A Green-Fingered Garden Grab*

June 22, 2022 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

*Ok, so I couldn’t think of a better title.

What ho, what ho, what ho!

So, right now, as we hurtle toward the solstice, is my favourite time of the year. Spring into summer – the days are long, my birthday is hoving into view (19th July, if anyone is interested… and a dark fruity red, if anyone is feeling flush). It also means time spent in the garden, planting and preparing the soil. Hamnett Towers is blessed with a small back garden (utterly destroyed by chickens… honestly, it looks like the Western Front), and a slightly larger front garden where the vegetables are planted. Both of these forces of nature – chicken and man – excavate all sorts of goodies. Predictably, I have kept everything I have found, and kept them separate; Hamnett Towers was at one point two separate ‘back-to-back’ terraced houses, so the archaeology of either side might tell a slightly different story (old archaeological habit). And so far, this year has produced some very interesting bits.

So, please join me in the garden. Ah, sorry, no shorts or baseball caps please – this is an English gentleman’s abode; t-shirts I can just about cope with, but I mean, a chap has to have standards dash it!

Here’s the day’s findings from the front garden:

A selection of the history of the land the garden has decided to show us this year… so far.

Let’s start with the nail – a Victorian, hand-made, copper roof nail, to be precise. I’m something of a magnet for these things, and they seem to find me wherever I go. They are truly mundane – the nail that holds on a roof tile – and yet are such lovely and tactile things (I’ve blogged about them before – here – FIVE years ago… blimey!). Copper was used as it is largely resistant to corrosion, and their square section is a dead giveaway of age.

Lovely green verdegris competes with rust (the result of it lying next to something iron based) on the surface.

They are made relatively simply, but by hand. Each nail is cut via a press from a long flattened strip of copper (thus the square body of the nail). It is then placed into a small mold or former, point down, and the exposed top is hammered by hand until it flattens out, forming the nail head. Close-up you can see the two flashing strips formed as the soft copper is driven between the halves of the mold.

A close up of the underside of the nail head, clearly showing the copper flashing.

The nail may have come from my house roof, which is a great thought.

Next to the nail is a sherd of spongeware, probably from a large bowl or shallow dish. I find a lot of this particular vessel in the garden, and I might have to try and reconstruct it sometime (follow the link above, 3rd photograph down, on the right for more of the same bowl).

Next row, a sherd of marmalade/preserve jar (here, for more information), and then two thoroughly uninspiring sherds of white glazed pottery. Then, this beauty!

Super. An amazing chance find whilst whilst putting in some pea and bean plants… half of which were eaten on the first night by what can only be imagined as a biblical plague of famished slugs – honestly, I swear I could hear a very slow moving rumbling sound. If you’ll pardon the French… Bastards!

Wonderful! A small bone button, and almost certainly Victorian in date. Delicate, handmade, and slightly off-centre, it is lovely. Again, something so mundane – every item of clothing would have had a dozen of these; will people be cooing over the zips in our trousers in 100 years? And yet, here we are, admiring it’s beauty. Bone was such a common substance in the pre-20th century, and we tend to shy away from it as a material now – how many of us would brush our teeth with a bone toothbrush? Or use bone game pieces? I think we have become a little squeamish. Yet, it was a major resource in history – so many animals, so much bone. Bone preserves very well in the right conditions, and although this has cracked with age, I bet it could be sewn on and used again.

Right then, the image of the Somme, c.1916, that is the back garden. There’s always something that turns up here, not all of it interesting, but usually worth a look. And this year is no exception, with a couple of very nice finds.

A rather motley looking collection, I must admit.

So then… top left we have bonfire glass. Essentially glass that has been melted in a fire. This may have been accidental, or just the result of rubbish disposal. Often Victorian and later rubbish dumps were set on fire to keep the rat population down, and bonfire glass can be quite pretty. This one… not so much.

It’s quite a cool object, but not particularly pretty.

Ignore the next sherd for the moment, and move onto the cream coloured stoneware sherd, possibly from a flask or other oval shaped vessel. Then we have some glass – it is quite chunky, which indicates it is old, but isn’t that lovely green colour, nor full of bubbles, that would indicate a Victorian date. Probably Early 20th century, and likely from a small bottle – perhaps medicine or similar.

Ignoring the other reddish coloured sherds, again for the moment, we have this beauty:

You can see the striations caused by wiping the red under-glaze slip with a wet rag – the marks of the potter preserved for eternity in clay. Lovely stuff!

This is often called Pancheon Ware, after the large (50cm+) pancheon bowls that were extremely common from the 17th century to the early Victorian period. The correct term should be Post Medieval Redware, but that covers a multitude of pottery types and shapes from c.1550s to the Victorian period, of which this is just one.

Essentially a large mixing bowl, bread proving bowl, or vessel to allow cream to separate from milk. This is a lovely antique example, the image of which was stolen from this website which sold it for £195.

They often occur in huge chunks up to 2cm thick, and are usually glazed only on the interior to make it waterproof. I’ve talked about them before, but this is a nice example, showing the red slip on the surface, and then the dark brown glaze, made by adding iron oxide to a lead glaze, producing the deep shiny colour. The glaze on this, as with many, has been allowed to slop over the side and stop just below the rim, producing a messy natural decoration (the example above shows the glaze stopping on the rim, but you can see the effect they are going for).

Below and right of this sherd there are 4 sherds of standard Victorian to mid 20th century whitewares nothing inspiring, or even particularly worth writing about, although there is a rim of a bone china cup. Below and left is a single fragment of a clay pipe stem. Again, nothing exciting – the hole, or bore, through the middle of the stem is narrow which tells us that it is Victorian in date (broadly, a wide bore = 17th to early 18th century, a narrow bore = late 18th to 19th century). Still, it’s a bit of social history… I just wish I could find a bowl!

Then there was the treasure! Occasionally, certainly not often, I find something made of metal. And a few weeks ago, as those who follow me on twitter will know, I found a metal button.

Tiny, just 1cm in diameter, and very delicate. Amazing it survived, to be honest. And even more amazing it was seen.

Well, no… credit where credit’s due – I didn’t find it, Master Hamnett did, with his six year old eagle eyes. A lovely little 2 eye brass button, probably Victorian in date. It’s probably from a child’s dress, probably something like this:

A heavy linen dress for a child. It is beautifully decorated with hand-made edging.

And if you look closely using a decent magnifying glass, rather than the dodgy macro setting on my phone, you can see the remains of the original cloth that would have covered it:

Amazing that the cloth has been preserved, trapped between the two sides of the button’s lip.

It would have looked like this when new:

Small and delicate, and lovingly sewn on.

The thing I love about this is that the child must have lived and grown up exactly where Master Hamnett is now, and doing many of the same things. There is real sense of connection to the past through a single, small and dirty, seemingly uninspiring object. By the way, the story of the Victorian child’s dress (one of several, I hasten to add) is for another time, but it is from a probable apotropaic cache that was donated to me for safekeeping. One of two I now curate. I really don’t have enough time to write all this up, so if someone want to donate a stack of cash to allow me to write, please feel free!

And now this, the real treasure. Quite literally, for once.

Gnarled is the word. I had no idea what it was when I picked it up.

I know at first glance it looks like something has blown it up, but look beyond that, and it’s a wonderful, if completely knackered, piece Victorian costume jewellery brooch. It’s missing just about everything, including the central glass stone, but would have been very pretty – probably looking something like this:

Picture stolen from this website… the brooch is still there. Honest, guv.

I didn’t know what it was when I picked it up, but it was that greyish green that indicated a copper alloy (brass or bronze, for example), and is something I always pick up. It was only when cleaning it that I noticed the paste stones.

You can see the cut paste stone in it’s setting, and all the other setting missing theirs. There are three stones still on the brooch, and very little else.

Amazing, really. And this was just a small amount of time poking around, getting really close and personal with the soil in my garden. And my garden is not unique by any stretch, not even close. I guarantee, every garden in Glossop – no, the country – will produce some treasure – whether it’s early Victorian annular ware from a house near the station, a broken bottle rim from a former pub, a pipe stem from a current pub, or a piece of Victorian child’s plate from a modern garden in Simmondley (all examples from experience). Obviously, I realise that not everyone is lucky enough to have a garden, but we all can access some green space. As an experiment, this evening, pour yourself a drop of the stuff that cheers, and go and sit on what ever patch of earth is closest to you. This may be your garden, or it might be a park, or someone else’s garden, a playing field, or public footpath, or whatever. Now sit down and take a deep breath, listen to the sounds – birds or traffic – tune in, and simply look around you. If you can, dig about a bit, and don’t be frightened of getting your hands dirty, either. With enough time, something will turn up. And please, mail me the results.

