A web log, an æthereal scrap-book if you will, with a somewhat vintage flavour. News items, occurrences, experiences, thoughts and opinions related to Victoriana through to Fifties Americana can all be found here.
On the face of it the headline of this article appears to be somewhat convoluted so let's begin by putting any confusion to bed and solving this apparent geographical jigsaw puzzle.
What we have here then is an 1890s-vintage elevator (or lift, as we call it on this side of the Pond) made by the Warner Elevator Company of Cincinnati, Ohio and which has recently been unearthed during the refurbishment of the Detroit Hotel - located not in Illinois but rather in St Petersburg. Not the Russian city of St Petersburg though, but the town of St Petersburg in Florida. All this confusion can be laid squarely at the door of the town's founders Peter Demens and John C. Williams, who as the article explains reached an agreement in 1888 to build the hotel as part of an important railway deal for the then new town. Russian-born Demens, who was instrumental in bringing the railway to St Petersburg, gave the town its name in honour of his birthplace. Williams, meanwhile, hailed from Detroit City and in exchange for buying the land from Demens decided to name the subsequent hotel after his home town. I'm sure it all makes perfect sense to the native Floridans but, my word, they could have made it easier by just coming up with some original names!
Anyway, with the hope that that's at least partially cleared up any lingering misunderstanding (and not added to it) let's move on to the main discovery detailed in this article - and what a discovery it is! It is nothing less than a fantastic find - a near 120-year old electrically-operated lift that has lain undisturbed for decades, boarded up and hidden behind some later remodelling work. Now as part of some extensive works being carried out to turn the building into a steampunk-themed pub restaurant - an excellent and by the sounds of it welcome idea for the town - the original compartment, doors, motor and even cables (albeit long-since cut) have been uncovered by workmen brought in to gut the interior. In addition many more early features were revealed during the renovations including an old staircase, fireplace, telephone switchboard complete with handwritten room numbers and even some sections of hand-painted wallpaper!
These revelations alone are remarkable for - as local historians have said - there is little left in St Petersburg of its early history, so a discovery such as this is especially significant and rightly of great importance to the town. The unearthing of something on this scale is arguably of even greater scope than mere regional interest, for there cannot be that many buildings left in the world of such an age that are still hiding such wonderful gems and in America especially where something of this age is considered practically ancient it is a particularly noteworthy find.
I'm therefore delighted to see that not only have these incredible vestiges of the hotel's early years been found but that everyone involved in their rediscovery, from the owners to the contractors, recognise the importance of them and what is more are keen to incorporate them into the building's redesign. Everything looks likely to be inventively saved in one form or another - the lift to be converted either into a private dining table or photo booth, the stairs kept on show as a centrepiece and even the wallpaper framed. That the theme of the new venue is to be a steampunk one is indeed a splendidly fitting coincidence and has assured these valuable relics will be preserved for the people of St Petersburg to enjoy for years to come. The whole project sounds most impressive and I look forward to seeing the end result; should I ever find myself in St Petersburg, Florida I would certainly make a point of visiting the finished eatery.
This is another blog post I've been keeping back for a while with a view to publishing it when I would be incommunicado in hospital but with things on that front still uncertain and the subject in question of particular interest to the likes of us I feel that now is the time to share it with the rest of the vintage blogosphere.
The two articles featured in this post are equally gratifyingly in-depth studies of an area of our lives that we are all very familiar with - the vintage lifestyles that we all wholeheartedly embrace to one degree or another. I use the word "gratifyingly" as so very often pieces such as these incline at best towards the gently mocking and tend to make my blood boil with their inherent misunderstandings - often implying that we're all a bunch of rabid right-wing leaning Conservatives longing after the return of an imperialist yoke, of women "knowing their place" in the home, of a strict social order and a world that was generally far more hidebound than the one we live in today. It is for this reason that I rarely feature such critiques on here and why the one in the Guardian was an especially pleasant surprise to read, as in my experience they have a habit of scorning anything old-fashioned - with the traditional being an anathema to that particular organ, which is more often keen to try and point out - however tenuously - the negative aspects of the past (as in this recent, rather meandering and largely specious piece on men's suits in [spy] films).
Indeed this frequently pervading attitude that I'm sure we've all encountered - that we're wearing rose-tinted spectacles and desperately trying to live warts-and-all in a past that never truly existed - is something that I have blogged about a couple of times previously (once in 2010 and again in 2011); both of which obviously struck a chord with my readers judging by the number and type of comments I received. I don't intend to repeat everything I said in those posts here again as they remain as valid today as they were ten years ago, although in light of these two recent commentaries I do think it worth revisiting some of the overarching views I expressed at the time.
Both editorials (but the Guardian's in particular), whilst being largely positive about the subject, do touch upon the idea that by engaging in nostalgia and living a vintage lifestyle we are somehow embracing every aspect of our preferred era both good and bad. This is a view that for the life of me I have never been able to understand - a myopic, one-dimensional perspective that insults us by suggesting that we are unable to recognise the reprehensible aspects of our favoured time or are more than happy to include them in our lives. Within this is also the view that we should be grateful for all the changes - both social and technological - that have occurred in the modern age and that by supposedly turning our backs on the present we are somehow denigrating the achievements we have made in the last century or so. (Which we're not, as I've said before - many of us, myself included, just want to take the best of our chosen era and marry it to the best the 21st century has to offer.) This belief has always struck me as a something of a double standard - to accuse us of liking all aspects of a previous era while at the same time insisting that it is in some way unnatural of us not to look forward and embrace all that the present has to offer is in many ways just as deprecating to the memory of the past. I made the case in my 2011 post that in many respects we do appear to have thrown the baby out with the bathwater over the last fifty years or so - a view echoed by at least one of the Guardian interviewees and one that I still stand by. To use a further analogy, how is it seen as "weird" for those of us with a penchant for a certain era to dress in the fashions of that time - fashions that can be æsthetically pleasing, sustainable and sympathetic to all body types - yet perfectly acceptable for middle-aged, overweight men (for example) to wear the artificial, ill-fitting football strip of their favourite team? Where is the difference? Why is one seen as "normal" and the other not?
