‘Do not think your single vote does not matter much. The rain that refreshes the parched ground is made up of single drops” Kate Sheppard
The phrase The ‘Whakatū Wāhine’ phrase represents women — and all people — standing for the rights of women. It was central to the Suffrage Centenary celebrations in 1993 and remains relevant today as we continue to take a stand for gender equality. The symbol The Suffrage 125 symbol draws on historical colours and icons adopted by women’s suffrage petitioners and presents them in a contemporary form. Violet represented dignity and self-respect and the white camellia was worn by people supporting women’s right to vote in New Zealand. The ‘125’ contains a koru as a link to our distinct New Zealand culture.
This week on the 19 September 2018 marks a special occasion in New Zealand and World history: it will be 125 years since Women’s Suffrage was granted. This was to change the face of politics in New Zealand, and paved the way for further emancipation around the world.
In honour of the three women from our family: Dinah Hansen, Rachel Lawn and Ida Hart who were signatories on the Suffrage Petition I have submitted short biographies on-line that can be viewed here:
To see if any of your family signed the petition, search here.
Dinah Hansen née Nathan, wearing her Temperance white ribbon c1892 (courtesy P. Caignou)
Rachel Lawn née Hart c. 1902 (courtesy Owen Lawn)
Ida Lillian Hart née Ball, c. 1910 (courtesy Grace Hanley)
Viewing women’s signatures on the long scrolls what stands out is the wide variety of handwriting: some neat and with a flourish, others scrawl and stab at the paper, leaving ink blotches. Most are written in black ink, some blue and even a few are in red ink. The signatories include Dinah Hansen, who was the second woman to sign the first Greymouth sheet 246 (WCTU president F. Brooke was the first), Dinah’s daughter-in-law Ida Hart later signed the same sheet in Greymouth, and Rachel Lawn signed sheet number 251 along with her friends at the little Methodist Church at Black’s Point, just out of Reefton. Interestingly, Sarah Lawn, who was also involved in the Methodist Church for many years and the WCTU almost certainly supported the cause did not sign the petition.
Progressive, or another agenda?
It is interesting to study the political and social background to this momentous event. Although on the face of it New Zealand could be seen as progressive, the motivation behind granting the Women’s Franchise was because of the unique nature of New Zealand politics at the time. Traditionally political power had been held in the hands of the wealthy few – in order to vote, you had to be white, male, upper-class landowners. The balance of power was threatened by universal male suffrage; there was concern from the traditional, conservative men that their influence would be weakened by having a large number of ‘uneducated’ working-class men casting votes. Despite being the vast majority of voters in New Zealand, men who laboured in farming, fishing, freezing works, railways, factories and mines were seen as a threat to the established order.
Personal and political
Women like Dinah Hansen who had struggled when her husband had left her virtually destitute with a young family, and who had fought to gain and hold onto her little piece of land in Greymouth, also wanted greater economic independence; to be recognised as equal in marriage and their opinions valued and heard in political life. For Dinah, behind the motivation for change in society was a personal reason: the abhorrence of hard drink. Family anecdote suggests that this had something to do with Nathaniel Hart and perhaps his disappearance in Australia. Whether this was just because he got into trouble in their early days in Christchurch by selling alcohol to the gold diggers, or whether he himself liked to drink and it affected the family, is unknown. By the time of the late 1880s it was clear that Dinah and her family, now deeply involved with the Methodist faith, decided to seek a temperate lifestyle and even to push for prohibition.
Bills for Women’s Franchise were introduced to the New Zealand Parliament in 1880 and 1881. A major vehicle for change was spear-headed in New Zealand by the Womens Christian Temperance Union, a movement that had begun in America but soon spread in popularity. By the beginning of 1886 there were 15 branches of the WCTU in New Zealand. Their first convention, held later that year, decided that they would work for women’s suffrage. In 1887 Kate Sheppard, of Christchurch was appointed the national WCTU superintendent for franchise and legislation. Under her steerage the Union worked with intense determination to achieve their goal. By May 1892 Greymouth had formed its own chapter of the WCTU with members pledging to work for “For God, for home and humanity” and Dinah Hansen was the first secretary.
A meeting of the newly organised Women’s Christian Temperance Union was held in the Town Hall, Gresson street, on Wednesday afternoon, 18th inst. There were present 17 members, all of whom signed the Women’s Christian Temperance pledge. After the minutes of the last meeting were read and confirmed, the election of officers took place, with the following result Mrs Brooke, president, Mrs Calders, vice-president Mrs Hansen, secretary pro term Mrs Whall treasurer pro term. Communications were read from the Town Clerk re using the Town Hall for the meetings, and from the secretary of the WCTU Christchurch, giving all information for carrying on the work. The meetings will be held on alternate Wednesday afternoons, when all who are interested in the work will be heartily welcome.∗
The first two petitions for franchise of 350 signatures were presented in 1887 and the Jewish parliamentarian Julius Vogel introduced a Woman’s Suffrage Bill which was withdrawn at committee stage. In May 1888 the WCTU stepped up their campaign, ensuring that every parliamentarian understood their reasoning by sending each member of the house of representatives a leaflet Ten reasons why the women of New Zealand should vote, which outlined how women were discriminated and why women deserved full suffrage.
