George Valentine and the Hot Lakes

Mount Tarawera in eruption, 10 June 1886 [1]
At 2.30 in the morning on Thursday 10th June 1886 - 125 years ago last Friday - many Auckland residents were woken by a continuous series of loud, but distant, explosions. Flashes could be seen on the horizon and it was assumed, even by writers compiling the early edition of The New Zealand Herald, that some vessel in the Manukau Harbour had exploded [2]. If George Valentine, his wife Minna and their three children, by some chance, did not wake until a more respectable hour, they would soon have heard the news, even at their home in the borough of Parnell. By nine o'clock the Auckland Evening Star offices had received reports of a "tremendous outburst of volcanic activity ... in the Rotorua District, surpassing anything of the kind ever experienced in New Zealand." [3]


Te Wairoa Township, c.1886 [4]
Valentine was familiar with the "Hot Lakes," having visited Rotorua and the nearby Lakes Tarawera and Rotomahana early the previous year on a photographic excursion. George Dobson Valentine (1852-1890) was a son of the renowned Scottish pioneer photographer and publisher of views James Valentine (1815-1880). After his father's death, he and his brother William had continued to expand the photographic business.


"In The Tiki Tapu Bush" - January 1885 [5]
However after being diagnosed with tuberculosis, he emigrated to New Zealand with his family in 1884, in the hope that the climate would revive his health. Initially settling in Nelson, he had begun publishing photographic views under his own name, and one of his earliest projects was a photographic expedition to the Rotomahana District, near Rotorua, with Auckland bookseller Charles Chapman.


"Rotomahana Hotel, Te Wairoa" - January 1885 [6]
From Auckland, they travelled via Cambridge, Oxford (now called Tirau) and Rotorua over several days in January 1885. The journey to Te Wairoa, on the shores of Lake Tarawera, was a shorter leg, and they were able to spend some time admiring the pristine podocarp forest at Tikitapu. They spent the night at Joseph McRae's Rotomahana Hotel, and obtained permission from the local chiefs to camp at the famous Pink and White Terraces.


"White Terrace and Lake Rotomahana" - January 1885 [7]
Early the following morning on 13 January 1885 Valentine and Chapman departed by whale boat across Lake Tarawera to the small settlement of Te Ariki. They were accompanied by Guide Sophia, chief Tamihana Te Keu, a small group of tourists and the crew. A short walk then ensued to the "warm lake" Rotomahana, where the vista opened up to reveal the famed Te Tarata or White Terraces. Coincidentally, artist Charles Blomfield was camped nearby, in the middle of a lengthy stay during which he would paint a number of now well known views of the terraces.


"Coffee Cups, White Terraces" - January 1885 [8]
Clik image to read full series of articles
They set up camp close to the White Terraces and remained for several days, during which time Valentine produced over 40 scenic views with his glass plate camera, including this atmospheric image of the almost waxy looking siliceous basins with a fine veil of steam. After his return home to Nelson, these views were later published and marketed by Chapman. One of them was awarded a second prize at the New Zealand Industrial Exhbition in August, pipped at the post by Alfred Burton of Dunedin.


Great Volcanic Eruption. Terror in Hot Lake District
The Auckland Evening Star, 10 June 1886 [3]
The Valentine family had moved to Auckland in October 1885, and had therefore been living there for some eight months on the morning that the dreadful news broke concerning the "terror in the Hot Lake district." News of the tragic loss of life was greeted with dismay, almost matched by the despair at reports of the devastation, affecting both personal property and the countryside, and including the Pink and White Terraces.


"Tiki-Tapu Bush, After Eruption" - October 1886 [9]
Photographers were on site recording the devastation within days, but George Valentine did not make it there until early October. He and Chapman were accompanied by Joseph McRae, whose hotel at Te Wairoa had been all but demolished in the ash fall, and guide Alfred Warbrick. The luxurious bush at Tikitapu was now an array of bare wooden tree trunks, sadly stripped of all signs of the green thicket captured so vividly the previous year.