Right, that’s about it I think. Next time more pottery – essentially a part 2 to this post, looking at the pottery I told you to ignore above. A competition! If you can get back to me and tell me what they are, and why they are not our type of thing, before I can post the next article, you can win those bits of pottery. Woohoo! (Now look here, Mr Shouty… some people like pottery, you know. And no, I’m not “having a laugh“).

More very soon, but until then, look after yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant,

Archaeology · Pottery · Pottery Guide

The Rough Guide to Pottery Pt.3 – Industrial Slipware

May 4, 2022October 8, 2023 Tim Campbell-Green6 Comments

What ho! What ho! And, if I may be so bold… What ho!

Well, as promised, here is the second post in the month of May. At this rate, I might make three posts… but let’s not tempt fate.

And also as promised, it’s a pottery one! Now, I know, I know… pottery is not to everyone’s taste (I say! Look here… calling me a “pottery obsessed hobbledehoy” says more about you than it does me), but it is important. And besides, it’s my blog!

Part 3 of the guide looks at ‘Industrial Slipwares’ – a broad group of commonly encountered Late Georgian and Victorian pottery (roughly 1780 to perhaps the 1850’s, and later). The term Industrial here refers both to the method used to make them – in factories, and often employing machines – but also in order to distinguish them from the earlier handmade 17th and early 18th century ‘Staffordshire’ type slipwares (which I’ll cover in a later post… you lucky folk, you). Originally called ‘Dipped’ wares, the process employed in making them involves dipping the formed clay vessel into a coloured slip – essentially a thin solution of clay suspended in water – and firing it. It is then glazed and fired for a second time to produce a hard-wearing pot. In terms of fabric, it is a fine earthernware with thin walls, in a clean white fabric – originally a Creamware or Pearlware, but later (1830’s onwards) a standard Whiteware.

Fabric. Ahhhhh… fabric. Creamware, Pearlware, and a plain Whiteware.

Originally very fashionable amongst the elite, by the early 19^th Century Slipware begins to lose its social status, until eventually it becomes a utilitarian ware of the commoner, very much associated with pubs and taverns.

I have to say, some of this stuff looks decidedly modern – particularly the stripey stuff – and their bright colours and bold slick designs must have been a welcome antidote to the often drab creams and endless blue and white transfer printed stuff that dominated the period. The emphasis is on natural, earthy, almost pastel-coloured slips – brown, blue, green, orange, yellow, grey, and violet are favoured. I have to say, though, that some of this stuff is a tad on the garish side, and wouldn’t look out of place in a Wild West Bordello. Not that I would know what that would look like. Or indeed have any knowledge of such places. At all. In fact, I don’t know why I said that. Anyway… moving swiftly on.

Ahem… the pottery, then. Broadly speaking, there are 5 types that can be readily identified, although there is some crossover between them, as you’ll see.

Multi-Coloured (aka Variegated) (1780 – 1820)

Patterns of slip are made from multiple colours and smudged (the correct term is Joggled), giving a psychedelic effect that you either love or hate. Common patterns are the Cat’s Eye, Earthworm, Fan, and a nightmare-fuelled, migraine inducing, all-over slip. The crucial identifier is the joggled coloured slip.

An ‘earthworm’ design on a Variegated bowl. You can see how the slip decoration was applied in three colours, and then ‘joggled’ to make the wormlike decoration. These sherds are courtesy of The Blackden Trust, where I work. An amazing place where history and creativity collide… well worth checking out.

2. Mocha (aka Dendritic) (1780 – 1890)

Here, the slip is applied, and a substance – boiled tobacco juice, or urine, for example – was applied whilst still wet. This diffused producing the characteristic treelike (dendritic) decoration in a dark blue or black colour. Commonly associated with banded decoration (Annular, below) and in a brown or cream slip. Popular, but largely of early to mid-19^th century, and less common later in the century.

Two sherds of Mocha or Dendritic pottery. It’s difficult to get an understanding of what the whole looks like, so here is a shamelessly stolen photo from ebay…

You can buy this tankard for a mere snip of £125 here. You can get an idea of how it looks, though.

3. Engine Turned (1790 – 1880)

This looks particularly 20^th century. Here the slip is applied one over another, and the vessel is turned on a lathe, with the upper slip removed by machine, revealing the contrasting colour below. Vertical stripes, horizontal bands, and patterned geometric designs are all common. Painted designs were also applied using a machine, creating complex linear bands. Mainly early 19^th century in date, and particularly associated with Pearlware, so is much less common later.

Sherds of Engine Turned, showing the patterns created by machine – putting the ‘Industrial’ into industrial Slipware.

An excellent example of the complex painted and turned designs found on Engine Turned pottery. Sherd is not mine, alas. It belongs to a friend, Helen D.

Good close-up of a sherd showing where the slip removed to create the pattern.

Another close-up showing the grooves… groovy! Sorry, that was terrible – although I think I got away with it as no one seems to read these captions.

4. Banded (aka Annular) (1780 – 1890’s)

Simple horizontal bands of slip are painted on using a lathe in the manner of Engine Turned above, producing precise clean lines. Commonly contrasting blue and white, but also in browns, yellows, and creams. The banded decoration is also a large part of the decoration of the above three types, particularly Mocha, so there is considerable overlap. Also, the simple basic theme of bands continues into the 21st century, particularly in Cornishware pottery.

A selection of Annular pottery. The stripes were applied using a lathe, rather than by hand, hence their precision and uniform nature. This photo also gives us a sample of the kinds of colours that Industrial Slipware used.

The distinctly modern looking blue striped pottery, a predecessor to the Cornishware type you can still buy.

Date wise, it’s difficult to distinguish. My feeling, based on some evidence, is that prior to about 1840 Banded Ware used the browns, yellows, blues, and greys seen above. After that date however, banded decoration was confined largely to blue banding. Now, this is not absolute; the date is flexible; date of deposition is different to date of manufacture; ‘absence of evidence’ is not a strong argument; and it may even depend on such variables as availability, and even personal taste. But as a rule of thumb, I think it stands.

5. All Over (1780 – 1890’s)

The vessel is slipped, inside and out, in a single colour of the earthy colours common in Industrial Slip Ware, and then fired, producing a surface that is uniform in colour and treatment. Common in the 19^th century, but less so as the century went on.

Lovely stuff! The plain, All Over pottery.

The rim of a delicate tankard or mug. Beautiful colour, fantastic detail – this would have been lovely.

In terms of shapes, Industrial Slip Ware is exclusively a tableware, and very much liquid focused, so elegant mugs & tankards are common, as are jugs, and more rarely bowls.

Right then, armed with this new found knowledge, go forth and find! Honestly, this stuff shows up everywhere, in particular the banded Annular ware (very common in blue and white). Don’t forget to email/tweet/post any examples you find. I’d actually like to start posting finds that other people have found – a community of sherd nerds, if you will! So please, get in touch.

Honestly though, my life of late has been very busy, and increasingly I have started to realise that I am very bad at multi-tasking – meaning I can focus on only one big thing at a time – hence the lack of blog activity. I recently lead a Wan.Der (a curated historical walk, in association with the Glossop Creates mob). I thoroughly enjoyed it (despite the public speaking terror), and it seemed to be successful, which is nice – watch this space for news of others coming up, both more of the same, and new ones, too.

I’ve also started to upload some video onto the Glossop Cabinet YouTube account – there isn’t a huge amount on it at the moment, but more is coming soon. You can check it out here.

Right, that’s all for now. More later… I’m on a roll! But until then, look after yourselves and each other, and as always, I remain,

Your humble servant.

Dinting · Mason's Marks

Mason’s Marks at Dinting Arches

May 1, 2022May 2, 2022 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, kind and gentle folk of the Glossop-based blog reading world!

Firstly, please accept my apologies for the lack of activity on the blog as of late. I have been surprisingly busy in both my work life and my actual life, and have somewhat neglected the blog, which is frankly not on. I will atone for my sins by posting twice this month – this post, and another part of the “Guide To Pottery”. (What’s that…? Hmm? Look, it’s no use shouting “Dear God, spare us the pottery“, and no, I won’t “curl my hair with it“, thank you very much. No one is forcing you to read the blog, you know. Honestly, the nerve of some people.)

