Keep Your Chin Up

We know neither the hands that made them, nor the hands that wore them.

These lovely mittens from World War II were donated to the museum but with very little information about their source.  We can only guess what motivation brought out the knitting needles to craft this particular piece off patriotism.  

The mittens are in mint condition – no signs of wear at all to the wool or to the carefully knit message. The red, white and blue colours are as clear as they were over 70 years ago.

Could they have been on display as part of a community Victory Bond fundraiser?

Perhaps they were a gentle encouragement to ladies of Kings County when they came to a Red Cross meeting to pick up more wool for knitting socks and scarves for soldiers?

Or maybe they were part of a school display to encourage children at that most difficult time when fathers or older brothers were far from home in service in Europe?

The story is lost but the mittens remain – a quiet reminder that war was a presence everyday for so many families during World War II, and the best thing to do was to Keep Your Chin Up.

In the Trenches

At first glance it looks so innocent.

Kings County Museum Archives

On a plain sheet of paper, printed in soft charcoal grey ink, is a map dotted and crossed with unusual red lines.

A closer look reveals that it is a “Message Map”.

Further scrutiny uncovers the notation “Trenches corrected to 16-10-17”.

Then, as your eye follows the network of roads that converge in the upper right corner, the name of a town – the most important detail of the map’s story – is revealed; this is a military map of Passchendaele from 1917.

The battles at Passchendaele are well-known as some of the worst fighting experienced by Canadian soldiers during World War I. They entered an impossible landscape torn to shreds by endless bombing and soaked by torrential rains that never seemed to let up. Men and animals were mired in the muck while an endless barrage rained down from German forces holding the town. Thousands were lost – some from enemy fire, some from falling into shell holes filled with water where they drowned in front of their helpless comrades who had no means of getting them back out of the mire.

The challenge of this place was accepted by thousands of Canadian soldiers who waded through the hellish landscape to push through those 'red lines' of German trenches and guns. The seriousness of their task is revealed not only on the front of our map, but also on the back.

The reverse side of the map contains the “message” portion of the message map. This side is a series of scenarios that a soldier carrying the map would choose from and fill in to describe the success (or failure) of their particular mission. 

The first options on the form are simple – a line to indicate you have reached your objective, another option that your company is together and consolidating. The further down the form, however, the worse the situation to report. If the soldier fills in line 8, his troops are “no longer in touch with” the others to his left or right. If filling in line 13, “Reinforcements wanted at…”, one can surmise that this particular action has not gone well for his troops. 

The deteriorating situation as you progress down the form is extremely stark. Worse is the realization that once this form is filled in, one of the company’s men would be given the task to carry the map and its message back through the same hard fought terrain to try to get word back to the others. This was a day before cell phones, texting, and instant communication. The message map was the communication option available.

And like Passchendaele itself, it was a hard option.

Photo Credit: Imperial War Museum CO_002246

For first-hand accounts of the battle of Passchendaele from Canadian soldiers, listen to CBC Radio’s “The Bugle and the Passing Bell”. This series re-broadcasts interviews with WWI soldiers from the time of 50^th Anniversary of the start of the Great War. 

I Don't Want to Get Well

A favorite activity of our historical society is our monthly meeting where we get together for presentations on local heritage (and enjoy some fantastic eats afterwards). At our October session we were delighted with a talk by local author, Shawna Quinn, on New Brunswick’s Nursing Sisters in World War I. 

Shawna’s book, Agnes Warner and the Nursing Sisters of the Great War, explores the incredible hardships these women faced, tending to the sick and wounded on the edges of Europe’s battlefields. The women worked tirelessly to provide medical care for the wounded but they also provided moral support – beacons of calm in a landscape gone mad with violence.

The talk brought to mind an unusual artifact on display in our World War I exhibit – a song sheet titled “I Don’t Want to Get Well”. The song, written by Harry Jentes, Harry Pease and Howard Johnson, is a comical depiction of an injured soldier in a field hospital who writes to his buddy saying:

"I don't want to get well, I don't want to get well,

I'm in love with a beautiful nurse.
Though the doctor's treatments show results
I always get a bad relapse each time she feels my pulse
I don't want to get well, I don't want to get well,
I'm glad they shot me on the fighting line, fine,
She holds my hand and begs me not to leave her
Then all at once I get so full of fever,
I don't want to get well, I don't want to get well,
For I'm having a wonderful time." 

