s eye, at the Highlandman’s audacity.

View Page 216

About this time or shortly before a vision appeared to the Town and it was christened the Mermaid. It had come by the well known old home trader of that name. It was habitted novelly to Provincial ideas. Its forehead had a fringe. Its back hair fell to its waist. It had a short skirt and it trod daintily with a small high heeled shoe. It was tall. The arrival caused a sensation. For months its every movement was talked of. Alas! A short year or two of colonial life ended the gay romance. The spoilt toy palled upon the senses. It passed unheeded except for some unpleasant remark. From its pedestal it gradually slid until the poor butterfly ended its gay career as an outcast. She was at the Ball, and to the horror of all the blue blood, the Duke selected her as his partner for the Dance. It was considered by all the respectability of the village, a sad exhibition of His Highness’ want of taste. Sad to say, he seemed to enjoy himself despite the surroundings.

Cashel St Waterlow pork butcher James Fuller shoemaker was one of the early band men Joseph Longden auctioneer, afterwards Preece, Ick, Clifford &c. Clements’ lolly shop. Mr Clements was, I think, a Nelson man in the early /60s opened a lolly shop here Joseph Fuchs cabinet maker Mr J. Longden was a very early arrival

View Page 217

A sixties bricklayer

Ayres a sixties policeman

Westall a remittance man

View Page 218

Lumley the Wizard

Jack Coker sixties

James Gilbert Fifties

Jas. Carter, vegetables

Waterlow’s sausage

[and another, illegible]

Matt. Joyce was a butcher and the original owner of C. Turner’s run on the North road. He had a butcher’s shop on the Terrace near Cashel St. True enough, Matt said, even in those days, there was untold coal on the Grey. Poor Matt ! He also disappeared.

Charley Cooper, a fine handsome young fellow, with a fine crop of curly brown hair, was a dentist, the dentist of those days. But he was a rare racket. Many a story could be told of his doings. He [hole in page] used to go round town together, and get up to bits of fun. Poor Charley wound up by not taking Sam Wellers’s advice, “Beware of the widows!” He married one, and not a young one, an old Scotch body, the widow of David Anderson, also a dentist. He soon after died.

The first Town girls came out in the Mystery about 1857. Some of them were from Reformatories. A lot soon commenced business. One of them was burnt to death in Colombo St North.

Before their advent there was no recognized institution of the sort. Business was of course done “under the rose”.

“Another stagger an I have ye” – that was Ayres’style of address.

View Page 219

Pop Adams was an old man-o’-war [illegible] who like others had drifted in the early days to Canterbury. He was perhaps sixty, hearty and strong, excepting for a painful limp, which prevented him from doing hard rough work. Consequently he throve by jobs, short jobs, at anything sailor like. He was a kind, merry old soul, always ready for a chat, and also, always in readiness to do strict justice to his beer. Having that weakness, in those days, it need not be said, that Pop often got most harmlessly tight, unoffensive [sic] and sleepy. His abode was a modest neat little two roomed shanty on the site of what is now a Bond in Oxford Terrace, and in close proximity lived a set of choice spirits, of the olden sort. A section away, that which now adjoins Turner’s business premises, held a paling lean to, and loft, forming the dwelling, faced adjoining old Pop’s by a row of stables and boxes. These were the abode and place of business of a well known Character, Charley Turner, alias Charley the Butcher, from his former occupation. Here were stabled when in Town, such old celebrities as Phoebe and other of Duppa’s racers which even then did battle on Australian ground for New Zealand. About those stables often concentrated such sports as Tom Adams, a grand cross country man, Holland a relative of an early Bishop, Hodgson and the rest of them and old cronies like Bill Birdling and the rest of them. Sam Dufty[?], a well known character was always to be found.

Old Pop was Mr Ballard’s gunner when firing the Saturday twelve o’clock gun. That was the Town Clock. Ballard had a watch he swore by. Good to regulate the sun. He stood watch in hand waiting for the noon mark, gave the word of command to Pop, who stood match ready over the old ship’s [hole in page] let fly. [hole in page] course, why there was a drink.

View Page 220

Once Mr Ballard, funny man, rammed home the charge. Anything came handy, piece of wood or a pebble not particular. On this occasion the machine did business. Jimmy M’Cardell had a fancy, tobacco, anything shop, at the corner of the Gov. Bridge (it stands still) and a big Snuff taking Highland-man in kilts as a sign board. Havoc was done. The Highlander was shot, and the window peppered. Mr Ballard was simply delighted. He had to pay.

View Page 221

[newspaper cuttings]

View Page 222

I think one James Parker, an old gamekeeper, was the first to open a Registry in a shop at the corner of Cashel St and Oxford Terrace. Since then have been many, and many, many a story could be told about them and their doings.

Mrs Watts Russell, here mentioned, was the lady of “Ilam”, and the leader of Society. She was a fine, dashing, handsome woman, and like her husband was well liked. Her sister was the first wife of Mr H.P.Lance. Ilam, to those was open house for their circle. Mr Watts Russell almost came to grief financially, but his widow married Mr Creyke, and was left by him a very large property in land and money.

View Page 223

A man who was well known in Chch in the sixties, was Charles Morgan the Professor as he was called. He was a rather under middle height, strong set, florid man, the very spit of an Englishman, with a remarkably good looking face, with a strong chin and Dundreary whiskers. He had been all his life amongst horses and in the stables of many of the aristocracy amongst others Lord Foley. His “Morgan’s oil” was in common use in the sixties, amongst farmers, stablemen, and others, and was, that is, the original, a good, useful preparation.

Poor Morgan once told the writer his story. Everyone has a story. Remarking to him that I could not understand how he so coolly took language from a fellow, who ought to have been knocked down. “No!” he said, “I could knock a hole through him. But I’ll never strike a blow again.” He was not pressed for his reason. A few moments after he added, “No! Why, I could kill him with one blow. Feel that arm. In London years ago a thing of that sort insulted me. I struck him. He died. I was tried for manslaughter and sent for seven years to West Australia. I will never hit a man again in anger. I have suffered enough.” You could see pain in his fine manly face.

View Page 224

[newspaper cuttings]

View Page 225

Mr Godley (his statue in Cathedral Square) was the agent of the Canterbury Association at the foundation of the settlement. He no doubt was a fine man, with lots of good qualities, but he got the romance of settlement knocked out of him. He was an austere, superior sort of person. He soon returned to England and became an official in the War Office until his death.

View Page 226

In municipal matters Mr J.P.Jameson once Mayor distinguished himself by trying to introduce a by-law compelling citizens to keep ducks and geese out of the gutters, owing to the great damage done.

“The geese in their wisdom,

May ponder at home.

Their friend Jameson says

They no longer shall roam” said the Rhymer.

Mr Jameson as Mayor

View Page 227

James Wood, a saddler arrived here about 1862, from Melbourne and opened a shop between the Empire & the corner. He was a clever, versatile, sort of man. Good as a tradesman, I believe a fine judge of a horse, and an amusing man with a lot of anecdote and a talent for making ridiculous sketches and putting them up in his shop window. Old St. Quintin, the window ornamenter was his special mark. He seemed to detest him. One of his weaknesses was Brahma Pootras and he kept a farm of them on a section in Hereford Street. They made such an infernal cock crow, that the neighbours were going for an injunction. Then he turned them into capons, and fattened them up for market.

To Mr Wood people were indebted for compelling Lane’s mill to make a raised footpath, as a protection on the old rackety Dray Mill bridge.

Dr Wood, Sixties Bernard Simpson, Sixties. The original partner of H. Marks, the money lender. James Tait, sixties

View Page 228

[newspaper cuttings]

View Page 229

The only really successful thing in the “Bike” line was by the exhibitor of a “Unicycle”. It was about the time those mentioned below were introducing their inventions. He announced that a “Unicycle” would be on exhibition near the Shades, in Hereford St. The day came, and the man. I think the man was Joe Bennett, but the machine was a wheelbarrow. Joe was a regular [illegible, blotted] when fun was about. Poor Joe! He went under.

Major Prudhoe worked himself up from an immigrant by the Clontarf, or one of those ships, as a working bricklayer or mason to be Mayor.

Edward Taylor as mentioned here had a market garden on the Lincoln Road, and manufactured a tricycle. It was heavy and it was clumsy and poor Mr Taylor worked very hard getting it along by pulling a lever.

Dr Barker lived on the Section from Cathedral Square to opposite the Council Chambers. He also was gone on a tricycle, but it was not a success.

Mr C.W. Mountford also the architect, had one, but like the others was before the age.

“Scabby” Reed (H.W. Reed) was a very early arrival & had stables in Lyttelton, then came over to Chch & went into cattle on the Lincoln Road. He then started a stable on the corner opposite the Gov. buildings. From that about 1860, he used to stand opposite what is now the City with a four wheeler, soon after having a chum named Dunn. Those were the first cabs. Then came Tom Goodyer.

View Page 230

I remember in the middle fifties being in the old Church, Māori Bush at Woodend. It was a Sunday, I was amusing myself watching the gambols of a lot of pretty little mothers and little ones, chasing the flies and insects in and out of the Tea tree on the banks of the little stream, that ran through. All at once, I felt a sensation, the bushes moved and tossed, although there was not a breath of wind, then the tall white pines began to sway their graceful tops backwards and forwards, as if a furious wind was blowing. I realised it. An earthquake. My chums were asleep in a whare and I shook them up. The slab rafters were moving merrily. The shock was severe and probably the wet Swampy nature of the country, had something to do with it.

The Māoris about there, then were a merry people, but shrewd. It was amazing to see their quarrelling over one tree, on a boundary line. Of course trees were becoming valuable.

View Page 231

[newspaper cuttings, dated 23/1/92]

View Page 232

Mrs Thompson had the Money Robinson house on Park Terrace built for a School, and, later on, that occupied by Dr Nedwill on the Terrace. Dr N. first occupied cottage by the Bond, on the Terrace, then the old house by St. Michael’s Church. He came about 1864-5. “Black Nedwill”. Opposite that Bond many years ago, a child, a little boy, gambolling, fell into the River, and went down, in some ten or twelve feet of water. Men were near, but none went in. One, after the child had been in some time, came along, asked what was the matter, “show him the place, quick”. Cut his boot laces open, dived, after a bit brought the little fellow up, apparently dead, and threw him on the river bank, took his boots and off he went. His name was Glen or Gane.

Just about the same spot, many years ago, a body floated, covered with river slime, disfigured by eel bites, and not an enticing sight. It was that of an able bodied, evidently hard working man. There was 90 in gold in the pockets. To this day, he has never been identified, or the money claimed.

Some 9 or 10 days before, a horse was heard galloping at a furious pace over the old Royal Bridge, then the sound died on the tussocks where Thomson &c live. About that time a horse, saddle on, was found at large Papanui way. Never claimed.

One of the amusing tales in connection with PHOTOS was the new manufactured Colonial lady, whose husband had indulged her with a magnificent imported dress – too awfully grand. She must be photoed in it at once. The dress was sent to the photographers. There she robed herself. It was a picture to kill them with envy. But what was her horror. In a week or two was exhibited in the photographer’s show, his own wife, with an exact replica of the dress. The wicked wife had, despite the protests of the hubby, hearing of what was going on, insisted on being herself photoed with the jumped up lady’s beautiful costume.

View Page 233

[sketch of land bounded by Cashel St, Colombo St, High St, and City Hotel, with sketches of some buildings, and marking the site of the ‘big gully’ which used to run through the land, captioned thus]

John King, grocer

Furby Old Mr Furby, who later on started a beer shop, which ended in being the Palace Hotel &c that Beety[?] an Irish policeman got hold of

Grain Agency corner

J Ollivier

Pengelly tailor a very early tailor, always called ‘Pen’

Adams shoemaker

Hossack, blacksmith

These blocks belonged to Buchanan, a milkman

City Hotel

Hawley, baker

Triangle, fifties

View Page 234

Henry Joseph Hall, a North of Ireland man, now occupying the Motanau [sic] run, came to Chch about 1862, and started a grocery in a shop opposite the Rotherfield long occupied by John King. Mr Hall then removed to a shop near the Empire. There, enlarging his ideas, and seeing an opening he imported tons of brass “pennies” – ugly as you make them – and these he got into circulation all over the country, but carefully would not take them back, except say a few of them. Ike Raphael tried to get his name up on the cheap, and compel him but he could not. Hall then went with the assistance of Alfred Louisson through some financial experiments and experiences, but he came up smiling. Blossomed into a J.P., County Chairman, runholder and so on, He was a very shrewd person.