There is all sorts of exciting blog related news, more about which soon, but for now on with the show, so to speak.

As regular readers will know I do love a good carved stone or two, and from graffiti to bench marks, I am always interested. However, one category of carving in particular holds a fascination for me, and that is the mason’s mark. I have blogged about them previously, and regularly post them on Twitter when I see them around and about, as there is something about them I find captivating.

Briefly, mason’s marks are the unique signature of an individual stonemason, made using a chisel onto the stone they had finished carving or shaping. The reason for this was ostensibly two-fold. Firstly, the stonemason was hired on a piecework basis – he was paid for each stone he finished, so it was important that ownership was established.

Secondly, it acted as a form of quality control; each stone was inspected and finished by the mason, with any flaws or issues noted, their reputation, and thus livelihood, being based on their work. It also meant that substandard work could be traced to an individual. But beyond this, I suspect also that making their mark was important to the masons themselves – a sense of pride in their work, to be able to stand back and say “I made that”, and being able to point it out to their children or grandchildren. It gave a sense of agency to the stonemason, allowing them ownership in both senses, and making them feel as an individual, rather than simply a cog in a much larger machine. This is a hugely important point, and the reason for my fascination with them: these are the personal signatures of the men who carved those stones, men who almost certainly couldn’t read, and most of whom couldn’t sign their name beyond an ‘X’. Indeed, it is entirely likely that, sub-contracted by a foreman, their names wouldn’t be recorded elsewhere either. Thus, these simple geometric shapes are all that remains of the men who built Dinting Arches, testament to their skill and backbreaking labour; this is them signing their work in the way an author does their book, or an artist does a painting. The silent stones speak for them.

Quarrymen in the Victorian period. Image taken from the very interesting Valley of Stone website that looks at the stone quarrying and masons of Rossendale – it tells a fascinating story of the men and their lives. Well worth a visit by following this link

Because I am that kind of person, I have a larger project in mind. Between 1841 and 1847 (ish) the line between Broadbottom and the Woodhead Tunnel, and including the branch line to Glossop, was completed. A massive undertaking, costing enormous amounts of money, and involving huge numbers of men, in that 6 year period, millions of tonnes of stone would have been blasted, shaped, finished, transported, and fitted into place. At some stage, most of the stone would have a mason’s mark put onto it. Not all survive – they might be placed with the mark facing inside the construction, or it might have been removed during the final finishing once the stone was in place. However, dotted around the railway lines – the bridges, underpasses, tunnels, retaining walls, as well as the two viaducts – some marks are still visible. I thought it might be a fun* – and worthy – thing to do to survey all the remaining railway stonework to see what is there, and to make a note of the mason’s marks before they disappear, and the lives of the men with them. We could also see how many match at different points along the track, indicating that the same men were working in different locations. I’d also like to see if any records exist of the men – quarrymen, rough shapers, or finishers – and see if it would be possible to put a name to a mark. Highly unlikely, I know, but you never know.

(* yes, I am painfully aware that ‘fun’ is a very subjective concept… as is Mrs Hamnett)

One has to start somewhere, and so I thought I’d give Dinting Viaduct a go.

An early image of Dinting Arches – taken before 1914 when the brick pillars were inserted. Interestingly, you can also see the track at Adderley Place that originally ran under the arches at the far end, but which is now filled in.

The technique is relatively simple; using eyes and binoculars, I surveyed all the stone I could see, taking a drawing of all the different marks I could make out, and taking photographs, where possible, of good examples of marks (I need to go back and highlight some in chalk). This is not rocket science, or indeed any kind of science, it’s a bloke with some binoculars and notebook. I compiled all the data, numbered each mark, uploaded the photographs, et voila… you are reading the result. Please enjoy. Or don’t, as you wish.

Some broad observations. By and large, the marks are placed centrally in the stone block, only occasionally toward the edges. It seems that only the more ‘natural’ looking blocks contain a mark, and particularly those on the lower courses. The other blocks seem to have been roughly dressed, a process which may have removed a mark, were one present. As expected, the marks are largely constructed from straight lines, with marks D1, D19, and D23 being the exceptions – straight edges are easy to carve, circles less so. The execution of the carving is often poor, with little precision shown – one wonders if they were done with speed before moving on to the next stone, after all, time is money for these men. It must also be remembered that, talented though they undoubtedly were, it is unlikely that these were the fine master-craftsmen who were carving scrollwork and lettering. Rather, they were focused on shaping the stone – accurately and with skill – so that it would fit.

So then, these are the marks, and in a sense these are the men. It is important to note that I have not included inverted example as separate – for example, mark D5 occurs both with 2 points up and with 1 point up, but as the mark was carved prior to it being installed, which way up it is depends entirely on which way up the stone was installed. Conversely, marks D1 and D19 might be the same stonemason’s mark, but the fact that D18 is off-centre in that the lines aren’t paralell to the rectangular edges as they are in D1, suggests they are two different men (unless he was carving it at an angle). It is also possible that some of the different marks noted here are actually the same mark which has been worn or damaged, leaving only the partial mark that I have transcribed – D6, D9, D13, and D15 for example.

So then, what did I see? A selection…

Types D8 and D19 amongst others. This image makes me feel distinctly weird… I hate looking up under there.

The fantastically complex D14 – impressive! And another above it.

I could go on, but you get the picture. The whole of Dinting Arches are covered in mason’s marks, and it is well worth a trip down – it’s a fascinating bit of architecture, and of Glossop’s history. Below is the page of marks in my notebook, and I feel certain more are waiting to be discovered.

Here are the 25 marks so far identified. As I say, this is an ongoing project that will theoretically start at Broadbottom, and continue to Hadfield and along the Longdendale Trail to the Woodhead Tunnel.

I will move on to another section of the railway soon, and if anyone fancies joining me, drop me a line – many hands make light work! I’ll post the results, and see if we have any matches.

Right ho, another post soon… I promise. Until then, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain,

Your humble servant.

Archaeology · Pottery · Pottery Guide

The Rough Guide to Pottery Pt.2 – Spongeware.

February 11, 2022 Tim Campbell-Green7 Comments

What ho, dear and gentle readers! Well, here we are again… pottery time! The second part of the Pottery Guide has hoved into view, and what a treat we have for you. I am going to go ahead and apologise in advance – it is heavy on pottery, but useful and fun, I hope. (Can anyone else hear that groaning and wailing… and gnashing of teeth. And no, no I don’t care about your “sainted aunt”, whoever is shouting).

SPONGEWARE
DATE: 1830’s – 1900’s
DESCRIPTION: Colourful repeated patterns printed with a sponge on a white background.
SHAPES: Bowls are very common, cups, mugs, tankards, small plates, larger plates, and jugs.

Wonderful, cheerful, simplistic, and yet incredibly attractive (not me, madam, but thank you). I have an almost childlike obsession with this pottery type, and it always makes me happy when I find some. Spongeware is characterised by shapes made with a natural sea sponge dipped into a coloured slip and dabbed onto a white background. The pot is then glazed and fired. The sponge is either applied all over, or it is cut into geometric shapes (diamonds, concentric circles, spirals, stars, zig-zags, swirls, etc.) or naturalistic forms (flowers, leaves, shamrocks, etc.), and dabbed in repeated patterns around the vessel.

20220211_141443 — 1. Spongeware. Lovely stuff, in pastel colours and very pleasing designs.

These patterns and shapes are fuzzy at the edges (the result of the sponge effect), are sometimes combined with hand-painted decoration (bands, blobs, leaves, etc.), with colours of a limited and pastel palette – light purple, blue, light green, yellow, pink, light red, etc.

2. In addition to the sponged designs, we can see here painted flourishes and designs.

3. The designs can be printed all over, rather than in discrete patterns. The grey painted sherd, bottom left, is an example of what is sometimes known in America as ‘Spatterware’.

The pottery itself is normally of a fairly poor quality Pearlware (pre-1850) or Whiteware, with a earthernware fabric that is white or off-white.

4. Fabric – white or off-white bog standard earthernware. You can see the painted decoration in section here, overlaid by the glaze.

Sherds can sometimes be found broken with jagged rather than smooth edges, indicative of a low temperature firing and poor quality clay. Lovely though it is, it is Spongeware is not high quality, but it is the very essence of cheap and cheerful.

5. The poor quality of the glaze is very clear here.

6. One of my favourite sherds, up close. You can see the way the decoration has been applied. You can also the jagged edges that indicate poor quality pottery, and the crazed glaze, possibly the result of heat, or more likely, a poor glaze.