"Te Wairoa. McRae's Hotel, Sophia's Whare and Terrace Hotel" - October 1886 [10]
They sheltered for the night in what remained of McRae's collapsed hotel before being rowed across the lake to Te Ariki. The scenes which they encountered, and which Valentine photographed, revealed a landscape denuded of all vegetation, and most recognisable landmarks were obliterated with a thick blanket of grey volcanic ash. Smoke and steam were spurting out of the ground in many locations, and when they reached the former site of the White Terraces, the valley had been filled with an enormous lake, several times the size of the original Rotomahana.


"Rotomahana, from Hape O' Toroa" - October 1886 [11]
Both the Pink and White Terraces were gone, replaced with the all encompassing tephra field, criss-crossed with erosion gullies and hard to traverse. Valentine returned to the area a month later to take further photographs of the southern part of the volcanic area, near Waimangu, accompanied by government engineer John Blythe. The results were published in several different formats and publications, which is fortunate, as the original glass plate negatives have not survived. The images displayed here are from prints and copy negatives in the collections of the Alexander Turnbull Library and Te Papa. The Assistant Surveyor-General later "determined," after surveying the area, that the White Terraces had been destroyed.


"Mnts. Tarawera and Ruawahia from Te Ariki" - October 1886 [12]
Valentine visited the area again in 1887 and 1889, and made further photographic excursions to the Pacific Islands of Tahiti, Tonga, Samoa and Rarotonga (1887), as well as to the previously little known limestone caves at Waitomo (1889). However, his first two sets of landscapes from the "Hot Lakes" region are perhaps better known than the rest. This image of the muddy shore of Lake Tarawera, with the mass of the ash-covered volcano forming a forbidding backdrop, and the lone boatman beaching what is presumably Warbrick's recently launched whaleboat, is one of the most enduring - and for me, haunting - of Valentine's post-eruption photographs.

On 26 February 1890, shortly after his return from photographing Pohutu and other geysers at Whakarewarewa, near Rotorua, George Valentine succumbed to the tuberculosis which had brought him to New Zealand. He was only 38 years old. His wife and children returned to Dundee, Scotland soon after.

Epilogue


The question of whether the Pink and White Terraces had been destroyed during Tarawera's eruption, or whether they were buried under layers of ash, has been revisited several times. The latest boost to this story, nicely timed for the 125th anniversary of the event, is the news that a team from GNS and the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution have discovered at least portions of both the Pink and White Terraces intact, submerged in Lake Rotomahana. The disappointing one-hour (including adverts) documentary that Prime aired on Sunday evening was long on history and hype, and very short on hard fact and images, with only a few brief underwater clips of the shown towards the end of the hour-long session. However, this web page from GNS includes a 4:37 minute video (click image above) by Dr Cornel de Ronde discussing the discoveries, with plenty of great images (and another YouTube video here).

References

[1] Blomfield, Charles (1886) Mount Tarawera in eruption, June 10, 1886 (From the native village of Waitangi, Lake Tarawera, New Zealand), W. Potts, lithograph after C. Blomfield, publ. Wanganui, New Zealand: A.D. Willis, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. C-033-002.

[2] Hall, Ken (2004) George D. Valentine: A 19th Century Photographer in New Zealand, Nelson, New Zealand: Craig Potton Publishing, 132p.

[3] Anon (1886) Great Volcanic Eruption: Terror in Hot Lake District, The Auckland Evening Star, 10 June 1886, from Papers Past, courtesy of National Library of New Zealand.

[4] Wairoa township, from Te Komiti, Lithograph 313 x 216 mm by unknown artist, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. B-051-009.

[5] In the Tiki Tapu Bush, near Lake Tikitapu (Blue Lake), Rotorua, 41, Albumen print, 190 x 289 mm, by George D. Valentine, January 1885, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA7-54-24.

[6] Rotomahana Hotel, Te Wairoa, 38, Albumen print, 292 x 191 mm, by George D. Valentine, January 1885, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA7-60-02.

[7] White Terrace and Lake Rotomahana, Albumen print, by George D. Valentine, January 1885, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA1-q-138-009.

[8] Coffee Cups, White Terraces, Albumen print, 290 x 189 mm, by George D. Valentine, January 1885, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA1-q-212-20.