A. Berg, when young

View Page 235

On the completion of the institution Mr Isaac Luck, architect, gave a ball in it. Miles & Co occupied that store, and Thomas Tombs, put up the well known place in Hereford St about 60/61.

Edwin Coxhead got a license for a house still standing in Market Square and called it the Royal Oak. He afterwards transferred to Jack Whale, who had been stableman at the Royal, and Jimmy Banks, barman at the Hart

View Page 236

H.E. Alport was one of two brothers the other A.J. familiarly called “Bumblefoot”, was in business in Lyttelton and left the Colony in the early sixties. H.E. was for a long time an auctioneer and also an auditor &c. He was a familiar figure at all meetings and memorials.

Mrs Williams was a very early arrival and lost her husband on board ship, landing here with a large family. One of the daughters married Mr W. Wilson, then a prominent, rising, prosperous man. As a result she is the freeholder of the Triangle sections &c. Some other members of the family were fortunate, some not.

Mr Charles Wellington Bishop was one of three brothers, early arrivals. C.W. acted as Postmaster at his place in Market Square. After giving up his store business he went into brick & pottery making with a Mr Jackson, on the section now owned by the Catholic Church on that of Mr Saml. Manning. He soon gave it up. He was also a politician & member of the Council for a time, had a loud voice and was very fond of hearing the sound of it. On the foundation of the Gas Company he became Secretary, the office his son now holds. His eldest son, Charles, was on the City of Dunedin here to Nelson – never heard of –in the sixties.

View Page 237

There used now and then to be fun with the “still” men, for even in those days there were stills. One character in that line was Paddy Gallagher, a dark, swarthy, forbidding looking Paddy, from the West. His first exploring was on that block at the junction of Windmill Road and Show Grounds Street, through which ran a nice little creek at the rear of what is now the Reece property. Paddy got bowled out. Another of his expeditions was to sow his neighbour’s land, with whom he had some row, with sorrel.

Another later on was one [illegible] somewhat about where now is the Salvation Town barracks. He did not bother about going out of Town. Some friend sold the Pass. He cleared for Fiji.

View Page 238

The “acorns” of the beautiful oaks in Hagley Park were then put in. One Enoch Barker, an immigrant from Mr Moorhouse’s neighbourhood at Home was at once engaged on Hagley Park. He put in first all the trees, going South from the Hospital to the River. He afterwards had a very fine nursery at what is now New Brighton.

View Page 239

In 1852/3 Col. Campbell, later a candidate for Superintendent, tried hard to get convicts for New Zealand.

J.E. Fitzgerald, in 1853, wanted Chinese labor [sic]. Barney Rhodes, William Bowler, John Johnston, M. Levin, of Wellington, wanted to bring them. First batch 250, half for Canterbury.

Joe Brittan wanted immigrants from Port Phillip.

The first immigrants were housed in buildings in Lyttelton, on the land from the gaol towards Town. There were barracks, police such as it was, R.M. Court and Dr Donald, all lumped together. The police had charge of them.

When the Chch barracks were finished, the first load dumped into them was the “[blank”] and old Mrs Potten & her husband (of the Gov. buildings) were amongst them. Potten was made a policeman and was put in charge of them. Afterwards Barracky Smith got charge. In 1853, the “Canterbury Association” put immigrants in gaol for not paying passage money.

About 1867-8 Government poured in a lot of people but a very fair set, in the Nourmahal, Glentanner &c, and those got a good start, for everything seemed prosperous. I think Mr J.E. Fitzgerald was agent at Home. Mr Harman, also had been. In ’59 the place was inundated with “jimmies” as they were called, and about that time the Bank, the only Bank, the Union, put on the screw, and the balloon was pricked. The bill, that dear accommodating bill, was sat upon, and things in general were queer. Hence a great difficulty to place the new arrivals. The Barracks in the Market Place remained full of them, and the land sales fell off. Hence little for the Provincial Chancellor of the Exchequer. In 1859-60 a great number of “Townies” were amongst the immigrants. Lots of these people have never to this day, paid their passage money. A man named John Elson Brown, was engaged to hunt up passage money. Then J.E. Marsh had the job. Captain A.R. Armstrong, brother in law of F. Malet, was for a time Immigration Officer, and his assistant was David McKay, who married the widow Thomson, of the Royal.

View Page 240

When Gabriel Read, a mettlesome descendant of a Scotty from the classical regions of Van Dieman’s Land, now more prettily called Tasmania, turned his attention to exploiting the gullies and creeks of Otago it was thought to be rather a far fetched idea. Although, be it remembered, gold had been found in Otago before the advent of Gabriel Read. But the man with the avenging angel’s name, ruminating and poring over his quiet thoughts, managed to hit the bulls eye, and unearth the well paying riches of what was then christened Gabriel’s Gully. Gabriel made no secret of his discovery – Otago authorities were told. The Macandrews – or let one see – was it the time of the Eclipse? – and the reign of that fine old military figure afterwards Sir John Richardson? Mac or Major, Gabriel got his rewards and now vegetates, so one is told, a philosopher in the home of his youth, the much vaunted Van Dieman’s Land, otherwise Tasmania and near his beloved Derwent.

When gold rumours got abroad – one will tell just a little story to show how the accidents of life make or mars men – as some old fellows will remember, there was a place called the Lindis many miles on this side of the Otago find, and there had been found traces of gold, giving a bare tucker, and nothing more. It was winter, July. In those districts winter means business.

Amongst the few who had found their way to this inhospitable diggings were two Tips – not thoroughly reprehensible Tips – but two fine stalwart fellows, farmers’ sons, descendants of good stock, who had made their entry to Canterbury, the bearers of letters of recommendation to so illustrious a countryman as the then Honor [sic] Justice Gresson. In this way – the two weighty boys had landed themselves in Victoria, the representative paradise only, like thousands more, to dissipate their dream. The stocking, well provided by good old parents was duly invested in a tempting and well salted reef in Inglewood, and the youths found their silver put through the well known Victorian process of milking a new chum. The blessed claim wouldn’t sell for road metal. Then their wayward thoughts reverted to their treasured letters from the dear ould sod, and they made their way with their last Fiver to New Zealand. Arrived here, and presenting their credentials, they were by their countryman passed on to a surveyors’ gang, and thus found themselves in the Lindis country. Abandoning chaining for digging they were at the starvation Lindis rush when Gabriel’s news broke out. Up anchor and off. Through rivers, over mountains, in snow and rain, half starved they got on the rush amongst the first lot and pegged out. There one met them and there also came on a pleasure tour a rattling boy from the County Down, the late Hon. Crosbie Ward, a nice, pleasant merry fellow, making himself quite at home with the miners, and everywhere met by them as men know to recognize a gentleman and snob a snob. It did one good to see Crosbie Ward, while gathering information from the rough men meet them sociably and jovially, no nose stuck up in the air asking people “don’t you know who I am?” He didn’t need that. The man carried Nature’s brand. Seated in the Tips shanty warming his toes by the Manuka stick fire, a bucket other end up his chair, he took the boys back to Old Ireland and the County Down. The Blue Ribbon was not agog then, hardly the Good Templar craze, and the old Teetotal business notwithstanding it may be said that justice was done. Pass on.

Well, the two Tips had struck oil. Their claim was

View Page 241

was one of the best in the gully. And after being bled by the Victoria vampires, and facing the cold and hardships of a winter in the back country down South, almost eighteen months to a day, saw the pair landed in their old Home with a couple of thousand a piece, no more, as they averred, to roam. Perhaps since that they have blossomed into Head Centres, or Invincibles. Who knows? May be, into Members of Parliament. But I don’t believe either of them have been hanged. But this is touchy ground.

Another fine old sport who sailed around Gabriel’s in those days – golly – twenty two years ago, was Major Croker. He had been a settler for some time on Tokomariro Plain and liking to do old friends a turn, they dubbed him Commissioner. He was the Head bottle washer in that locality. His was the hand that dispensed the licence to dole out drops of nectar. So they thought it – at a shilling a nip. He was succeeded by a worthy person Mr Cheetham Strode, a regular old Tite Barnacle, like his chum W.J.W. &c Hamilton, who after being fed by a liberal country for the best part of his life now find themselves provided for by the same liberal country up to the day of their death. Curious logic these pensions. You keep a man well paid, make him your master, sheltered from all the storms and risks and competition of colonial life, and after that you – give him a pension. Strikes me there’s room for discussion here. Were they even only grateful? But they look upon it as a due. Burst up pensions. Where’s Graham Berry. Yes. Well, Mr Strode had for an assistant, or a Joint Commissioner, one Capt. Baldwin, another of the same sort. But, somehow, don’t think he managed to do the limpet properly. At all events, although he was nothing else but the impersonation of a Tite Barnacle and an Irish one at that, a cold country has not seen fit to pension him. It is true Julius for the sake of old times sent him stumbling round the Parish for insurance touting, or post office agent. He’s nobody.

View Page 241a

View Page 242

And now for an old party that some of you boys know well. Dick Hustler, the veteran. Dick in company with a few other bloods, N.Z.Bank Lloyd, to wit and some others, popped into Christchurch about A.D. 1860 and took up their abode at what was then Tom Atkinson’s wine license Tweed House in Cashel St. There used to high jinks there. A few may remember the circumstance. Poor old Bob Hall – a fine fellow – used to be floating around then.

View Page 243

Major Richardson, Superintendent of Otago, a fine, gentlemanly, British Officer. He succeeded James Macandrew, who had attached the public money to some amount, and when proceedings were taken, he as “Super of Otago” proclaimed his own house a “public gaol”.

The Major (roughly)

Gabriel Reed [sic] was an eccentric sort of Tasmanian oracle – years after was under restraint.

The Major was in power when the first “Irish Police” were imported with St. John Branigan at the head of them. They formed the gold escort.

Well, these youths, no Dick wasn’t quite a youth, what the Frenchy could call his first youth had passed. But there was life in the old dog. He, and his clan found their way to Gabriel’s and it was quite interesting to see the way Dick shaped up digging and also what a neat hand he was at dispensing physic, that is, physic in a pannican – or if need be a bucket should there be nothing handier. It was a sort of medicine the crowd liked. Dick didn’t touch heavy – that’s very old colonial – perhaps a relic of the old Vandemonian days and he returned to Christchurch to be welcomed by the merry gang then floating about who are now – where?

View Page 244

As an example of what piety means with some people, their sincerity consistency and do unto others, as you would wish others to do unto you: the writer with others, going to the Gabriel’s rush, was accompanied by a Canterbury man posing as a strict adherent to religion. The roads were simply horrible, mid winter, fire wood scarce. Some of our crowd helped themselves to rails from a fence, on camping, for there was not an atom else of firing. The Saint remonstrated. All the same, he boiled his billy, and cooked his meat by the same stolen wood fire; not only that, the dirty hypocrite, finding from enquiry that firing was even more scarce at the next camping ground, put a couple of rails upon his dray, and blessed the Lord. Many of you know him.

View Page 245

[prospectus]

View Page 246

Well yes, Kaiapoi has also its little peculiarities. When first one travelled to the Sandlot township long years ago, on the Market Place the only building was a little police station at the Government buildings corner. It wasn’t large. Perhaps 18 x 10. Big enough for then. There was not much trade doing. One day they made a haul of a Dutchman. He had done terrible things. He got a Trowsers or something out of Pen the tailor and promised to pay. They ran him in. That night he hanged himself behind the door. Wouldn’t be bothered with trifles.