This attitude is also reflected in the somewhat negative terminology used by these commentators to describe us, both in the Guardian article and elsewhere. "Retromania[cs]" is a particularly derogatory phrase in my book, once again tacitly ascribing the characteristics of a mental illness to our choice of lifestyle. "Refuseniks" is another term that seems to be gaining currency, which continues to suggest that we are being actively obdurate and vehemently opposed to certain aspects of modern life. Here again we see the use of injurious language to describe a group whose perfectly harmless way of living is in some way incomprehensible to those keen to pass judgement. What's wrong with a more unbiased term like "vintagista" - or why not just use existing nonpartisan words such as "vintage enthusiast"?
From my own perspective I am reminded of an ethos that is very appropriate in respect of the above; one I have always striven to live by, given to me by a most unlikely of sources but which has always stood me in good stead and should really be the credo of all right-thinking people:
"While men are decent to me I try to be decent to them, regardless of race, colour, politics, creed or anything else. I've travelled a bit, and taking the world by and large, it's my experience that with a few exceptions there's nothing wrong with the people on it, if only they were left alone to live how they wanted to live." Biggles, from "Biggles Delivers The Goods", 1946
However I am pleased to see that - in line with my own encounters with fellow "living historians" - every single one of the interviewees in each column come across as intelligent, educated individuals who are as keen as we all are to put these misconceptions to bed. I was particularly pleased to see more than one respondent explain - as I did back in 2010 - that many of us like to take the best facets from both worlds and how there is nothing wrong with that.
Indeed let's focus more now on the positive bits of these two news items - and they are many - from the pleasure of a dozen vintage enthusiasts happily discussing their lifestyles and fashion choices to the interesting and in some cases insightful socially scientific theories expounded by the scholars. Although we may not entirely agree with all of the latter it is nevertheless thought-provoking to see them laid out in a largely unbiased fashion for a change and as hypotheses more than as accusations.
Then of course there is the pure enjoyment in seeing well-dressed individuals taking pride in their appearance and embracing the eras of their choice, one or more of which we can appreciate ourselves. Unsurprisingly what especially comes across is the feeling of camaraderie and community that the entire vintage movement fosters - the support, encouragement and almost familial sense of togetherness that often results when a group of like-minded people share a common interest and which is thrown into even starker relief in the face of some of the more negative remarks we have to put up with. It's good to see the benefits of modern technology also highlighted, particularly the positive aspects of social media which allow us to engage with other vintagistas maybe half a world away whom we might never actually meet - something that I have blogged about previously and which I'm sure we're all grateful for. The irony in this is of course that it pours further cold water on the idea that we are all technophobes who use nothing more advanced than a Bakelite telephone (well, sometimes we do I suppose!). And we haven't even touched upon the æsthetic and ecological properties of the clothing, accessories and furnishings that can be intrinsic to the vintage lifestyle, as mentioned in both papers.
To finish on that last point, as this is rapidly turning into another essay and I'm alive to the fact that it links to two other long-read stories, I will just add my own view to those espoused by several of the vintagistas on the subject of "mixing things up" and going for your own style over attempting a specific period-accurate look.
I consider myself to have been a vintage aficionado since my early twenties, so we're talking nearly 15 years now (yikes!), but my wardrobe actually contains precious few items that one would consider properly "vintage" (and in relation to clothing that is quite an elastic term, as we know - I mean some people are calling stuff from the 1990s "vintage" for goodness' sake! - but for the purposes of this discussion let's say anything that's over 50 years old, i.e. pre-1970). Taking that as a basis I in fact have only one piece of clothing that I can definitively date to within that period and that is my 1940s Kaufmann wool overcoat (above) gifted to me by an aunt a few years ago. I have a few jackets, such as a Harris Tweed job from Dunn & Co, that were picked up from vintage fairs over the years but of course that is no guarantee of age these days and I suspect they were probably made after my self-imposed 1970 cut-off.
The truth is most of my wardrobe is sourced from modern clothes shops - those found on the high street like Marks & Spencer and Debenhams as well as the various online emporia listed on the top left of this blog. I realise I am fortunate, as a chap, that men's fashion has in essence changed little over the decades (and certainly since my specific era of interest, the interwar years of the 1920s & '30s) so I am able to approximate the period look I crave to my satisfaction without having to resort to purely vintage garments. In other words, just like with so many vintagistas such as those in these articles, I mix and match modern - sometimes "vintage-style" - clothes with the few more valued retro items I own. As an example (and at the risk of frightening the horses), this more recent photo (right) has me sporting what is perhaps my favourite look - a 1930s chappist vibe that is achieved using only one truly "vintage" item. That is the jacket, which is a St Michael (M&S) job - an '80s-does-'30s type, I'd say - that I picked up in a charity shop in Canterbury a couple of years ago. Everything else is modern - the trilby from Village Hats, the bow tie from Tieroom, the shirt from Charles Tyrwhitt, the trousers from BHS (sadly missed) and the shoes (brown Oxfords, unseen) from Clarks. I hope this goes to show that one doesn't need deep pockets, nor have to spend hours trawling the likes of eBay (unless that's your sort of thing, of course, and I own it can be fun and rewarding sometimes), to get a look that will pass muster on the vintage scene. This particular outfit has garnered many a positive comment at various events, if I do say so myself (as well as admiring glances from little old ladies, much to my fiancée's chagrin!) and I hope this positive reaction is encouraging to anyone just starting out on the path to vintage enlightenment; you don't have to go all-out for vintage items straightaway - everything is attainable if you know where to look and how to put various items together. As the Auld Holyrood girls say - there are no rules and nothing wrong with throwing different things together to get a successful look as you work your way towards a fully vintage wardrobe, however long that might take.