[9] Tiki-Tapu Bush, after Eruption, 119, Albumen print, 187 x 289 mm, by George D. Valentine, October 1886, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA7-54-03.

[10] Te Wairoa. McRae's Hotel, Sophia's Whare and Terrace Hotel, Albumen print, 292 x 192 mm, by George D. Valentine, October 1886, courtesy of Museum of New Zealand/Te Papa Tongarewa, Ref. O.030859.

[11] Rotomahana, from Hape O' Toroa, 146, Albumen print, by George D. Valentine, November 1886, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA1-q-138-005.

[12] Mnts. Tarawera and Ruawahia from Te Ariki, 129, Albumen print, 290 x 188 mm, by George D. Valentine, October 1886, courtesy of Timeframes & the Alexander Turnbull Library, Ref. PA7-54-01.

Rev. Roseingrave Macklin (1792-1865), Incumbent of Christ Church, Derby

Reverend Roseingrave Macklin, 1862
Carte de visite portait by James Brennen, Derby
Image © and courtesy of Nigel Aspdin
When Roseingrave Macklin arrived in Derby in 1835 with wife Jane Ann and six daughters he was already in his forties. He had taken Holy Orders in his home town of Dublin - where his father Gerard Macklin (1767-1848) was state surgeon of Ireland - and held a living as Rector of Newcastle, in the county of Wicklow, for some years.


Church of Ireland church at Lusk, Co. Dublin, 2010
© Copyright Kieran Campbell and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence
Immediately prior to his move to England, Macklin had been the vicar of Lusk, north of Dublin, and was instrumental in the establishment of a Protestant church-based school in the nearby town of Rush [2]. He also appears to have been an active participant in the "no-Popery" movement. In late 1828, following agitation by Daniel O'Connell and the Catholic Association, a proposal was made to legislate for the right of Catholics to enter the British parliament. In response, a significant number of well-heeled Irish Protestants initiated a large scale campaign, forming the Brunswick "constitutional" clubs as part of a thinly disguised attempt at a Populist movement against the political reforms [3].


Sir Francis Burdett, Joseph Hume & Daniel O'Connell celebrating Catholic Emancipation, 1834
Drawing by John Doyle, courtesy of Spartacus Educational
Macklin was present at a meeting for the purpose of establishing a Brunswick Club for the baronies of Rathdowne and Newscastle at Newtown-Mountkennedy in October 1828 [4], where he made the following inflammatory contribution:

Can any man of common sense come forward and tell me that the Protestants of Ireland are to lie down and be trodden under foot, or be led like lambs to the sacrifice? ... I would entreat of you to preserve that constitution inviolate and inviolable, which your ancestors sacrificed so much to obtain. They handed it down to you - you have another duty to perform, to hand it down to your posterity unaltered and glorious as it has ever been.

Despite the efforts of the Brunswicks at scaremongering, attempting to incite a fear of Catholic ascendancy and eventual home rule, the government of the Duke of Wellington succeeded in passing the Emancipation legislation in 1829. Continued resentment by the general population of Ireland against the payment of tithes to the Church of Ireland resulted in the Tithe War of the early to mid-1830s.


St Werburgh's Church, Derby, c.1833 [5]
This was the political backdrop at the time of Rev. Macklin's move from Dublin to Derby, although his reasons for leaving the land of his birth are unknown. In 1832 he purchased some land in Derby [6], and three years later he settled in the town, having been made curate of St Werburgh's church under Rev. Edward Unwin [1]. Unwin was a wealthy Derby resident, for whom the Grade II listed Regency villa Highfield House - featured previously on Photo-Sleuth, here - was built by Richard Leaper in 1827. Macklin was performing duties at St Werburgh's by 19 August 1835 [7].


Christ Church, Derby, 13 June 2011
Image © and courtesy of Nigel Aspdin
By 1841 he had impressed his superiors sufficiently to be appointed to the incumbency of Christ Church situated near the junction of Normanton and Burton Roads, and presumably a step up in the clergical heirarchy.