There was an old wooden racketty bridge whereVictoria bridge now is and about the first house you reached was Mr Worsley’s the artist, a rural looking old concern where now stand that line of shops from Kilmore Street to Rosewarne’s. Behind was the then almost only Swankey manufacturer’s establishment Dick Taylor, a character. Pass on you came to Wagstaff’s cart making shop where now stands Mr Gisborne’s Flying Peter’s establishment. On the next section was building up the Bishop’s residence. There was an old cottage in the hollow on the other side. And thus it was along the North Road, the first, and only, public being the Sawyer’s Arms, kept by Harry Royal, a bold old Briton. The bush was still at work and a few sawyers in it. There were lively times now and then in Harry’s house. Thus you travelled on until you reached the banks of the romantic and interesting Waimakariri and there you found yourself in the hands of old Joe Felton. He was the Ferryman and the Accommodation House keeper. There were some good drinkers about and between the house and the ferry Joe was shovelling it in. You might meet with a little delay, people, don’t hurry, all in good time. You would be put across and the first public you encountered was William White’s Hotel, at the Ohoka road junction. Wm. was then brooding over plans of bridging the River which he did, first at Kaiapoi and then at Felton’s. People could not at first believe it. It was incredible. A man so totally unused to that sort of thing. But he accomplished that and much more. Now we come to the Sandlot City. We pass White’s store on the Island. That enterprising man soon sold out to old Hutchinson. But in a short time appeared on the River Bank at Kaiapoi a far larger establishment, the well known Beehive. He did an immense trade. The Bushes were busy then. Plenty of Coasters going. Money passing freely and Mr W. like a wise man, made money while the sun shone. There were other traders but of a different calibre. G.C. Black, for example, shrewd, intelligent man, but without the grasp of trade and barter that characterised Mr White. He is gone. Some of you will remember old Fraser of the Northern. He was a great card then in Kaiapoi and a night at his house then was a merry one. There was a rare assortment of characters. Old Mr Dobbs for example from his castle on the Island would delightfully entertain a wondering crowd with disquisitions on nothing or everything. Then there was Durell, long since gone home, he might be found there.

View Page 247

A big undertaking in the fifties was the big drain through the Ohoka and Rangiora Swamps. It was a tough job, not only on account of the water but the underground timber. Tom Hughes a contractor did it. Another big affair in the draining way was when Mr R.H. Rhodes (Bobby) the sire of the Rhodes, Elmwood family, put the big drain through his Styx property, now known as Marshlands. That also was a tough job. Then men gave up the contract as a losing job, work suspended. Mr Rhodes obstinate. Men ditto. Mr Rhodes, in his way, tramping and spitting. But good man at bottom. “You won’t work! Finish your contract”. “No.” “I’ll make you! Phsh phsh!” and off he would ride. “Well men, how are you all getting on?” on returning. “Can’t do it, Mr Rhodes, lose money”, said the men, covered with swamp slush and surrounded by underground roots. “It must be done. You must do it. Go on with your work. Tell me what it will cost” and off. “Very well, Mr Rhodes.” It was done and he paid them. It cost money. Often Mr Rhodes would come across in his whaleboat from Purau before others were about, get on his chestnut nag in Port, ride over the Hill, canter to Christchurch, on to Kaiapoi. He was the sort of stuff pioneers ought to be made of. As to his business qualifications the fortune he left behind him tells its own tale. They were a wonderful money making family, all the four brothers succeeded. “Barney”, as he was called of Wellington on his first trips in a small craft from Sydney used to buy pieces of country as big as Canterbury for a few odds and ends. Then he would take off his hat and proclaim “In the name of God and of Messrs. Sydney and myself, I take possession of this land” and he would wave his hand, ah, away to the South Pole.

View Page 248

Hanson the lonely man of the Bush a man who had formed attachments to the Māoris and at his establishment made them quite at home. The present Isaac Wilson M.H.R. was then a boy scudding about amongst the Māoris and talking to them fluently in their tongue. His brothers, Tom & Edward, were made of the right stuff for pioneers and they helped to tear down the Bushes and no doubt have reaped a rich harvest from their industry. The Bushes were a rum shop then. Drinking, yes there was some. They made money did those sawyers, but they knocked it down like skittles. Old Gough, Turton of the Ashburton, Fred Hillier, Burridge, and lots more, some drinkers some the reverse, any amount of runaway sailors. The Pashby’s and Warings, [illegible] all prudent foreseeing men. An important personage then was Policeman Revell, now Magistrate at the Grey. His rule was despotic in Sandlot town. No publican dared thwart him and woe to the thoughtless being who committed a breach. Mr Revell you see all that time was laying the foundation of that well balanced judgement and legal lore which have since so distinguished him upon the West Coast Bench, and aided him in his encounters with Lawyer Guinness then as it were, only a toddler and Bickerton Fisher, schoolboy. Ned Pankhurst too, the old original of the present Tomkins Woodend house was a curious person in his way. Ned was double jointed and by thunder Ned was strong. It was an amusement with him to put his back under the body of a loaded dray and lift it. While for a good wholesome punching match Ned was always ready. He disappeared. He had the complaint that a good many suffered from. The curve in the little fingers. It was a common disease and for that matter is now. But his next Hotel neighbours were a different kind of cattle. The two brothers Cameron of the Creek, were a plodding, steady obliging pair of men and succeeded well, growing with the Country. The present Sir John Hall then R.M. and District Judge, I fancy, used to run up to Kaiapoi once a month to put them through, in the debt or peccadillo way. By Jingo, he was an active little man. And it was great to see him in state in the old shanty with his Māori assessor an old card with a figure head carved and wrinkled like a pair of corderoy breeches sitting alongside to adjudge Māori cases. Mr Hall always treated the Chiefs with great respect and was thoroughly friendly with them, thereby getting a good influence with the Māoris. For even in their then comparative savagery they were acute and shrewd. It was amusing to watch their dealings with the sawyers and splitters in the Old Bush. See what a thorough knowledge and identification they possessed of every tree. Let anyone who leased from them an acre or half acre dare to put an axe on a tree on the boundary, or over it. Or see them making a bargain with a splitter for a good shingle tree. Note the grasping acuteness! Or in another mood see perhaps 100 of them, men and women, threshing [continued next page]

View Page 249

flail in hand, old English style, but with the short end held and striking with the long one. Standing in a row on each side with the wheat before them, you would hear time beaten to a tick, the long end would fly round their heads, however it escaped hitting them, was a mystery, and with a thundering ugh! down they would come all along both sides of the line. Then of course there would be a little rest and a bit of conversation and chaff. It wouldn’t do to be in a hurry. Or see a drove of their merry girls up to their knees in the mud at the junction of the Cam, having high jinks catching eels and sending native chaff to the passer by. The Beswicks were the great Cockalorums then at Kaiapoi and Mr Josiah Birch and De Bourbel were also important personages in the vicinity.

Josiah Birch

Pope asked – “Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile?”

William White, may have driven piles for aught I know, but it was the accepted story, that he was a self taught bridge builder, a man of native talent.

View Page 250

The first Home settlers to Canterbury N.Z. were undoubtedly a fine body of people, a good sound mixture from the three countries, with Wales thrown in, the English largely preponderating and a few Germans (a few, that is the proper proportion wanted of that element, for it is likely to be troublesome when numerous). They were splendid specimens of the old country farmer, physically sound, practical, hardheaded men who faced the difficulties at once, fenced in their sections, tore up the flax and tussocks, put in trees, both fruit and ornamental, and in a few short years gave the place a homely look. They were a well assorted lot. There was amongst them a good proportion of offshoots of County families, such as Watts Russell, Creykes, Walkers, Lances, people who gave a true tone to the new settlement. Professional men were also to be found, such men as Drs. Moore, Parkinson and others.

Those in the four ships that arrived in 1850 found the country a desolate looking place. Captn. Thomas and his Vandemonian carpenters, sawyers, and chainmen, had made certain preparations in the way of buildings, and pegging out town lots, ready for the new comers. Otherwise they saw nothing but bare hill sides with here and there a patch of scrubby timber in the gorges. A few adventurers had found their way down from Wellington as publicans and storekeepers, and from Akaroa came a few of the Nanto-Bordelaise Frenchmen, the relics of the fond dream of France, to make New Zealand one of her colonies. There were also a few others who had previously found their way to Akaroa and settled there, and from thence emanated the brood of Pavitts, Cuffs, Farrs, which has since overrun the country. Parker, who built the Zetland Arms was one of them. Robert Heaton Rhodes, who developed into a millionaire, and his wife left valuable legacies to public institutions, then occupied Purau and that part of the peninsula, as a grazing run, and found a good market for carcase meat with the whalers, coasters, and other craft.

Dr. Donald, for so many years the padre of Lyttelton, had also found his way there, either by appointment from the authorities or on a medical venture. His trip resulted in a career of thirty or more years, dispensing physic and so called law, an assister at accouchements, and an authority at Colonial inquiries, winking at the

View Page 251

iniquities committed for a long series of years in the Common gaol as afterwards revealed by the acumen of Captain Hume, the prison Inspector.

Old Peter Cameron, well known to all the old identities of Port Cooper, was also a North Island man, an old soldier, and turned his attention to the public line for many years keeping the old Robin Hood. Peter was somewhat of an oddity, and although not himself always successful, left some energetic sons behind him. Then there was Dick Taylor, afterwards of the Papanui road brewery, the unequalled maker of Kerlonial. Dick was a good looking, well set man and an adept at chaff, and ever ready to oblige with his fists. The legends tell how he fought the big bully of a black man, on the road contract in Wellington, and beat him to a stand still. Affairs did not flourish with Dick years after and he left for home. And who does not remember big Rowland Davis, the gushing, pleasant, plausible boniface of the old Canterbury, dear to the rushers up from the little strip of wharf, all now made land and covered with rails, to have their landing shout? Poor old Genet, too, some will think of, and

Peter Cameron, at that time a full sixty or more, was a grim, humorous, shrewd old Scotty, who made people welcome and was always ready for a yarn.

Richard Taylor, was a Londoner, about 5 8-9 in height, strong, square built, big head and neck, with a humorous sarcastic tongue when wanted.

View Page 252

Bradwell, Compton of the Mitre, old Townshend the Bench clerk, lovingly called Jimmy, old Latter, Robert Waitt, Alport, familiarly called Bumblefoot, Urquhart Macpherson, little McCardell, the present member, Harry All-mighty then a boy. The old Magistrates Court and police quarters were on the site of the Schools, and there Dr Donald sate [sic] in state, his henchman being Seager, for so long at the Lincoln road mad house, and then a sort of corporal of police or something. He has always quartered on the Country. C.C. Bowen was then for a time Inspector of Police, and combined with that the Treasurership and used to rush over red hot with his steed on pay day. W. J.W. Hamilton came during one of those years, and got installed in the Customs, and be it stated, with bated breath, was cordially hated by every mercantile man and clerk in the place, is the essenceof a crotchetty red tape Tite Barnacle. He also was a great institution on the Bench of Justice. The Māories too had a resting place then on the cliff overlooking the beach somewhere opposite the Robin Hood and Mitre. It must be understood that in those days Lyttelton was headquarters, there, the Lyttelton Times was christened by James Edward Fitzgerald or the brothers Ward, later, one, the Hon. Crosbie, a man well liked, who went to his long home too early and snapped what promised to be a brilliant career. The Times was printed by the original Bradwell, at a

View Page 253

small establishment opposite the present Schools. It was a bi-weekly, I think, and was despatched over the Bridle path by pony to enlighten the benighted Christchurch people. It may be wrong to say that its headquarters were not removed to the present abode til ’60. One is right in stating that, at all events, Mr Reeves had become connected with it before the change. The only Bank was the Union, on a site somewhere above the Mitre, and I think a Mr Spowers was the head man. The great Miles firm made its entry about 1857, and took up modest quarters on Norwich quay, with I fancy Mr Banks, as manager. The commercial men were the, at that time, great firm of Cookson, Bowler and Co, whose offices were near the Canterbury, Robert Wraitt, E.J. Hargreaves, A.J. Alport, Noble Campbell, with Louisson for his clerk. Latter father of the Bankruptcy Trustee, old Peacock and his son and other smaller fry. The lawyers were Dampier, and a dry old Englishman named Wormald, who had the cream of all the first business. The Supreme Court was also held there in the old police buildings, and for some years had to wait the coming of the Wellington Judge, then Mr Wakefield, until the now retired Judge, Mr Gresson who practised in Christchurch, and was, I think, Crown Prosecutor, was appointed as local Judge. Cases from throughout Canterbury were tried here, and witnesses brought long distances, with the old system of travel. The Judge had also to go to Dunedin to hold Court.

Mr Robert Wraitt was a tall, dark man with strong black hair.