In 1890 long serving Conservative MP Sir John Hall introduced another Women’s Franchise Bill which failed on a technicality. An amendment also failed as supporters were not present when the vote was cast. The following year 9000 women’s signatures on eight separate petitions were not enough to sway Parliament despite the premier John Ballance giving his support. The parliamentarians arguing against Franchise were supporting the lucrative liquor lobby. It was to be a few more years before this battle was won, yet the women and men of New Zealand were not about to give up the fight for their moral and political revolution. It was no longer if, but when.
Winning the Vote
Roused by 600 members of WCTU around New Zealand, women gathered in churches, schools and halls to sign the petitions: in 1892 over 19,000 women contributed to six petitions and then in 1893 thirteen petitions signed by 32,000 women were presented at parliament.
The campaigners had little time to celebrate: their next task was to ensure women were enrolled in the next two months when the rolls closed before the New Zealand general election scheduled for Tuesday 28 November. By Election Day there were 84 percent of the eligible women registered, of those two out of three women voted.[2] The Liberals won nearly 58 percent of the vote and Richard Seddon became Prime Minister for the next 13 years.
Many of the parliamentarians who had voted for women’s suffrage were not entirely altruistic. Hall, a long time support of Women’s Suffrage and a conservative politician, thought women would be conservative voters. Some also believed that women would vote according to the wishes of their husbands and fathers.
So often the stories recorded are of men and their accomplishments. These three suffragists deserve to shine as well. Once they had won the right to vote, they did not sit back, but continued to forge what they thought would be a better society, by following their beliefs with a passionate conviction.
Dinah Hansen (front row, seventh from left in dark dress and hands folded in her lap) and her daughter Rachel Lawn (behind Dinah’s left shoulder, wearing a large white hat tilted forward) in Greymouth, 1906, alongside Kate Sheppard (large white collar, no hat) and others. Auckland Weekly News. Image: AWNS-19060412-10-7 Used with permission. Sir George Grey Special Collections, Auckland Libraries.
For further background on the work Dinah and her daughters contributed to the Methodist Church, WCTU and Women’s Suffrage see Chapter 13 – Fighting the Good Fight in my book To Live a Long and Prosperous Life.
On the final day of our trip, we were due to fly home from Heathrow 9.30 pm. We had a whole day to fill before then, but of course had to check out of our accommodation first, and store our bags, before setting out to trace the final day of my 4 x great-grandfather Eleazer Hart, but in reverse.
From where were staying in Praed Street it was just a short walk to Edgeware Road Station, where we caught the tube to travel the six miles across to Whitechapel Station on the Hammersmith line. I had found using the tube in London was a great way to get around, although by the time we arrived at Whitechapel it was no longer the ‘underground’. Having experienced earthquakes in New Zealand the constant rumbles and vibrations of passing trains, even three floors up where we stayed was quite disconcerting. Another thing I wasn’t quite prepared for was trying to find your sense of direction after emerging from the underground. Not to be recommended in the dark as we found out too late in Madrid, but that is another story.
So when we emerged into the early morning autumn sunshine I headed confidently across the Whitechapel Road and then realised we actually should have stayed on the north side. There were stalls and awnings set up the length of Whitechapel Road, selling clothes, fruit and knickknacks, by this time we were by the Royal London Hospital. We had to risk our necks and dash across the road, then figure how to get through the stalls to the footpath beyond again.
Whitechapel Road looking north. ( credit: Google Street View)
We quickly realised that the area was now a Muslim neighborhood, women pushing prams wore headscarves and long skirts or traditional kabuli trousers; one or two in full burka. There seemed to be every skin-colour from milky coffee to ebony, representing a range of countries of origin for the forebears of these people: Morocco, Algeria, Nigeria, Egypt just some of the diversity. This was of course a transformation from what had once been the Jewish quarter, 150 years ago, full of long-established families and new immigrants, from across Europe: Germany, Poland (Prussia) Russia, Spain and Portugal. As Kiwis from a provincial town we felt just a tiny bit out-of-place; some people seemed to stare, but maybe they just thought we were lost tourists.