The new position did not prevent Rev. Macklin from pursuing his anti-Catholic mission. Freeman's Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser (Dublin) published an article in July 1839 discussing reactions to the "no-popery cry," which included a letter from Sir George Harpur Crewe, former Sherriff of Derbyshire, and at the time M.P. for South Derbyshire [8]. The letter was written in response to a request from Henry Cox, secretary of the Protestant Association, and Macklin, and declined an invitation to assist in the formation of a local branch:

I have never attended any of the meetings at Exeter-hall of this association, because, whatever be their inention, I cannot approve of their practice. the sole object appears to me to be the most violent abuse of the Roman Catholics ... I neither like the tone nor spirit of the speeches delivered by the great Irish speakers on these occasions. There is too much of human temper, and far too little of Christian love to please me.

One wonders whether Macklin approved of the marriage of daughter Jemima to Harpur Crewe's nephew Arthur Godley Crewe (1831-1894) in 1861 [9]. Perhaps the intervening two decades had tempered Macklin's views somewhat, although it seems unlikely. In 1843 Macklin was in the news again, welcoming a former "Romish priest" of the Dominican order to his congregation at Christ Church [10]. Then in January 1851, at a meeting of the Foreign Aid Society [11], he remarked:

... that the Protestantism of the people of this country had lately been evoked to a remarkable extent, and he sincerely hoped it would ... strengthen them in their determination to carry out the principles of their religion which were essentially antagonistic to Popery.

The Macklin residence, Wardwick, Derby, 13 June 2011
Image © and courtesy of Nigel Aspdin
The Macklin family lived at what was then number 14 Wardwick, on the south-west corner with Becket Street, Rev. Macklin owning much of the land to the west of Green Lane, which was largely undeveloped when they first arrived in Derby. At that time (1835) they had six daughters: Martha R. (1823-1905), Charlotte R. (1825-1863), Georgina (1828-1913), Sophia (1830-1887), Rosina Margaret (1831-1884) and Jemima (1832-1916), all born in Ireland. A seventh daughter Frances Arabella (1838-1885) and, finally, a son Gerard Roseingrave Wilson (1843-1896) were born after their arrival in Derby. Although five of their eight children died unmarried, three daughters did marry and produced, in turn, eight grandchildren.

Martha Macklin married another clergyman Arthur Charles Pittar (1827-1899), variously curate of Alfreton (Derbyshire), vicar of Ashton Hayes (Cheshire), vicar of Holy Trinity Trowbridge (Wiltshire) and rector of Melmerby (Cumberland). Georgina Macklin married iron master and colliery owner Charles Henry Oakes (1826-1906) from Riddings, near Alfreton, Derbyshire. Jemima Macklin married Alfred Godley Crewe (1831-1894) (son of the Rector of Breadsall), a physician and surgeon for the Madras Army in India, and later of Portsea, Hampshire.

Roseingrave Macklin remained the incumbent of Christ Church for over twenty years, resigning because of poor health in 1862. In an obituary published in The Derby Mercury [1], his religious views gained a prominent mention:

Like most of the Irish clergy holding similar opinions, he was an indefatigable opponent and denouncer of the errors of Romanism, and was actively engaged in every movement which had for its object the defence of the Protestant Church, or aggression on the Romish, particularly in his native land.

Perhaps the most enduring of Reverend Macklin's legacies to the town of Derby are Macklin Street and Wilson Street, in the area to the south-west of the city centre. Wilson was also a family name. It may be that there are other surviving Macklin remnants, for example perhaps some reminders of his tenure at All Saints. If you are aware of any, please let me know and I'll add them to this article.

In a future article, I will discuss the carte de visite portrait itself, where it came from, and the circumstances under which it may have been taken.

References

[1] The Late Mr. Macklin, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 22 November 1865.

[2] Address to the Rev. Roseingrave Macklin, late Vicar of Lusk, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 3 June 1835.

[3] Phylan, Alan (2004) The Brunswick Clubs: Rise, Contradictions & Abyss, The Old Limerick Journal, v. 40, pp. 25-34.

[4] Brunswick Clubs: Meeting at Newtown-Mountkennedy (From the Dublin Evening Mail), in The Standard (London, England), 29 October 1828.

