Bodinnick Landing

Friday Flashback #2

Bodinnick ferry

The Bodinnick ferry landing on the east bank of the River Fowey, Cornwall, England in 1973. The Old Ferry Inn has expanded to the left since then, and the ferry is bigger too.

The house on the right, no longer covered in ivy, is forever associated with the novelist Daphne du Maurier whose family home it was.

There has been a ferry between this spot and Fowey, on the opposite bank, since the 13th or 14th century (depending on your source).

Image © M. Warman.

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A Sea Change

The Cunard Steamship Company has announced the placing of an order with John Brown and Company Limited for a third ship for the Canadian trade. This is in addition to the two 20,000-ton liners the company ordered for the Canadian trade in December, 1951. One of these is expected to be launched next February and the other will be ready in 1955. They will have a speed of about 20 knots.
No details of the new vessel have been released, but it is expected to be similar to those under construction.
Wellington’s ‘Evening Post’, Saturday, 14 November 1953.

The three liners would emerge from the yard as Saxonia, Ivernia and Carinthia.

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Saxonia, launched 17 February 1954.

Cunard passenger ship Ivernia. Launched Dec. 1954. Image from company postcard.

 Ivernia, launched 14 December 1954.

A message on the back of this card, written on 25th September 1962, reads “We reach Montreal tomorrow then 5 weeks in America to catch Canberra on 4th November at Los Angeles. Back in Auckland on 10th November”.

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 Carinthia, launched 14 December 1955.

They would be followed by the Sylvania in 1956 but the writing was already on the wall for Atlantic liners or, in this case, in the newspaper. Farther down the same Evening Post column in 1953 was this –

The latest figures in the “air travel versus sea travel” feud show a marked increase in air travel to and from Britain. For the first time since the war the number of people entering Britain by sea during the first six months has dropped. But the number entering by air has gone up sharply, having jumped 20 per cent.
The exact figures published by the British Board of Trade at the end of last month show a fall of 43,000 in sea passengers to and from Britain while there is an increase of 143,000 in air passengers.

The four liners of the Saxonia class stayed with Cunard for roughly 11 years each before being sold to other companies for conversion to cruising.

The Tarawera eruption

(Hint: this post will make more sense if you’ve read the previous two).

The ridge known as Mount Tarawera in New Zealand’s North Island, that lies alongside a lake of the same name, is actually made up of three ancient volcanoes fused together. They were considered long dormant in the 19th century and certainly didn’t feature as a threat in local Maori tradition. But Tarawera was surrounded by an extensive and active geothermal field that drew tourists from all over the world.

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Painting by Charles Blomfield.

On the night of 10th June 1886 all three vents burst into life, ripping the top off the ridge and creating a deep rift that ran for its entire length. It continued down the southern end of the mountain and through Lake Rotomahana, site of the world famous Pink and White Terraces, which were never seen again. The shape of the landscape had been changed forever. Dust from the eruption spread right across the Bay of Plenty as far as East Cape but most of the hot ash and boulders were dumped in the immediate area.

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The shaded area shows the extent of ash deposits. The parallel lines indicate the geothermal corridor from Mount Ruapehu to White Island.

Small family settlements around the edge of Lake Tarawera were wiped out and Wairoa village was buried under three feet of mud and ash. Over 150 people died, although that can only be an estimate. The magnitude of the disaster can be understood best through photographs taken over the days that followed.

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Wairoa village, once a tourist base for trips to the Terraces. The humps in the ground forming a line at left are buried Maori huts (whare). The remains of buildings can be seen in the middle distance.

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McRae’s Rotomahana hotel at left (see last Tuesday’s post) and the Terrace hotel, right.

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The old mill in a desert of ash.

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The remains of a church.

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Moura, a small Maori settlement, used to stand here beside Lake Tarawera. Searchers found only waist deep mud.

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Part of the rift that split open Mount Tarawera.

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These huge craters were blasted out of Tarawera’s southern end. Lake Rotomahana and steam from new vents lie beyond. The landscape is covered in ash as far as the eye can see.

The land took decades to recover but curious tourists returned to the area within weeks of the eruption. The buried village is still a popular attraction.

A Bath for the Gods

Continuing from Tuesday’s post, following J. A. Froude’s account of his adventures in the geothermal region of New Zealand’s North Island in 1885.

Leaving the White Terrace behind, the guides Kate and Mari led the group on a track past boiling pools where the “heat, noise and smell were alike intolerable”, and steaming cones of mud. “Suspicious bubbles of steam spurted out under our feet as we trod, and we were warned to be careful where we went.”