We were headed to Brady Street, where we had arranged to meet the caretaker of the cemetery where Eleazer Hart was buried. Brady Street was called North Street in the 1850s and before that Ducking Pond Lane. Goodness knows what sort of things used to go on in this area when it was just fields, lanes and trees in the Middlesex countryside; the original name hints of superstition and witchcraft.
Brady Street is a tiny, narrow street, the entrance from Whitechapel Road on one side is marked by a gleaming green glass multi-storied Idea store, and behind that, a Sainsburys supermarket, so incongruous to everything I had read about the historic Whitechapel. As we passed down the narrow street opposite the supermarket came the sounds of laughter as teenagers gathered at Swanlea Secondary School, girls giggling in headscarves and boys racing their friends into the glassed foyer of the school, tucking away their cell phones, late for classes. This link to another blog about Brady Street shows an old map of Whitechapel with a coal depot where the school now stands, another shows a manure works on the site.
The narrow street widens a little, and gives way to brick buildings; lovely old Victorian almshouses and more recent brick apartments overlook the quiet street lined with leafy trees. A high brick wall, with more green trees beyond, is the only sign of the cemetery, passing a more recently built brick apartment building, the passerby will see a driveway and metal gate (NO PARKING) beyond which are tall timber gates. A single gnarled and broken, but well-pruned oak tree has been allowed to remain at the kerb, neatly surrounded with a wooden planter, probably one of the original trees in the area.
Image from Google Street View of the entrance to the cemetery. ( credit: Google Street View)
A small plaque discreetly shows that this cemetery is still revered in the Jewish community. It has been a constant for over 250 years, unlike some of London’s other burial grounds that have been quietly reclaimed as prime building land. The cemetery here was originally supposed to close about the time of Eleazer’s death in 1857, but was given a royal reprieve from the Queen. Because of recent burials in the late 20 century the site is guaranteed to be preserved for at least another 100 years. The cemetery has some important graves including Nathan Mayer Rothschild (1771 – 1836) and his wife Hannah. Nathan Myer founded the British branch of the Rothschild banking dynasty. A list of internments can be found at Cemetery Scribes.
Stepping through the gates we were suddenly surrounded by hush: school was in and the shrieks and laughter subsided. Leaves were beginning to fall, but there were still shade cast by the trees. Blackbirds were singing high in the trees. Just inside the gate a low wall illustrates how in the mid-1850s an extra layer of earth was mounded in the centre of the burial ground, to allow more burials and raising the ground level by a metre or more.
I quickly found Eleazer’s grave – the cemetery was not large, but somehow I was drawn to the southern side and of course I had already seen photographs of the stone. I was startled to realise that Eleazer’s grave, dug when the extra mound had been added in the centre of the burial ground was actual on the lower, outer area. Was this because he was buried with his wife Sarah, who had died 17 years earlier?
Eleazer Hart’s headstone with the ‘Hands of Cohen’ symbol which shows he was from a male line of Cohanim; traditionally called the ‘priestly tribe’ of Levi. Researching this symbol and the associated blessing ‘Live long and Prosper’ gave me the title for my book: To live a Long and Prosperous Life
‘Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. . .’
A beautiful, peaceful place, a little oasis of nature in the midst of one of the largest cities in the world, yet it was just us and the long-dead there. As I contemplated the headstone, I noticed a ladybird had alighted and trundled industriously across the pitted surface. ‘Fly away home’ I thought as she raised her scarlet wing-covers and extended her shiny black wings before zooming away – soon we would be flying home too. I felt a little sad remembering how Eleazer had been on his way home too when he died. A new book has just been published featuring beautiful images across the seasons of Brady Street cemetery and another old Jewish cemetery; Alderney Road: make sure you check out Louis Berk’s blog.
We then retraced our steps to Whitechapel Road and made our way through the quiet back streets towards the city, to find the former White Lion Street, now Folgate Street. This is about a mile away, an easy twenty-minute walk. As ever on this trip, I was astounded by how close everything was – somehow living in the Antipodes so far away from these historic places I have a sense of smallness – that somehow all these great places will be great in size as well – but they are quite compact, and the locals stroll about seemingly oblivious to the immense numbers of people in history that has passed the same way. The back streets are full of surprising and impressive street art, something that would have bemused the Victorians in their grimy, smog-laden slums.
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Folgate Street on the corner of Commercial Road: this was the addition to White Lion Street that was built to connect to Commercial Road. The Peabody Buildings in the background were designed as new housing to replace some of the slums that were notorious in the Spitalfields.White Lion Street used to end where the white building meets the lane (once Wheeler Street, but now part of Lamb Street).
It was from Wheeler Street that Eleazer Hart had an entrance to his Rag Merchant business, with warehouses, access for horse and wagons and to the rear of his house which was at 20 White Lion Street. Folgate Street now has different numbers, so the Hart home was situated at about where 44 Folgate Street is today.