[5] Glover, Stephen (1833) The History and Gazetteer of the County of Derby.

[6] Derby Improvement Act, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 9 May 1832.

[7] Marriages, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 19 August 1835.

[8] The No-Popery Cry, Freeman's Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser (Dublin, Ireland), 18 July 1839.

[9] Marriage of Alfred G. Crewe, Esq, and Miss Jemima Macklin, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 3 July 1861.

[10] Conversion of a Roman Catolic Priest, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 9 September 1843.

[11] Foreign Aid Society, in The Derby Mercury (Derby, England), 15 January 1851.

Another Move-O-Graph Portrait

A year ago I posted an article about Move-O-Graph, The Live Portrait, a gimmicky idea from an era well before the advent of video cameras, even before Super 8 home movie cameras. Tony Rackstraw posted a similar Living Portrait on his blog, Early Canterbury Photographers.


Recently I received another example of a Move-O-Graph portrait from David Brook, depicting his father Archibald Brook (1888-1967). It was probably taken in the late 1910s or early 1920s. The mechanism, which from Tony Rackstraw's description appears to consist of two layers, has survived intact. The lower layer consists of a composite photographic image made from two distinct views, and the second is a covering "filter" of cellulose with very narrow vertical black strips. The "movement" effect is created by the gaps between these strips alternately revealing first one image and then the other, as the filter is moved slightly from side to side.


The reverse of the card which encases the photograph has printed instructions for achieving the full effect. The pencilled "530a Oxford Street" was added by the subject at some stage.


I've used images sent to me by David in an attempt to recreate this "movement" digitally using an animated GIF. The effect is a little unnerving, and David ensures me the original is even more so.


To be honest, I can't imagine why a perfectly good-looking gentleman like Archibald Brook, pictured in a more conventional portrait at around the same time above, might want to preserve his features in such a manner. None of the examples I've seen so far - and several more have appeared on the net since my last article - have been very flattering, and I would even be bold enough to say that most are positively bizarre. I'm not particularly suprised that the format apparently never lasted more than a few years.

If you have a Move-O-Graph that produces a pleasant effect - I would even settle for somewhat comical - please get in touch so we can share it. For the moment, I'm adding this one to my newly created "What were they thinking?" category.

Sepia Saturday 78: Byron of New York

People change their names for many reasons. One might speculate at length as to why basketmaker James Byron Clayton (1826-1880) abandoned his family name when opening a photographic studio in Nottingham in 1857. The simplest argument, and probably the closest to the truth, is that described by Bernard and Pauline Heathcote in their booklet, Pioneers of Photography in Nottinghamshire [1].

His younger brother Walter Clayton (1833-1893) had already upstaged him by opening a studio in Greyhound Street, Nottingham a year earlier. Perhaps it was to distinguish himself in a rapidly growing market with numerous competitors, and his baptismal middle name, Byron, seemed to have a little more cachet. Whatever the purpose, he dropped the Clayton and simply became James Byron, photographer of Ram Yard, Long Row East.


When his son Joseph Clayton (1847-1923), in turn, entered the profession in 1867, taking over a studio in Blackfriars Street, London, he too styled himself in the fashion of an artist photographer. With lofty ambitions, his first carte de visite mounts were ordered from the printers with the name Byron Clayton, supplemented by the description, "Parliamentary & Portrait Photographer," perhaps more aspirational than by actual appointment.


Joseph Byron Clayton, c.1875-1876
Image courtesy of Heathcote & Heathcote (2001) [1]
Sadly, Joseph's sojourn in London was short one. After a run-in with the constabulary and a brief spell of incarceration, he returned to Nottingham and entered business with his father around 1870, an arrangement which continued until the latter's retirement in 1876. In 1873 and 1874 Joseph also operated the oddly named Magnet Studio in Leicester jointly with his uncle Walter, although the partnership did not last for long.


James Byron Clayton died in 1880, shortly after which Joseph opened a new Nottingham studio in Bridlesmith Gate. He must have done sufficient business to be able to order a sequence of fresh card mount designs, such as the one displayed above with a Georgian flavour. By early 1886, however, the business was in significant financial difficulty, and a further move to Smithy Row was insufficient to stave off bankruptcy proceedings.