The song is a chirpy little number, full of fun and good cheer, belying the serious situation most men found themselves in when injured at the front. In a time before antibiotics and modern surgical techniques, soldiers of World War I were dependent on the careful care of medical staff at the front, especially from the nursing sisters who managed the bulk of the care to keep wounds clean to ensure healing. Despite the song’s levity, “I Don’t Want To Get Well” still manages to point out the importance of nursing sisters. Just like the cheery lyrics of this war time tune, the nurses offered a measure of brightness in a world gone dark..... and the hope of better days to come.

To enjoy the tune yourself, have a listen to this 1918 recording of the song!

Good things come in Small Packages

With the outbreak of war in August 1914, many men - eager for adventure - enlisted for service and soon found themselves in uniform at the front lines in Europe. As the war's early months passed, it became obvious that the conflict would not end quickly. Those who expected a bit of adventure and a swift return home were faced with the reality of a long and brutal war stretching ahead of them.  

As Christmas approached, many longed to send messages of love and support to those at the front. Stepping forward to make those wishes a reality was Princess Mary, the 17-year-old daughter of King George V.
In October 1914, she approached the British government with a proposal to create "Her Royal Highness the Princess Mary's Sailors' and Soldiers' Fund".  Its purpose - to solicit donations from the public, with the goal of ensuring that "every Sailor afloat and every Soldier at the front" received a Christmas present from "home" on December 25, 1914. 

A committee was formed to implement the princess's plan; it was decided that the gift would be an embossed brass box containing a number of small items and would be delivered to every individual wearing "the King's uniform" at the front lines on Christmas Day 1914. 

Princess Mary appealed to citizens and the response was overwhelming - almost £170 000 raised in the initial appeal, prompting the Committee to widen eligibility to all British and Imperial military personnel - an estimated two million service men and women, including an unknown soldier from Kings County who brought his gift box home at the war's end.

The brass box has a cover design with Princess Mary's silhouette and monogram in the center, with the names of the various "Allied Powers" embossed around its edges - the British Empire ("Imperium Britannicum"), Japan, Russia, Montenegro, Serbia ("Servia"), France and Belgium.  The words "Christmas 1914" are embossed below the Princess's silhouette. 

Interestingly, two basic sets of gifts were available inside the treasure box. "Smokers" received one ounce of tobacco, a packet of cigarettes wrapped in yellow, monogrammed paper, and a lighter. "Non-smokers" received a packet of acid tablets, a khaki writing case, and a lead "bullet" pencil. Nurses received chocolates (arguably the best choice of all).  Each of the boxes contained a picture of Princess Mary and a Christmas card.  The date 1914 and the words "With Best Wishes for a Happy Christmas and a Victorious New Year from the Princess Mary and Friends at Home" were printed beneath Princess's monogram.

A total of 2.5 million gift boxes were distributed.  Many recipients used the empty tins to carry small personal items throughout the war. The volume distributed ensured that the "Princess Mary Christmas box" became the most common keepsake among soldiers.

A wonderful counterpoint to this regal gift is found in a letter from our museum archives, dated September 30, 1916. Private Percy Berry writes home to his cousin Sadie Campbell of Sussex. His letter details his anguish at the miserable state of home made goodies from Kings County when they finally arrive overseas. Cakes and treats lovingly prepared by hands at home often arrived smashed, spoiled - or didn't arrive at all. It turns out, not every gift to the front came carefully wrapped in a brass package!

A huge thank you to Patrick Crossman for recording the following letter! 

Picture Perfect

As we prepared for our exhibit on Kings County in World War I, we received a number of new artifact donations from community members. One such item was a WWI photo album held by the McLeod family of Penobsquis. The album is small in size – but big in detailed information.

This small album features a leather cover with a military crest for the 115^th Battalion; inside, the album contains photos of Arthur Norman McLeod and other soldiers from the Sussex and Penobsquis area. Most importantly, the album contains handwritten details about the soldiers depicted.

One of the biggest challenges we face with archival photographs is the lack of detail on who is in the picture. Some pictures donated to the museum collection contain names and notations but many more are mysteries to the original owners – and to us. That is why the McLeod album made such a welcome addition – the McLeod’s were great photographers and even better note takers!

