Two impressions of Llangorse lake in Wales. Text from 1942, images from 1984.
…..during the one short break in an otherwise continuous downpour I visited Llangorse Lake, a stretch of water some five miles in circumference.
This lake is also known as Savadden, and in a Harleian MS. of about 1695 we read that: ‘In the greate Poole call’d Llyn Savathan once stood a faire citie which was swallowed up by an Earthquake and resigned her stone walles into this deep and broad water, being stored most richly with fish in such abundance as is uncredible…. and indeed the fishermen of this place have often times taken up goodes of severall sortes from the very harte of the Poole but whether these might be goodes that ware cast away is unknowne but we have never heard of any such mischance in oure times.’ The story is probably derived from the remains of ancient lake dwellings which have been identified on an island on the north side of the lake. This island, wholly artificial, was connected with the shore by a causeway of stones and piles, with probably a drawbridge. On it have been discovered the bones of red deer, wild boar, and cattle.
It is told, to-day, that when the lake is rough the buried church bells can be heard ringing under the water. When I asked a man who had his dwelling by the lake if he had ever heard the bells he replied ‘bunkum.’ When I asked him if it was true that the waters of the river Llynfi, which enter the lake, do not mix with the lake water, but flow through unstained, he replied ‘bunkum.’ When I asked him if the lake was not celebrated for its miracles he replied ‘bunkum,’ and with that amount of information I reached home before the next downpour.
‘Coming Down the Wye’, Robert Gibbings, J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd. 1942.
We’ll stay in Wales (where it doesn’t rain all the time) for this week’s Friday Flashback.
Another Friday Flashback
Here’s an old maritime tradition you don’t see anymore – coloured streamers from ship to shore when a passenger liner is about to leave her berth.
They’re supposed to have originated as a symbol of ties to family and friends, gathered on the dock to wave goodbye, and the breaking of them as the ship pulled away on its journey to distant lands. A poignant reminder of past times when some of those passengers were emigrants and would never return.
In later years, cruise ships adopted the practice to add to the carnival atmosphere at the start of a cruise but a combination of factors has put a stop to it in the past decade or two – the demise of ocean liners, restricted port access to non-passengers for security reasons, and environmental concerns. Now you can attract a nasty fine for throwing streamers and the rolls appear in museum collections.
The ship pictured here in more carefree days is the R.M.S. Edinburgh Castle (Union-Castle Line) leaving Capetown, South Africa, in the early 1970s. The “Eddie” had her maiden voyage seventy years ago. A you can see, that was in the era before rivets went out of style.
Three conveniently placed dock workers complete the composition as the Edinburgh Castle backs away from her berth.
The white ship in the background is P+O’s Orsova.
Capetown harbour filtered through the window of a Cessna light aircraft. The “Eddie’s” red funnel can be seen at the dock below. The ship is berthed port side to the dock instead of the more usual starboard.
The R.M.S. Edinburgh Castle was scrapped in 1976.
You’ve probably never heard of a photographer called Harry Moult, and there’s no reason why you should. I stumbled on his work by accident while trawling through Te Papa‘s online collection looking for ‘new’ old material. There, in the middle of all that New Zealand imagery, was a sepia-toned photograph of Cannon Street railway station in London.
[Railway station and bridge]. From the album: Photograph album – London, 1920s, Te Papa (O.032049)
I learned that the creator of this foreigner was Harry Moult
(1878-1946), a Wellington electrical engineer by profession, who took up photography in middle age and quickly revealed a hidden talent. These atmospheric impressions of London were recorded on a business trip to Britain in the late 1920s when the capital was a more polluted, foggy city than it is now.
London Pool – a November morn, 1920s, London, Te Papa (O.031862)
The difference in light between smoggy London in winter and his own bright and breezey Wellington would have been the first thing he noticed on arrival and he emphasised this in his prints.
Winter sunshine, 1920s, London, Te Papa (O.031868). Victoria Embankment with Big Ben silhouetted in the mist.
One of London’s wet days, 1920s, London, Te Papa (O.031867). Viewed full size, this is an impressionistic image. All movement, and nothing is sharp.
There are many more examples of Moult’s work, at home and abroad, on file at Te Papa. Just follow the link on his name.
Denny Hulme, dubbed “the Bear” because of his occassionally gruff manner, was the World Champion Formula One driver in 1967. He retired from that circuit in 1973 after seeing too many good men killed or injured in a sport that was much more dangerous then than it is now.
