Collections & Research

Often, people announce - with a knowing look in their eye – that Science knows more of the surface of the moon than it does of the deep oceans of our own planet. This platitude is probably vague enough to be considered accurate, but it ignores a salient fact about Earth: a lot more is happening here, especially in the oceans, and even the smallest sample of abyssal mud contains a wealth of life sufficient for years of study. Oceanographic missions are rare because each one produces a superabundance of data and specimens that require decades of work to describe and interpret. The simple problem of man-hours and scarcity of expertise in niche fields is what limits the scope of modern oceanography (and the funding available to it).

Blue-sky thinking

The index case for this problem was that of the Challenger expedition of 1872-76, a sprawling endeavor to “investigate the physical conditions of the deep sea in the great ocean basins” - scarcely has an expedition brief been bolder or more vague – with a navy vessel and a small group of gentleman-scientists headed by Charles Wyville Thomson. Wyville Thomson had headed earlier voyages to chart the waters around the British Isles, discovering life down to depths of 1200 metres; he had become the patriarch of the nascent discipline of oceanography, which – before Challenger – was limited to a hazy understanding that a lot of the oceans were very deep indeed. The vessel set out with a complement of around 250 men of all ranks and stations, weighing anchor in Portsmouth in December 1872 and zigzagging down the Atlantic coast of Europe before striking out towards the Caribbean. She would sail on for almost eighty thousand miles, crossing and re-crossing the Atlantic before swooping down to the sub Antarctic Kerguelen archipelago, circling Australia and the Pacific, and finally passing through the Straits of Magellan at the tip of South America on her way home.

A challenging legacy

This, however, is not the end of the story. On her voyage, the Challenger measured depth and temperature and collected biota, samples of living organisms from the sea floor, at 360 stations along the route of her voyage. The vessel was fitted with a fully-equipped laboratory, and vast volumes of specimens, data, and readings were amassed during the three years at sea; sediment samples sealed in meticulously-labelled bottles and countless specimens steeped in alcohol, volumes upon volumes of log-books and charts, water samples, and photographic negatives. There is a limit to the amount of useful scientific study that can be done by half-a-dozen scientists on a ship, so the massed volume of potential information was stored for the journey before being distributed across the country upon the ship’s return, each major grouping of specimens going to an organisation or individual most proficient in the study of that given group. Thus began the process of documentation, interpretation, and publication which follows any respectable scientific endeavour; but from the start it was fraught with difficulty, and the project would outstrip the length of the voyage six fold in terms of years spent upon it.

Tome after tome…

The grandly-titled ‘Report of the Scientific Results of the Voyage of H.M.S. Challenger during the Years 1873-76’, and its associated texts, started trickling from the presses almost as soon as the ship returned to port, but publication would drag on across fifty volumes and more than 29,500 pages. These shelves of heavy tomes contained the distilled data of the expedition, beautifully illustrated with hand-coloured lithographs depicting the litany of species which described as new to science. Wyville Thomson oversaw the publications, but the stress of the project overwhelmed him and he withdrew in 1881, dying shortly afterwards. His place was taken by John Murray, his friend and fellow oceanographer on the voyage; the Report would not be completed until nineteen years after the Challenger docked, a vast, sprawling and prohibitively expensive manuscript which has yet to be matched in terms of vision, boldness and scope (and quite possibly cost) to this day. In the current climate of meandering austerity and profit-motivated science, it seems inconceivable that such a dedicated blue-skies expedition, and the years of follow-up, could be mounted in the 21^st century; modern oceanography exists as a passenger, travelling alongside the oil industry and the world’s navies, everywhere studying the workings of nature through the lens of humanity’s impact upon it.