The pages of the album show dozens of individual soldiers as well as groups of soldiers posed together and under almost every one, written with white pencil on the black pages, is the name of the soldiers, or the group they served with. Some photos are taken in Sussex and area before deployment, while others were taken overseas. We see soldiers of New Brunswick’s 104^th Battalion, the 115^th Battalion, as well as members of the Forestry Battalion at work with steam engines and horses. Each is a time capsule of information on this important period of history and its impact in our local communities.

The album itself, after 100 years, is too frail to be handled by visitors so we engaged in a bit of technology magic and took images of every page (and the cover) and printed the results as a photobook that was placed within the display. To our delight, a number of visitors discovered relatives within the pages, connecting them in a tangible way to the exhibit and the story it tells.

A key story within the album is of one of the McLeod family's own. Pte. Arthur Norman McLeod was born in Penobsquis October 19, 1884, the son of Byron and Frances (Lockhart) McLeod. He enlisted on October 28, 1915 and served first with the 104th Battalion before transferring to the 26th Battalion. The album contains professional photos of McLeod in uniform, posing with his regimental colours, as well as casual shots of him with family and friends. What is not recorded in the album is that Arthur fought at Vimy Ridge and was killed in action at Passchendaele, November 6, 1917.

We are honoured to hold within our collection the memoriam card from Pte. McLeod’s service in Apohaqui, as well as a note from King George V expressing condolences to the family.  And we are especially honoured to hold the small leather photo album containing Pte. McLeod's image and those of other area soldiers. This treasure, cared for by a family for 100 years, is a fitting tribute to Arthur Norman McLeod and the sacrifice he made.

Picture perfect.

This stick was made for walkin'

Without my walking stick, I'd go insane

Can't look my best, I'd feel undressed without my cane

- My Walking Stick by Irving Berlin

Unlike Irving Berlin, today’s modern man would likely never fear for his sanity if he went out without his walking stick. But if this dandy was the walking stick in question, well maybe he would feel a bit bereft.

Today’s hidden history object is one of MANY canes in our collection. Irving Berlin was not kidding about their popularity; the quantity that have made their way to the museum suggest that every fancy man in Kings County carried one when he went out sporting (plus had two or three in the umbrella stand at home waiting in reserve).

The sticks in our collection vary widely; some were purely functional, others ‘commemorative’ gifts to mark a significant anniversary or milestone, while others like this whale bone model fall into the, “well…. that’s interesting?!” category.

This walking stick was brought to Saint John in the 1880s by a sea captain by the name of Jones. The stick is made of stacked whale vertebrae – 97 pieces in total- that are mounted over an iron rod. The iron sticks out at the bottom to provide a sharp tip for the cane. The head of the cane is made of ivory and joins the main body of the cane by a series of exotic hardwood bands.  This is one of two walking sticks owned by Captain Jones – the other is from the West Indies and has a large carved snake that curls down the shaft of the stick.

A seasoned rabologist (that’s the scientific name for a collector of walking sticks; and, yes, there is such an affliction) will tell you that walking sticks are the civilized evolution of sword carrying in the post-knight era. In fact, some walking sticks are known as ‘sword sticks’ because they hide a tiny sword or blade within the stick. We would argue, however, that the walking stick has a less elevated history, that they are simply the evolution of the stick (i.e. caveman club, Irish shillelagh, etc.).

The walking stick makes a handy support when walking (obviously), a great parter-of-bushes, tester-of-puddles and, in desperate situations, something to hurl willy-nilly if you are confronted by a wild animal. They are also a fine accessory for an evening on the town – especially if you've decided to wear your high hat, white spats and tails.

Take away my high hats

Take away my favorite tie

Take away my white spats

I'll still get by

But my walking stick

You simply must let that be

I mean you can't take that away from me

[Refrain:]

Without my walking stick, I'd go insane

Can't look my best, I'd feel undressed without my cane

Must have my walking stick 'cause it may rain

And when it pours, can't be outdoors without my cane

If I ever left my house without my walking stick

It would just be something I could never explain

The thing that makes me click on Lovers' Lane

Would go for naught if I were caught without my cane

If you are loving the lyrics, have a listen to a 1938 recording of the Irving Berlin classic by Louis Armstrong and the Mills Brothers here!

Long to Reign Over Us

An historic milestone is coming soon so we pulled out this interesting little artifact to help us celebrate!