Spongeware is often associated with Scotland where it was made in great quantities, but there were also manufacturing centres in Stoke on Trent and other parts of the Midlands. These vessels were mass produced – probably ‘sponged’ as piece work at home (and thus probably by women) – and supplied to a ready market that wanted a more colourful, and cheaper, pottery than the transfer printed material that dominated the market.

American studies indicate there are broad chronological variations within the ware group. America and Canada were huge export markets for Spongeware, and given the relative newness of their country in terms of European material, a lot of research has been conducted on even the smallest and most common bits of pottery that would be overlooked here. The three variations within Spongeware are:
All-Over:
Densley packed, the natural random patterning of the sponge is used to cover the whole vessel, or dabbed in distinct areas – the upper part of bowls for example. Spatterware is the American name for this type of pottery, as it looks as though the paint has been spattered on randomly, occasionally in several colours one over another. Looking closely, it is possible to see the tell-tale repeated patterns of holes in the unshaped natural sponges (Photo 3 above). This type appears to have been most popular up to the 1860’s.
Cut Sponge
Here the sponge was shaped into neat geometric and naturalistic forms, and the patterns repeated. Starts in the 1840’s, and is popular until the 1880’s. The addition of painted decoration to this form seems to appear in the latter part of the 19th century and last into the early 20th century (Photos 1 & 2 above).
Open Sponge
Similar to Cut Sponge, but the shapes are more natural and less regular, rigid and geometric. This type seems to have been most popular from c.1850 to c.1900 (the blue sherds in Photo 3 above).

This stated, there is a lot of overlap between styles, and I’m not convinced the chronology is as straightforward as that. Also, does the American market reflect what was happening here? As I say, it is a broad guide, use it as you will.

Spongeware, in it’s modern incarnation, is still a popular design for plates, and Hamnett Towers has a dinner service decorated with designs made using this very attractive style. I should invite you all for cocktails and a slap up feed, and you can have a look (black tie, of course… I have standards).

Right ho, that’s it for this week. I have a few, less pottery focused articles in the pipeline (what do you mean “praise be”? Honestly, some people.) which I’ll get on asap. My life is fairly jam packed with Glossop related archaeology and history at the moment, which is great, if a little scary! I am working with the good folk of Glossop Creates developing a walk that involves history and bits of pot… watch this space. I was also recently in the Glossop Chronicle (read it here – the edition is dated 3/2/2022, and it’s page 11), and the Glossop Creates blog, too. The organisation, based in the historic gasworks on Arundel Street, has some wonderful and big ideas for the town, and deserves to be lauded from the rooftops for their vision. So there!

More about this, and other exciting things, next time, but until then, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

Archaeology · Pottery

What Larks, Pip!

January 21, 2022 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, Glossop!

I was going to do another installment of the Pottery Guide, but one doesn’t want to over-egg the doodah, if you know what I mean… too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. So today’s quick post will be a visual record of a short mudlark I did at Harehills Park on the way to the shops the other day. A crisp and clear, but very cold, day, with a lovely winter sun for company, I noticed a piece of pottery gleaming white against the mud.

The sherd in its natural habitat. Shhhhh, don’t frighten it!

“Hell-lo!” I thought, and dove in lightning fast in case someone else beat me to it. You know how people are for pottery round here, you have to be quick, I can tell you. I once nearly lost an eye in a tussle with an old lady over a piece of feather-edged ware… knitting needles are ferocious weapons when wielded by the highly trained and woolly hatted. But I won the day, the sherd was mine… and I still wear one of the bounder’s ears on a chain around my neck as a memento. But I digress…

So, ninja-like, I pounced on the pottery. Victory!

Ooh nice, a sherd of Annular Ware. Probably late Victorian in date, or even early 20th century, this stuff looks almost modern thanks to TG Green’s Cornishware which continues the tradition of banded decoration in blue and white.

I looked ahead, and lo!

Classic mid – late Victorian annular ware, the brown stripes in particular give it away.

Some more Annular Ware, this time brown, blue and white, and very definitely mid-late Victorian. A rim sherd, so I can get a shape and size – almost vertical, and with a rim diameter of c.10cm, it was a mug or tankard like this one:

Rather lovely. The photograph is stolen from this antiques dealer’s website – here – and you can buy it for the snip of £380. A pity the Victorians never threw these things away whole.

Could there be more along the path edge?

On either side of the path, I could see sherds.

On I walked. The earth had opened, and I’d be a fool not to continue – “something… something… gift horses… something” as the saying goes. But indeed, something was happening, something I had not planned for, but which the fates had thrust upon me… and impromptu mudlark. I’d only popped out for a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine and an aubergine (which is an intimate, and possibly over-sharing snapshot of my life), and here I was… larking. What would the neighbours think? What would Mrs Hamnett think? Oh the shame! And yet on I went, pulled by the invisible force that binds the sherd to the nerd.

Another.

The white straight edges against the grey-brown earth is quite striking.

The moment of excitement… what’s on the other side? I’ve been doing this all my life – I would drive my parents to distraction finding bits like this – but it still gives a little thrill.

Willow pattern, part of the fence that forms the background to the main ‘story’. I like the colours in this photograph – the blue, pink and grey are visually pleasing.

The willow pattern plate – Blue and White Transfer Printed Pottery, technically. I’ve circled where the sherd came from in the spurious story that is portrayed on the plate – you can read all about it in a fascinating article here.

And another.

The unmistakeable colour of Derbyshire Stoneware (follow the link for more)

I wonder if I always have dirty hands when I go shopping?

Some glass, peeking, shimmering, calling.

A bottle. Broken, but still interesting.

The bottle top/neck (or ‘finish’) is one which is called an ‘applied finish’ – it’s a solution to a problem of how do you make a clean neat break on a bottle that is hand blown into a mould? The answer is to make the lip and neck separately, and then ‘weld’ them together whilst the glass is still soft and malleable. If you look closely, you can see the join.

The arrow indicates the slightly bulbous join and groove where the bottle top (left) was joined to the bottle body (right). Often the joins are very obvious, with drips and messy welds, this is quite a good quality join.

This dates the bottle to the Victorian or very early 20th century, as does its light bluey-green colour, and rectangular shape. It is small, so is probably a lemonade syrup bottle or something similar.

I walked on.

Beautiful, wonderful, pieces of archaeology, tiny fragments of history, of people, were throwing themselves at me. And who was I to argue?

Lurking amongst the mud and mulch, a lucky dip.

You can make out the pattern, but what is it?

A soup dish and a saucer. For once, it’s not my photography! The transfer print itself is blurred and poor quality. Yes, I know, I know, a bad archaeologist blames his sherds.

Eventually I reached the end of the path, and on I went to the shop, vowing to come back that way, and walk in the other direction to see what else I could find. But, such is the way of the world, I needed to be elsewhere in Glossop and other chores distracted me, and with such mundanities crowding out the treasure, I didn’t come home that way. Who knows what I missed? Who knows what tiny fragments from the past await discovery, waiting for a person such as yourself, gentle reader, to pluck it from the ground and marvel over it, celebrating its form and colour, and invoking the past and the people who once used it. But beware… if you see an angry old lady with one ear, run.

The willow pattern in particular was interesting in that once cleaned I could make out knife marks that had scratched into the glaze.

A hard sharp knife has made these marks in the poor quality glaze. They were likely made in a single sitting, as they are all going in broadly the same direction. Perhaps cutting a particularly tough piece of meat from a bone?

Who knows what conversations were had when those marks were made, or what the person was eating. Questions like that keep me doing archaeological things like this.

Sherds not featured above, but found at the same time.

Nothing hugely interesting here, but all a bit of history. Top row, left, is a piece of porcelain that has a transfer picture on it – possibly of a woman (they’re quite predictable pictures – the golden brown bit could be hair or a gown). Next to that is a fragment of a stoneware ink pot. I wish I could show you how I know that, but from a photograph and using words it is difficult to describe – pottery is so tactile, so alive, you need your senses to ‘get’ it. Let’s just say size, shape, glaze, and feel, is what makes it so. Tell you what, I’ll film myself talking about it and put it on the YouTube channel, you’ll be able to see what I mean then. And I’m ignoring whoever it is that’s muttering “cure for insomnia” and “medical coma inducing nightmare“… bloody cheek. Bottom row, left, is a piece of moulded lead, with possible spokes coming from the outer rim. I have no idea what it is, but any suggestions would be welcome. All the other bits are fairly standard Victorian or early 20th century pottery.