The Byron family, Nottingham, 1888
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.4.1 [2]
In the summer of 1888 Joseph Byron decided to make a new start. He, his wife Julia (née Lewin) and their eldest daughter travelled to New York in September, with their remaining four children following a month later, accompanied by Julia's mother.


A scene from Fred R. Hamlin's production of "The Wizard of Oz" at the Majestic Theatre, 1903
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 41.420.748 [2]
Initially Joseph Byron practised as a freelance press photographer for the Illustrated American and other clients, but in 1889 he made a foray into theatrical photography. According to David Shields [4]:

Sarony studio's control of the theatrical portrait trade prompted Byron to make sittings a secondary concern, concentrating instead on production stills. He was one of the pioneers in the creation of stage images that could be used in programs, memorial brochures, and magazines ... The most artistic of the early 'stage picture' photographers, Joseph Byron attempted to capture the dynamic of stage action from unusual angles at moments of acute emotional impact.

Portrait, Ethel Barrymore, c.1902 - "More regal than royalty."
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.1.8603 [2]
He was not averse to taking formal portraits at sittings when the opportunity arose, such as this drawing room sitting of Ethel Barrymore taken at around the time she gave out what would become her most famous line, "That's all there is, there isn't any more."


The New York Times Building under construction
1 Times Square, c.1903
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.1.16687 [2]
Eventually his wife Julia and several of their children, including son Percy, all became involved in the photographic business. The Museum of the City of New York has an extensive collection of prints and glass plate negatives by the Byron Company, with over 24,000 images online [2]. The breadth of Byron's prolific output in the 1890s and early 1900s demonstrates his willingness to search for clients and subjects in all parts of the metropolis. This photograph, typical of his many architectural views, provides an unusual early view of the Times Building under construction in Times Square.


Children, Playing on streets, 1908
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.1.3171 [2]
His street views were a little more lively, and he might just as easily capture a gaggle of kids playing on a street corner in a run-down neighbourhood (image above), as a party of friends out for a thrill on the pleasure rides at Coney Island.


Miss Jackson, Bath Beach, New York, 1898
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.1.1311 [2]
It seems likely that some of his work consisted of on the spot commissions, such as this delightful shot of a Miss Jackson trying out an early bathing costume at Bath Beach, for which one assumes he must have entered the water himself.


Thomas A. Edison, 1904
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.1.8765 [2]
Although he is perhaps best remembered for his New York cityscape views and theatrical compositions, his business was incredibly varied. He was apparently just as happy to visit Thomas Alva Edison's laboratory (above) as he was to stand in the street outside Lazarus Levy's clothing store on East Broadway (below).


30 East Broadway. A crowd of children in front of L. Levy, Manufacturer of Clothing, 1898
Gelatin silver print by J. Byron, Ref. 93.1.1.17141 [2]
His son Percy Byron followed him into the practice, but in 1906 moved to Edmonton, Alberta where he established a photographic business with his brother-in-law Gustave May. The Byron-May partnership experienced a significant downturn in business during the Great War, and Percy returned to New York. He rejoined his father, and spearheaded a new specialisation into ship photography.


Joseph and Julia Byron, 1904
Gelatin silver print by the Byron Company, Ref. 93.1.4.7 [2]
Joseph Byron died in 1923, after which Percy took over the Byron Company and continued to run it successfully until the middle of the Second World War, when business once again declined, and the company was finally wound up in October 1942 [3]. Percy Byron died on 10 June 1959.

My profile of the Byron-Clayton family in Nottingham and London, prior to Joseph's emigration to New York, is supplemented with a gallery containing numerous examples of their portrait work.

This article is a submission to Sepia Saturday 78. For further serendipitous finds from the sepia archives, it's well worth a visit.

References

[1] Heathcote, Bernard & Pauline (2001) Pioneers of Photography in Nottingham, 1841-1910, Nottinghamshire County Council, 62p.

[2] Byron Company Collection, Museum of the City of New York web site.