This is the official program from Kings County’s Coronation Celebration for Queen Elizabeth II from June 2, 1953. On Wednesday, September 9^th, this little artifact will take on special significance as Queen Elizabeth II will break the record for the longest reigning British monarch. For 63 years she has graciously held her post and seems content to do so for some years to come.

At the time of her official coronation ceremony in 1953, Kings County celebrated in style. The town was draped in bunting and Union Jack flags, a parade was held through the streets, a contingent of 750 school kids marched to the Court House to take part in the celebrations and fireworks blazed in the night sky, followed by “street dancing at the Court House, with music by Earl Henderson’s Orchestra.”

A heady affair indeed!

The Queen’s coronation was a celebration for more than the usual royal reasons; she was a young woman in her twenties, the wife of a dashing WWII naval officer (their Royal Wedding was a glamorous affair just five years earlier – a welcome celebration after the hardships of war), a mother of two small children, and an extremely attractive woman of style – and substance. There was also an air of sympathy for Elizabeth who, many felt, had lost her father, King George VI, much too early from the strain of a reign that was thrust upon him when his brother abdicated the throne.

Hampton was in a celebrating mood those many years ago and it is again as this majestic milestone approaches. On Wednesday at 2pm, the Town of Hampton and the Kings County Museum will host a celebration in honour of the Queen in the Town Square and on the former Court House lawn. All are welcome to attend the historic occasion, whether you are a staunch royal supporter, or are just appreciative of someone who has held the same job for 63 years and performs their role so well.

God Save the Queen.

Cutting Smoking

It’s one of those objects that takes a lot of explanation for the younger set.

Today’s hidden history artifact is a tobacco cutter, manufactured by the Enterprise Manufacturing Company of Philadelphia, around the mid-1880s. This rugged device with its cast iron body and sharpened blade was a General Store staple, securely mounted to the store counter so that clerks could cut off plugs of tobacco for customers at their request.

And boy, did Kings County shoppers request a LOT of tobacco.

A casual look through several of the store ledgers in our collection shows tobacco being purchased with almost every order:

• Barrel of flour, plus a plug of tobacco
• 4 yards of cloth, plus a plug of tobacco
• Horse liniment, plus a plug of tobacco

Smoking was so pervasive at the time that tobacco cutters were in constant use and had to be well made to handle the workload. This weighty model from the Enterprise Mfg. Co. in Pennsylvania (patented July 25, 1871) fit the bill nicely. The brand was obviously a favorite of storekeepers throughout Canada and the US, as a host of Enterprise’s devices can still be found available for purchase in online antique auctions. They may show a bit of wear or ‘patina’ from their use, but nothing to suggest the daily workout that they undertook to supply our ancestors with a bit of tabaccy.

Though our ancestors were extremely familiar with the tobacco cutter, our modern Kings County audience does not recognize the tool at all. For most of our young visitors, tobacco is the mysterious item hidden in steel shelving units at the local convenience store (requiring a photo ID and a note from the parish priest before purchasing can occur). To explain the tobacco cutter involves explaining the popularity of smoking in the past; the growing and transport of tobacco from the South; and the preparation of tobacco by the smoker (i.e. papers, matches, and a spot far from the granary).

Of course, our tobacco explanation always finishes with an admonition that they not try any of this at home.
It’s our modern way of cutting smoking.

Good Eggs

We have a lot of ‘good eggs’ in our community. Not surprisingly, a few have even made it into our collection.

No, we haven’t catalogued our neighbours (nor are we storing fresh eggs in the archives). Our eggs are darning eggs. And we think they are pretty darned special!

Darning eggs are a handy little tool used to repair holes in socks, stockings or other ‘shaped’ fabric that gets torn or worn out. Their rounded shape would be slipped into the sock, providing a smooth surface that made it easy to stitch a neat repair. Some darning ‘eggs’ were actually shaped like mushrooms or gourds, but most in our collection are the classic egg shape. The range of materials for our eggs is impressive; the majority are wooden (even in these samples, some are heavily embellished with carving), but we also have eggs constructed of gold, one with a silver handle, and a mother-of-pearl beauty composed from sea shells.

As part of a girl’s stitching instruction, she would learn how to darn the holes in the family’s clothing. Fabric was expensive and clothes were time consuming to create, so being able to repair an item was essential – there were no quick trips to Walmart to buy a new shirt if something got torn. With darning egg in hand, the sewer would learn to carefully mend tears and worn spots, making a piece look like new once more.