This was a strange experience, walking on the street where Eleazer and Sarah Hart had their family, where my great, great, great-grandfather, the elusive and enigmatic Nathaniel Hart had likely played as a child with his siblings, and where their mother Sarah had died.
Cobbles of the former Wheeler Street under my feet
Their house has gone, replaced with a brick and white plastered building, now probably exclusive and expensive apartments. But further down this little, very short street there are buildings that were there a hundred years before the Harts moved in: part of Spital Square, where Huguenot weavers plied their trade in silks and satins, including weaving of Queen Victoria’s coronation robes.
Weaver’s Houses Folgate Street
Folgate Street looking towards Commercial Road
The little pub once called the Pewter Platter (now the Water Poet) played host to rousing addresses given by Chartists: men who hoped to inspire the hundreds of workers who laboured in the Spitalfields to demand the right to vote, it also fed and ‘watered’ people tired and thirsty after a hard days work. It was scarcely lunchtime, but we were tired and thirsty so went in and availed ourselves of their custom, managing to knock back some good ale and good British pub grub: Steve had bangers and mash, and I finished with a Eton Mess.
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Towards London Town
Replete from our repast, we staggered onwards. At the end of Folgate Street you are confronted with vast towers of glass and steel, now standing in the place where Eleazer Hart first started his Rag Merchant business along with Joseph Lee in Primrose Street. Modern commerce and history clash. Turn left and walk down Norton Folgate (the A10) and the architecture is amazing; ‘the Gherkin’ (30 St Mary Axe) gleamed in the sun like a fabulous Arabian jewel. It was just another mile (1.6 km) to our destination. I was astonished to realise the heart of the City of London was closer than the distance of my home to downtown Timaru, an easy Saturday morning stroll for coffee.
The Gherkin from Norton Folgate
Further on down Bishopsgate we saw other distinctive buildings such as the ‘Cheesegrater’ and the ‘Walkie Talkie’ both designed with sloping faces to give unobstructed views to St Pauls Cathedral. I couldn’t help thinking what the former inhabitants of the area would have thought of these astounding constructions, the sheer enormity of them makes you feel very, very small.
‘Walkie Talkie’ building – designed not to obstruct classic views of Old St Pauls.
Once upon a time the spires and domes of the churches were landmarks from which Londoners took their bearings, the chimes of their bells marking the passage of the day. Now these massive glass and concrete buildings dwarf and hem in the modest stone and brick churches, their spires diminished in grandeur and their walls squeezed so close it seems sacreligious. We reached Gracechurch Street and a few steps later could see down Fish Street Hill to the monument to the Great Fire of London, once another tall landmark almost buried amidst the higher buildings that have sprung around it.
Monument to the Great Fire, the spire of St Magnus beyond.
Crossing Eastcheap we walked past the monument towards the Thames. It surprised me how high we had been, and that the descent was steep – to our right the approach to London Bridge was higher so that when we came out at Lower Thames Street you could see that we would need to climb higher to cross the bridge. Ahead of us was the church of St Magnus the Martyr, with its arched porch and clock. This small street was once large and the direct approach to the bridge. Pedestrians crossing the bridge passed through the archway on the church porch, avoiding the wheeled traffic grinding past. It was here that Eleazer’s body was laid and his inquest was held on the afternoon of his death.
St Magnus the Martyr. This was once the approach to London Bridge. Beyond is another new icon of London ‘The Shard’ which is in Southwark on the other side of the Thames
To get onto London Bridge we had to back-track past the monument, and soon found ourselves gazing into the river. The present-day London Bridge was built during the 1970s. The previous one was sold and shipped to America (they probably thought they had bought Tower Bridge). The stone-arched bridge that was there when Eleazer died had been built in 1825, and the remnants of the ‘original’ London bridge were still visible for some time.
Demolition of Old London Bridge in the 1830s looking towards St Magnus (the Great Fire Monument beyond), and the ‘new’ bridge to the left. (credit: Stephencdickson)
Access from the riverbank to the bridge was through three flights of steps, still in place for many years as can be seen in old photographs.
London Bridge in the 19th Century showing the steps alongside. (credit: Cornell University)
The steps were to be the death of Eleazer. Rushing to catch his train back to Portsea on the far side of the bridge, the climb up was too much, and he collapsed and died.
Details of his last moments were recorded by the coroner, with witness statements written in a form of shorthand. Luckily these documents are from just a handful of reports that survive today in the London Metropolitan Archives. These were kindly photographed for me in 2013 by a kind member of the online forum, British Jewry.