Echoes of Challenger

Echoes of Challenger appear everywhere in the study of samples from the deep ocean. Besides the heavy, leather-bound volumes that sit in the Mollusca Library at the Museum, the Ted Phorson collection which I’m currently working on contains swathes of sub-millimetre-sized mollusc shells (and other, stranger things) sampled from the North Atlantic by a remote vehicle (R.V.) designated vessel named Challenger, and Phorson himself worked on some of Charles Wyville Thomson’s still-unsorted specimens in the late 1970s, almost a hundred years on from when they were first collected. Modern scientific literature on the fauna of the deep oceans refers frequently to the Challenger Report, as so few works have tackled these organisms at the same level of detail since, and it seems unlikely that the oceanographers of the future will be able to; the days of the explorers are surely long gone. It is easy to feel a twinge of nostalgia for the scientific buccaneers of Challenger and, before it, the Beagle voyage – free from want for time and money, invested not with a desire for the wealth of nature, nor with a noble wish to save the oceans from man’s depredations, but instead willing to cast themselves out into the boundless wastes of the sea in search of the heady drug of knowledge, a pure and stupefying substance that raises one above the clouds, denied to us pragmatic, modern mortals. It is comforting to think of the vast mines of secrets that remain undreamt amid the vastness of the abyss, waiting for the explorers of the far future to uncover. Perhaps it is just as well that the days of the old sojourners are over, for now – after all, they have left the better part of their work undone.

The first object this month is this wages book from Roath Power Station. Roath Power Station was owned by the Cardiff City Electricity Department until Nationalisation, when the Central Electricity Generating Board formed. It was situated on a site on the corner of Newport Road and Colchester Avenue, and began supplying electricity in 1902. It was essential in supplying electricity to the new fleet of electric trams that began running in Cardiff from 1902, and a Tram Depot was situated close by on Newport Road. This aerial view from the Tempest Collection shows the site in the 1950s after the construction of the two concrete cooling towers were completed in 1942.

Last year we were donated a copy of the design for the Lesbians & Gay Men Support the Miners Group badge that was produced in 1984. The events from 1984/85 were recently depicted in the film ‘Pride’. We have now been donated two of the original designs for the badge. This complements a number of objects in our collection including a 30^th anniversary badge manufactured in 2014.

Also relating to the 1984/85 Miners’ Strike we have been donated this month this ‘Cardiff Miners Support Committee’ mug. It was manufactured by the Welsh Beaker Company in about 1985. It was purchased by the donor at a benefit gig at Cardiff Students Union, whilst a student at Cardiff, to support the miners during the 1984/85 strike.

Finally we need your help to identify this lovely view of a Victorian boating lake. It was taken by the photographer J. Owen of Newtown who had won a prize for his photography at the National Eisteddfod on 1889. The lake is currently unidentified but it has been suggested it might be the lake at Llandrindod Wells, or possibly Lake Mochdre at Newtown. If anyone is able to help confirm the location we would love to hear from you.

Mark Etheridge
Curator: Industry & Transport
Follow us on Twitter - @IndustryACNMW

Exhibition review by Museum's Youth Forum.

As youth forum members we were able to help input our opinions into the design of the temporary exhibition and have been able to see it develop from a drawing on paper to a physical form. Today we have examined the exhibition and have evaluated the information and items displayed.

Amgueddfa Cymru has been tasked with commemorating the WW1 centenary. Personally, we believe that the exhibition is very interesting as it gives an insight into the medicinal history starting from Ancient Greece right up to the 21st century. We enjoyed the exhibition overall. The video grabbed our attention the most and we were able to see a visual aspect of medicinal practice with a humorous touch.

The exhibition has a number of different displays which hold valuable information about medicine and the different tools used to carry out medical procedures such as amputations. It contains a silent video in both Welsh and English that shows a few medical procedures from the Roman times. There are some replicas of medical items in the display case that have been used such as a Face Mask used in World War One to disguise facial wounds. 

There is also a small game on an iPad that tests your knowledge of the information in the exhibition. This together with the video has proved to be a success with the general public. Some reviews say that they liked “the doctor video” and a young person enjoyed it when the doctor was “cutting the leg off”.