Talk about a good egg.

It was not enough that these little gizmos could perform such a help with darning; they also were used as containers for storing sewing supplies. The wooden egg pictured here screws together through the middle; inside it can hold a needle and a thimble, as well as a small amount of thread.

This gold egg is considerably smaller but still opens to reveal a tiny storage area inside. It likely only held a fine darning needle and a bit of thread as this diminutive egg was much too small for darning workday socks – it was probably used instead to darn the fingers of lady’s gloves. It also could be worn as pendant on a necklace – functional art like the sewing scissors we displayed in an earlier blog post.

Our collection of darning eggs numbers eight pieces, illustrating in their design and materials the dramatic range of styles, from functional to fabulous, employed by area women in their everyday household tasks.

We are just shy of the requisite dozen – but those we have are all Good Eggs.

Hello, Dolly!

While looking through the museum collection for historic toys for a children’s workshop, we stumbled upon this more than a century old china doll. 

This beauty was used by Ellen Huggard (b. 1865) and her sister Jane (b. 1871) in the early 1870s. The girls were two of the children of Richard and Mary (Neil) Huggard of Avonmore, Kings County and, despite their remote location, they had one of the top toys of the day.

The Huggard girls were on point with their china doll in 1870, as the china doll’s popularity was at its peak between 1840 and 1890. A seemingly long run for the popularity of a doll compared to today’s standards, but without mass catalogues, franchise toy stores, TV or the internet a toy could have a much longer run as a favorite in many households.

A china doll is a doll made either entirely or partially out of glazed porcelain; the glazing is what separates a china doll from a bisque doll. China dolls were predominantly produced in Germany between 1840 and 1940.

Our doll is a typical china doll with painted and molded hair, and a stuffed body made of cloth; but she also sports china arms and legs – slender, highly breakable items that make us nervous whenever it’s time to move ‘dolly’ about. The Huggard doll is also something of a rarity as it has black hair because these dolls were commonly made with blonde hair, and only occasionally brown or black.

An interesting observation we’ve made here at the museum is that we can usually guess the age of a visitor by their reaction to any of the dolls in our collection. Those who came of age around the “doll horror movie” craze of the 1970s and 1980s will always cringe when they see a doll from the collection; but those born before will always pause, tilt their heads to one side and whisper a soft, “Awwww” of admiration.

No matter a visitor’s age, or their attitude toward dolls, there is one phrase that we delight to hear spoken, time and again:

“Hello, Dolly”

Not enough doll information for you? Check out these ‘dollmastery’ videos, https://www.theriaults.com/florences-videos, by Theriault’s, a leading doll auctioneer, which even features some dolls which resemble our china doll!

Special thanks to summer staffer Lydia Blois for writing today’s post (even though she was born in the post-doll horror film age!)

Where's Waldo on the Walling Map?

At first glance, the Walling Map of 1862 looks like an ordinary map of Saint John and Kings County, albeit large and old, but upon closer inspection you can see that it is no normal map. Our topographical map is one of only a few from that period, as documented by Sandra Devlin, a veteran journalist (and self-confessed genealogy addict) in her newspaper article titled “Pinpoint your ancestors on the map”:

“According to the Canadian Institute of Geomatics: six counties in New Brunswick were mapped first between 1862-1876, namely: Albert and Westmorland, 1862, by H.F. Walling; Carleton, 1876, by Roe and Colby; Northumberland, 1876, by Roe and Colby and St. John and Kings, 1862, by W. E. and A. A. Baker.”

Our Topographical Map of the Counties of St. John and Kings was published in 1862 by W.E. & A.A. Baker, with the survey under the direction of H.F. Walling. This map not only shows the topography of the two counties but also gives the business directories for its communities, such as the bustling district of Springfield which during 1862 boasted two boot and shoe manufacturers, as well as five school teachers. Most interesting for genealogists, however, is the inclusion of the names and locations of numerous subscribers from these communities, people who sought to ‘leave their mark’ for posterity through this map. 

We’re glad they did.

The Norman B. Leventhal Map Center at the Boston Public Library has an excellent scan of this map which you can use to zoom in for a more in depth view of where the person’s residence was, similarly to how you now would have town and city names marking their locations on a map. Beyond land grants and censuses it can be difficult to pin point where your ancestors actually lived, but this map provides a snapshot in time for many families and it is an invaluable tool for genealogists and researchers seeking to understand the communities of their ancestors.