It took me a couple of weeks to transcribe the coroner’s shorthand:
Henry Huttle City Police Officer 577: about 5 minutes to 6 this morning I was in King William Station and I saw the deceased just by the top of the steps leading down to King Station on the lower side of the bridge. It appeared as if he had come to the top of the steps and he fell forward immediately. I saw 2 men lift him up and I went up to them they left him in my hands and I got a cab and took him to Dr Smiths in Fenchurch [?] Street he pronounced him dead. I saw him fall. No-one pushed him or knocked him down. I brought him for S Turks[?] of the church. When he was dis(covered?) he had 2 books on eating fish, and the basket a whiting [cod], he was carrying them
Henry Balls 26 George St, Kent. The cabman: I saw the deceased in the station and saw one person with him. I thought he was in a fit I took him to the doctors in my cab I then got him to the church entrance[?] I did not see him fall
Michael Hart, 112 Middlesex St, Whitechapel, Islington: The deceased was my brother. His name is Eleazer Hart. His age [ is] about 70. He was a gentleman. He lived at 47 St George Square, Portsea. He left me at 10 minutes upon 6 this morning at St-Mary-at Hill.I gave him one fish: his basket. He was in a great hurry to get to the 6 o’clock train at London Bridge to get him to Portsea. His health was good before this but he was taken occasionally with palpitations of the heart and gout.
[coroner?] The running up the steps caused apoplexy him. I have seen him. This is my [observation?] sub[sequent?] of struck first on his cheek bone from the fall. I show by this his death was probably natural [added note in pencil:he has been in town for the week.]
Sworn before H Payne coroner
So now I stood and looked at my feet as I stood on London Bridge and thought of Eleazer’s cheek meeting the ground as his breath left his body for the last time, and how he, a Jewish gentleman, was gathered up and laid out in a Christian church while the coroner recorded his final moments from the witnesses, including his brother Michael Hart. I thought too, how I had written about the end of Eleazer’s life in To Live a Long and Prosperous Life (p96-97) and had wanted to see for myself where he died alone, yet surrounded by hundreds of strangers on one of the busiest thoroughfares of London – and now I was finally here and it all seemed surreal.
standing on London BridgeFrom London Bridge looking towards Tower Bridge. The metal structure in the foreground are the new spiral stairs installed in 2016 leading from the top of the bridge to the riverside path.
I was too late to walk the old stairs, demolished just a few months earlier. They suffered from ‘a poor environment which can cause which can cause antisocial behaviour issues’ according to a report of the openingand the actual river bank can no longer be reached either.
Under London Bridge looking up-river to the rail bridge. Beyond is the square brick tower of the Tate Modern – the former Bankside Power Station
Just a bit further along the bank, the old Billingsgate Fish Market, which once reeked of fish guts and blood, was now reincarnated as an elegant fish restaurant. In the outside eating area waiters in long black aprons were clearing away tables from the lunchtime service with crisp white tablecloths flapping in the breeze and seagulls hovering expectantly for scraps. This was where Eleazer had met his brother Michael that morning, to get a fish to take home for his supper.
What would they have made of the transformation of this area into genteel fine-dining and ambient strolling? The only thing unchanged (apart from the gulls) was the massive grey, oily Thames, silently roiling past us towards the sea, turning and glistening undercurrents gave an impression of animal strength – a living thing. The same river that had carried Eleazer’s son and daughter-in-law Nathaniel and Dinah and their young family when they sailed to New Zealand 152 years earlier, full of excitement for their new life – or aching for those familiar faces and places they were leaving behind. Their voyage took three months. We, too, were setting off to New Zealand later that night: it would take us less than thirty hours to complete our journey. My journey to walk in their footsteps had come to an end. Time to fly away home.
Writing about my maternal line always brought into focus how different the lives of women in the 19th century were from mine today: so many advances in technology, medicine and science, and politics have meant that sacrifices and losses of our forebears are almost forgotten, until we come to examine their lives closely, and try to imagine what it must have been like to live then – corsets and crinolines hampering our steps, laws that denied us a voice in the world, and the general precarious nature of life without antibiotics.
In writing my family history I decided to use have my 3 x great grandmother Dinah Nathan as the central individual in which to build my multi-layered family story. I drew on my university studies of History and Women’s studies as inspiration: I am only too aware that women did not always feature in official accounts history. But as the family matriarch, Dinah was the one person that ensured her family survived and grew and prospered in New Zealand, and I believe she was looked upon with respect in her community of the West Coast of New Zealand – if not with a little fear. I once was relayed a story that a young girl growing up in Greymouth (when Dinah was still a force to be reckoned with in the community) was admonished by her parents for not applying herself to her school work – the alternative (oh horror!) was to be sent off to work for Mrs Hansen!
Dinah Hansen (nee Nathan, formerly Hart) in 1915
Image: (cropped) pg 339 P. Caigou
But before Dinah became a formidible matron, straight-laced and no-nonsense, she was a young wife and mother, with youthful passions and emotions. She learned, like many of her Victorian counterparts, the hard way, that grief was a private and personal thing, to be held close to one’s heart.
