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…..)