In her article, “The Walling Map: An old map put together by H.F. Walling, offers detailed information for genealogists,” Ruby Cusack tells the following story about the Walling map's production:

“The late Harold Beyea told Bill Titus an interesting story concerning the compilation of the names on the Walling map. The compiler is said to have walked the roads of Kings and Saint John counties, pushing a wheelbarrow that contained his kit of materials and the wheel had a measuring device to record distances. He would stop at each household or business for a subscription for their name to be placed on the map. Barter was prevalent in those days, so often a meal or night's lodging was exchanged for his service.”

Inclusion on the map was dependent on this paid subscription and, as a result, not every family in 1862 could afford to be a subscriber. But Kings County residents were resourceful then, as now, and it is funny to imagine the barters and trades they made – including having the survey man stay overnight at your house - in order to get their name on the map.

They certainly were a determined lot, destined to leave their mark on Kings County.

Thanks to Ruby Cusack, the Norman B. Leventhal Map Center at the Boston Public Library and Sandra Devlin’s newspaper article “Pinpoint your ancestors on the map” for insight into this amazing artifact, and to summer staffer Lydia Blois for writing this post!

To purchase reproductions of this map (or sections) locally, contact Paul Anderson of Fredericton at vintage@nbnet.nb.ca

The Walker Bicycle

It’s a bit of an oxymoron, but we call this one the Walker Bicycle.

Our nickname for today’s artifact is in honour of the bike’s original owner, Herbert Walker, who purchased this Ivanhoe model bicycle in 1911. Ivanhoe model bicycles were manufactured by the Canada Cycle and Motor Company (CCM) in the early 1900s and Herbert was obviously a fan of their machines. He was not alone in his appreciation of this two-wheeled transportation.

Bicycles were a popular fad among younger men from the late 1800’s to the early 1900’s; they were lower maintenance than a horse and carriage and a much cheaper alternative than the motor cars that were beginning to appear around Kings County. Cycling was also an accepted mode of transportation for young women, offering them greater freedom in travel than previously enjoyed. Cycling became so popular that clubs and groups were formed for day trips and even overnight excursions. In Sussex, cycling enthusiasts formed the oh-so-Canadian "Beaver Bicycle Club". The group (and their bikes) are pictured here outside the Aberdeen Skating Rink, around 1896. The photo shows a variety of bicycle styles but the “Walker Bicycle” remains our firm favorite. 

Herbert's Ivanhoe model cycle is a rather unique piece, retaining most of its original gear from its manufacture at CCM. The frame, handlebars and leather seat are all original but, most impressively, it still retains its wooden tire rims.

You heard it right, the tire rims were made of wood. 

The wooden rims are one of our favorite features of this piece – right down to the patches and fabric tape that were added to repair the wood over the bike’s lifetime. The patches might suggest Herbert was careless with his bike but we don’t think so – they are the badges of honour of a much used machine.

Cyclist Herbert lived in Midland but he worked in Sussex at the Sussex Mercantile. Every day, he journeyed by bike to his work at the store, a distance of over 20 kilometers one way! The enterprising (and physically fit) Herbert then used the same bike to return home, delivering editions of the Kings County Record newspaper on his way. It’s no wonder Herbert’s wooden bike rims needed a little patching over time. These wheels were in constant motion.

Now, before you start to feel too sorry for Herbert and his epic rides to earn a living we should tell you that he also employed the bicycle for fun as he courted Kate Corbitt of Lower Millstream (a distance of 22 kilometers from his home). Apparently Kate also admired Herbert and his cycling skill; the two would later marry in 1914.

We're not sure if they upgraded to a bicycle-built-for-two.

A special thanks to Bill Consolvo of Darlings Island and his team at Consolvo Bikes for helping to restore this piece for exhibit back in 2013! They were so impressed with our fancy wheels that they displayed the bike in their shop for a special event they were hosting!

Running with scissors

While reviewing boxes of artifacts to confirm that their location data was up to date, we came across some extremely weird and interesting pieces. The tooth extractor from a previous post was one such object that we stumbled upon, as were the old fashioned curling irons but not all of the artifacts that we found were terrifying! Some, like these small scissors, we classify as treasure.