[3] Simmons, Peter (1999) Gotham Comes of Age: New York Through the Lens of the Byron Company, 1892 - 1942, Pomegranate Communications, 216p. ISBN 0764909061. Partially available online from Google Books.

[4] Joseph Byron, on Broadway Photographs: Art Photography and the American Stage, 1900-1930.

[5] Payne, Brett (2011) James Byron Clayton (1826-1880) & Joseph Byron Clayton (1847-1923) of Nottingham.

Sepia Saturday 77: The Great Train Wreck

First, I'd like to tender my apologies to Alan, who I'm sure didn't intend that his photo prompt for this week's Sepia Saturday installment should precipitate the series of catastrophes that I'm about to present today. Secondly, I'd like to wish him well on his impending journeys, may they be as sedate and uneventful as he wishes, and I trust he won't see my article as a bad portent.

As Alan's image of a late 19th Century locomotive parked at a strangely empty station platform demonstrates, photographers have long found trains to be worthy subjects. It didn't take long after the invention and popularisation of photography for its potential as a medium to report current events to be appreciated. When there weren't any wars being fought, dignitaries visiting, or the local version of Blondin crossing the Niagara Falls on a tightrope, the next best thing was a good old disaster, whether natural or man-made.


Derailment at the Gare de Montparnasse, 22 October 1895
Photographer unknown
Image courtesy of neil on Scribas
One of the most enduring of these photographically captured catastrophes was a train emerging from an unanticipated direction on an upper level of Montparnasse station, Paris in 1895. I remember this image - or one very similar to it - from my teens, in the form of a poster with the succinct caption, "Merde!" and it even made the grade as the subject of one of Colleen Fitzpatrick's recent Forensic Genealogy quizzes.


Gramado, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil, 21 December 2004
Photograph © and courtesy of Alexandre Duarte
This particular mishap has so long captured people's interests that elaborate replicas have been fashioned, such as this one somewhere in Brazil, of all places.


Batavia, New York, 18 February 1885, Photograph by P.B. Hausenknecht, courtesy of The Crooked Lake Review
The photographs of such incidents often became an integral part of the legends surrounding such train wrecks. P. J. Erbley (Paul Worboys), in his article "Slaying the Dragon: Bringing an 'Urban Legend' to its Knees, describes how the result of Batavia photographer P.B. Hausenknecht's good fortune later took on a life of its own. The photo of the piggy-back wreck has been used in railway magazines, on calendars, more recently on T-shirts, featured in an episode of Ripley's Believe it Or Not, and was even employed in the embellishment of the legend of a second, much later, train wreck.


Jonestown, 1889, Stereoview by William H. Rau
Image courtesy of the footnoteMaven & Shades of the Departed
On 31 May 1889 the Johnstown Flood, known locally in Pennsylvania as "The Great Flood of 1889," and resulting from the collapse of a dam upstream, left scenes of such devastation that photographic opportunities abounded, including this bizarre photograph of a double-storey house, upended and dramatically impaled by a massive tree, is if it were some morsel on the end of a toothpick. Several photographers were soon on the ground, accompanying the deluge of reporters from over a hundred newspapers and magazines, quickly publishing dramatic three-dimensional stereoviews which were widely sold, possibly helping to garner sympathy, and therefore funds, for the massive relief effort organised by the then newly formed American Red Cross.

The stereoview shown above, depicting some of the railroad debris at Johnstown (click image for more detail, thanks fM), was taken by Philadelphia photographer and publisher William Herman Rau, who later documented the Boston Fire (1904) and was official photographer to the Lehigh Valley Railroad in Pennsylvania during the early 1890s. "Today, Rau is important for his position linking, through subject and style, key aspects of photography in the 19th and 20th centuries" (Legacy of Light, Cleveland Museum of Art).


Unidentified train wreck, undated, possibly early 1890s
Early Kodak roll film print, Kodak Museum [1]
Once cameras became available to the general public, particularly in the 1890s, it was often the case that witnesses to such disasters were able to document them immediately. No longer did the professional photographer have an exclusive opportunity, as in the case of George Barnard's fortuitous daguerreotype which captured the burning Oswego Mills in July 1853. The image above, from the Kodak Museum and reproduced in Gus Macdonald's History of Photography, is one such example, the distinctive circular format print betraying its origin as an early Kodak roll film camera (No. 1 or No. 2). A throng of men are shown around and on top of the spectacular results of a head-on collision between two trains.