After lunch beside Lake Rotomahana, Mari ferried them accross the “weird and evil looking” hot lake in a leaky dugout canoe.

The Pink Terrace, the object of our voyage, opened out before us on the opposite shore. It was formed on the same lines as the other, save that it was narrower, and was flushed with pale-rose colour. Oxide of iron is said to be the cause….

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A painting of the Pink Terrace and Lake Rotomahana by Charles Blomfield. The White Terrace can be seen in the background on the other side of the lake. The height and shape of Mount Tarawera has been exaggerated and distorted. (Compare with the photograph at the bottom of the post).

The party landed at the terrace-foot “with no more misfortune than a light splashing”. Some intrepid tourists of the time felt their trip wouldn’t be complete without bathing in the terrace pools and Froude was keen to take the plunge.

To my great relief I found that a native youth was waiting with the towels, and that we were to be spared the ladies’ assistance. The youth took charge of us and led us up the shining stairs. The crystals were even more beautiful than those which we had seen, falling like clusters of rosy icicles, or hanging in festoons like creepers trailing from a rail. At the foot of each cascade the water lay in pools of ultra marine, their exquisite colour being due in part, I suppose, to the light of the sky refracted upwards from the bottom. In the deepest of these we were to bathe. The temperature was 94°F or 95°F. The water lay inviting in its crystal basin.

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Falling like clusters of rosy icicles.

The water was deep enough to swim in comfortably, though not over our heads. We lay on our backs and floated for ten minutes in exquisite enjoyment, and the alkali, or the flint, or the perfect purity of the element, seemed to saturate our systems. I for one, when I was dressed again, could have fancied myself back in the old days when I did not know that I had a body, and could run up hill as lightly as down.

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The bath over, we pursued our way. The marvel of the Terrace was still before us, reserved to the last. The crater at the White Terrace had been boiling; the steam rushing out from it had filled the air with cloud; and the scorching heat had kept us at a distance. Here the temperature was twenty degrees lower; there was still vapour hovering over the surface, but it was lighter and more transparent, and a soft breeze now and then blew it completely aside. We could stand on the brim and gaze as through an opening in the earth into an azure infinity beyond.

The hue of the water was something which I had never seen, and shall never again see on this side of eternity. ….. Here was a bath, if mortal flesh could have borne to dive into it! It was a bath for the gods and not for man.
Extracted from ‘Oceana’, J. A. Froude, Ed. Geoffrey Blainey. Methuen Haynes, 1985.

Froude was right – he would never see the sight again. One year after his visit, this landscape changed forever. More about that tomorrow.

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The White Terrace

Way back in October my post titled The Unquiet Earth featured the words of J. A. Froude who was exploring New Zealand’s geothermal region around Ohinemutu and Rotorua in 1885. The poor man has been left in limbo too long and historic events of this week prompt me to take up his story where he left off.

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Ohinemutu was so novel a scene that I could have stayed there indefinitely, and have found something every day new and entertaining to look at …. but our immediate business was to visit the famous [Pink and White] Terraces, the eighth wonder of the world.

The Terraces themselves were twenty-four miles off. We were to drive first through the mountains to a native village which had once been a famous missionary station, called Wairoa. There we were to sleep at an establishment affiliated to the Lake Hotel, and the next day a native boat would take us across Tarawera Lake, a piece of water as large as Rotorua, at the extremity of which the miracle of nature was to be found.

Lake Tarawera from Wairoa by Burton Bros studio of Dunedin. Te Papa collection

Lake Tarawera from Wairoa with the long ridge of Mount Tarawera in the background.

Twenty four miles in a horse-drawn vehicle took up most of the day but, eventually – There stood Wairoa and its inhabitants. It was late afternoon. The people were all out loafing and lying about.

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“McRae’s Hotel”, or more correctly the Rotomahana Hotel, at Wairoa. Joseph McRae is standing at right with hand on hip.

In the morning we had to start early, for we had a long day’s work cut out for us. We were on foot at seven.

A one hour journey across Lake Tarawera in an open rowing boat followed. Then, led by their guide Kate and her apprentice Mari, a half mile walk on a bush track brought them to – the White Terrace in all its strangeness; a crystal staircase, glittering and stainless as if it were ice, spreading out like an open fan from a point above us on the hillside, and projecting at the bottom into a lake, where it was perhaps two hundred yards wide. The summit was concealed behind the volumes of steam rising out of the boiling fountain, from which the siliceous stream proceeded.T_white2

The stairs were about twenty in number, the height of each being six or seven feet. The floors dividing them were horizontal, as if laid out with a spirit level. They were of uneven breadth; twenty, thirty, fifty feet, or even more; each step down being always perpendicular, and all forming arcs or a circle of which the crater was the centre.