In my initial research for my family history To live a Long and Prosperous Life, I was shocked to discover that Dinah had lost a child when living in Christchurch in 1867 – a ‘forgotten’ child, born and died [just over 1 year old] while Dinah and her children were left behind while her husband Nathaniel Hart went first to the West Coast with the gold rush, and then to Melbourne ‘to seek better prospects’.
I wrote with an ache of sadness for Dinah’s predicament:
Little Barnett Hart succumbed on March 13 1867 to that most common killer of Victorian children; diarrhea. The water quality in Christchurch was poor and raw milk easily spoilt. A newly weaned child was particularly vulnerable, no longer enjoying the benefit of mother’s milk. [p 165] . . .
. . . It seems especially sad that memory of this little boy was suppressed, probably because of the intense grief that Dinah suffered. Discovering his short existence through birth and death records late one night brought tears to my eyes, and I wept for Dinah and her grief that had remained so private all these years. [p166]
A genealogist’s work is never done, and so it was that when I learned in early 2017 that it was possible to search UK birth records at the GRO using the mother’s maiden name and death records are now shown with the individual’s age, I decided to check for any new information and was immediately confronted with a HART birth for Pymouth, Devon. A quick look at the deaths for the same year – 1859 – gave me that sick, sad feeling again. Here was another child of Dinah and Nathaniel Hart – born between their eldest child, Sarah in 1857 and their next daughter Rachel in 1860.
Joseph Eleazer Hart, birth record 14 April 1859
GRO ref: J Quarter in PLYMOUTH Volume 05B Page 247
Joseph Eleazer Hart, death record, 9 June 1859 age seven weeks.
GRO ref: J Quarter in PLYMOUTH Volume 05B Page 183
Immediately I saw the little boy’s name I realised the answer to my puzzle why Nathaniel’s father, Eleazer Hart, who had died in 1857 was not ‘remembered’ as was the common Jewish naming practise when their son Benjamin was born – the answer was of course because he already had been remembered – along with, most probably, Dinah’s brother Joseph Nathan who had died aged 25 just four weeks after Dinah and Nathaniel had wed in 1856.
So here was another ‘forgotten’ baby, another son – their first son, who did not survive.
Little Joseph Eleazer died of the same common illness that was to end his brother’s life ten years later in New Zealand. Returning to my records, I realised that this birth and death occured for Dinah and Nathaniel in a year of turmoil, with Nathaniel being brought before the local magistrate in Reading, in January 1859 charged with footpath obstruction. His resulting conviction, along with the feeling that somehow he was singled out as a scapegoat, almost certainly precipitated their move to Plymouth to start afresh [p98]. Add to this that now, from the birth registration, we know that Dinah was pregnant at the time of Nathaniel’s being in court, and that they moved south not long after that in time for Joseph to arrive in June.
This sad little episode in Dinah and Nathaniel’s life was the first personal tragedy of their marriage, and a lesson in the perils and pain of motherhood for young Dinah, still in her early twenties. A few months later, Dinah was pregnant again, with her second daughter, Rachel, my great, great grandmother. Little ‘Rachel Lizzie’ appeared with her family on the 1861 UK census and the little baby who lived just seven weeks seems to have been quietly ‘forgotten’ for 158 years.
[ Ref: Pintrest]
I suspect that there are now many family historians looking with astonishment at these previously unknown family members – some not even named – and realising that their forebears carried always with them a particular, private grief, one that thankfully, most mothers in the 21st century will never know.
A year on from that second deadly quake I stood amongst the earthquake ruins of central Christchurch on the edge of the red ‘no-go’ zone. Dust and gravel filled empty spaces, where wildflowers straggled and bloomed. Wire-netting barricades and orange road cones were everywhere, hemming me in. The army had come to town and guard the empty destruction.
Gone were the long shadows cast by the big buildings I knew so well: the bold, modernist architecture of the banks, cheek-by-jowl with Edwardian shops elaborately built with detailed masonry and brick, ornamented with Corinthian, Doric, and Neo Gothic.
Gone, or rather, badly damaged, was the Cathedral. Cathedral Square is the heart of Christchurch, the cathedral spire, to which all eyes were drawn to in this flat landscape and around which the city had always revolved seemed somewhat . . . pointless. The spire lay in ruins, but the Neil Dawson sculpture ‘Chalice’; an inverted cone of pierced metal leaves, still stood nearby: defiant; just as beautiful. In fact, most of the city art-works still stood. Art triumphing over architecture and religion, in spite of nature’s upheaval.