But he didn’t give up racing, moving to saloon cars – and trucks – in Australia and his home country of New Zealand.
I shot these images at Manfield race track, near Fielding, in 1983, the year that Hulme and co-driver, Ray Smith, won the NZ Production Car Championship.
Hulme jumps out of the car while Smith stands ready to take over.
Denny Hulme at the wheel of a Holden VK Commodore during round one of the Benson and Hedges series at Manfield in 1985. Smith and Hulme finished third in that race.
Denny Hulme died of a heart attack in 1992 while competing in the Bathurst 1000 in Australia, giving him the dubious honour of being the only Formula One driver to have died on the track of natural causes. He was 56 years old.
In 1879, King Edward, then Prince of Wales, opened Lambeth Suspension Bridge; and on July 19th, 1932, his son, King George V, declared open its £936,000 successor. A great throng watched the barriers lift at the Royal touch, and to the sounds of sirens and cheering, the King and Queen, escorted by Life Guards and outriders, passed ceremoniously across. The graceful steel structure, carried on granite piers, is ornamented at either end with pylons each topped by a gilded pineapple.
Heavy traffic was slow to make use of Sir Reginald Blomfield’s fine new bridge, but in July, 1934, 10,222 vehicles were recorded within twelve hours.
Cigarette card caption, W.D. & H.O. Wills. 1935.
Thousands of Londoners have yet to receive the surprise of a first walk over Lambeth Bridge. It has the great merit of blotting out the bridge at Charing Cross as we look eastwards down the Thames.
London has nothing to show more majestic than the sight from this bridge. We see the towers of Westminster clustering together as one great group, with over 1000 feet of the noble facade of the Houses of Parliament joining up with the walls of the Abbey, picking up its incomparable eastern windows as we walk to bring them into view. We see three great cathedral churches, two palaces, two domes, and upstream and downstream are ancient towers and new facades, the familiar scene of yesterday and the new scene coming on.
‘London’, Arthur Mee, Hodder and Stoughton. 1937.
The towers of Westminster.
Friday Flashback 3.
Filling the fuel tank of a DH 89 at Hood Aerodrome, Masterton, New Zealand in 1985.
De Havilland’s DH 89 first appeared in 1934 and quickly became a popular short-haul aircraft with airlines around the world, seeing service from the ’30s to the ’50s and even into the early 1960s.
“The D.H. Dragon-Rapide is a medium-sized eight-passenger air liner resembling a twin-engined version of the D.H. 86. It has the same general features, including tapered wings, undercarriage faired into the engine nacelles, and is of the same type of construction. It is fitted with two 200 h.p. D.H. “Gypsy-Six” engines, which give it a cruising speed of 140 m.p.h.”
A military version, called the Dominie, was developed for navigator training and, after World War Two, many were sold to civilian operators – like the one in the top picture. This was delivered to the R.N.Z.A.F. in 1943, bought by the National Airways Corporation for its Northland (north of Auckland) service three years later, christened Tui*, and was retired at the end of 1962.
When these photographs were taken at Hood in 1985, it was locally owned and had just emerged from a two-year major rebuild.
The Tui now lives at Mandeville aircraft museum in the South Island and is still available for tourist flights. Watch a video here.
*A tui is a New Zealand native bird.
My father, John Grubb, a ship-builder by trade, came to New Zealand in 1847, and after spending about a year in Wellington, went to Lyttelton under agreement with the Canterbury Association to build a jetty and make other arrangements for the arrival of the first settlers.
During this time my mother and three children lived in Dundee, until arrangements were made for them to join Father and come to New Zealand in the Charlotte Jane, one of the four ships chartered by the Canterbury Association to bring the first settlers to Lyttelton.
Before the ships sailed, Lord Lyttelton, the president of the Association gave the passengers a farewell luncheon at Gravesend, where four marquees were erected, one for each ship. During the voyage Mr. J. E. Fitzgerald, who was in charge of the expedition, edited two papers, The Cockroach and Sea Pie; he also composed the Night Watch Song of the Charlotte Jane, of which the first verse ran as follows:-
” ‘Tis the first watch of the night, brothers,
And the strong wind rides the deep,
And the cold stars shining bright, brothers,
Their mystic courses keep.
Whilst our ship her path is cleaving
The flashing waters through,
Here’s a health to the land we’re leaving
And the land we’re going to.”
Mrs T. V. Whitmore, Canterbury Pilgrims’ Association. Reproduced in ‘Tales of Pioneer Women’. 1940.