View Page 254

The only mode of communication with the Purau side was by whale boat, and old Deans, of Purau, for years carried passengers to and fro, those for Akaroa making their way over Port Levy to Pigeon Bay on foot, where horses, or some sort of trap, took them to the head of the Bay, later on Shadbolt’s, from where, you had, like the boy with the peep show, your choice, you could go round the road to Akaroa, or by boat. In those days of real old sou-westers, it took some stiff pulling. In the township, besides the old Frenchys, you found old Bruce, the forerunner of Scarborough, doing the honours [sic]. Henderson was also another boniface. Mr Watson dispensed justice, and some stories might be told of his mode of doing so. Capt. Graves, was the Harbour Master, or Customs representative, or official of some sort. Dr Lowe, I think dispensed physic. Yes! There was some tall drinking in Akaroa in those days. The bush, then down to the water’s edge, fine timber, abounded with sawyers, top men and pit men of the old sort, old Vandies, runaway whalers, sailors and out of luck swells. Grog by the case. High jinks for weeks. Don’t I remember one of the debauches, where a man like Tichborne, one who had allowed himself to fall even below the level of his coarse mates, a scion of a good English family, ran as naked as he was born in broad day through the township for a drunken wager. Every now and then a whaler would pop in, sometimes a French one, and some of the crew would be sure to make for the bushes. The Nanto Bordelaise Frenchmen had brought with them fruit trees, and peaches and grapes were abundant. On their way, they made a pilgrimage to Napoleon’s tomb at St Helena, and it is said, that all the willows for which Christchurch and the Avon are now so celebrated, are offshoots of those growing over his grave.

The foot passengers for the plains from Lyttelton made their way over the bridle path, Wheeler and Nurse or Bruce and Coe, working the track with a pack horse, and at the foot of the hill on the other side, one of their spring carts waited for people, somewhere near the tunnel mouth. An old identity called Bill Moore drove one for years and Stewart. The cart took the only route by the Ferry, for years kept by Dale, and there sometimes you had patiently to wait for people would not be hurried in those times, until you got to the other side and the four miles straight to the White Hart.

View Page 255

Luggage and some goods had to take the Sumner zig-zag, and draymen for years made a very good trade of it. It is true, every now and then, accidents would happen and there would be a topple over. Good drinking men abounded, for such an idea as Good Templarism was unheard of and the Blue ribbon would have made the old identities smile. They were a hardy lot. Where are they now?

Fore [sic] some years the only wharf was about a chain long, and only allowed small coasters to use it. Peacock’s wharf in deeper water, was then built by that firm, who were strongly in the Sydney trade, and was sold by them some years later for a very fair consideration to the authorities. The largest vessels for some years were 5 and 600 tonners such as the old Oriental, [marginal note:Captn Macey], and their cargoes were unloaded into barges for the Lyttelton trade and into small craft for Christchurch, the latter going round over the Sumner bar, up the Heathcote, to what was then Webb’s wharf, and has lately been a Soap Factory, on the Ferry road. Now and then one found its way up the Avon to the Bricks wharf, near the Cemetery. Sumner was kept lively and old George Day, the parent of all the Days, was busy at times. Sometimes twenty or thirty craft would be stuck up at the bar, and woe to the sardines, jams and grog in the hold. All had to pay toll.

the Sydney trade was largely done by a brig the Dart Captn. Jenkins.

View Page 256

It was thought by some that the Avon could be utilised and goods brought up nearer to Christchurch than by the Heathcote, and with that view, a sum of money was voted by the old Provincial Council for cutting a passage through the horseshoe bend about the year 1858, and a strong party of Irishmen, good beer and whisky men, took the job, and let the river through. It has not turned out as expected. Of course times were changing. Small steamers for the Heathcote trade were put on. The first railway was opened to the Heathcote wharf at the old Ferry, and the river trade was killed. The nest of Wharves at the two mile peg, Webb’s, Aikman’s and others, lost their glory and for some years were valueless; and for a long time no one foresaw the present aspect of the district. Gorgeous villas were still undreamt of. Fabulous prices for suburban sections unknown. Things were in embryo.

Rowland Davis at that time was a tall man between 50 & 60, heavy, broad shouldered, shambling, with an oily tongue and plenty of gab.

View Page 257

To go back to 56/7 or more than a quarter of a century ago, a new arrival saw strange sights. The only wharf in Lyttelton – Pshaw! Port Cooper! the old ones refused to recognize the Hagley Park designation, and as with the old veterans of Wellington – Wellington was Port Nic – from the North Cape to the Bluff. Well, Port Cooper then only boasted of a short jetty thrown out where now is the Telegraph Office &c, for at that time the “sad sea waves” came up to within a chain or two of the Canterbury Hotel bar door. The wharf it will be understood was only suited to small craft, such frigates as the Mary Thomson, 40 or 50 tons, and its bold skipper Henry Thomson, only could moor alongside. Larger craft and Home ships took the stream for it and passengers had the delightful experiences of landing at the tender mercies of the beach combing harpies who then did the lightering and boating business between vessels and the shore. Did it suit, they would come off, otherwise my Colonial teapot, no loving fear! would those gentry disturb themselves. Why perhaps they were deep in the intricacies of a hot discussion in Rowland Davis’ Canterbury Bar or it may be were being entertained by the old veteran, Peter Cameron, at the Robin Hood, the original of the Cameron’s with a racy yarn about old Wellington times. For Peter could tell a story, and so, my Colonial, could old Rowland in his prime. And there were other old boys who could manage to drink the passing hour. Old Genet for example wasn’t bad.

Mitre P Cameron Butcher Parkerson Mrs Card’s boarding house

Rowland Davis Canterbury

“Lyttelton Times” E Reeve [across street] Cookson Bowler & co Barracks Police Gaol &c

View Page 258

Then there was George Scott, with his woolly horse, he also could keep them going. Then for a change there was little Mac o’ that ilk – otherwise Mr McCardell, he would always contribute. Then there were greater guns such as the historical Dr Donald the father of Lyttelton (don’t laugh) and Mr Urquhart Macpherson – he was a great institution until the eclipse came. There was the genial Cookson of Cookson Bowler & Co, and big Robert Wraitt, and E.J. Hargreaves, and wasn’t there also Bumblefoot, as he was lovingly called, the original Alport. And wasn’t the old veteran Bradwell an institution by himself. Wouldn’t it do one good to be 25 years younger, to hear his humorous chaff again, or perhaps a recitation or it may be just to amuse you with a little playful trick with the cards. He could always contribute his mite towards passing away a half hour. Then there was old Ned Nurse, a great card in the horse line. Oh! And don’t let us forget for one loves him, all do, that embodiment of the veritable Tite Barnacle, pure bred, without a cross strain of blood, the veteran pensioner with the pleasant smile, Mr W.J.W. and how much more, Hamilton. He was a [continued next page]

The “Union Bank” in the fifties, put in a redstone building, past the Mitre.

Let it be understood, those were familiar days

View Page 259

most popular man, remarkably so, particularly with people who were in haste to do business at the Customs, and took delight in seeing papers dognosed and hearing him sniff. He always made it a study to hasten business, and no doubt the modern shipper, the Company’s, the Turners & Co would be delighted to see him in his old age patriotically give up his 333-6-8 and return to harness. Crosbie Ward too – a different man – could then be seen about the Lyttelton Times office, bless you not the grandiose affair of the day, with its well informed correspondents on Māori affairs and other matters, but a nice convenient little rag in which you could twice a week comfortably wrap the family pound of butter – but mind you – full of talent, for Crosbie was clever and genial. He had humour. Then there was that old institution Jimmy Townshend much the same as to day. Then a good standby was old Deans, coming across with his boat from Purau, Rhodes’ bay. He was the link between Port and that part of the world. Then of course some of the old Akaroa and Peninsula nuts would once in a while have a little recreation, Bruce, Parker, Watkin, Cuff, Pavitt, and the Frenchies. But what the Port Cooper boys took a genuine pleasure in was getting a man from over the Hill for a night, or a new chum from Home. They would endeavour to make him feel quite at home and had not the least objection in the world even to sitting up until the wee sma’ hours

View Page 260

to keep him from feeling lonely. Couldn’t the old Mitre tell a tale. Or the Canterbury, Robin Hood or Heaphy’s? Don’t the walls still echo with the merry making of Bully White and Babot and Wransdowne[?] and many more kindred spirits of earlier or later years. Couldn’t the Beaches and the ripple of the waves tell a nice little story of the manipulation of tobacco, spirits and other duty paying articles, which by their midnight travelling have in some cases so materially aided to wealth and greatness some highly respectable individuals. Aye, and couldn’t the old Immigration barracks and other places add a spice to the revelry of olden times. Many a staid old matron now, could contribute her quota of the memories of those days. Wouldn’t it be a valuable document to have pigeonholed in a Government Department, a true record of the doings of immigration officers and other so interested parties in the good old times of some years ago. There was then a fine freedom from interference by the outside world, the press was still without the prying reporter and a fatherly Government with money at command, by selling the people’s lands, despised such a singular thing as economy. Medical comforts – do you comprehend – were in abundance, and there were so many sick and invalids wanting reviving. Now, don’t go and insinuate that officials or their friends drank the

View Page 261

choicest liquors because didn’t the conscientious returns come in faithfully recording how the medicaments been dispensed to sufferers. Oh yes! They were grand old times those old immigration days. Camp Bay and Quail Island could also tell a story. Then there was Long Miller, ah! Some of you remember him. He left the Quod before that sincere old Christian and father of a brood of gaolers and warders came upon the scene. You could see Mr Miller’s men camped upon the High Street and without a particle of hurry enjoying their tobacco, and at stated hours, when the craving came, at their ease around the camp fire with the slung billy of tea in their midst. There was a fine feeling of confidence and brotherly trust between the guardian and the guarded, and no doubt they would have felt mean even to think of running. Woe is me! times indeed are changed. Isn’t it a well worn Dunedin legend, that before the Gold the old gaoler there used to shut the doors against them if they were not back at a proper hour. I fear me that what with Dr Stace and Dr Hume and others aiding the march of civilization things are really sadly deteriorating and that fine feeling of mutual respect and trust which had then ruled has departed to return no more. Oh! and the Māori Kaik that was somewhere opposite the Mitre and Robin Hood and there every now and then would be seen a good collection of the real old identity Māori, before the Trowsers and shirt and other female embellishments had been substituted for the old time honored [sic] flax rag or blanket, making their market of oysters and pepis [sic], potatoes and firewood. Although well up to trade and traffic they had not then put on that gloss of civilization which now obtains. Are they better for it?

Gaol, fifties, Henry Yates Miller

View Page 262

High Jinks in the olden time. Only landing a cargo of new chums. In the old days you know when breakwaters, wharves, docks, tunnels, railways and trams existed, and before immigrants were shoved through the ocean from the old country in 40 & 50 days. We read about the Grand Old Man, but those were the Grand Old Times. The Nourmahal, Gannanoque, Mystery, British Queen, Blue Jacket, Glenmark, and some others could a tale unfold. In the good old times, the Lyttelton police, then Port Cooper were charged with the pleasant duties of supervising the landing of our future population. Immaculate people as they were, they liked the duty. The care they took of the old fathers and mothers, and little infants was something to be charmed with, but by Jingo, didn’t they reserve a lot of attention and trouble for the assistance of well grown girls. They must have foreseen the virtue to a new country of the article.

As time went on, a parental Government saw the great necessity of a special Department for the business. Funds were in plenty and it was created. One forgets

Captn. Svenson

View Page 263

who was the original head bottle washer, but wasn’t it the man with the big eyebrows, once the postmaster (at the time Smutty Thompson was chief clerk) and who is now luxuriating on a well earned pension. When the P.O. was a 12 x 10 shanty next to Wellington Bishop’s store where now stands Townshend’s grog shop and the Victoria Hotel and old going going gone H.E. kept a shop just by. And why shouldn’t a man have a good pension when he has been provided for by a generous public for the best part of his life, fed, clothed, his children taken care of, if he have any, no risks, no competition to contend with, why should he not have a good retiring pay for the rest of his life? Ask Mr Hamilton, the champion Tite Barnacle, and well provided for pensioner? That gives him plenty of time to devote to politics and other trifles. Yet very likely he is surprised others can’t pay their way as he does. But one is wandering.