The wedge shaped section on the corner of High Street and Hereford Street, known for over 100 years as Fishers Corner was empty, bulldozed, and demolition workers parked their cars and utes in its space.
Gone.
A single cast-iron veranda support—easily 130 years old—still stood. From its broken top a plant now sprouted, defiant and green in the sun.
I realised you could see so much further into the distance now, without the big buildings. I got a small feel for what it must have been like to live there, all those years ago. I could see the Port Hills, as they must have been then; although there had been rock falls in the earthquakes and some of the taller pinnacles have succumbed.
January 10, 2013 – intersection of Colombo Street & Hereford Street – east view.
I strained to hear, to get a feel. The sound of children, of customers shopping. People going about their business, never expecting the ground to open up and swallow them all. Many, many, feet passing down through the years. How many times had I walked past here without realising the connection I had to this piece of Christchurch? But they were gone.
Rather, he was gone. I couldn’t feel him there—if he had been there much at all. I picked up a river stone—dusty, tear-drop shaped—from the cleared section-now-car park and tucked it in my pocket.
When I got home I saw that the piece of sandstone had a tiny mica inclusion, or a bit of fools gold glinting through the dust.
I was divining ghosts.
(excerpt p145, Chapter 6, To Live a Long & Prosperous Life)
Over six years of writing and research uncovered surprising connections for me: not one but two shops were owned by the Harts in the centre of early Christchurch. Prior to this discovery I had always assumed the Harts set off for the West Coast within a short time of their arrival in January 1865.
High Street
Early Christchurch prior to 1860 Taken by Alfred Barker from the new Provincial Government buildings.
In the left middle distance Cathedral Square can be seen marked by white fences and shrubbery around the perimeter. Beyond that is Fishers Corner and the spire of the Methodist church on High Street.
Central Christchurch c1862. Showing the Square at the top, Hereford Street, Cashel Street and High Street intersecting at an angle. Nathaniel Hart’s first shop was close to the corner of High and Hereford Street.
(map detail from Christchurch City Libraries)High Street 1863 showing the smaller shops between Fishers Corner and the Methodist Church. One of these was Nathaniel Hart’s first shop. Image: Illustrated London News
Windmill Road
Panorama of early Christchurch from the Provincial Government buildings looking south-east towards Antigua Street. This image shows the windmill (which was already gone by 1865) that gave the popular name “Windmill Road” to the area where the Harts were living when they had their last baby, Barnett Hart in 1866.
Hereford Street
Hereford Street c1880. Nathaniel Hart’s second shop was ‘three doors down’ from Fishers Corner which is on the far right of this image. The second shop would have backed onto their first shop on High Street.Top: BNZ on the north corner of Hereford Street and the shops opposite. Nathaniel Hart’s second shop was most likely one of the small shops past the verandah. Bottom: Hereford Street looking east prior to the 2011 earthquakes. Most of the buildings in this view have since been demolished.
On the 177th anniversary of the invention of photography, it seems an appropriate time to post an image that brought me face to face with a Hart ancestor and at the same time this is an opportunity to introduce the other side of the family that forms the basis of To Live a Long and Prosperous Life: the Harts from London.
A Victorian invention – photography and self-image
Photography was the social media of the time: people used small carte-de-visite as a calling card, larger cabinet cards were exchanged with family and many mounted their collections in albums. Soon photographs were printed as postcards, as many used their latest studio portraits to send by post to friends and family – an in the case of our ancestors, across the globe to family back ‘home’.
Photography had first been attempted in the early years of the nineteenth century; however two methods were developed about the same time, in both France and England, around 1840. Louis Daguerre developed the daguerreotype process using chemicals and glass. This was the first process to be announced, but at the same time Henry Fox Talbot was working with the calotype which used paper for a negative. From then on, photographic processes improved and portraiture was available for anyone who could afford the fee, which soon became within reach of many.
The daguerreotype was one of the earliest forms of commercial photography. A negative image on glass, they were typically mounted in an oval, circular or arched frame on a dark background so the image showed positive. They were encased in ornate hinged, velvet-lined pressed metal or leather cases. They were expensive, and fragile.
An example of the daguerreotype
Tin-types, images developed on thin metal plates were produced for a longer period in USA than in Britain, but were soon superseded by the glass negative and paper print mounted on card. Later, paper prints from negatives were cheaper and many copies could be made from the one negative. Copies were also soon able to be made of older forms of photographs.
Within a few short years photography was available in cities and towns, and taken up as a hobby by those who had time and money to afford the cameras, chemicals and the darkroom necessary for developing.
