FAMILIAR FIGURES IN EARLY CHRISTCHURCH.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18900, 26 October 1929, Page 21 (Supplement)

FAMILIAR FIGURES IN EARLY CHRISTCHURCH.

“ WICKED “ MARKS WAS ' PROUD OF NICKNAME. - * (By A. SELWYN BRUCE.) Cogitating on bygone days, I have been able to visualise a number of old identities who, in the ’seventies, were well known to every one of their fellow citizens, and I commit the result of my recollections to paper in the hope that my readers will recall to mind people who, in the intervening years, have entirely escaped from memory. The first mar} I envisage is J. L. Coster, the manager of the Bank of New Zealand—immaculately dressed, with silk hat and silk handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket in perfectly orthodox fashion, and seated in his handsome brougham drawn by a pair of horses which were the pride of himself and his fellow as he daily covered the couple of miles between the bank and nis lovely Opawa home, which, after many vicissitudes, has become the Boys’ Hostel of the Christchurch Technical College. And then there was James Embling, with the Spanish cut beard and white bell-topper, working his passage on the old moke to and from his office at the bank to his residence near Arthur Ollivier’s home on Opawa Road, his trouser legs nearly up to his knees, and a clear space of some six inches between his body and the saddle as he rose to the animal’s trot. This old horse was reputed .to be about thirty-five years old, though I don’t think he looked a day over twenty-eight! This point will never be satisfactorily cleared up, because old Parkeson, the Registrar of Births, only accounted for humans in those early days. Embling was colloquially referred to by his fellow townsmen as “the Colorado Beetle” I

Then there was old Rees William Walters, the funereal-faced undertaker, bent double with rheumatoid arthritis, but always managing to mount his heavily-plumed hearse in the dispensation of his well-patronised business. Many a set of coffin furniture have I sold to the old chap when he carried on his trade in Whately Road. Another face that presents itself is that of Dr Turnbull, in that old hansom cab with the seat back to fore. 1 can hear his thud as he hobbled along with his old wooden leg. His highpitched Scotch brogue once heard was never forgotten.

And John T. Matson—that doyen of auctioneers, and owner of Tattersall’s in succession to Barnard. It was quite an education to listen to him as he chaffingly exchanged banter with the dealers round the ring on Saturday mornings, sometimes coaxingly endeavouring to get a bid of five bob a leg for a moke that disgraced the species. Matson rarely failed to hoodwink some innocent yokel into speculating in a Chatham Island beast, or some other equally evil-minded horse. Matson was a man of vision, as far as the development of Mid-Canterbury was concerned, and was an ardent enthusiast in support of the West Coast Midland Railway. He was convinced that it w T as “West Coast Railway, boys, or burst,’ as he expresed it in his forceful way, and he stuck gallantly to the promulgation of his convictions, though it cost him the estrangement of a number of friends, and the loss of much business, Christchurch being then, as now, divided sharply on every project which involved the spending of eighteen pence! Hyman Marks is another old ’un, whose face I recall. He was in partnership with Bernard Simpson at the Prince of Wales Bazaar, next to John Ollivier’s office in High Street. The old shop has recently been demolished to make room for Hallenstein’s handsome building now in course of erection. Marks and Simpson were not always on terms of mutual confidence, and oldtimers may remember that two stone effigies adorned the ends of their shop just below the cornice. These were supposed to represent the proprietors, Marks and Simpson, but the sculptor had not had the benefit of the tutorship of Michel Angelo, and the identification of the two faces was a matter of pure speculation. This fact was substantiated when, after some years of peace, I love, and harmony, a quarrel resulted* | in Marks leaving his partner, and the j feeling was of so strained a nature that | Simpson covered the effigy of what was popularly supposed to represent Marks with a black pall, and this remained there until eventually better counsels prevailed, and Simpson, in order to make quite sure had not covered his own reputed “dial,” had the cover removed. Marks prospered exceedingly, his one ' vice being the smoking of cigars, in which he indulged most lavishly. His . loan and discount business, to which he assiduously deyoted his energy, was I so successful that at his death he left considerable wealth for the benefit of the poor, and the Hyman Marks Ward at our Public Hospital is one shining example of his beneficence. » And who does not remember John