Well, to come back to our Merinos. We will say Dr Buck was made Immigration man, and that he had [here two names inserted and both crossed through, and a marginal insertion]J.E. Marsh, for assistant, and others that one won’t mention. Well, they had most onerous duties to go through. Mr [Marsh] had had experience. For example, before he reached this blessed haven of rest, he had had some little duties to perform in Wellington, and in the course of his social duties, were he disposed, he could tell us all about the old vagaries of Teddy Wakefield, then in the pride of wealth and influence, and also of his harem. For people in Colonial life go through

Pavitt sixties

View Page 264

When no bridge was over Colombo Street and long before Dirty Dick’s was thought of before the venerable relic now turned into a Feeding Palace had evolved out of the Market Place wilderness, at the touch of Ben Ward’s hammer and chisel; or George Cliff so many times Mayor of Timaru, and his mates had knocked together the old Immigration buildings on the Market Place in which Mrs Pollen began her housekeeping career, or Jos. Bailey had put together the building, forming part of Bligh’s or Knapman’s, in which the foundation was laid of the fortune of that liberal minded man Mr Joseph S. Buxton. We are amongst the old chips now, Sam. When I noticed you driving home your nail into the Baron and his friends watering scheme, it reminded me of old times when you used to shove up lean-tos. The nails had to go home, old boy. Why don’t you scribble a little story? You’ve seen a ghost or two in your thirty years of Christchurch. But perhaps you wouldn’t like. You might offend. Well, we mustn’t Sam if we can help it say an offensive word about anybody because dear boy, don’t you see, it is a rule most religiously carried out particularly when some meet in the White Hart or the City as a relish to their particular weakness or a few “are gathered together” at a religious tea fight. They adhere to it.

Samuel Clarkson. He was in the “fifties” a master hand at putting up lean-tos. Saw through five or 6 weather boards at once. Sam had a very voluble tongue and was devoted to the Moorhouse clique. A brother of David Clarkson whose wife started “Dunstable House”.

View Page 265

a good many phases. Perhaps he quarrelled with one of the girls, couldn’t tell. But however he blossomed next into Mr James Willis’, Mr William Thomson’s, Mr Joey Brittan’s (or whoever the old Standard newspaper belonged to) factotum, you know, he gathered accounts and he tried to get in ads. But she died.

Well, they wanted a good discreet, virtuous young man with good credentials, to land the old people from the ships, but particularly the girls. Who better fitted? Hadn’t he had experience. And wasn’t he pleasant to speak to and particularly kind to old people, to needy people, but a jolly sight more so to young girls? And accordingly they engaged him.

For a time he was only an understaffer, and had not opportunities of developing his wonderful genius as an Immigration officer and a poor law Bumble. But he made them. Vacancies occurred. Some went to the wall, and vanished, but our young man floated. Now he could, if he would, tell us a little story about immigration and medical comforts.

But perhaps he would object. Well one mustn’t force people against their will. But there are other people who can tell a little story on the subject. Now suppose poor old Bully White, could come again from the bottom of the South American sea, or old Wraukmore of the Glenmark, from his unknown grave, or even little Babot, and a few more of them, couldn’t they tell a pretty story about the doings, not only on the immigrant ships, but after the people were landed.

View Page 266

We should not wonder at all now, if the Medical Comforts ledger balanced well, and if it showed that the people were supplied with a large quantity of comforts -particularly stimulants? For immigrants newly landing in a strange country, 16000 miles away from all their friends, require to be stimulated, and suppose the stimulants should be administered by substitute, bless you, what’s the odds, didn’t it all go in the Tally?

You know, I think there is nothing so pleasant to the enquiring mind as a devoted official; a pleasant well spoken official, an obliging official and a particularly kind official to old cripples and people in want. That is the sort of man one admires. And when such a person has at his disposal large sums of money and has a full discretion as to how to use it, it must be nice to meet a man who thinks this money is all his own, and he the charitable donor of doles to the poor, old and decrepit wretches, whom he finds pleasure in meeting with a smile and sending away delighted?

That is the sort of man one likes. But when one meets an upstart adventurer snob, who thinks he is the State, or that the State has endowed him with the power of giving curt answers, and using domineering and insulting language to poor beings forced by circumstances to put up with such airs, one feels a sort of craving to administer a well justified chastisement.

But what is this all about? Nobody knows? Why there is no meaning in it. One feels certain nobody will ever understand the allusions and will simply brand the writer a lunatic. Well. He must, like the Australian cricketers, take his gravel.

View Page 267

Yes, there were grand old doings in Port Cooper some years ago when an immigrant ship arrived. That great official, Mr Rolleston, for example, who prides himself so upon his administration of the affairs of the old Province no doubt thought himself posted, and that he knew all. He was a sucking babe. Like his friend, that great administrator, Charley Bowen, who prided himself so much on the discipline of Addington female gaol, and the morality of its keeper, until he was rudely awakened by a Christening being needed under his dispensation. That caused a sort of sensational moral earthquake.

Yes, those were grand old times in Port. Couldn’t the old Mitre walls have told a tale, and Heaphy a little story? Julian now could have passed away half an hour and the father of the Hamlet, the old Doctor, might amuse you. Old Peter Cameron too, with his rich old Doric, had seen some funny reminiscences. For those were the days of Mr E.A. Hargreaves, old Mr Latter, Robert Waitt, Mr A.J. Alport, fondly called Bumblefoot, Wormald, Bamford, when Mr R.H. Rhodes could be seen busily rushing backwards and forwards from Purau and Kaituna, when Urquhart Macpherson was a personage, and Mac an amazing individual, and your special weakness, Mr Harry Allwright, little dreamt that ever he would be Member for Lyttelton.

An eccentric of the name of Cawood invented a compass, quite an extinguisher upon all previous compasses. He made an exhibit of it in the Port. There was some fun. George Agar and the boys were about.

Julian, was an institution in Port.

Urquhart Macpherson, was a sort of Comm. Merchant &c. He was mixed up in a scandal, that ended in a tragedy.

View Page 268

The true history of those Reserves, dear children, has yet to be written, and then you will be enabled to judge of the disinterested patriotism of some of your eminent ones. At all events this is plain as all the noses on your faces, that those men who claim so much gratitude from us, left the City of Christchurch with small reserves or resources, to be the most taxed City in the Southern Hemisphere.

In the olden days it mattered not. There was no tax gatherer. No jubilant by law maker like Mr Hawkins existed. He still vegetated at Papanui. And the roads and bridges and footpaths, such as they were, were made by a Paternal Government. Good fat contracts were to be had, and all the old lot of Smith and Blackler, and Woodman and Charley Wright, Jack Foster and Dearsley, and lots more of them, all had a dip into the dish. Some more than others. It was quite delightful to see a gang of the old boys levelling the ups and downs of what was called Cathedral Square before Godley or the trees grew, or the first stone of the Cathedral foundation put in. They did things properly then. Their tipple was Dick Taylor and they kept a moderately sized cask on the job. Dick was the forerunner of all the Wards and Mannings and Louissons, and his brewery the Phoenix, was where now is a Malt house and bottling place, in Kilmore and Victoria Streets.

Cathedral Square looked thus then. Where now is Brice’s was Miss Skillicorn’s bonnet and drapery shop, afterwards occupied as a drapery by Axup, Steward and Bell. Steward now M.H.R., next on Hereford St was the old building adjoining the N.S.Wales bank, there was living Mr Sefton Moorhouse. On the opposite side of the street, there was nodings [sic] until it got to the back of Miles’ then unbuilt store and there after came to Tombs the builders, where was a little office.

View Page 269

And suppose, just to show, that there is no hijocundity in the matter (as to the derivation of the term, I must refer you to the gentlemen of high degree and University training who find themselves so well housed in our Educational Establishments) that we just tell a little story about nothing at all, that is the sort of subject to extract a story from. Just for example as Mr John Ollivier remarked in his manifesto in support of his friend Mr Hobbs, the tailor, what fools people are and under what ridiculous notions they exist; running away with the idea that the Town Reserves were a Municipal Endowment which were made away with by those who ought to have reserved them and honourably stuck to their trust. No, dear Mr Ollivier, they were not a Municipal Endowment or Reserve for the reason, dear and venerable old Patriarch, that in those days no municipality existed; but Mr O. in those days there was a Provincial Government, a Superintendent and a Council, and they were the representatives of the whole Province [continued next page]

[marginal notes] In 1853, J.E. Fitzgerald, wrote “No intention we are informed was ever entertained to dispose of the Town Reserves. Until they are handed to a Corporate Body, in the settlement, they of course remain under the charge of the Association.” Then came the Provl. Council. Then in 1854, notice of sale of Town Reserves. Sewell opposing as illegal. In 1855 advertised for sale on 7 year terms.

Oct /55 – Provl. Council. Ordered sale on 7 year terms. 10% down

Feb /56 – Sale Reserves at Royal Hotel. 107 acres sold at about �60 acre on above terms. Bowens, Gressons &c bought largely.

View Page 270

which, funny to say, included Christchurch, and those officials, Superintendent, Secretary, and so forth, caused to be sold the hundreds of acres marked as Reserves within the Belts on the original maps of the City, made use of the money, and neglected the chance when they had ample opportunity of making new reserves for the future municipality. Saddle the right horse. Mr Hobbs had nothing to do with these matters. Mr Hobbs was not a sufficiently important personage in those days to be consulted on such matters. Why bless you, father John, it was even a few years after that before Mr Hobbs’ great patron, Mr Coster, began even to be noticed in connection with a Bank, and some time more, before he developed into the full blown Manager of the House that Jack McCosker began to build, and Joe Bailey had to finish. You dear Sir, in some of those times were in office, and so was Mr Sefton Moorhouse, and why could not the people who were powerful enough to sell, even to the last three sections left in the year 1858, near what is now Ward’s Brewery, on a seven year’s purchasing clause, why could not, and why did not, those people in power endow Christchurch afresh out of the then millions of unsold acres? Tell us dat. Don’t scold us. Don’t talk to us as if nobody had a right to an opinion but yourself. You as a public man have not been altogether a success. Some of the old ones may perhaps have a recollection of your attempt at Legislation in the Public House line? You would scarcely claim that as a success. And have you been a triumph as an Auditor? And are you peerless as a Magistrate? Don’t tread too hard on others’ corns.

As to Mr Hobbs and his opinions, and his idea that he is indispensable to the City, it is well that the electors have shown him that they entertain a different idea. That his drainage fund, which by pure solid obstinacy, assisted by the good will of powerful financial

View Page 271

magnates the whole concern having axes to grind, he managed to saddle the taxpayers with, is a failure, your noses tell. That is an unerring test. Barring, that your nose won’t smell. And is it upon that that Mr Hobbs is to ground his authority to talk magisterially to the public? Away with such overweening presumption.

Mr Hobbs may be an excellent judge and so may Mr Ollivier of how to wind up family affairs and business to the best advantage, which must be admitted to be according to circumstances excellent qualities; and Mr Hobbs, as a tailor, may excel in the proper way of obtaining Government contracts for policemens’ and gaolers’ uniforms, and know the most economical and profitable way in which to carry them out, but those qualifications are not such as tend to make a City Councillor better than other men. Let others have a ride Freddy.

Letter to a tailor.

View Page 272

Old Time Stories, by An Ancient

Twenty-five or more years ago. No Parliament house in those days, no vaulted chamber and gaudy windows for the old Provincial Council. A simple room in what afterwards became, under the landlordship of George Oram, the Clarendon Hotel, sufficed for the oratory of those days. But opened with all the formalities and all the ceremonial of greater days.

And yet there was talent. The old original British blood was still in full force. There was Joseph Brittan, father of your friend, with his bitter sarcastic eloquent tongue, a past master at his work. He was one of the pioneers of journalism in the City, and I believe, with the late Mr James Willis, was owner of the defunct Standard. It was published on the corner block next Harper’s, afterwards turned into a public. By the way, do you new generation know, that many years ago, headed by Mr John Ollivier, the old Licensing Act was invaded, and, by getting the signatures of twelve neighbours and householders, that a house and applicant were suitable, the Bench had no option but to grant the License. The thing became too ridiculous. Licensed Houses were everywhere. To return, Mr B. was not a popular man. His manner was repellant [sic]. There was in him an expression that spoke of domineering insincerity. The crowd disliked him. They gave him a name – and it stuck. Watercress Joey. As the Duke of Norfolk in the bad potato times, talked of rice and curry for the poor, so Brittan insisted that labourers ought to be contented with three or four shillings a day, for, could they not get plenty of watercress out of the winding Avon which Cockneydom would only be too glad to buy? That was his view of the labour and food question. It was simple, but in homely colonial language, it wouldn’t wash. He’s gone. Of the dead, say nothing if not good. A rule by the way, historians and others, so where to. Vide, Mr Carlyle and others.