The only difficulty in sourcing vintage-style clothing currently is the lamentable state of both high street clothes shops and some online stores - all of which are understandably struggling in these covid times but in the case of some like M&S and Debenhams are not helping themselves by making it unclear what market they're in, trying to go after the youth department in a misguided attempt to appear "relevant" only to alienate their existing [older] customer base and lose sales from both camps. Interestingly there was an article in the Daily Telegraphrecently that suggested M&S should reintroduce the St Michael label (defunct since the late '90s/ early 2000s ) in light of its popularity among the vintage set. It is sadly rare now that I find anything suitable from either of these stores. Unfortunately, as a result of covid hitting sales by encouraging people to work at home in their pyjamas (I mean why, for God's sake?! If only more people would realise the [mental] health benefits of dressing smartly, especially in the middle of a pandemic - something that has also been highlighted in both stories and which has previously been commented on here and elsewhere) we are also seeing the demise or decline of several once-great men's outfitters. Already T.M. Lewin have permanently closed all their physical stores and moved to online only, with Moss Bros. looking to follow suit (no pun intended!), while in America the likes of Brooks Brothers and Jos A. Bank have been teetering on the verge of bankruptcy for the last few months. This kind of thing doesn't bode well for the future of more traditional menswear but I'm still optimistic that there will remain a decent selection of gentlemen's outfitters where one can find the sort of vintage-style clothes that we can employ in achieving the look we desire - it's just that many more of them will be online-only (which brings with it its own set of difficulties - getting the right fit, for example - none of which cannot be overcome however).
That's enough to be going on with for the moment, though, I think. I'm not normally in the habit of doing that many massive posts but something about these articles has again clearly had an effect on me and I hope they have made an impression with you too. If you've made it this far - well done! - and I'd be delighted to read your comments, whether you agree or disagree with what I've written or not, and what you think of both commentaries.
Digitising old photographs to include colourisation, 3D effects and even animation seems to be the "in" thing at the moment judging by this latest article - the second to feature on this blog in recent months following a similar project in Coventry as reported here.
This time we find ourselves in Edinburgh, where a local film and animation enthusiast has used his skills in 3D and visual effects to bring images of Auld Reekie from across the decades to life. With support and encouragement from a local history Facebook page, and inspired by the same Youtube videographer I mentioned in the Coventry article who upscales century-old footage of New York, Paris and elsewhere, Scottish filmmaker Steven Jefferies has taken still photographs of his home city from the 1950s all the way back to the 1870s and turned them into moving pictures using modern digital techniques.
The result is quite remarkable, blurring the lines between static photography and moving images - in the case of the latter quite a valuable addition inasmuch as it provides quasi cine-footage of the 1870s, a time before such technology existed, thereby adding a new level of immediacy and familiarity to otherwise motionless images.
The footage seems to have gone down well with the people of Edinburgh, as well it should, giving a new lease of life and fresh perspective to these old photos, preserving their memories in a new and exciting way - a way that might hopefully engage with the younger generation, perhaps even encourage some to take a further interest in their local history and - who knows? - maybe pursue a career in [digital] photographic conservation.
The Cowgate arch of George IV Bridge, Edinburgh, 1860 source - Monovisions
In the meantime I congratulate Mr Jefferies on his Living Pictures Project and - as with the Coventry Rebuilt initiative - add my voice to those who have expressed the hope that it is something that will continue to grow (with the assistance of the Lost Edinburgh Facebook page) into a valuable historical asset for the local community.
From across the Pond in Canada comes this poignant story, once again featuring the surprisingly common instance of old documents - in this case letters from over 80 years ago - being found during a building renovation and nearly thrown away before being rescued by an understanding individual.
Unlike most other long-lost photographic rediscoveries I've blogged about in the past this one has a much more personal angle, being as these were love letters written by courting couple between 1938 and 1940 and as such they go far beyond any socio-historical aspect. As the chap who found them rightly asserts, they were an important part of two people's lives - so much so, in fact, that the man Len was moved to keep them in what was undoubtedly felt to be (and as events proved to be) a safe place. I find this to be a particularly moving part of the story, in that to my mind he obviously believed that they might one day be found by a subsequent family member living in the house.
For whatever reason, however, this was not to be quite the case and it was only thanks to the good sense of the builder who unearthed them that these touching letters were saved from oblivion. What is perhaps even more remarkable is Mr Trampus's perseverance in attempting to track down the relatives of Mim and Len, seeing as the original discovery took place nearly fifteen years ago! His patience ultimately paid off last month, though, and here again we see the positive benefits of social media and how it can work to the advantage of times past as well as the present; for it was through a Facebook group that he was finally able to locate the couple's daughter and reunite her with her parents' letters. So in a roundabout way Len's intention came to pass in that his letters eventually made it in to his family's possession, although no doubt not in the way he would have expected!
One can clearly see from the accompanying video just how much this means to Mrs Pennell and I am so glad that she has been given this opportunity to reconnect with her parents even in this small way, 30 years after they passed. I am equally pleased that there are people out there like Dario Trampus who recognise the importance of documents like these and appreciate them enough to hold on to them for over 10 years as they try to reunite them with their rightful owners and I feel sure this will not be the last time I feature a post like this on Eclectic Ephemera.
We haven't had a decent airship-inspired story on Eclectic Ephemera for a while - not since I restarted the blog at any rate - so this article from one of the historic homes of lighter-than-air flight is a welcome one in all respects.
The history of airships has been rather unfairly overshadowed - even after 83 years - by the image of the Hindenburg falling in flames over Lakehurst, New Jersey, while British interest in lighter-than-air travel had - until recently - ended when the R.101 crashed into a hill near Beauvais in France during bad weather on the night of the 5th October 1930, killing 48 of the 55 people on board (including the Minister for Aviation and staunch airship supporter Lord Thomson of Cardington). Since then the airship has existed mainly as the non-rigid "blimp" variety best known as the type used by Goodyear and still built today by the Zeppelin company in what was once Germany's airship centre - Friedrichshafen.