Harehills Park (aka the ‘Sandhole’, or ‘People’s Park’) was for a long time prior to the 1920’s a tip for the local houses, so it’s not surprising this stuff comes to the surface after a good rainfall. It’s always produced something for me, and I’ve blogged about it before (here), but have a good look next time you are passing through. And post whatever you find to me – I’ll put it up on the website.

Right, that’s your lot for this post! More soon, I promise. But until then look after yourselves and each other. And I remain, your humble servant.

Archaeology · Pottery Guide

The Rough Guide to Pottery Pt.1 – Brown Stoneware & Marmalade Pots

January 14, 2022February 11, 2022 Tim Campbell-Green9 Comments

What ho, Glossop!

Happy new year wonderful folk of the blog reading world. I hope you all had a safe and restful Christmas at the very least. Today’s blog post is the first part of the much talked about Pottery Guide. You lucky people, you.

Over the last few years I have been toying with the idea of putting together a sort of ‘spotter’s guide to bits of old pot‘. I get a few emails a month from people asking “what is this?” or “where can I find out more about the pottery?” (What? What’s that you say? No, I’m not “having a laugh“, thank you very much. And don’t think I can’t hear you making snoring noises, either… honestly). It seems that most people who read this blog also like dipping into brooks, fields, tracks, and gardens, and pulling out bits of old stuff and pondering. Which is great, because that’s precisely what the blog is about. However, there is no simple guide to identifying what it is you have in your hand. Either they’re very dry academic archaeology (and even then, they generally don’t look at Victorian or Georgian pottery – that’s the stuff we normally dig through to get to the good stuff!). Or they are aimed at collectors, and thus look at only whole pots that live in glass cases and are fawned over by incredibly dull people. In 27 years of being an archaeologist, I have never once found a whole pot. And I certainly haven’t seen one rolling down Shelf Brook in Manor Park. I have, however, seen many thousands of bits of pot doing just that. And here’s the rub: the whole pot is ‘nice’ to look at, but sherds are the meat and two veg of archaeology… if that’s the phrase I’m looking for. Anyway, sherds are the lifeblood of archaeology, and from where we can explore the past in a way that is open to everyone and is fun. But in order to do that, we need to know what you have in your hand. My background as an archaeologist is early bronze age Crete… which is about a far from Victorian Glossop as it is possible to get (2,500 miles, 5,500 years, give or take), so I must admit part of the reason for doing this guide is that I too could learn about what it is I am finding. To do this, I read just about everything I can get my hands on, ranging from academic reports… to “a bloke on the internet”. And now, I can pass that info onto you so that before long, you too can be thrilling people with your knowledge of bits of old pot… honestly, I’m quite a hit at parties.

Anyway, Let’s start with some of the most recognisable and common stuff.

MARMALADE JARS

DATE: 1870’s – 1920’s
DESCRIPTION: Grey stoneware with a creamy surface, and characteristic external vertical ribbing.
SHAPES: Well… Jars.

These are such a distinctive type, and are so commonly found, that I thought we’d start here. Commonly known as marmalade jars, but actually any and all preserved fruit were kept in them, with a paper label pasted on the outside, and a horizontal groove running below the rim to take the string that kept the wax paper or cloth lid in place.

The humble marmalade jar. You can see the groove below the rim to hold the string in place. This one I found broken, and glued it back together. It now holds pens and other assorted bits.

A very hard creamy-grey stoneware fabric, solid, but with small voids. A roughly applied clear salt glaze (drips are common) internally and externally, with a slightly orange-peel surface (although often the base isn’t glazed).

The fabric: left is a new break, and is paler. Right shows some staining, but is more creamy anyway. You can see how solid the fabric is, but also the tiny voids created by gas during the firing. You can also make out the external grooves.

The surface up close; you can see the rough glaze – slightly orange peel. Also, you can see tiny flecks of discolouration – it isn’t a uniform colour.

They are exclusively open-ended jars of varying heights and widths, usually c.15cm tall. Beyond the colour and surface, the most recognisable bit of this pottery type are the vertical stripes, which can be very close together – either continuously or broken up by larger grooves – or spaced far apart (see photographs).

Rim sherds from two different jars. Once you recognise them, you’ll start spotting them everywhere.

Sometimes the base is stamped with the preserve maker’s name – commonly the lighthouse and name of WP Hartley – a company still making jam as ‘Hartley’s’.

The lighthouse logo of WP Hartley. You can see how coarse the finish is on the base.

Chronologically, they are late Victorian to Edwardian in date – WP Hartley seems to have designed the distinctive jars in the 1870’s, moved the factory to Aintree in Liverpool in 1886, and opened a second factory in London in 1901, so whether the base stamp mentions Liverpool and London will give a rough date. I have no end date for their use, but it is likely in the 1920’s when most companies switched from stoneware to the cheaper glass bottles and jars. That stated, the jars are very useful (I keep pens in one) and they are very hard-wearing, so it is likely that some were in use long after they stopped being made.

BROWN STONEWARE

DATE: 1700 – 1920’s
DESCRIPTION: Grey fabric with a shiny brown all-over salt glaze, often with rouletted decoration.
SHAPES: Cups, bowls, jugs (Nottingham Stoneware). Storage Jars, colanders, starch pans, stock pots, stew pots, bowls, bread crocks, pans, etc. (Derbyshire Stoneware)

Ah, Brown Stoneware, how… brown you are. Characterised by a shiny brown all-over salt glaze and a light grey stoneware fabric, it is instantly recognizable. Perhaps because it is so distinctive, but also because it is a stoneware and thus virtually indestructible, this stuff appears everywhere. It is also difficult to date with any certainty. However, it can be broken down into two types of different dates (although there is overlap): the Nottingham and Derbyshire Stonewares.

Nottingham Stoneware (c.1700 – c.1800)
A shiny milk chocolate brown surface interior and exterior, caused by the salt glaze with added iron, and often more glassy or creamy than the Derbyshire type.

Nottingham Brown Stoneware. Chocolatey glaze, thin walls, and strap handles; this stuff is very nice.

It usually has a white slip underglaze visible in the break, between the classic grey stoneware fabric and brown surface.

The white-ish underglaze is visible beneath the brown iron-rich salt glaze, and is noticeable against the grey stoneware fabric. The surface also has the orange-peel look that characterises salt glazes.

A view of the grey stoneware fabric, note also the voids and the white underglaze on the exterior wall (right). I really am rather bad at taking photographs… I need to learn how to use my phone’s macro setting better.

It is often found in thin walled vessels – cups and bowls (tablewares). Also, noticeable are wide strap handles, with vertical ribbing and thumb impressions where they were attached to a jug body. Decoration consists of horizontal incised lines done on a lathe, often in multiples, and rarer impressed decorative patterns in between the lines – snakeskin, basketweave, zig-zags – often done with a roulette wheels. Out-turned rims and bases with multiple bands around them are also common.

Nottingham stoneware was popular in the 18th century, but by the end of the 18th century couldn’t compete with the more decorative styles then coming out of Staffordshire, and the style faded away. However, the tradition was continued by potters in Derbyshire, who began to specialise in utilitarian kitchenwares – storage and cookery – rather than tablewares they previously made.

Derbyshire Stoneware (c.1800 – c.1920)
A similar, but often a little darker, shiny brown surface, made by the same iron-rich salt glaze, but a little less glassy or chocolatey.

Wonderful stuff. The iron-rich glaze almost glows.

Again, it glows. The sherd on the left seems to have less iron its saltglaze, and has reverted to the almost classic saltglaze surface – speckled light brown and orange peel texture. I love the interplay of the undulating lines, coarsely rouletted into the body.

Also, whilst the majority of vessels have a brown interior and exterior, some have a cream, white, or olive coloured interior (I have a hunch these are later).

The creamy interior of a later vessel. The glaze is speckled in a similar manner to the marmalade pot above.

The fabric is the same classic grey stoneware, but normally with no white underglaze. Thick walled vessels are the norm, with the emphasis on cooking and storage – utilitarian rather than flashy serving and eating/drinking.

Impressed decoration consists of roughly made rouletted shapes – very small crude stars, circles, crescents, flowers, dots, etc., sometimes horizontal, sometimes in flowing wavy lines.

An interesting advert dating from about 1880 gives a good idea of the kinds of vessels and decoration available at that point and beyond:

I love this. These are some of the various vessels that you’ll encounter… in pieces, of course.