Lenses and bellows, chemicals and glass: here was alchemy for the masses! The photograph took the world and reflected it back as it hadn’t been seen before, captured forever in time. The raw images of themselves shocked many Victorians, and it wasn’t long before they evolved ways of posing and staging photographs to make their ‘likenesses’ more appropriate to their sensibilities. Fabulous studios with velvet drapes, columns and urns and classical painted backdrops, suitable props and even clothes to hire created the illusion of photography as fine art: a portrait taken to show status, record important social events; a marriage, a new child, a family gathering, or family parting, retirement, and even death.
Places as well as people were subjects: in 1854 the Crystal palace was disassembled and moved to it’s new site, all recorded with the camera; the photographs were later published in a book. In the same year the Crimean War was also documented in photographs, although exposure times meant that action was not ‘caught’.
Identifying Eleazer
A descendant of Philip Hart (1824-1903) in USA found this photograph. Labelled ‘Eleazer’, over the years it has been assumed this was Philip Hart’s son Eleazer P. Hart (1851-1928). The copy of the picture reproduced here came to the author labelled ‘Eleazer/Elby/Elly Hart c1890s’.
Eleazer Hart c 1855
But who is this gentleman? The subject of this photograph is not that of Philip’s son Alexander ‘Elby’ Hart but almost certainly that of Philip’s father Eleazer Hart (1787-1857). The image was probably taken about 1855, most likely around the time he went to live in Portsea, Hampshire. The identification of photographs are based upon both the type of image and of the subject. The physical appearance; (size, mount, maker’s mark or stamps on the bottom or back) and the subject of the photograph itself; the clothes they are wearing, hair (and beard) styles, and background details.
The above photograph appears to have been previously inserted in a round frame, suggesting it may be a copy of a daguerreotype, or possibly a tintype. Without seeing the original and its mount it is hard to be certain. The clothing is that of a much earlier period than the 1890s: the wide soft neck tie and standing collar suggests those worn in the first half of the nineteenth century. The satin waistcoat and the broad shoulders suggest the cut of a frock coat. The clothing and the pose match those in the description and photograph of an ‘unknown gentleman’ by Horne & Thornthwaite (photographers) which is dated about 1850.
Photograph of unidentified sitter by Horne & Thornthwaite, about 1850. Victoria and Albert Museum no. PH.151-1982
Aside from technical clues that help us date this image, there are other clues in the features of this gentleman that may or may not point to our relationship with him: the arch of eyebrows, the nose, or chin, the rounded head, something about the eyes . . . People have an ability to ascribe ‘recognition’ to photographs and paintings, seeing what they want to see whether there is actually a direct relationship or not. Modern genetics can only tell part of the story—were this gentleman’s DNA available we might be a little closer. So we are left with an image of a solid, prosperous gentleman, who may just be Eleazer Hart.
Eleazer HART (Eliezer ben Yehuda Ha’Cohen)1787 – 1857 was my My great-great-great-great grandfather and the father of Dinah Nathan’s husband Nathaniel Hart. The Hebrew אֱלִיעֶזֶר(‘Eli’ezer pronounced Ali-ay-zer) means “my God is help”.
Eleazerwas born and grew up in Tottenham, then a leafy village in the country five miles from London. His father Judah HART had a second-hand clothes shop there. In 1819 Eleazer Hart married Sarah Levy, at the New Synagogue, London. The same year Eleazer went into business on his own account as a Rag Merchant. This eventually made him a wealthy man; on retirement he owned many properties and styled himself ‘Gentleman’. The rag trade was hugely profitable in Victorian times as there was a demand for cotton rag for papermaking, as well as lint and lagging used for machinery in factories; on the railway and steamships. The family lived and worked at 20 White Lion Street (now Folgate Street), in the Spitalfields of London.
Eleazer and Sarah Hart had nine children, two of whom later immigrated to New Zealand. Their daughter Julia Metz née Hart arrived in Dunedin with her family in the 1870s. At least three of her children; Eleazer, Sarah, Benjamin and Zimler Metz later lived in Timaru for a time and were instrumental in the building of the Jewish Synagogue in Bank Street. To sons, Philip and Alexander immigrated to USA and one of them took with him this photograph as a keepsake.
Eleazer’s son Nathaniel Hart, his wife Dinah née Nathanand family immigrated to New Zealand on the Zealandia arriving at Lyttelton in 1865, later settling on the West Coast. They were my 3x great-grandparents. Two of their three daughters married the Lawn cousins, miners from Cornwall. I descend from Eleazer’s granddaughter Rachel Elizabeth Hart and her husband James Lawn.
(Excerpts in this post from pp 92-9 To Live a Long & Prosperous life)
"1 Dish 4 The Road".. Fusing food writing with whatever else I find on the road - fiction, history, poetry, humour, diversity, family stories & London.
High Street 1863 showing the smaller shops between Fishers Corner and the Methodist Church. One of these was Nathaniel Hart’s first shop. Image: Illustrated London News
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Written in Ink and Stone 