Now, judging by this latest news, the story of airships in Britain looks to have been given a much-needed boost thanks to an exhibition due to be set up in the former home town of the R.101 and its ilk - Bedford, where the giant sheds at nearby Cardington Airfield that once housed these incredible liners of the skies still stand (thanks to their Grade II listed status) and continue to be used in the development of modern airships like the remarkable-looking Airlander 10. Arranged by local arts charity Bedford Creative Arts and funded by the National Lottery Heritage Fund, Arts Council England and the Bedford-based Harpur Trust, the excellent-sounding Airship Dreams project has as its aim the celebration of all things airship and that extraordinary craft's enduring link to the town of Bedford.
R.101 departing Bedford on its ill-fated maiden flight to India, October 1930.
I'm particularly pleased with the positive nature of this exhibition, not only in not allowing coronavirus to get in the way of putting it on (as with many a physical exhibition turned digital in some ways Covid has done it a favour by forcing it online where it will hopefully find a wider audience and provide interesting and interactive displays) but also for the approach it is taking in focussing on the innovation and forward thinking of the time, the hopes and dreams that this fantastic technology must have engendered and the pride the people of Bedford would have felt having the development of it right on their doorstep. As with all local history projects the desire to get the modern people of Bedford involved through family recollections or retained memorabilia is a splendid way to engage the townsfolk, generate a new sense of civic pride and an appreciation of heritage while adding a personal level to the exhibits. I'm utterly impressed with the attitudes of the curators and exhibitors, in fact, as well as the thoroughly commendable aims of the project in general and am delighted to see once again that local schools are to benefit from related workshops. I can do no better than repeat the quote from the Airship Dreams website, which really struck a chord with me:
“Only when men sense the waning of a civilization, do they suddenly become interested in its history and, probing, become aware of the force and uniqueness of the ideas it has fostered. Hegel said that the owl of Wisdom appears only at twilight.” Dr Julie Bacon
With the coming of this exhibition - in part marking the 90th anniversary of the R.100 and R.101's maiden flights - and the continued development of the airship concept for the 21st century, not to mention the possibility of a R.101-based film in the works, the history of this marvellous method of travel will hopefully be enlarged far beyond the current narrow and half-forgotten remembrances, reaching new audiences and inspiring the next generation of engineers who may well end up working on future lighter-than-air machines, the renaissance of which continues apace. I for one will be keeping a close eye on Airship Dreams and look forward to immersing myself in their no doubt fascinating exhibits.
Lost photographs and discarded picture albums have been a recurring theme on this blog over the years - from photos of a still under construction Tower Bridge being found in a skip, 5,000 First World War photos rescued from rubbish dumps, to rare images of the British Raj from over one hundred years ago turning up in a shoe box. On each occasion we have marvelled at the wonderful glimpse into the past these eleventh-hour rediscoveries have afforded us while at the same time lamenting the fact that they have been so undervalued as to have been left forgotten for decades or more, often to the point of their near-destruction.
This latest article is no exception and once again it is thanks to the efforts of one collector that a number of old photographs - primarily picture postcards of his home town of Coventry and studio portraits of its inhabitants - have been saved for posterity. Peter Knight's attitude towards preserving these "forgotten faces" is one that we can well appreciate - the thought that they might represent all that is left of a person's life, that they are the last surviving visual documentation of their existence and the travesty that would result if they were just left to gather dust (or worse).
What gives this story added inspiration is that Mr Knight has been able to use modern technology to restore the images to a startling degree of freshness, colourising them and in some cases even employing the much talked-of computer trickery that is "deep fake" to slightly animate the photos. While I am not convinced about the latter technique, the colourisation does go some way to adding to the immediacy of the pictures, to reinvigorating the subject and, indeed, bringing them back to life. Mr Knight's idea of incorporating these photographs into a virtual online world of an historical Coventry is also an intriguing project and one that I hope succeeds.
There has been some degree of backlash from certain quarters recently regarding how far "restoration" of old photographs and cine-footage should go following the colourisation, addition of sound effects and 4K HD & frame rate upscaling applied to the famous Lumière brothers' 1896 filmL'Arrivée d'un train à La Ciotatand other late 19th-/ early 20th-century footage on YouTube. As a student of history I can well understand the disquiet that is felt at the perhaps unnecessary meddling with things that were products of their time and should be understood and appreciated as such but equally I can appreciate the thinking behind it and in particular the benefits to the originals and their history that may result. For example, is Peter Jackson's recent excellent WW1 film They Shall Not Grow Old just "showmanship" or a legitimate attempt to modernise important historical footage for a new, 21st century audience? As I have said we as lovers of times gone by can appreciate black & white pictures and films as windows to the past but to many [young] people it is as alien and as relevant as another planet - noiseless, colourless, oddly-dressed people long since dead. If adding colour, realistic movement and other modern technological features can help get new generations more interested and perhaps lead them back to the unadulterated original, with a better understanding and appreciation of what it represents, it might well help to avoid further examples of photographic abandonment like those mentioned and ensure the endurance of classic early cinema and historic photographs such as those saved from oblivion by the likes of Peter Knight and others.
***What do you think? Can film or photographs ever be over-restored? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below.***
Another good news lock-down story now, featuring an A-level Electronics student with an obvious enthusiasm for vintage radios. Although the article makes much of young Mr Martins' use of lock-down time to maximise his restoration work, clearly this has been a long-term hobby for him and certainly something that he seems intent to continue - and more power to him!