There was Fitz – James Edward Fitzgerald, the present placeholder, comptroller general, or well paid something or other, who threw the wasted bombshell into the Ministerial camp the other day. He was the founder of the Press newspaper, now controlled by the immortal Mr Briggs, in which by the way, no writing with the ring of Fitz’ former times leaders, now appears. Who, of the old ones, does not remember that humorous, stinging, chaffing, sarcastic essay on the Green grocer, an unfortunate now gone, who had got into the meshes of a well known Israelitish, pawnbroking, peddling, money lending Jew, the first of his breed, seed and generation, who hung his shingle out in the Cathedral city, next to what was once a pie shop, but now the great City Hotel. The way in which Fitz played upon the greenness of the green grocer, who called himself a smart man and the tactics of the spider when once the fly was in the web, was delightful, original, and relishing. The very thing suitable for your columns. Good wholesome chaff

View Page 273

founded on truth. The original Home of the Press was in Parson Raven’s cottages, at the corner of Montreal St by the College. Mr F. was then in his prime and one of the finest natural speakers that I have ever heard. His flow of language, choice and unhesitating words were a pleasure to listen to, and his illustrations not above the heads of his hearers. Mr F. was at one time Superintendent and afterwards represented the Province in England. He was largely identified with immigration, and sent out the first Telegraph operator. Another idea of his was (as ironclad trains were lately in question) his ironclad machine to bring the gold from the Coast overland, when Hokitika broke out.

Policeman Sherman knows all about that for hadn’t he and others some nice rides “o’er the hills and far away” on the occasion. Their return to the City was a sight, and the Machines could be seen for some time after in Dock at the police barracks. But his great achievement was the “Circulating Medium”. It wasn’t a National Bank, or even one of Joe Hall’s coppers – brasseses [sic], I mean! (Do spell brass properly, for heaven’s sake) so connected with the revered memory of the late Mr Raphael. But it was a conveyance. It had wheels nearly the diameter of the City Mill grinder and a low body, roomy enough to hold a good share of Noah’s crowd. It was designed to meet the wants of a flat country. It used to amuse the youngsters with farmer Fitz driving out to the Springs. I do not know if it was patented. I don’t think it has ever been copied. No doubt Howland or Moor will know. As it stood, it was a notch above them. Mr F’s special aversion was Moorhouse and all his works.

To come back. The speaker was Mr Charles Bowen, father of the Hon. C.C. who was then Inspector of Police or something. Mr B. was an Irish gentleman, in the Encumbered estates line, remarkable for his dignified and unbending carriage and also a first class judge of a hack. He was always well mounted. Mr B.was rather pompous and not a man of much intellect, but as Speaker in the Chair he was superb. No Speaker of the Commons ever thought more of his office. The sonorous Order! When some member infringed on the due decorum of business was awful. There wasn’t a joke in him. “Mr D. – have you any – haw – Shuga – haw. I want – haw – some Shuga – haw – dark – haw – you know – haw – for the Servants – haw?” Mr B. was economical and did not like to instil luxurious ideas into servants – haw - and he generally had a new set out of every new ship.

Mr Leonard Harper then a fresh colored [sic] young fellow was Clerk to the Council. His father the Bishop came out with his family in 1856. After a year or two Mr Harper went home and was called to the Bar. On his return he joined the firm of Travers and Hanmer which has since through changes and death merged into the big firm in Hereford Street. Later on we had the West Coasters. They were a new element that confronted the Speaker. There was poor Basff – apeing [sic] the digger, [trimmed off ] jacket and belt. Then there was Cassius and Mr Whall and some others. They were the originals of Dick Seddon & co. Their theory was the entire superiority of the West Coast and its gold, to the humdrum sheep and corn people, of this slow going concern. They wouldn’t stand it, they would have separation, and they got it, and I never heard mortal man say that he was sorry that the [illegible] had been got rid of. Vain was the gold dream and no longer had they Canterbury, with its then rich land fund to sponge on.

View Page 274

Then there was old Rowland Davis, father of Dick o’ that ilk. He was a plausible old Irish gentleman, originally of Wellington, who came down with the early settlers and fixed himself up at the old Canterbury in Port Cooper, which he kept for years. In the great election fight of 1857, when Moorhouse was elected, he worked the Peninsula for him, and in after days, when fortune had somewhat dimmed, Mr M., then Superintendent, made Rowland Inspector of something on the gold rushes at the West Coast. Mr Davis was the first who got a license for what is now the Clarendon Hotel, from him it passed to Ben Jones, the now Stage Manager for Williams in Melbourne – and let me think, then – to George Oram. Mr Davis had a fund of anecdote about old times, was an amusing, jolly, pleasant companion, but no business man or politician.

Another quaint old character was Mr Dobbs, the old gentleman who then lived amongst the Sandlots at Kaiapoi, and was a great political authority at the Northern in olden days, when Fraser kept it, and G.C. Black, and lots of others used to have jolly evenings in the house. Mr Dobbs was a nice man old fellow for a chat, but as a politician was a nobody.

John, as in everything else, you will understand was well to the fore not only as Moorhouse’s Provincial Secretary, but he was also member of the General Assembly. You know what he is now you can then understand what sort of youth he was twenty-five years ago. You wouldn’t be surprised to hear I suppose that he had a good flow of language, some humour and not bad at chaff? You might believe it. He and Sefton hitched together for a long time. He certainly stuck staunchly to his chief. As a politician, I don’t look on him as a success. He soon retired.

Mr Duncan was also at that time a right hand man of Moorhouse’s. But he never really seemed to take much interest in matters. He was an indolent politician, wouldn’t be bothered. A good hard hitter you know when soused. And, I may be wrong, but I don’t think he was so firm a believer in Mr Moorhouse in after years as he then was.

I am mixing all these up from the old chambers in what later became the Clarendon Hotel, to the removal to the new Council Chambers over the River.

A regular old identity was Old Packer, the father of H. Packer of today. The old gentleman was a hard headed old nut, and became a Provincial Secretary or something. I don’t think it would happen at the present day but it might, for strange things occur. He had a brewery in the rear of what is now Sutherland’s, Beath’s &c, and Roger Deacon, the parent of Mr W.H. Wynn William’s partner, was the factotum general. And leaving politicians for a moment, Alfred Pigeon, an offshoot of the Pigeons

View Page 275

now the West Coast County Chairman, was a little wee fellow then. Another of their chums was poor old Goodacre, a great institution in those days, and who managed to get into Pigeon’s ribs for a sound sum, but hadn’t P. the delight of turning the debtor’s key of Lyttelton gaol on him for some twelve months, for there were no jolly “filing your shovels” in those days. Old Archer, of the Lincoln road, was also a pretty regular customer. In fact there was some good ullaging done in that store. Vale.

Later politicians came on the scene. Mr Montgomery, for example, whose first introduction to Canterbury was at the Ferry Road wharf, established by one of the very old ones, Alexander Webb, and where a roaring business was done for years in the old days, when all the small craft came round to Sumner and up the Heathcote. The Home ships were lightered round in this way, and the wharf abounded at times with goods of all sorts, and it was never heard that either a small craft, or the wharf premises, went short of luxuries. In those days there was no hurry and people were not particular. Even when out of the clutches of the ship, the small craft and the wharfinger wharfinger, the distillers in the old world, then retailed his consignments of Old Tom Whisky, Beer, and other consumable articles in a part of the building, and on each day he held a leve, and you can’t imagine how many friends he had. Why they were almost as numerous as professionals at a free lunch bar. There was old Joseph Fantham, father of A.A. Fantham, the great cattle breeder. He was a knowing old card, had seen the world before he emigrated to Canterbury and knowing the story of old Twigger, the drowned man’s lands on the Lincoln road, he just took possession, and squatted, and there he rested undisturbed for some years. Then there was one of his chums Old Harry Jackson of Riccarton; a rough diamond who could polish off his beer with any man, get as tight as a ladies’[sic] glove, and yet could not be done in a bargain. There was also Westby Hawkshaw Percival, whose son is now a solicitor, then a little child at the School House on the Lincoln road, which his mother kept. There was also Mr Frank Guinness, who has since gone through the degrees of policeman of some sort, Clerk to the Bench, Magistrate &c, and has now returned to his first love, with no doubt a deal of Colonial experience; Arthur Guinness [not completed]

View Page 276

There were the carters to deal with and anybody who knew old Dick Sutcliffe and George Allen, and some of the others, would swear that talking wouldn’t hurry them. But things had changed when Mr Montgomery came there. The new era was beginning. Mr Montgomery soon began to dabble in politics but appeared to me to be always on the see saw, always excepting his devotion to the Peninsula and Little River. There is a great deal of timber country in that locality.

There used to be terrible debates, want of confidence, the previous question and all the paraphernalia of the old world. Intrigues were on foot and the parish would listen open mouthed to the awful designs of Maskell and Wynn Williams or their forerunners and other eminent statesmen. General Whish the hall porter for so many years was the Sergeant at Arms, and was quite a terror dressed up in evening costume. His duties were mixed, and the Sergeant at Arms had to lower his dignity at times and perhaps bring in a glass of water.

[insertion]That was a rather rich description of Wynn Williams of the old Provincial days, and poor Whish and his angular legs. Of course the thing was ridiculous, but had John H. only been here, and with his retentive memory, entertained the House with a sketch of the old Dirt and Darkness Club of many years ago, bringing in as adjuncts, Teddy Preston and Old Oswald, and a few other notabilities of those days, the scene might have been quite as funny. There are other little data that would furnish quite as humorous a quarter of an hour as the turning into ridicule, by a fortunate adventurer, of an unfortunate and afflicted gentleman like Mr Whish. Some people, who when toadying to the crowd from public platforms, ridiculed in years gone by Royalty and Nobility, but who now are fond of alluding, quite unconsciously, to their titled relatives, may be interested in knowing that Mr Whish was the son of an Indian Officer not unknown, General Whish. The old warriors of the Upper House may have heard of him.

Those old Provincial Councils were a good school for rising politicians. Sir John Hall was always a Member, and took a leading part. The late Sir Cracroft Wilson was also in; and you may imagine made

View Page 277

himself heard. I don’t think Mr Rolleston ever was. He was a Barnacle permanent official, until he became Superintendent. Mr Kennaway was for a considerable time in office, but he got nicely quartered upon the Agent-General’s office at Home.

Amongst the Tite Barnacles always in good snug office as long as memory goes is Mr John Marshman, a dry subject. He has been auditor, Agent at Home, Treasurer I think, and what is he now? Now what claim have these people, not referring to this gentleman alone, to be continuing in office, provided for by the public, fed, clothed, doctored, their children educated, no risk, no competition, and then probably to claim compensation or a pension? What, after having been provided for for years! Look at Mr Hamilton for example. There is a man paid off in the full vigor [sic] of his life with 333 pension, and he may live to sponge on us for the next thirty years, and what has he done for it? He has been the whole time well paid, in power, running no risk, never out of employ, no bad debt, no competition in business! all at our expense, and then we have to provide for him and his for life. This seems to me too good. I would like to know who are they that they should be sheltered from the world in this manner and yet be allowed to criticize the very people who feed them? For we know all about Mr Hamilton’s connection with the Times establishment, and we also know his domineering, intolerant character. There are a few who remember having dealings with the Customs at Lyttelton, and the R.M. Court in Christchurch, and who know his crotchetty humbugging ways. Haven’t we seen hundreds of his dog eared foolscaps? Haven’t we heard his overbearing speech “Who is that man?” pointing to some stranger passer by. “Don’t know, Sir”. “You should know – find out who he is!” – Accordingly, “Sir, please to give me your name”. “My name? What do you mean?”. “Well, Sir, Mr Hamilton wants to know who you are”. “Oh, by all means. Give him my card.” And then when given the card saying how dared he ask for his name. Thus the story was told as, and I believe it true. Again I ask, have these people a prerogative from Heaven, that they should be provided for for life? It is time this sort of thing was stopped. Let each have a turn. Do they pretend that others are not equal to their duties? But wake up taxpayer, and no longer allow yourselves to have quartered upon you for life these Tite Barnacles. Five years of such clover is enough.

View Page 278

Old Time Stories. By An Ancient.