These rather fancy and petite scissors were used by women in area sewing groups during the early 1900s. Often used for needlework, these tiny tools allowed women to accomplish beautiful, delicate work - far beyond anything most people would imagine attempting by hand today!

Like many tools, scissors have a story that didn’t start out quite so flashy. Once upon a time all scissors simply resembled shears. It was in Sheffield, England that quality scissors began being produced for specific uses by the toolmakers in the steel producing region. Companies like John Rodgers & Sons were one of the first to produce scissors with gold plated handles in the shape of animals.

During the Victorian era, the handles on scissors became the focus with intricately carved designs and added materials like bone or mother of pearl. For style and perhaps protection the scissors were sold in protective fabric, leather cases or metal sheaths. Soon it wasn’t uncommon to give stylish scissors to someone as a very popular and affordable gift.

The sewing scissors we have in our possession have a metal sheath like one would have for a sword. There’s also a small chain attached to the sheath to allow the scissors to be hooked onto a sewing bag, or worn on a chain or cord around the neck, making the scissors a beautiful, yet functional accessory when attending sewing circle or out on calls (yes, even when visiting the neighbours ladies would take along their work basket so they could sew, darn socks, or any of the other necessary household tasks).

Admittedly, our sewing skills here at the museum are a bit lacking but we are certain that if we had been given the opportunity to use something like these scissors, we probably would have become masters of the art. And even if we didn’t, at least if we ran with these scissors they’d be too small to do too much damage!

For more information: 

http://www.eggintongroup.co.uk/history/the-history-of-joseph-rodgers.html

http://www.collectorsweekly.com/sewing/scissors

http://www.precisionsharpening.net/about_scissors

Thank you to summer staffer Jamie Pearson for today's post!

Gaps in the Tooth

A few days ago in our post Smile we shared the story of our terrifying tooth extractor. As we learned, ‘tooth drawing’ was once viewed as a dreadful fate, an exercise in pain that you would not wish on your worst enemy. That’s what makes today’s quirky little piece that much more interesting – and a bit sinister.

Among the ‘small bits’ boxes at the museum you will find a hand-held game called “Oom Paul Gets His Teeth Drawn”

A quick glance at the toy reveals a rather ridiculous caricature figure with a gaping smile and a series of small white marbles rattling around the case. The object of the game is to get the marbles (aka teeth) back into that goofy smiling face. It’s a great little joke of a game but something about the piece made us pause and dig a bit further. As it turns out, the joke has a dark side.

We started by looking into the name of the caricature figure, Oom Paul, and discovered that this was the nickname for President Paul Kreuger, the leader of the Dutch Boers in the Transvaal at the time of the Boer War (1899-1902). Kreuger was affectionately known as Uncle Paul (Oom Paul) by the Boers and was often depicted in his top hat and abundant whiskers.

This game, however, is not intended as an affectionate tribute to Oom Paul; it was a toy sold in Britain as a satire of the enemy leader of the Boer forces in Africa. Knowing what we know about early tooth pulling, the game is clearly intended as a proper bit of menace. The threat of painful tooth-pulling that no one would wish on their worst enemy is clearly wished upon Britain’s worst enemy through the device of this 'humorous' toy.

Like this little artifact, the Boer War is an often overlooked bit of history. There is much to be learned, however, as the period holds many insights into the dramatic changes in warfare that would shape the First World War just a few years later. The Boer War marked the change of the rules of acceptable behaviour on the battlefield, and in the treatment of civilians, during wartime. It was a deadly precursor of modern conflicts – a terrible series of encounters where as many civilians were killed in the course of the conflict as were soldiers. 

Perhaps it’s time we look more closely at the history of the Boer War and its legacy – and fill the gap tooth in the historical record.

Our thanks to the Museum of London and the National Army Museum for insight into this artifact.

Sea Glass

We aren’t sure where it came from. We aren’t sure who made it. We aren’t sure of its dates either, but the one thing we are sure of is its function.

The glass fishing float featured in today’s post is the only one of its kind here at the Kings County Museum.

It's a wonderful example of a beautiful form for a tough function. 