It is splendid also to encounter such a welcome attitude towards old technology as that displayed by this 19-year-old chap - quite a rare thing amongst his generation in fact, I would venture to suggest. Where most teenagers would be gushing over the latest piece of black or white "smart" tech this lad is [rightly] lamenting about their "sterile" and overly slick design and enthusing about the "endearing charm" of vintage radios and the style they represent. It is a view that has long been championed both here on Eclectic Ephemera (and again recently) and elsewhere in the blogosphere and I find myself nodding in agreement with everything young Diogo says. It's equally wonderful to see him talk with obvious appreciation about the social history and "ritual" of listening to the radio and encouraging to note that he sees the legacy in it all as something to be preserved for future generations.
With traditional analogue radios under threat from the more modern digital platforms (which do have their place, don't get me wrong, but not at the expense of AM and FM) it is good to know that there are young people out there still demonstrably interested in conserving this tried-and-tested technology and ensuring that classic radios from the past are given a new lease of life. Well done to Diogo, I say, and long may he continue to follow his passion providing sanctuary for discarded wirelesses.
The second of the good news lock-down stories to feature an historic angle and so make it on to this blog involves a place that some people can find rather morbid but which I (and, I suspect, many of my readers) find endlessly fascinating - a graveyard.
For as long as I can remember I have enjoyed strolling round graveyards - whenever I have found myself passing through one - and reading some of the more ancient gravestones. Attempting to make out the inscriptions on these 100+ year-old markers is often part of the challenge and again I can always remember feeling a pang of sadness that, for whatever reason, the person - and more importantly the life - of the individual had been forgotten or was unable to be marked for a very long period of time.
For it is the life, the one-time existence, of the individual that a gravestone marks - "Here Lies" is often the start of what is a eulogy in stone, the marking of a life lived, however short or long, the last physical representation of a human being long since vanished. It is also, as the articles mention, an act of remembrance by subsequent generations for whom an inscribed stone at the graveside can help promulgate memories of the deceased and so ensure they continue to live on in others. It is maybe for these reasons that I feel that measure of despondency when I see neglected gravestones and I am delighted to see from this article that I am not alone.
What makes this instance even better is that the gentleman involved is in a position to make a professional job of bringing back some of the more weather-beaten examples in his local churchyard, being as he runs a local cleaning company. That it was something he could still do during lock-down, and get his young family involved, is a wonderful bonus. Indeed he is to be roundly commended for his attitude and especially his thoughts about the benefits to his children, local history and the environment - in fact I couldn't have put it better myself!
So a hearty "well done!" to Mr van Emmenis and his family; I see that he is now working with the vicar of the church to continue cleaning selected gravestones and long may he keep doing so.
Those who are fortunate enough to have their own gardens have rightly been taking advantage of this to get outside - especially in the lovely Spring weather we're experiencing this Easter - and do a bit of horticultural pottering, but I bet this chap in West Yorkshire wasn't expecting to discover a car when he went to dig his garden!
That though was the surprising find as reported in this article - a 1950s Ford Popular that had somehow wound up completely buried in a suburban back garden. Quite how or why it got there is anyone's guess, although the military vehicle theory is as good as any. Ford Pops would have likely been used as basic runabouts by the postwar armed forces - perhaps this one went AWOL and was hidden away to be retrieved later. Such incidents are surprisingly commonplace with pre-war cars whose owners - fearing their potential destruction in bombing raids during WW2 - buried them in their gardens to be retrieved after the hostilities were over only for them to be forgotten until unearthed decades later, but this is a rarer instance of a post-WW2 car being found in such a way. This is assuming it is a Ford Popular, which I have no reason to doubt, although it would be something if it were to found to be an older vehicle.
Either way it is an amazing (and amusing) find and definitely brightened up my day when I first read about it, hence its inclusion here. If nothing else it ought to encourage the green-fingered amongst you to get out in to your garden, if you have one, and start digging. If it sounds too much like hard work you don't even have to rip up your lawn to uncover fascinating treasures, as this similar story from Stoke-on-Trent proves:
It always astounds me to think how these historical artefacts can just resurface (quite literally) after centuries underground, as the movement and cultivation of the earth slowly brings them back to ground level again, to be rediscovered in the sometimes most bizarre of circumstances. It gives one to wonder just what other treasures are still waiting to be uncovered - perhaps in your own back garden!
A 19th(?) century clay pipe that was dug up in the family back garden in the '90s by our pet dog Toby(!).
What's the strangest thing you've unearthed in your garden? Let me know in the comments and if you haven't found anything yet - get your spades on!
Today, with the World Championship of one of my (few) favourite sports in full flow, I intend to bore regale you all with a brief rambling history of "the gentlemen's game" - snooker.
The origins of the game can be traced back over 400 years to the creation of what would become English Billiards. Billiards is a much simpler 3-ball game with very different - and even more complex - rules than snooker, where players score points (up to a pre-arranged limit) through striking the balls in certain ways as well as potting them (and even, in some cases, potting the cue ball). It is still a very skillful gentlemen's game - and ladies', as this newsreel proves! - and one I'd very much like to learn myself but its intricacies and nuances can make it quite a long game, not particularly suitable as a full-blown spectator sport.
Billiards continued to be the dominant cue sport well into the 19th century, though, and its legacy as the "sport of gentlemen" can still be felt in snooker today, not least in the sartorial aspect of waistcoats and bow ties. Chaps would invite their guests for a game or two in the billiards room after dinner, so it would be off with the dinner jackets for a few post-prandial frames of 300 points or so!
It was the British Army, however, whom we have to really thank for snooker as we know it today. Units based in India at the end of the 19th century were keen to play a more involving game, sometimes with more than two players and very often for money (hence the term "pool", as in "pool your bets" - the modern game bearing that name also evolving from this new variation). Thus the different aspects of snooker that we recognise now came into being - pyramid pool introduced the triangle of red balls, life pool used some coloured balls and black pool the black (obviously!). All were eventually combined in 1875, in the Indian city of Jabalpur, by Colonel Sir Neville Chamberlain (of no relation to the later Prime Minister), creating what would become the sport of snooker. Chamberlain later introduced an official set of rules and coined the name for the game. A "snooker" was army slang for an inexperienced cadet. Following a bad shot by his opponent during one frame Chamberlain called him "a real snooker" - and the term stuck.