Bless you, there is no hurry. Just let us step across to the dirty old White Hart, of a quarter of a hundred, or more years ago, and have a drink. It is about ten in the forenoon. Why! I’ll be hanged if there isn’t old Phil Ashton, busy about the stables, (where now is the side entrance) and he was up pretty late the night before. And who is that he is busy with? Why, old Charley the butcher, certainly. Couldn’t mistake him. Skull cap on head, a long blue serge shirt, and a black pipe between his teeth. They are talking horse. Just then up comes the Port conveyance from old Evans’ cottage at the foot of the Hill with Bill Moore the postman driving. He brings any Port news that is about. Some wonderful doings the night before amongst those gay old boys who then used to make Port Cooper lively. The Lyttelton Times, was then printed over the Hill somewhere opposite the present schools, by I think Mr Bradwell, the gentleman who for many years kept the News establishment in Colombo Street. Mr B. was a man of a considerable and peculiar talent. As some will remember, he was a fine elocutionist and his services were often in request. The Times was a bi-weekly, and about about [sic] your four page size. It has had the child’s complaint, growth. Bill lands his live freight, who are duly scrutinised by the loungers and all their peculiarities noted. Perhaps amongst them is some mother’s darling shipped out with a good outfit, somewhat reduced on the voyage to meet the demands of cards and beer. He is also largely stored with letters of introduction and will get a remittance now and then. He will do the Billiard and P.B. tour and later on perhaps blossom into a gambling sharp, or it may be turn into a poor old Ben Godfrey, or Gargorz, two wrecks well known about the scrutons of the White Hart years ago. The loungers muster. Here comes Kilburne, the chemist, from across the way and his friend Wilson, whose store was on the site of the Scotch Stores, and it seems to me once owned Freshfield House, later on in the hands of the White Hart landlord. And who is this singular looking gentleman? Why, that is Dr Mount, one of the old originals, who lived a bachelor’s life in a cottage somewhere about the Zetland Arms locality. He had high old times now and then. Ah, see here comes Rutty [hole in page] the painter, who lived for many years in a two poplar cottage opposite Strange’s. His foreman was Charley Flowers, afterwards known as a daring river crosser carrying the mails to the West Coast rush. Portly Mr Kiver, looking every inch a Briton, comes out of his primitive little shop next to the Australasia to see what is going on. And by George, here’s poor old Bob Hall, the builder. A fine fellow but with the failing! He did all Sir John Hall’s station work, and be it said to Sir John’s credit, he did [continued on next page]

[Note that in the original, pages 1 and 3 are on one page, and 2 and 4, on another. In this transcription they have been re-placed in correct order]

View Page 279

his utmost by advice and persuasion with Bob but it was useless. Though both Halls, they were not connected. Bob was a Scotchman, while Sir John is York. But they were shipmates from Home in the early days. The poor fellow was once wandering for a fortnight naked as an infant, in Alford Forest when in a fit of D.T., and was a miserable object when found. Bob could make things lively at times. Smashing up every chair in the room and breaking every lamp in the house even in these days would pass muster. In that respect very like our own Charley Cooper, now at rest. Charley always was a character. As a tooth drawer the darling of the ladies. Well he was a handsome fellow, as well as a fine dentist. Many little stories could be told about his exploits. Take Joey Brittan for a subject. He was once R.M. Police Magistrate, and we all know that Charley in the course of business often attended the leves. On this particular occasion he had exceeded himself, smashing hotel crockery and mirrors, and was under bail to attend on Monday morning. Some friend reminded him that on the last occasion Joey had distinctly told him that on his next appearance before him he would “go over the Hill”. “Ah!”, laughed Charley with a roar, “I’ve done the old boy this time. I’ve got his teeth! I’ll take care he won’t be there!” Joey, on the Bench when executing Justice and maintaining truth, had a most sardonic grin, and he grinned with a splendid set of false teeth. Charley scored. Some good old accommodating friend, John or somebody of course, quite ignored Joey’s threat. Charley also exhibited, in company with a couple of pious chums, for assault on a once well known damosel, connected with an individual who made his exit in haste, after making cinders not only of his friend’s house in the Market Place near the Victoria Hotel, but also of his friend. The trio were members of an elite corps of volunteers, and profitting [sic] in the Tutorship of that venerable old fossil Morgan, they brought their bayonets to the charge, and made the lady in her chemise, in the small hours of the morning, by gentle prodding on the fleshiest part, dance around for their amusement. Didn’t the lady employ Mr Wynn Williams to prosecute? One fancies so. By the way, this happened in a once well known ivy fronted cottage in Kilmore Street. And talking about that Street do people know that that locality was once a fearful fever hole? In the times before Colombo Street bridge was built, and long before the Garrick and Albion were thought of, when people had to go round the Victoria bridge, the old one, and paddle along over planks, crossing creeks and swamps in Kilmore Street and Colombo, then Kilmore Street was infested with fever.

[Note that in the original, pages 1 and 3 are on one page, and 2 and 4, on another. In this transcription they have been re-placed in correct order]

View Page 280

Whole families were swept off. There were no artesian wells then. The River to those near and surface wells were in use, and many of those wells were covered with a slimy film. People in these grand days would hardly believe for instance that in the olden time the White Hart was supplied with drinking water from a surface well within six feet of the water closet. But it is nevertheless the fact. That the drainage percolated through, people didn’t bother about. And the landlord less. As to artesian wells, there had been a discussion on that question. John Jebson of Malvern Hills, asserts that he was the first man that sunk and got water from an artesian well in Christchurch, or the vicinity. Others say, that the artesian flow that Mr Jebson got on a section in a back road abutting on the Lincoln road was only the natural overflow of a spring. Be that as it may, Josiah Hadley who once had a shop at the rear of where now stands the Shades in Hereford Street, and who was a sort of untutored mechanical genius, always insisted that he was the man who first struck artesian water in the City. One thing is very certain and that is that Hadley, before artesian wells came into use, used to contract for and sink pipe wells to the depth of twelve or twenty feet, and affix a pump to the surface tube. That was the origin of the Norton’s Abyssinian tube well, There can be no doubt whatever about that.

The first artesian well that was publicly sunk in the City, there can I believe be no doubt was sunk on the block opposite the Scotch stores and White’s – then Bethel Ware’s – store, and I think that was done by Hadley for the Corporation. That can easily be ascertained. Hadley was a rare old stick. Years ago, go along, I was twenty five years younger, there was one mail day, an explosion, a loud report. The mail then came in once a month. You had to take it when you got it. Well, on this supposed mail day, a loud report was heard, that was thought to be Jimmy Ballard’s gun announcing that the mail was in. Old Pigeon, who was a recognized character, and kept a spirit store where now is Beath, Sutherland & Co, rushed out of his office and talking through his nose as was his wont said “Py Jorge, the mail is hurly this munth”. The early mail was that old Hadley had put a few pounds of gunpowder to dry on the side of his forge, and the blessed combustible had exploded, and sent the front of his establishment into the street. And as to Josiah Hadley, there is a story to be told as to certain transactions that happened after his decease, and to his estate, and to his heirs, and if the transactions had been, or were, properly enquired into, there is no doubt whatever that some people who flourish as very respectable would be prosecuted as thieves. Just take a note of that. By the way

[Note that in the original, pages 5 and 7 are on one page, and 6 and 8, on another. In this transcription they have been re-placed in correct order]

View Page 281

Hadley’s were the first who grew chicory in the District with all due respect to Mr Trent, and the original Trent, when he kept the grocer’s shop over the bridge in company with or sold to Mr Holland, and before Mr Knapman went in company with him. Bless you, Mrs Bligh, who is the fond mother of so many, was not in existence then as a cook shop. Some of us remember Mrs Bligh’s first effort in that line. She has been very persevering.

And just by there, turning round the corner to the Supreme Court and Wesleyan Chapel, which then did not exist – Jack McCosker built the latter and there were some funny financial peculiarities in connection with it – in an old cottage lived the Vandemonian Bushranger Martin Cash. Just by lived before that a lady well known to many of the wise men, not only of the East, but of the West, Mrs Hollingsworth. Didn’t she Doctor? And going along towards what is now the front of the Supreme Court towards the Govt. buildings, gum trees and willows, there used to be an old relic of a man of war gun and this gun Jimmy Ballard, landlord of the Golden Fleece, undertook every Saturday to regulate the Sun by. At noon punctually, Jimmy, attended by old Charley Turner’s chum, and neighbour, Pop Adams, an old Man of War’s man, who lived in a cottage where now is Shand’s Bonded Store, would load and fire. Anything did to ram home with, a tussock, block of wood or a shingle pebble, and on this particular occasion at noon punctually, by his time, Jimmy let fly and sent part of his charge into a bullock team passing along the other side of the River and the remnant into Jimmy McCardell’s shop opposite the Govt. bridge window, killing one or two images there exhibited and generally playing havoc all round. That amused James B. In a few minutes old Goodacre who then kept a ready made clothing shop on Gloucester St next to where now is Joynt’s, who then by the way was client to T.S. Duncan and Joseph Baldwin who did his mattrass [sic] making on the other side of the road, and old George Clark, not the Soda Water but the other, and a few more of the old sticks, came out to see what the war was. Jimmy McCardell’s best specimen Nigger had received a severe mauling and some other fancy exhibits were spoilt and the end was an adjournment to the Golden Fleece where that most original character Mr Ballard from Cork, shouted for all hands. Dick Taylor, the original Swankey man of the Phoenix, was not far away. He was a nut. And Dr Catlin, lived somewhere opposite the Brewery. One night, about that locality, there was an alarm like the dynamite business of to day. Firewood was not only dear, but scarce, and people were just as honest as they are now. Some man who had been favoured by visitors put a charge of powder in one of his pieces of firewood, the result was a neighbour’s chimney went upwards.

[Note that in the original, pages 5 and 7 are on one page, and 6 and 8, on another. In this transcription they have been re-placed in correct order]

View Page 282

There used to be a story that a new arrival, a merry man, who enjoyed fun and society, was passed on by his friend to Mr F. at his place at the Springs. There he was hail fellow well met and had a good time. Then Mr F. had his joke. He passed him along to one who had a place some miles further. “Ah”, he said, “now you will have a good time ------ is a grand fellow for hospitality”. The new chum passed on, called, but ever after he always said F. must have been awfully deceived in his man! “Damn him”, he said, “why he is the meanest curmudgeon I ever met. Not a smoke or a drink in him, and hurried me off.” Fitz knew his man, and in anticipation enjoyed the fun.

View Page 283

Ah, just so! That is a full and satisfactory explanation. And since we are on the subject of grain agents and buyers and middlemen and farmers, a little retrospective glance will not be amiss. In the dark ages, for the world, even the Canterbury world, travels fast, when reaping machines were in their Colonial infancy and Binders were unknown, when many a paddock was reaped, good old time style, with a sickle, and threshed with the flail, and while on the flail subject, some 26 or 27 years ago, the writer remembers the high fun the Māoris, men, women and children, used to have at harvest time at the old pah at Kaiapoi. Standing in long rows, with the short end of the flail in hand, at the word of some graphically scarred old veteran, the row of flails, long end up, would go flying through the air and come down, a, ugh! on the unfortunate wheat. How they managed not to whisk off a Māori head or two now and then, was a mystery. Perhaps Isaac Wilson, M.H.R., could explain all about that, for he was running about amongst them a boy hail fellow well met. Well that interruption is over. When some years later, cockies were spreading out, and those farmers’ friends Harman & Stevens and others, were leasing land, bought at two pound per acre from the State, with conditions, at five shillings per acre annual rent, and a purchasing clause at 5 and two pounds per acre for five years, and under which operation cocky after cocky, of the old Springs, Shands and Middle Tracks went to the wall, crushed and in despair (reckon it out ye mathematical and arithmetical students) the great grain buyer was Mr W. Hannibal Lane.

This gentleman found his way hither from some part of Australia, where, doubtless he had experience. Old Mr Inwood, the parent of Winchester Township and who had managed somehow or other to get the freehold of that Island in Hereford Street upon which stands

First wheat exported – G. Gould

Berliner store Ashburton

1^st Manager Union Bank (or Spowers) came from Adelaide 1856

View Page 284

the City Mill, from some of those patriotic gentlemen who then ruled the destinies of Canterbury and with it the valuable water rights, sold or let the lot to Mr Lane.