Here endeth today’s lecture. Now go forth and forage, good people! Seek and ye shall find. And please, let me know what you do find – I’d like to do a community thing, where you all send me images of the bits you find and some names, and I’ll put them on the blog. I don’t know why, but my mind keeps going to ‘The Gallery’ on Take Hart…

Anyway, more soon (not just pottery, honestly… I have some interesting stuff in the pipeline), but until then take care of yourselves and each other. And until then, I remain, your humble servant.

Archaeology · History · Whitfield

Datestones

December 9, 2021September 16, 2022 Tim Campbell-Green4 Comments

(And apologies to those of you who have ended up on this website expecting to find an informative article on the seed of the Phoenix dactylifera.)

What ho, magnificent readers! I trust you are all rude health as we stumble toward the season of goodwill and whatnot. I love this time of year, when the cold wind blows, and the… What’s that? What do you mean “get on with it!”. Honestly, the nerve of some people.

Righty ho. Datestones. Who doesn’t love a good datestone? I mean, what’s not to love? A little snapshot of the history of a building, a birth certificate if you will, recording both the date of birth, and, if we’re lucky, the parents too.

Normally, though not exclusively, located above the door, these carved stones preserve the date of construction and the initials of the person or family who paid for its construction. The are by and large the reserve of the aspirational ‘middle classes’ of society; the poor man doesn’t build his house, the rich man has a house that speaks for itself. Indeed, it is a statement to others: I have wealth enough to build this house. They seem to become popular in the 17th century, as the ‘yeoman farmer’ becomes a class of person, that is, a person who owns the land they farm. Indeed, it may be a result of that phenomena, a way of setting themselves apart from the simple tenant farmer, who doesn’t own the land he works. Glossop has several 17th century examples remaining, though many more will have been lost, sadly. They do show up, occasionally, as the one found by Glossop Brook at Harehills Park did, and which was saved and cemented into the brook wall. Interestingly, this example also shows that whilst datestones can be a boon to historians, they can also present problems if we are not careful. They can move easily, and be attached to other buildings giving a misleading date, as is the case there, and at Hall Fold Farm. Also, stones can be put in place to commemorate a rebuilding or alteration to an existing building, causing similar, if opposite, problems.

By the Victorian period it was common to put a date and/or name on a house you built, and a careful look at many rows of Victorian terraces around Glossop will reveal names and dates. With that in mind, I have restricted my research to those datestones that carry a date prior to Victoria’s reign, pre-1837. The following is a table of the ones I know about:

There are 28 datestones in the Glossop area (broadly defined), but there will be more lurking that I don’t know about, either attached to the building still, or lying in a garden. This blog post will concentrate on the examples from Whitfield, as it is turning into a much larger post than I had thought. Plus, in the interests of honesty and transparency… I haven’t got photographs of all of them yet!

Whitfield has some of the oldest buildings in the Glossop area, and although not really much of a ‘place’ now – essentially just a ‘suburb’ of Glossop – it was once hugely important, being built along the Chapel en le Frith to Glossop road. It gradually lost it’s importance with the rise of the mills based down in the valley, the economy here being agricultural. Whitfield’s one-time importance means that we find many old buildings and a number of datestones here. Indeed, Whitfield has more old buildings that Old Glossop, which with its Church and market, was the focus of the farmsteads and settlements of Glossodale. However, important places tend to be subject to more intense rebuilding over time, whereas more minor areas maintain their old buildings. I was going to do a distribution map of the old buildings, but changed my mind for that reason. Still, it’s worth noting that Whitfield underwent a bit of a building boom in the mid to late 18th century.

35 Whitfield Cross was built in 1773 as a farmhouse, and is a Grade II listed building – see here for more details. The narrow coursed stonework and stone mullioned windows are typical of the period.

61 Hague Street was also built in 1773, but as a pair of weaver’s cottages, and is also a Grade II listed building. 1773 must have been busy year, and Whitfield was clearly a happening place in the late 18th century. The datestone records the initials R. J. and D. Now, presumably the ‘R’ is the surname (possibly Robinson – the family being quite prominent in Whitfield) with ‘J’ and ‘D’ being the husband and wife who are responsible for the building. I have no information regarding the people, sadly, and any information would be appreciated.

Hob Hill Cottage is a remarkable building dating to 1638, making it the second oldest building with a datestone in the Glossop area (after the Bulls Head in Old Glossop, dated 1607). Also built as a farmhouse, and also a Grade II listed building (there’s a theme developing here!), I suspect it might be the source of the lead came and glass, as well as some of the 18th century pottery, I found nearby, although truthfully any one of a number of buildings – existing or long gone – might be the source.

Another Grade II listed building now – the Old School House. Joseph Hague was something of an important man – indeed, the road on which the school (now private residences) sits is named after him. Born in Chunal in 1695, he rose from poverty to amass a fortune selling yarn to weavers and buying back the cloth they produced, to sell on. However, here is not the place for a discussion of his life, or of the school (the Glossop Heritage Trust does that very well here). Let us instead look at the wonderful inscription

“This school was erected and endowed by JOSEPH HAGUE Esquire,
of Park Hall in this Parish as a testimony of Gratitude to
ALMIGHTY GOD for his favour and Blessings through a life of
years whereby he was enabled to accumulate an ample fortune
and make a plentiful Provision for his numerous Relations and
Dependents. Anno Domini 1779.”

I enjoy the slightly boastful “ample fortune“… well, if you have it, why not? The beautiful carved relief plaque of the beehive over the main door – symbol of productivity and hard work – gave inspiration for the name of the pub over the road. The Beehive pub itself is an 18th century building, with a 19th century front added, and another example of the building boom of the 18th century in Whitfield.

Old School House, Hague Street. The beehive carved in relief, surrounded by Sunflowers, and crawling with characterful bees. I love this.

Another Grade II listed building, one of several together, and originally built as a ‘laithhouse’, that is a building made up of a house, barn and byre/shippon in one. It is a late example of the type if the date is to be taken at face value, but there you go… this corner of Derbyshire wasn’t exactly at the forefront of architectural fashion. There is also a bit of confusion regarding 62 Hague Street. As it stands now, there is a simple date of ‘1751′ above the door. However, the listing for the Grade II building notes that “No.62 originally had datestone inscribed RMS 1757” (read the full listing here). The present datestone is fairly modern, carved perhaps to replace the missing stone, but it doesn’t explain the difference in date. I thought it worth mentioning for the sake of documentation and completion.

So who was Joel Bennett? Born 11 April 1791 to son of George Bennett and Martha Cooper, he came from a large and important local family. He may have been the same Joel Bennet who was excommunicated from Littlemoor Independent Chapel in 1828 for “disorderly walking and impenitency” (source is here). I’m unsure of what is meant here by “disorderly walking”, but given the hotbed of radical religion that was Littlemoor, one assumes it wasn’t the Georgian equivalent of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks. He may also have bought Kinder Lee Mill in Chisworth with his brother James in 1823.

House at the bottom of Cliffe Road (4 Cross Cliff?)

This house, set back from Cross Cliffe almost at the bottom, has a wonderful datestone: stars, wheatsheaves, and a Masonic compass, with the letters ‘R’ ‘R’ ‘O’ and ‘S’. Actually, is that an ‘O’? Or perhaps a flower? I have no information about the place, nor the letters (Robinson again?), and one cannot simply knock on a door and say “What-ho… tell me about your house”. One tends to get stared at, with vague mutterings about “setting the dogs on you”, and “lunatics disturbing the peace”. Alas. If anyone has any information about this house, or indeed any of the houses, drop me a line.

Also, and seriously, if anyone knows of any more datestones that aren’t in the above list, and which date from before 1837, then please let me know. I’ll credit you, too, so you can be famous… to all 11 of you who read the blog (including Juan in Venezuela).

Oh, and some news. I’ve been working on the Glossop Cabinet YouTube account recently, and hopefully will be producing videos of me finding bits and pieces, mudlarking, talking archaeology, exploring, playing with pottery, and much more (can anyone else hear that groaning noise every time I mention pottery?). So if you like the blog, then you’ll love this. I’ll post a link asap.

Also, I’ve recently set up a Ko-Fi account which allows you lucky folk to ‘virtually’ buy me a drink if you wish. There is no pressure to do so, obviously; I do the blog because I enjoy doing it, and am constantly amazed that other people enjoy reading it (which is reward enough, it really is). However, if you do fancy buying me a pint to say cheers, I’ll never say no – please click this link, and mine’s a red.