John Roberts - the British Billiard champion at the time - then visited India in 1885, met Chamberlain and decided to publicise the new cue sport on his return to England. Even so it took some years for the game to really catch on and the first official competition, the English Amateur Championship, was not established until 1916 (gentleman apparently not letting the war get in the way of a good game of snooker). It was then another 11 years before the first professional tournament - the inaugural World Championship - took place in 1927. By that time a player who would dominate the sport for the next twenty years had arrived on the scene - Joe Davis (no relation to Steve Davis either, by the way!). Already the World Billiards Champion, Davis took to snooker equally well and won the first 1927 championship - total prize money £6 10s. To this very day Joe Davis holds the record for the most amount of World
Championship wins - 20 - and his younger brother Fred continued the
family tradition in a professional career that astonishingly spanned nearly 65 years
from 1929 to 1988.
In 1969 the B.B.C. was keen to show the potential of the new-fangled colour television and decided snooker was a perfect way to show off this new medium. As you can see for yourselves, snooker does not lend itself to being watched in black and white! The Pot Black series - a quick one-frame knockout tournament-style programme - gave viewers the chance to watch this colourful sport properly from the comfort of their own homes (although not everyone had colour TVs in those early days, leading to one of the best gaffes in sports commentary history from well-known snooker commentator Ted Lowe - "and for those of you who are watching in black and white, the pink is next to the green"!) and helped pave the way for the game to become the international multi-million pound, multimedia sport it is today.
Even though snooker has become in many ways just like any other professional sport in the 21st century, with copious amounts of advertising sponsorship, thousands of pounds in prize money, dozens of tournaments played throughout the world and a tough ranking system, there are many aspects still remaining that hark back to a more refined era and it is one of the few sports still described as "gentlemanly". Players call fouls on themselves, acknowledge flukes and generally behave sportingly albeit still with a friendly rivalry. And of course, they still wear waistcoats and bow ties!
Having said that, modern snooker players have largely gone to pot (ahem) in the sartorial department. Things started to go wrong in the 1970s, with even snooker not being immune from the ruffled shirt craze that swept through formal attire at the time, along with bow ties that wouldn't have looked out of place fluttering about in a South American rain forest. Canadian player Kirk Stevens was well-known for his white waistcoat in the Eighties, not realising that one doesn't play the game in white tie. The rot really set in during the late 1990s, though, when players waistcoats began to be emblazoned on the chest with the name of some obscure Far Eastern turf accountant following the demise of tobacco sponsorship. At the same time waistcoats began to get longer and more squarer in cut, in order to (unsuccessfully) keep viewers from seeing the players' shirts and belts during hard-to-reach shots. Players have also since developed a propensity for waistcoats with startlingly-coloured backs, with some pinks and purples distracting from the colours on the table! Pre-tied bow ties began appearing with increasingly frightening frequency until sadly they are now almost de rigeur - often with the top button undone no less (except for Scottish player Stephen Maguire who, somewhat bizarrely, has a doctor's note excusing him from wearing one due to an undisclosed "neck problem")!
Having watched the World Championship thus far with one eye on the clothes, I have to admit this has to be one of the worst years yet for the players' wardrobes. So to end this post (and put it out of its misery?) here's a quick run-down of my top three sartorial snooker heroes and villains for 2014:
Another Scotsman, Alan McManus, has enjoyed a surprise return to form at the 2014 World Championship in what would otherwise be regarded as his twilight years. He has not been seen much on the [televised] snooker circuit since he beat fellow Scot Stephen Hendry in the 1994 Masters and, judging by his choice of leg wear, perhaps it's been for the best. One can admire his patriotism and perhaps put his trouser selection down to eccentricity or the excitement of being back in a major tournament for the first time in 20 years but really, Mr McManus, this isn't golf you know. He also compounded his error by failing to bring with him to Sheffield any form of trouser support (and the demise of braces among snooker players is also keenly felt by your author), resulting in his first match against friend and compatriot John Higgins being punctuated by frequent hitching up of the trousers. Mr McManus also demonstrates the sadly popular habit exhibited among many players of wearing a black shirt with a black waistcoat (and black tie), as if they can't contemplate two or more colours (unlikely for a snooker player!) or are delivering Cadburys Milk Tray after the match.
"If you can tie your own shoelaces, you can tie a bow tie", they say, and youngster Judd Trump adds weight to that theory with these rejects from a mediæval torture chamber. Hard to believe, but these things cost young Trump £15,000. ([Dis]honourable mentions should also go to Chinese player Xiao Guodong, whose silver-covered slip-ons wouldn't look out of place in a 1970s sci-fi series, and Welshman Dominic Dale who obviously prefers zebra to calf-skin. Veteran potter Ken Doherty did his best to counter with some natty blue wingtips, but alas he lost out to McManus yesterday.) This is what happens when young players get their hands on more than £6 10s when they win a match or two. Unsurprisingly, Trump eschews even the pre-tied bow for a "pre-tied crossover" bow (whatever that may be!) that owes more to Colonel Sanders than to Colonel Chamberlain. The lad needs a proper haircut and a shave to boot.
The sartorial beacon of rightness in this year's World Championship has without a doubt been Shaun Murphy. A fellow Essex-born chap he is very much a traditional snooker player and all the better for it. Nowhere is that illustrated more than in his attire. OK, so it may not be the proper formal black tie and waistcoat of earlier years but it is still a welcome break from what is now sadly becoming the norm. The brown waistcoat/trouser combo he's been sporting this year has a splendidly old-fashioned look about it - as though he were going for a relaxed pot-about at a country estate, perhaps - topped and tailed wonderfully by brown half brogues and (could it be?!) what looks very much like a self-tied bow tie. For that alone he deserves to win the tournament in my opinion, and I hope he continues to do well (currently 4-4 in his best-of-25 match against Marco Fu) so that we can see more of the same!