At that time, shipments of grain to the old country were, it may be said, almost unknown, in fact, many doubted the possibility of making it a paying business. Mr George Gould was – are we right? the man who definitively proved the capability of doing so, and published his account sales, showing an expense, if memory is good, of 2/- per bushel. That was the turning point. Wood, Cunningham & Royse, Stead & Co and the others had not yet ventured so deep. Mr Roberts, for example, being then an articled clerk perhaps, with Wynn Williams, under the tutorship of the immortal Teddy Preston the managing clerk, whose name is so lovingly embalmed with those of Darby Maher, Louis Berliner, and sundry, and odd others, who figured largely in law courts. Mr Stead at that time also being usefully employed behind the counter of the Union Bank under the guardianship of that very careful gentleman Mr Joseph Palmer. By the way, the story goes that in the olden times of some years ago, only two men managed to get into Joe’s ribs. One was a fat butcher publican, and the other was not a butcher, but he was a person with a great deal of Home, Colonial, and Israelitish experience and in many ways. But he has come out of all bung up. But look here, we are wandering. To our cockies. Before the proof was shown that the Home market was open, the poor growers were dependent on the village buyers, and of those Mr Lane was the largest. At all events in the season, day after day, a line of drays, (there were no railways everywhere, then, dear boys!) could be seen extending from the Mill, at the corner where old Elsbie used to take photos (and by the way he had in his reservoir, only for certain occasions, some very choice ones, and interrupting further, old Elsbie who had a weakness for theatricals, in the years long gone by played as an amateur with Southern, the great Dundreary, then also an amateur, before he made his great hit) right away up the Terrace, past where old Parson Twigger, one of the original owners of the White Hart, was found drowned, up to the Royal, waiting with patience after lugging their sacks, some 10, 20 and 25 miles, the convenience of the buyer approving of their bulk, as per sample, and emptying their sacks. There was many a bitter story told by some of those poor wearied troubled cockies, and many a one

View Page 285

after a haggling match, hawking his sample round, had brokenheartedly to return and take the grinding price offered. People who grow grain now often growl. Many an old one can remember that years ago lots of grain was sold even as low as 1/6, a bushel, and that every advantage was taken of the slightest discolouration or hint at growth. Ah! Those were bitter years for many. It is true some conquered, but how many of the old original holders of the purchasing clauses ever managed to buy the freehold? But some big fortunes were made out of the misery of these people and some families laid the foundations of their greatness of today by ways that would not suit all persons. There were some disreputable bankruptcy swindles, and in one big affair it used to be whispered that the confidential clerk (such an article having lately been much talked of) was shipped to distant lands, for indeed it was thought, in fact people asserted they were sure, that he could make revelations that would not have added to the respectability, age, or even to the reputation for piety of some people.

C.W. Turner, sixties John Lewis sixties John T. Matson sixties

View Page 286

As to account sales, brokerage, commission, insurance, auction charges, freight and all the other ingenious modes of extracting money from the producers smally stocked pocket, it may be said that there is hardly one of the documents but could be treated as the High Court of Justice served the Manchester brokers for a great Indian firm. They had to furnish details, and refund every cent dishonestly charged or where charges and commissions had been divided, or imaginary charges made. That is a very valuable judgement. Puts false accounts on the basis of fraud. And a fraud is robbery. And for robbery people get jugged – and robbery time does not wipe out, and filing your shovel won’t help you. So, dear boys, go in and look up your old venerable records, compare your weights and heights, your outgoings and your incomings, and should you feel that by any possibility you can bring your obfuscated ideas to believe that Castles and Mansions have been built by robbing you, walk in dear boy to the magnificent counting house and ask a question. But don’t be bluffed – and then ask if they will kindly undergo the ordeal of disgorging the immense morsels they have swallowed, tempted by the haste for riches and the sleepiness of clients? Time is no get away. There can be no escape. The thing is inexorable as death. Throw up the sponge or take the consequences.

It is a peculiar position, is it not my Sage? An awkward situation, Philosopher. In fact it is a fix. It is painful and my bowels sympathise with the Fixee. I have looked up with such reverence to the wonderful genius that some men possessed in the accumulation of wealth and the display of luxury, and said to myself, what brains these men have and I none, that it will come upon me, when the decree of fate strikes as a personal grief. Now, sir, don’t interfere with me. No one is needed to assist me. Let me weep. My idols are going like smashed eggs, and awful to whisper – hold your nose – some of them very rotten eggs.

There is an Official in this City – now don’t get nervous – surely this can’t point at all of you – and this party has, for some years not alone by dividing auctioneer’s charges, but in other “ways that are

View Page 287

dark and tricks that are vain”, conspired, robbed, defrauded and stolen from hundreds of people. Do you hear? Say some are only trifles? What do they tot up to? That is another of the Rotten eggs that will burst and make an effluvium. And are these not, and have there not, been done putable dodges, calculated falsities, declarations which were lies and frauds, in contracts, say for Government Departments?

Think my successful contracting Dodger, would it conduce to your reputation for respectability and honesty, were evidence to be produced, which can be produced, that articles, one will call them so, charged to the State as supplied, were never so supplied, but by an artifice well known to dishonest contractors and officials, no such things were delivered and the plunder carefully divided? Now, rush into print and deny it.

Now, great men, some of you know well to whom this refers. What is written remains. And some remain in this beautiful position that you do not know the day that like Captain Maxwell Heron of H.M.S. Clyde you may have to undergo the ordeal of an exposure, that will effectually do away with assured position, and show to a stupid and believing world another of the Rotten Eggs they have tolerated amongst them.

And talking of Capt.Heron, who has now been expelled the British Navy, for employing the public paid sailors to do his private work, and using the public material to make him household furniture, who used naval tradesmen to clothe his family with public cloth, are there none here, pampered officials against whom this could be effectively sheeted home?

Remember the Caldwell Dunedin sham, the Wellington Mad House, the Scotland Yard detectives, the Melbourne police – and how many more rotten Eggs.

Oh, yes. Inspection is a great institution and Audit is immense. But things will never alter for the better so long as a thief robbing the public, his clients or his creditors is tolerated as now. When perennial and smiling and Pecksniffian Bankrupts who wear broad cloth unpaid for, and sponge on others for the education of their children as swells, are allowed to remain in public office and public positions. Their infernal cheek is simply incredible. Our toleration of such Humbugs is inexplicable. But upon our Toleration, and their boundless cheek, they wax fat.

View Page 288

Some believe in ghosts, many do not, that is to say they have never seen one, and therefore cannot say. I never was superstitious, or inclined that way. But, seeing is believing. Many, many years ago, I was passing along the then almost bare banks of the Avon, on Oxford Terrace. This was at night, a nice clear night. I saw a man, who to me, appeared a big strong bearded man. As everybody, as one may say, knew everybody, and thinking he was eeling, I went towards him. The nearer I got to the place, the surer I was that there was no living soul there! I cooed and looked all round. The very next day, I think it was, a body, that of a big man, was found floating. But the body had been in the water, so the doctors said, nine or ten days. There you are. How do you account for it?

On Marshall

There are few left of the earlier settlers on the Papanui Road. The Carlton corner was not built on until 60-61, having been bought by Mr Money from the Wakefield’s. All the opposite block, stretching away for about 100 acres, was long a paddock, belonging to Dr Barker, in fact there was barely a house, up to St Alban’s Lane. In the sixties Mr Peacock built. Merivale was attacked about 64 or 5 when Mr Moorhouse put up an establishment. Further up Dr Lilly “Craikston”[?], Angus, Wm Thomson, Swinburne, Ashby, Schumaker, the “Toll bar” above the Carlton. Flashbourne and Medding’s pig.

View Page 289

Not a great many are left who remember the old Royal in Stewart’s days. The old Scot left the scene in the middle fifties. A Highlandman and a soldier he was a noticeable man. Vigorous, erect and with few decided words, were some of his characteristics. Woe to the one who disputed his authority in his own Royal castle. The Avon frontage has been added to by I think one of the publican family of Oram’s. Then the house had a low squat appearance with its row of bedrooms on the left, which I fancy still remains, but extended. The enclosure in a hawthorn fence reached to Montreal St. The Royal was the fashionable house of the three or four licensed houses. The sheep fraternity mustered there and in the billiar room, its frequenters were the first flight of the old Home men, athletic, educated, with the real old “Home polish”. Men who afterwards passed into the ranks of politicians and men of note were to be seen, and many a poor fellow whose ideal colonial life, as imagined by himself and friends, had been sadly reversed by contact with every day experience. At the rear was the bar half a chain or more from Tuam St and was not an inviting place to look at, but then, the frequenters did not expect plate glass windows and shining polished glass bottomed pots with a beer; although they had to pay six pence for it, they drank it in full with enjoyment out of a crockery pot.

View Page 290

Rare doings in the early days – sheep stealing and branding. Not only McKenzie of the McK. Country, with his bullock and dog. The Rhodes’ had some experiences with the doings of neighbours, who were not proud, and not above cutting an addition to an earmark, or altering a brand.

Butler Erewhon - Mesopotamia

View Page 291

Once in the fifties, going from Mount Peel to Macdonald’s, I came to a small paddock, sod fence and top rail, and noticed two men, one at the gate fence, the other holding, apparently with all his strength, a sheep. As I came nearer, I saw he was a fine, well horned merino ram. When I came up, the man at the gate was splitting his sides laughing. The other holding on to the ram exhausted and winded, shouting for help. “What’s the matter?” “Why”, he said, “that there bloomin’ ‘Johnny’ give me a hour of it, hard pegging, he come at me, and there was I, for a blooming’ hour, holdin’ ‘im, and fightin’ ‘im, when this chummy come along, an I holler, and sez I to ‘im, “Here”, sez I, you hold ‘im in, till I get that tether rope an make ‘im fast. I want to get him out of that there gate”. He comes, the poor silly, and I gives him the horns, and tells ‘im to hold on, an ‘e’s a been holdin’ on now about of an hour”. “Well, d—n it, why don’t you help him?” “Oh, yes, ain’t it loikley, and he’ll let him go, and then ‘pose he comes at me again? No I don’t. If I had a ‘Tommy” I’d split his dam cokernut.” The end of it was he went in, I had a bit of rope, enough to lash one pair of legs, and there we left him. The poor devil of a new chum was next door to dead, with exhaustion and fright. A good fighting ram is a real stayer – ain’t knocked out in one round.

[caricature of a man being felled by a charging ram, and another silhouette named] Mr Caverhill.

View Page 292

And hisself, he aint had not much learning,

And the rest they wos born in the gutter

And early they wos out a earning

A copper, to get bread and butter.

But you, with yer nag in the stable,

And allurs yer very own slavey

To put chiner and plate on the table –

Yer had a good time – s’help me Davy.

Yer wos! Yer wos fond of poor labour

When elections is on, and to use em –

Do yer like ‘em quite close for a neighbour?

Yet, yer rather too cute to abuse ‘em.

But yer might have put one on the benches

Say Earnshaw, or Kelly, or Tanner,

Instead you’ve a give ‘em cold drenches

In the ortiest cold blooded manner.

“Oh! Libutty! Wot crammers is told

In yer name” said some ancient old lady

Oh, Labor! I much fear you’ve bin sold,

And took in, just like a small baby.

For ten days one hundred and fifty

Ain’t bad for a trip to Port Nic.

Politics! ‘em makes people horful shifty –

And some’s done a werry neat trick.

View Page 293

Canterberry Jingles

Yer have done werry neatly the trick

With yer gab and yer promises free

Yer be fixed for a time at Port Nic,

With a pretty good skrew, W.P.

Go on! Yer was long time at schools

And most shining yer was at the Kollege,

My word! Yer have stuffed ‘em – the fools!

With yer pimple so stuck full of nolledge.

“Master R—is the one man has schooling”

It’s true! Cos yer own paper have said it,

I thought him as told me was fooling,

So I sported a copper and read it.

Wen ‘em schooled yer up ever so clever

And stuffed yer for week after week,

Em didn’t forget – s’help me never –

To fill yer full up with hard cheek.

No! John darn’t have parsed yer, my pippin!

And John warn’t of that there a dreaming,

For John knowed in print he’d get whipping

And John knowed at him yer’d be screaming.

He’ve only got one paper to dare ‘em

And John’s horgan it ain’t a wonder

So, says John, it’s best for to square ‘em –

Cos why? Why John knowed he’d get thunder.

[continued next page]

View Page 294

Burke in gaol

Page 1 ~ About the manuscript ~ Whole transcript ~ About Burke

In Heritage

Family History

Burke Manuscript