By Joel Powell, Emma Jones and Hannah Sweetapple.

This week marks the centenary of the St Fagans Red Cross VAD Hospital which opened in the grounds of St Fagans Castle on 22 March 1916. This blog looks at three examples of needlework made by serving soldiers from the collection, including a delicate piece of beadwork hand-crafted by a patient at the St Fagans auxiliary hospital.

Patchwork chest of drawers cover (1883)

Richard Evans from Llanbrynmair served with the Army in India. While stationed there in 1883, he supposedly made this striking patchwork chest of drawers cover as a present for his mother. The back is marked with a handwritten dedication in black ink: Rhodd i fy mam Sarah Evans 1883 (A gift for my mother Sarah Evans 1883).

The bold geometric design is stylistically very similar to other patchworks made by soldiers of this period. The Victoria & Albert Museum has a large bedcover in its collection attributed to Private Francis Brayley, whose regiment was based in India between 1864 and 1877. Both Richard Evans and Francis Brayley made their patchworks from thick woollen cloths, likely to be off-cuts or remnants of military uniforms.

Needlework was considered a very useful skill for soldiers to learn, not only to maintain and repair their kit, but also as a method of relaxation – a distraction from the temptations of alcohol and gambling. Textile crafts were also used as occupational therapy for injured soldiers, as depicted by the artist Thomas William Wood in his painting of Private Thomas Walker. Held by the Hunterian Museum, the painting shows the convalescing soldier stitching a patchwork quilt from his sick-bed.

Sweetheart pincushion (1914 - 1918)

Private Brinley Rhys Edmunds from Barry died of dysentery while imprisoned at Konigsbruck in September 1918. During the War, he made this heart-shaped pincushion for his mother – possibly at a military training camp or barracks. The centre of the pincushion features the insignia of the Welsh Regiment and the motto Gwell Angau na Chywilydd (Better Death than Dishonour). Known as ‘sweetheart’ pincushions, many thousands have survived in museums and family collections, although very little is known about their production and distribution. The uniformity of these pincushions suggests they were produced as craft kits for soldiers and civilians to assemble.

Beadwork butterfly (1918)

Corporal Walter Stinson, a painter from Battersea, was a patient at the St Fagans Red Cross Hospital in early 1918. While recuperating from injuries sustained in France, he made this intricate butterfly belt buckle from tiny glass beads. It seems that he and his fellow patients made and sold similar pieces in aid of the Evening Express Prisoners of War Fund. The following note was published in the Western Mail on 19 April 1918.

Yesterday’s total of £38 15s 6d sent to the Evening Express Prisoners of War Fund included… £10 from the patients at St Fagans Red Cross VAD Hospital (proceeds of bead work).

According to Walter Stinson’s descendants, the Prince of Wales bought one of his pieces at an exhibition in Cardiff. He was discharged from the Army on 3 December 1918 for being no longer physically fit for service.

To discover more about the use of textiles and needlework to commemorate, celebrate, mourn and heal during the First World War, take a look at Amgueddfa Cymru's online collections database. And as we continue to mark the centenary of the St Fagans Red Cross Hospital, follow the hashtags #Hospital100 #Ysbyty100 on Twitter.

We are 6 months old now and still going strong.  We have achived loads in that time, such as treating 130 objects and sorting out the support collection so we can use the objects on site.  We have also produced handcrafted soft furnishings to help improve interpretation in the houses, plus introduced traditional skills back into the historic buildings by using herbs to protect our textiles from pests and creating rag rugs to keep the dust down. Not to mention learning to spin the wool from our sheep.  Phew what a lot!

We are now well settled into our cottage at Llwyn yr eos farm at St. Fagans and even reinstated the open fireplace, which has been a welcome boost to the heating on colder days this winter.  Also it's good for toasting teacakes!

Yesterday we put our work on show during a one day seminar in Cardiff ' Small Changes Add Up' organised by the the Wales Council for Voluntary Action and the Museum. Here are some photos