That’s all for now I think. I’ll post something else before Christmas, possibly pottery related, you lucky lucky people (there’s that noise again). But until then, I remain,

Your humble servant,

Archaeology

Home On The Range

October 21, 2021October 21, 2021 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

What ho, wonderful blog reading folk! I trust the Autumn is going well for you all? And hopefully, now that restrictions have eased, we will be able to do a bit more.

A fascinating one this time – well I think so. There’s a place, if you know where to look… Oh, go on then, I’ll tell you.

At Mossy Lea, to the north west of Shire Hill, there is a Victorian rifle range marked on the map. “Hmm” thought I, “I wonder what is there?” It turns out that it is a thoroughly interesting place, chock full of history. Here it is on the map:

Circled in orange. I meant the circle to be red, but for some reason I clicked the wrong button and couldn’t be fussed re-doing it. I don’t know why I shared that, it’s not like it’s important. To be honest, I’m not sure anyone reads these bits anyway.

But why was it there? Well, following the Crimean War (1853-56), and amid rumblings in Europe, particularly between France and Austria, it became clear Britain needed a larger, more efficient, armed force. In 1859 the decision was taken to boost home defence and operational forces with the creation of the volunteer rifle corps. The forerunner to our Territorial Army, these ‘part-time’ soldiers could be called upon to fight should the need arise.

It was desired that Glossop should have its own corps, and so in this way, on June 14th 1875, 23rd Derbyshire Rifle Volunteers was formed, with the first inspection of the corps taking place July 29th, 1876, at Stockport. They were drilled frequently, just like the regular army, with a parade ground off Shepley Street in Old Glossop, and a drill hall in the market hall – the entrance nearest to the post office.

Here is the Corps pictured in 1914 outside the Drill Hall. Image stolen shamelessly from the Glossop Heritage Page which gives a fantastic history of the Glossop Corps – read it here. Incidentally, the chap bottom row 3rd from left with the flat cap on – I am certain I’ve seen him drinking in the Beehive.

And of course they trained frequently on the rifle range. The original rifle range was at Chunal – probably around what was once The Grouse pub (now a private house). Hamnett notes that it was “most inconvenient” as the men had to shoot over the highway when shooting at long range, which was causing delays. Yes, you read that correctly… now let it sink in a moment.

Shooting. Actual bullets. Over a public road.

So “for the safety of the public it was removed to Mossy Lea“. You don’t say. Shooting here commenced on 6th June 1877, and it is then that we join it. The original line of the range was shooting at targets against Shire Hill, as seen in this 1880 map:

The range as it appeared in 1880. Targets (arrowed in orange) against Shire Hill, with the shooting platforms progressing up the hill in 50 yard increments up to 1000 yards – well over half a mile. A shorter range, up to 300 yards is south east of the first. Marked in green are the flagstaffs that would show a red flag warning that live firing was taking place.

By the time the 1898 map was drawn, the targets had moved to Lightside, with shooting platforms along Shepley Street, here:

The range in 1898. Two targets on the hill, circled in red. The northern is the short range, again up to 300 yards, whilst the southern target is the long range, starting at 780 yards.

However, whichever direction you shot, it seemed to have been hard work, as Hamnett notes “It is a most difficult range… owing to the various strengths of the winds we get all blowing at the same time”. Anyone who has walked along Shepley Street and Doctor’s Gate will know what he is talking about.

So me being me, I decided to have a look around to see what, if anything could be seen on the ground. As it happens, it turns out quite a lot.

Quite an arty shot. The targets are clear against the skyline when viewed from below.

Closer up you can see the metal targets sitting on top of man made platforms – the shooting butts – held by drystone walling. Another arty shot.

Both targets are visible on the ground, and are essentially huge pieces of metal sitting on top of platform. Closer inspection shows it is very interesting.

Close up of the target face showing dents caused by rifle fire.

From behind the target, looking through the dents that have rusted through in the last 150 years of harsh Lightside weather.

Walking around the back of the target, I noticed some writing… ooooh, says I.

Now, with the eye of faith and if you squint after a snifter or three, I can just make out the following words:

“WOODS’ UNIVERSAL – unclear – TARGET. WOODS COCKSEDGE & CO. STOWMARKET. 1876”

Honestly, it does. Have another glass, and look again.

Nice! And it even gives a date, which is unusual in archaeology to say the least. There is a little bit about Woods, Cocksedge & Company here (and no sniggering… honestly! Don’t think I can’t hear you. I’ll have you know this is a serious blog), with more dotted about the internet. They seem to have been a standard iron foundry, founded in 1812 in Stowmarket, Suffolk, and which continues in one form or another until the early 20^th century, perhaps even beyond. Research on the internet produced this advert, stolen as always, shamelessly, from this website.

A great advert, and one that gives us all sorts of additional information, including how to stand in a relaxed manner whilst being shot at by your own men.

The targets in the picture are clearly the same as the ones on the hillside – they have the same attachments, and you can see how they were fitted and braced when in use.

The advert is full of additional details – such as the fact that these were made from hematite iron (rather than wrought iron) (is the missing word on the target “hematite”?), and that Woods, Cocksedge & co. were supplying the government with their targets. I note also that they were supplying “nearly every foreign power”. I’m sure it was comforting for our soldiers to know that, as the bullets pinged around them, the reason that the foreign soldiers trying to kill them were so accurate in their shooting is that they were trained on the same targets as them.

It also states that the targets are “indestructible”, and they seemingly pretty much are – 150 years later, and I’m certain they would withstand modern rifle shot. Probably.

There were also some small finds – unsurprisingly, a number of bullets.

Left to right: Martini-Henry, Lee-Metford, Lee-Metford copper jacket, Lee Enfield.

What is interesting, though, is that these plot the history of British Army issued rifles from 1877 onwards. The militia were originally issued Snider-Enfield rifles, but these were used only on the original Chunal range, so we have no bullets from these. We know that in 1877, they were using the Martini-Henry rifles, and our earliest evidence is, then, on the left, the large lead slug of a Martini-Henry rifle – you’d know about it if one of those hit you. These bullets are interesting from a design point of view – they have a slightly hollow base that expands with the explosion of gunpowder behind it, connects with the grooves inside the rifle which, combined with its solid weight, makes it more accurate and very powerful.

Next, the Lee-Metford copper jacketed .303 round, which the company were issued on 18^th September 1897, and which was responsible for these targets being installed. As Hamnett puts it “the greater velocity of the bullet of the new rifle made the old iron targets unsafe”, and they were replaced by the Woods’ Universal Hematite targets. So we have a date for their installation – sometime after September 1897, and I assume at this point the targets were moved from against Shire Hill to where we find them today. Next to the bullet is the copper jacketing which is formed around the lead bullet – you can see how it has peeled away, and imagine the effect that the peeling and tiny razor sharp fragments would have if you were shot. It’s sometimes easy to forget that these small interesting lumps of metal were designed and made with just one purpose in mind – to create a large hole inside another human being.

Next to that is a standard early 20^th century Lee-Enfield .303 round, and probably owes its occurrence at the range due to live-fire exercises carried out hereabouts in 1943 by a unit of commandoes. Neville Sharpe in Glossop Remembered (p.154) recalls the commandoes showing the local boys how to extract the cordite explosive inside cartridges to make fireworks… with predictable results. I also like the continuation of use, as though the land once used in a particular way somehow lends itself to that particular activity. The area is now home to the Old Glossop Clay Shooting Ground, and the hills once more ring with the sound of gunfire. They claim that the area was in use for shooting from the Second World War onwards, but we now know differently.

The path up to the targets also produced a few pieces of pottery:

Some fairly worn sherds. I’m also trying out a black background to these photographs – what do you think?

From the left, then: An Annular or Banded Ware rim sherd of a smallish jug (the diameter is 8cm, but curves inwardly slightly). Date wise, it’s probably late 19th century, so about the right date; I love this stuff. Two pipe stems, also of a similar date (I like to imagine them being smoked by bored soldiers wending their way up to the targets). And finally, a sherd of Transfer Printed pottery, which could date from anytime after 1840, but is probably the same date as everything else.