Well, that's enough of that - I think I've gone on longer than some matches! How about joining me in the billiard room for a couple of frames?
As an unashamed fan of the "Biggles" stories by W. E. Johns (some of them splendid snapshots of the Great War from a serving pilot's [1930s] perspective - and not just for young boys!) and with a burgeoning library of First World War-themed books leaning disproportionally towards the aerial aspect of the conflict, the thrilling tales that have come to light in these two articles perhaps come as little surprise to me but are still nonetheless as amusing and amazing as any I have read before.
Some of the things that went on over the skies of France and Belgium throughout the war were deeply astonishing if the accounts in the various books in my collection are anything to go by. Johns himself was at pains to point out that aerial warfare during the Great War really was "stranger than fiction" and some of the stories he touches upon in the preface of his very first Biggles book The Camels Are Coming - not to mention some of the true-to-life adventures our hero gets caught up in - really do defy belief. Therefore to read about the real-life experiences of Major Robert Loraine is to be reminded that they are no exaggeration and that war-flying one hundred years ago was genuinely hair-raising stuff!
The fact that Robert Loraine can be credited with a number of aeronautical "firsts" also drives home the fact that these men were truly at the beginning of a new technology, learning as they went and doing things that no human being had ever done before. Loraine himself was flying across the Irish Sea barely seven years after the Wright brothers had travelled a few hundred feet on that first ever powered flight at Kitty Hawk. The technological advancement of the aeroplane - still only a decade old at the start of the war - during the four years of fighting is astounding to the modern observer, for whom aircraft design has changed substantially little in the last 50 years (and it's such a shame that war is a catalyst for progress!).
Loraine was ahead of the charge by all accounts, though, and it is heartening to see that his pioneering achievements all came before the war and were peaceful in nature. We also now know who to thank for the term "joystick", although it still isn't clear how the word came to be derived (and there are still other claims for the origin of this word). His war service, as already mentioned, was hugely heroic too and I'm glad to see he came out of it all right - and on to the London stage (& screen) of all places!
The second series of recollections, committed to paper some forty years after they occurred (just weeks before the outbreak of hostilities) but unseen until now, read even more like the most humorous "Biggles" stories. A very cheeky chappie, the wonderfully-named Eric Gordon England sounded!
One can only wonder what the Kaiser must have thought on that day in early June 1914, upon seeing a British aeroplane diving down towards his yacht before pulling up and over a passing zeppelin! Nothing complimentary, I should think!
The relaxed feelings of peacefulness and prosperity that so characterised the "golden summer" of 1914 in England can be readily felt through this story, I think. Not only by the actions of Gordon England in so comprehensively teasing the Germans both in the air and on the ground but also the sheer fact that Britain was still keen to provide aircraft to what would in barely a month's time be its most hated enemy. (I don't know if those of you in the UK managed to catch the excellent three-part drama 37 Days on B.B.C. Two earlier this year but to my mind that did a fantastic job of showing how quickly and ridiculously the whole run-up to war unfolded.)
The unearthing of these kinds of fantastic tales is one of the best aspects of the increased interest in the First World War as a result of the centenary. They serve to remind us of the human acts of courage and good old-fashioned derring-do that took place amid the carnage and decimation of 1914-18 and it is as excellent as ever to see them rediscovered for a new generation. Now I'm off to re-read some of my Biggles books, and maybe some more new accounts by the real airmen who inspired his creation!
More historic photographs now, this time made available by the New York City Municipal Archives, consisting of over 800,000 images of the Big Apple taken over the course of one hundred years from the 1880s to the 1980s. All sorts of things are represented from the magnificent to the macabre and the collection looks to be of great interest to history buffs like us.
This selection of shots is just a small part of the New York Department of Records' 2.2 million images taken down the decades (and it makes you wonder how many millions of photographs are lying unseen in government archives around the world) but it's enough to be going on with for now at least and plans are well under way to put more images online in time.
As with all the best vintage pictures scenes of long-forgotten people, incidents and locations are contained within many of the images, giving a glimpse into the past of a great city. The NYC Municipal Archives Online Gallery is yet another welcome addition to the growing ranks of Internet-accessible historic photography and I look forward to browsing through its many thousands of images.
What-oh, everyone! I hope you all had a splendid Easter (or equivalent festival) and are fully recovered from the glut of chocolate, hot-cross buns and whatnot. I've been so busy-busy this last week it seems Easter was an age ago, and I am grateful for the chance to finally sit down and blog.
Back in November rare photographs of Tower Bridge under construction were found in a London skip and now more unusual pictures, this time of WW1-era airships based in the Norfolk town of Pulham St Mary, have been recovered from another London skip. I'm thinking we're going to have to organise a "skip crawl" of the capital at this rate; I doubt I'll ever be able to pass a skip without having a rummage now(!). Once again it amazes me that such historic items were on the verge of being chucked out with the rubbish.
These certainly are pictures of historical importance, too, as they detail the early years of airship development in Britain during and after the First World War. Showing the R.33 and R.34 airships, precursors to the later R.100 and R.101, undergoing tests (including attempts to use the R.33 as a flying aircraft carrier) and flying from their Norfolk base they are of both national and local significance. They are also of such high quality that aviation historians have been able to discern aspects of these machines in greater detail than ever before.
Due to its distinctive topography (i.e. as flat as a pancake) Norfolk was the ideal place to base dirigibles and one can just imagine these airships sailing over fields and broads during the 1920s as the area around Pulham St Mary became a hive of lighter-than-air activity. Would that it were still possible to see these craft soaring above the East Anglian countryside, but at least there are now even more valuable photographs in the possession of the local museum to remind us of that incredible period of British aviation history.