These nifty hollow glass floats are believed to have originated in Norway (some historians believe they were being produced in Norway as early as the 1700s, with a Norwegian merchant named Christopher Faye credited as the inventor). Regardless of the place of origin, once glass floats were invented they were quickly adopted by fishermen everywhere and could be found in every ocean in the world. By the 1840s the glass floats had replaced wood or cork floats used in the commercial fishing industry in most of Europe, Russia, North America and Japan – they were deemed better than wood floats because if the wood soaked up too much water they would become water-logged and eventually sink. The glass floats had no such trouble and could support large scale nets. An incredible feat for such a seemingly delicate object.

As they rose in popularity, fishermen experimented with glass float shapes and sizes. Some were very small and used for recreational fishing, others were fairly large, reaching diameters of 12 inches! Manufacturers experimented with float designs and one such experiment led to the production of floats with groove patterns in the glass so that it would be easier to attach line or netting around the sphere. Our sample has no such grooves; it would have been encased in a knitted net to allow it to be easily carried and connected to fishing nets.

Glass fishing floats came in a variety of different colors like amber, clear, amethyst and numerous shades of blue. The majority of glass floats that were produced in Japan were made of recycled sake bottles, producing the beautiful green shade seen in our example from the museum collection.

While only one sample has found its way to the Kings County Museum, there are still glass floats bobbing about in the ocean to this day. It is believed that there are quite a few caught in the currents of the North Pacific that just haven’t made it to shore. Some do occasionally make it to shore in one piece, quickly being gathered up as a precious treasure from the past. Most, however, are washed ashore as shattered pieces of sea glass. Like the glass floats they once came from, these broken treasures are beautiful and tough, surviving centuries of stormy seas to return to the shore once more.

Looking for a great family adventure? Visit one of New Brunswick’s many beautiful beaches and scout out some sea glass of your own! Or visit an incredible antiques shop like Bloomfield Treasures to see if you can find a complete glass float for your own collection.

Our thanks to summer staffer Jamie Pearson for today’s post!

Smile!

Visiting the dentist might not be your favourite thing in the world but once you check out today’s hidden history we guarantee that you will appreciate the skills of modern dentists much more.

The year was 1728 and the science behind the modern practice of dentistry had just been set into motion with the publication of “Le Chirurgien Dentiste” by Pierre Fauchard. Pierre was a self-educated Dental Surgeon who resided in France and, unlike his colleagues, he did not just extract teeth but also removed tartar, benign tumors of the gums, filled teeth and made artificial replacements. Perhaps you would be lucky enough to have a “professional” like Pierre work on your smile, but others were not so fortunate and a barber was all they could afford. These hair grooming professionals were quite often trusted with the delicate work of extracting teeth…… but we’re not sure why.

The sad truth is these professionals were less concerned with dental care, more interested in a quick tooth-yanking for a quick payday. The tools they used were a clear reflection of their approach. Some tooth extractors simply used their fingers (they would practice and strengthen their finger muscles by pulling nails out of boards). Others, the more ‘advanced’ dentists, would use special tools. One of the fancy tools that these qualified individuals had on hand was a Tooth Key (aka Dental Key). Crazily enough the Kings County Museum has ended up with one in the collection. 

Yes, we are all afraid of it.

After doing a little research we were able to find out the answer to what you are all thinking – how on earth did that monstrosity work????

The procedure involved in using a tooth key was far from painless or reliable. Once it was determined what tooth was in need of being extracted the ‘dental surgeon’ would place the claw of the tooth key over top of the tooth. The metal rod part of the key was positioned against the root of the tooth and then the key was turned. If everything went as planned turning the key would have been as uneventful as turning the key to your home and walking inside – the tooth and the roots would simply pop out. However, the chances of everything happening as planned weren’t the greatest and more times than not the tooth would shatter as the key turned and then pieces of the tooth and root would then have to be individually yanked from the gums.

Ouch.

As you can imagine this procedure would have left an individual scarred and in desperate need of pain medication (which was in even shorter supply than a good dentist). It is no surprise that many people developed a fear of dentists! Luckily today, modern techniques and treatments have replaced the horrors of the Tooth Key. So go ahead, book that appointment; hop in that dental chair….. and smile!

Want more terrifying details on early dentistry? Check out the attached links that we used for our research. You might not want to do this while sitting in your dentist’s waiting room.

http://www.fauchard.org/publications/47-who-is-pierre-fauchard

http://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/white-knuckle-adventures-in-early-dentistry/

A big thanks to summer staffer Jamie Pearson for writing today’s post (the rest of us were too scared to tackle this one…..)