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We walked, or rather waded, upwards to the boiling pool …. It was about sixty feet across, and was of unknown depth. The heat was too intense to allow us to approach the edge, and we could see little, from the dense clouds of steam which lay upon it. We were more fortunate afterwards at the crater of the second terrace.

A fixed number of minutes is allotted for each of the ‘sights’. ….. We were dragged off the White Terrace in spite of ourselves, but soon forgot it in the many and various wonders which were waiting for us.

to be continued on Thursday…..

Busy Brindisi

These old postcard images give us an impression of the busy port city of Brindisi, on Italy’s Adriatic coast, in the 1930s.

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My only visit has been courtesy of Mr. Google and his magical street view but I’m fairly sure this shows Corso Roma on the left and Corso Umberto I on the right.

Image from a vintage postcard of Brindisi, Italy, c.1930s.

I haven’t been able to identify this passenger ship heading out of the harbour yet (suggestions welcome). The tall column that seems to be growing out of the bridge isn’t actually part of the superstructure but the gigantic Memorial to the Mariners in the background.

Monument to the Mariners, Brindisi, Italy. Image from a 1930s postcard.

You don’t have to understand Italian to know that this is the National Monument to Italian sailors who died in World War One and that it was opened on 4th November 1933. Shaped like a ship’s rudder and standing over 50 metres tall, it’s an impressive example of fascist era architecture and has become Brindisi’s most recognisable landmark.

Brindisi harbour in the 1930s. Image from a postcard.

Three visiting submarines, presumably from the Italian Royal Navy, draw a crowd of onlookers. We can’t tell from the photograph if the boats are open to the public.

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Tucked away in what seems like a quieter corner of the harbour is the passenger ship Conte Rosso (the Red Count) decked out in flags like the other ship in the picture, perhaps for some special occasion. On the skyline behind is the column marking the end of ancient Rome’s Appian Way from Rome to Brindisi.

The Conte Rosso was built in 1922 for the North Atlantic run to New York and, later, from Italy to South America. By the time this image was made, she was probably on the Far Eastern route to Bombay and Shanghai. While serving as a troopship in World War Two she was torpedoed by the British submarine Upholder on 24th May 1941 and sank with the loss of 1300 lives.

Travelling in style

All the media of the Western World seem to be obsessed with British royalty at the moment, thanks to a recent addition to the family and a “fairytale” wedding this weekend. Well Pastimpressions isn’t too proud to jump on that bandwagon while the wheels are rolling – so welcome to Royal Week.

Royal trains.
For ordinary journeys royal personages often travel in a saloon attached to one of the regular trains, but for all important journeys, special measures are taken.

Several railways have constructed special trains for the King [George V] and Queen [Mary], and these are really palaces on wheels. They include sleeping cars – with proper bedrooms, not sleeping berths; dining-cars, in which meals are served just as in a royal palace; saloons; and compartments for servants, attendants and others. The trains used by the West Coast and East Coast Railways are like this, and will carry a hundred or more people on some journeys.

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The king’s bedroom in a carriage of the Great Northern Railway.

The King's Day Saloon on the Royal Train (King George V).

The king’s day saloon.

Image from a 1935 cigarette card by W.D. & H.O. Wills.At the starting and destination stations the platforms are covered with crimson carpet, and frequently they will be decorated. As a rule the chief officials and the Chairman of the railway will be there to receive the King or Queen, and some of them travel with the train. The engines and drivers are carefully selected, and generally the locomotives are decorated.

In many cases a pilot engine is sent in advance of the royal train. This engine travels by itself, about ten minutes in front, and after it has gone by all trains which are passed must stop, and no shunting work may be done or points moved until the royal train has gone by.

Each signalman has to see that everything is done properly, and to signal the royal train by a green flag in addition to the ordinary signals. Every level-crossing gate must be locked as soon as the “pilot” comes along, and men are placed at the principal points, and along the line wherever thought desirable. As a rule, a policeman is stationed on every bridge crossing the railway; and the stationmaster has to be on every platform passed.

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A Royal engine at Portsmouth on the return of the King and Queen from their Coronation Tour in India [1912]. The ship in the background is P&O’s Medina which acted as the Royal Yacht for the tour.

Some people think that when the King travels he does not pay his fare. No doubt most of our railways would be very pleased to convey him on those terms; but in actual practice the usual rates for special trains and the fares of all on board are paid.
‘The Wonder Book of Railways’, Ward, Lock & Co., Ltd., c.1924.