FirstGroup happens to be my local bus service provider and they're not in my good books at the moment (although that's a rant for another time and place) so the news that they are going to set up a trust for vintage buses that once served as part of their (or their predecessors') fleet has gone some way towards improving my opinion of them.
It is good to see a bus company taking an interest in its heritage and hopefully this new trust will be able to work in conjunction with local transport museums, possibly providing displays on a rotated basis and maybe even assisting the many volunteers who work tirelessly to keep these old buses on the road.
I'm sure there is much scope for expanding this project and although it is currently confined to First's Aberdeen headquarters it is planned to roll out across the company's network and I could easily see it proving very popular and useful in my neck of the woods (and elsewhere). Anything that helps to preserve these classic vehicles is welcome and I'm pleased to see First taking such an active part in seeking out and restoring historic buses.
Hopefully we shall all see the fruits of these labours at nearby museums and rallies but in the meantime this is a promising start to a worthy scheme, which I hope meets with much success.
A fantastic find here as previously unseen pictures of the iconic Tower Bridge in the very early stages of its construction are revealed, after laying undiscovered in a London flat for years - including at one point being consigned to a skip!
Some of these photos must date from close to the beginning of the bridge's creation in 1886, as quite apart from the basic amount of progress visible in some of them, according to the accompanying report the "most recent" ones date from 1892 - two years before completion!
It always amazes me how such historically important documents can be lost and even disposed of without a second thought, let alone dismissed - particularly by those who should know better. More fool that Tower Bridge Museum worker who indifferently claimed "we've got enough of those photographs already"! How many of us have come into possession of - have saved - really old items that people were going to throw out as rubbish? I know I have! Well done to this caretaker, whoever he is, and to City of Westminster tour guide Peter Berthoud, for saving a record of the construction of a beautiful landmark structure and a piece of British history.
Tower Bridge, with its 19th Century Gothic stonework and unique design, has long been one of my favourite London landmarks. Crossing it is always a thrilling experience and to see it or approach it both up close and from a distance is one of the greatest delights of working in the City. I'm overjoyed to see these new photos detailing its creation, which was in itself an engineering marvel, and I'm sure they will nowtake pride of place in a London museum.
Throughout the long history of the motor car one name has been been at the forefront almost since its invention - Ford (although we could all just as easily be driving around in "Wintons" if Henry Ford's main competitor in those early days had kept pace!). Still going strong over 100 years on and with innumerable feathers in its cap such as the GT40 Le Mans winner, not to mention the 15-million-seller Model T, Ford's place in automotive history is assured. And what a history it is!
Now it is possible to view (and to own) images of that 108-year history as Ford moves to put its entire collection of images into digital format. Not just historic photographs but also advertisements, dealer literature and the like. Basically every illustration of the Ford motor car; a catalogue of over 1 million pictures. So far only a tiny proportion - 5,000 - have been digitised, with another 5,000 to follow by the end of the year but the scope of this thing is enormous. Not to mention the cultural significance of many of the items and the importance of preserving them for future generations, which is why the creation of this resource is laudable.
The book The Ford Century is a great chronicle of the first 100 years of this company and contains a great many of the pictures that can now also be found on the new website Ford Images. I highly recommend the book if you wish to discover the story behind this ubiquitous company and I'm off now to have a look around this new website.
As this first year of a new decade draws to an end it would seem to be a suitable opportunity to write about an anomaly that has been in the back of my mind for a while now.This is not just going to be a blog bemoaning the speed in which the last 10 years have passed – although I do find myself more and more wailing “It wasn't that long ago, was it?!” – but something linked to the passage of time.
To put it another way – if I were to say “80 years ago”, what time period would you think of?I, for one, still think of eighty years ago as being 1920-29 but it’s not, is it?Eighty years ago would put us firmly in the 1930s.Seventy years ago the Second World War was raging; in a little over a year’s time it will be the centenary of the sinking of the Titanic and two years later 100 years since the beginning of the First World War.This is what I can’t get my head around; my brain – my internal historic clock, if you will – is stuck.I still think of 70 years ago as the Thirties, 80 years as the Twenties and so on.It’s as if, linearly, the last ten years are meaningless.Go back even further and it gets even vaguer – 100 years ago still conjures up images of the late Victorian period; any time between 1880 and 1900, really, when again 100 years ago is actually 1911(!).
It’s then that it suddenly occurs to me that the eras of which I am most fond are drifting further into the mists of time – very soon I shall be hankering after the clothes, the manners, the machines of one hundred years ago!How did that happen?!If I still think of it as 70-80 years ago, it doesn’t seem so bad somehow.And I wonder, as time marches on, whether these periods be forgotten by all but those of us with an interest and if others will look upon us vintage enthusiasts with even greater puzzlement as our favourite eras become ever more removed from the present. When the last World War Two veteran dies, will our memory, our understanding of that time change?Or is there something about those early decades of the 20th Century that still resonates with us today and so will ensure a more permanent place in our minds?
Speaking as a vintage aficionado and history buff I find that immersing myself in my chosen period as much as possible keeps it fresh and ageless as well as sometimes, as I mentioned previously, leaving me feeling out of step with the modern age.A good example would be: music.I tend to listen to more music from the ‘20s and ‘30s than from any other time period, although I do of course listen to and enjoy some modern artists as well.The upshot of this constant Jazz Age soundtrack is that I forget that the music is so old – it takes on what I imagine must be the same characteristics as modern music does to most other people.Even when I hear a tune that is new to me, I don’t think “that’s an old song but I’ve never heard it before” but rather “wow, that’s a new tune!”
So I may have just answered my own rambling question – if you really feel an affinity to a certain period, then the passage of time since is immaterial.Again we are not trying to pretend that the last however many years never happened or that somehow then is preferable to now but that by living in the image of the best of those times we are in some small way keeping their memory alive.