Continuing the fine tradition demonstrated some three decades earlier by an opportunisitic amateur, my grandfather Leslie Payne used the last shot of the roll in his camera to capture some fellow soldiers inspecting the wreckage of a train with which they'd collided. They were on the ultimate leg of a long journey home from fighting with the CEF in the Great War, a journey which for my grandfather had started some five months earlier, with his stopping a machine gun bullet in his left shoulder, somewhere east of Arras (see previous installments Hospital Blues and Back to Canada on the 'Old Reliable').



The print batch number "5 9" stamped in purple ink on the back of the 63 x 42.5 mm paper print is identical to that on photos that he took on board the HMT Olympic a few days earlier, which is why I am fairly certain that they were taken on this journey. The inscription on the reverse, written in black ink, in my grandfather's handwriting, states:

Train wreck, showing rear coach of front troop train, which our train colid"

Presumably he didn't complete the last word.



He then appears to have reloaded the camera with another film, as a further three prints of the train wreck from various angles have the number "6 11" stamped in grey on the back.



The prints measure roughly 2½" x 1⅝". This appears to correlate rather nicely with the standard 127 film picture size quoted for the Vest Pocket Kodak (manufactured from 1912 and marketed widely as "the soldier's camera") in Todd Gustavson's Camera [2]. However, I suppose it could just as easily have been some other European-manufactured camera using similar film.



Although an extremely popular camera - it was cheap, handy and of solid construction - the shutter speed of the Vest Pocket Kodak and its variants was slow (1/25 or 1/50th sec, depending on aperture setting), requiring a steady hand in poor lighting conditions. Three of the four shots are rather blurred, although clear enough to show the locomotive of the rear train and the demolished coach of the front one, another coach apparently derailed, as well as numerous uniformed soldiers standing and walking around in the snow.



By the time these shots were taken, the camera appears to have suffered some damage, judging by the irregularly shaped dark area at lower left of all four prints. It may even have been knocked about in the train accident itself, and the damage not noticed until later. It is possible that he purchased the camera second-hand just prior to embarking on the voyage back to Canada. There don't appear to be any earlier prints of this size in the collection of his photographs held by my aunt.



I've been searching online newspapers for details of a train crash that might have happened during the troop train's journey westward from Halifax to Winnipeg, where my father was medically examined and discharged, thus far without much success. He, along with 6000 odd other returning soldiers, disembarked from the HMT Olympic on the 17 January 1919, some time after it docked at 11.30 am. A report in The Morning Leader (Regina, Saskatchewan) stated that one train for Calgary and two for Winnipeg (M.D. 10) left Halifax at 1.40 pm, 2.05 pm and 2.40 pm respectively, and The Calgary Daily Herald (Calgary, Alberta) gave the route home as "via Quebec." I know that Leslie had arrived in Winnipeg by 6 February, as his service records indicate that he was examined at Tompkins Hospital, Winnipeg on that date, so presumably the accident happened between those two dates.

Several members of the CEF Study Group Forum have been assisting, via a post on this thread, for which I'm very grateful. If you have any ideas, please feel free to either contribute on the forum (you'll have to register, I'm afraid) or here as a comment.

References

[1] Macdonald, Gus (1979) Victorian Eyewitness, A History of Photography: 1826-1913, New York: Viking Press, 192p.

[2] Gustavson, Todd (2009) Camera: A History of Photography from Daguerreotype to Digital, New York: Sterling Publishing, 360p.

[3] Four photographs of train wreck, taken somewhere in Canada, January 1919, Loose paper prints, approx. 63 x 42.5 mm, Collection of Barbara Ellison.

[4] Canadian Expeditionary Force Service Records for Charles Leslie Lionel Payne, 1989, Library and Archives Canada, Ref. RG 150, Accession 1992-93/166, Box 7671 - 48.