Hope you have enjoyed this jaunt down the military history of Glossop – the story of the militia is told in Hamnett’s History of Glossop, a copy of which is in the library, and it highly recommended. The range itself is on public access land, and right by a footpath, so go ahead and have a look (it’s a great place to fly a kite). But please don’t go digging around there – not only is lead highly toxic, without the landowner’s permission it is illegal. Plus, all you’ll find is lumps of twisted metal. The finds I made were lying on the surface.

My thanks for the company of Andy T on this particular jaunt – he’s a good bloke, mostly, and can be found on Twitter @Thorny61.

Please feel free to email me with comments and questions, even to point out that I am wrong about something. Until next time then, look after yourselves and each other.

Until then, I remain.

Your humble servant.

RH.

Archaeology · Pottery · Whitfield

… And Came Back

September 18, 2021 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho! dear readers. I’ve just opened a bottle of fine Belgian pilsner, and am feeling quite effervescent, if that’s the word I’m fumbling for. I think it probably is.

Talking of fumbling, I went back to the place I found the lead came and had a fumble. Madam, please! This is a family blog. Honestly, some people! So there I was, fumbling, looking to see if anything else popped up, when I found what looks like window glass and some early pottery. Hmmmmmmm, let’s take a closer look.

Small and fairly unimpressive – I nearly ignored it. Shame on me!

The glass is only a small fragment – just 2cm x 1cm – and very thin, being a shade over 1mm thick. It is also flat, which just about rules out its origin being a bottle. I terms of colour, it has that blue-green tinge that you associate with early glass, before they managed to perfect the process to remove all the impurities. Looking more closely at it, I noticed that two of the edges were flat, and pulling out my new toy – a usb computer microscope that also takes photographs – I was able to see – and show you – tiny teeth like nibbles that tell me that the glass had been cut and shaped.

I’ve had a lot of fun with the microscope!

Now, I know a lot of useless information – for example that glass is shaped by nibbling – but I’ll admit that even I had to look up how exactly this was done. With a ‘Grozing Iron’ it turns out (see, don’t say you don’t learn something by reading this blog, although I can’t see it coming up in a pub quiz anytime soon). The verb is ‘to groze’, and the above glass fragment has been ‘grozed’. It looks like this:

A grozing Iron, image courtesy of the York Glaziers Trust who have a fantastic illustrated glossary, if you are in any way interested in glass.

So, it was shaped… but to what shape? The two edges, if they were extrapolated, didn’t make a right angle, but instead, a diagonal. A diamond, even. Could it be I have a fragment of the glass that went into the lead came I found? Impossible to say for certain, but it is possible, even probable. In terms of date, it’s very difficult to say. Broadly speaking, the thinner the glass, the earlier it is, and combined with the colour could certainly put it in late 17th or early 18th, which matches the tentative date for the came. So that’s exciting, if you get excited about this sort of thing… and I do! Here it is situ:

I added the came for effect – perhaps reuniting them.

The date of 18th century also matches the date of two sherds of pottery I found with the glass.

They are both mottled manganese ware, and classically early 18th century in date – certainly not later than about 1760. Interestingly, they are not particularly worn, so it’s unlikely that they have been kicking around for 250 years or so – perhaps there is a dump nearby? They are also both open vessels – bowls, probably – and may belong to the same vessel, despite one being glazed on the inside only (quite often, the glaze on the exterior was confined to the top part only). Also, one sherd shows the characteristic manufacturing marks, that also doubled as decoration:

The horizontal lines visible in the clay, formed on the potter’s wheel. Also, if anyone want to donate to the ‘*Robert Hamnett Needs a Manicure*‘ fund, please feel free…

The next photo shows the make up of the sherd – the reddish slipped exterior (top), the rough orange-brown earthernware fabric with tiny bits of stone in it (middle), and the thin dark line of the glazed interior (below). I love this stuff.

I’m going to put together a quick and easy guide to pottery, describing all the different ‘parts’ of a sherd, and some tips on identifying what shape and size, as I think it’s nice to now what it is you are holding. I’m also still putting together my quick and dirty guide to Post-Medieval pottery, as there is a serious gap in the market… probably for obvious reasons!

I’m going to end with a great photograph of the glass, and to pose the following questions: Who was the last person to look through that window before us? And what did they see?

Until next time, take care of yourselves and each other. And I remain.

Your humble servant,

Archaeology · Whitfield

Summer Came… and Went

August 9, 2021 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

What ho! Hope you are enjoying the summer so far. A quick post today, but more very soon.

So, I know I promised you pottery this time, and I can tell you are wildly disappointed, but this is an interesting bit of history. Honestly. It really is. Don’t just look at the first picture and yawn… Philistines.

There are a number of places around Glossop that never fail to produce some bits and pieces – Lean Town, Harehills, etc. One such place is at the top of Whitfield Avenue. Never lots, but always a sherd or two, and this time a piece of lead. Window lead to be precise.

Lead is one of those substances that is instantly recognisable once you know what it looks like, and can be spotted from quite a distance. It doesn’t rust, or even really react beyond producing a white powder on the surface. It is soft, which means it can get damaged – in particular bent – easily, but it also means that it doesn’t break in the way that pottery or glass does, so it often survives. It is also worth remembering that it is highly toxic, so be careful when you handle it.

Don’t worry, I washed my hands afterwards.

So there it was, lying on the surface of the soil, a dull grey flash exposed after all the rain we have recently suffered. I would have picked it up anyway – I try and do that with lead, as it’s not great in the environment – but I knew at a glance what it was, and was excited as they can be interesting. I was not disappointed.

Window lead, or came as it is more properly known, has been with us for as long as there have been glass windows, and is essentially an elegant solution to a big problem – the fact that it is very difficult and expensive to produce glass in any large size. It is far easier to join together smaller pieces, and this was still the case until the 19th century, and why even early 20th century windows are made up smaller pieces separated by wooden mullions. But the multi-part aspect also allowed works of art to be created in the form of stained glass windows that adorned medieval churches and cathedrals, and is a fashion that continues down to today.

The came works by allowing separate pieces of glass to slot into its grooves, joining them together, with the whole being held in place by the window frame. In profile (that is, cut in half), came is broadly ‘H’ shaped:

A pretty awful drawing, but you get the idea… I hope.

So then, what can we say about this little piece of twisted metal? Well, a surprising amount, to be honest. Firstly, rather than being poured and shaped in a mould, the came has been milled – the lead was drawn through a former by a cog. This means that it is not medieval, but instead puts it into the archaeological ‘misc.’ tray that is ‘Post-Medieval‘ (roughly, after 1500). We can, however, narrow it down a bit; the cog used in the manufacturing process leaves characteristic tooth marks on the interior. As the process was refined and improved over time, these marks grew further apart, and broadly speaking, the closer the teeth, the earlier the date. On our piece of came, they are very close together, and thus an earlier date is suggested.

Teeth marks, where the cog has pulled the came through the former.

This is backed up by the slightly rounded profile, which is also associated with earlier examples. We might suggest a date of perhaps 1700 – 1800, possibly earlier, but unlikely to be later.

Left: the slightly rounded ‘H’ profile, also slightly squashed. Right: the clean cut edge, probably by a knife.

It seems to have been cut cleanly at either end, which means it is the original length, which is significant. It measures just under 6cm, or 2 1/4 inches, so not very long, but a perfect size for the diamond style windows that were common in the 17th and 18th centuries, when whole windows were made up of smaller pieces and joined by the came. Look closely, you can see the tin solder that would have joined it to another lead came piece.

The melted end, but also marks where it was pulled through the former.

Looking even more closely, you can see the putty that would have weather-proofed it still inside the groove.

Here is a 17th century window:

Typical Tudor & Jacobean diamond pattern window.

And here is our piece of lead in a mocked up window, showing how it would have been used.

Another rather poor drawing, but one hopes you get the idea.

How this piece of lead came came to be lurking in the soil on that rainy day is not certain, but it is in the right place – some of the oldest houses in Whitfield are right there, including Hob Hill Cottage with its datestone of 1638. The came must have originated in one of these houses, and at some stage either window was repaired, or replaced entirely. Indeed, if we look closely, we can see two marks where the lead flange has been lifted away from the glass to remove it.

The lead flange has been peeled back from the glass.

At that point, the lead has been lost or thrown away. I’d love to be able to say for certain which house it came from, and the obvious choice would be Hob Hill Cottage as it is just opposite the find spot, but in reality who knows? I am amazed at how much information it is possible to glean from what is, at first glance, just a small piece of twisted metal. And see, I told you it would be interesting.

More soon. As always, look after yourselves and each other, and until next time, I remain.

Your humble servant,