iiiiiiiiiiiHiniiiiiiiiiniiPiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHniiiiiiifiiiiiiiHiniiiii Ollivier in his velvet tail-coat with the F huge pockets loaded with lollies, which he delighted to throw among the kiddies—scrambles which caused so much delight at all public gatherings. And old Suckling, who conducted religious services regularly under the bluegum trees which grew in Cathedral Square, and who was known among us lads as “the Archdeacon of the Bluegums.” And who cannot recall Major Cuningham as he strolled along with heavy measured tread to select his particu- q lar choice of Frank Steel’s stock of meat, his old and faithful brown re- $ triever dog ever at his heels. And G. P. Daze, the old locksmith, with his sparkling diamond ring and gold chain and pendant, and his wee toy Skye terrier disinterestedly lagging behind him as he searched the hardware shops for key blanks out of which to fill some 1 urgent order. _ ‘ Who cannot remember old Hill, the ] lolly maker, whose specialty was bull’s- * eyes of a minty flavour produced by no competitor in his trade? And Sergeant Wilson, one of Peter Pender's right hand “ bobbies,” of gigantic figure and awesome countenance. And Wicked Marks, the pioneer law-breaker . of the town, who was mulcted in fines upon several occasions for selling fruit ' on Sundays, and gloried in the sobriquet by which his street sign told of his fall from grace. And Drake, the dapper bookmaker, with the wry neck, who when once.shouting, “ I lay, I lay, I lay,” was told by a wag to lay his head on the other side. Many a “mug” had a flutter with Drake which ended disastrously. And Mick Hamilton, the four-wheeler cabby, who plied ’ for hire for so many years alongside Tommy Goodger, and Brooker, and ’ others on the City Hotel stand. And Phil Ball and Chris Dalwood, the rival bus proprietors, who were always after ! each other’s scalps on the old run to ’ Sumner before the days of trams. ’ Jubal Fleming was the first agent 1 for Tattersall’s Sweeps, who ran the ' tobacconist’s shop . and hot’ baths in ’ Colombo Street for so many years. In this connection I am reminded of Le 1 Soeur, who had a fish shop and afterwards a hairdressing business incidental to the side line from which his income was chiefly derived, and his 1 friend Martin Taylor, of rotund pro- ’ portions and cherubic face, with flat- ’ topped “hard hitter.” I can visualise 5 old J. A. Bird, the insurance agent, with his patriarchal smile and peery r twinkling eyes. And Aaron Ayers, . the last word in sartorial art, with the perennial buttonhole flower and frock coat and shiny “topper,” enthusing s over the products of his flower garden ’ and shrubbery. And little Hugh Benr nett, the auctioneer, who was an ar- ’ dent advocate of blue ribbon principles. ’ And Thomas Hill, the “ vet,” with the 5 curious little hoppy walk, and his fel- : low animal doctor, Knapman, whose ’ cure-all remedy was saltpetre and bran * mash. And Captain Wilson, the medi- ' cal galvanist, whose cottage still stands 'on Cambridge Terrace West. And ' Charlie Woledge, the comic singer, who so often performed at benefit concerts ' in the old Oddfellows’ Hall in Lichfield 5 Street to the delight of us boys. ' Arthur Beauchamp, the auctioneer, was a familiar figure in his white bell- * topper, and Henry Leake (of the London and Paris china shop, next to Turnbull and Ililson’s), of rotund figure, and known to us by the cryptic letters, “J. *B. Leake.” Then there was Charles Prince, of the s Sydenham House china shop, who was * an enthusiastic bird fancier, especially breeding prize ducks, two of which ’ one of mv mischievous brothers stuffed t into our canary cage when we lived f next to Prince. My mother’s description of Prince trying to extricate the ’ ducks from the canary cage beggars 1 description, his final summing up with, -j ” Well, I don’t know how the young devil got them in,” causing my mother . to retire in explosive mirth to save a dangerous situation! 2 Then there was Tommy Brass, the .j draper, with his paralysed hands, which e made his gestures so remarkably amus- \ ing. And Tom Millet, on the old [. brake (the only one I ever remember seeing), breaking in young horses for g clients of the original Rink Stables—- [. a very handsome and imposing soldier e in his Yeomanry Cavalry uniform when pon parade. And J. R. Johnstone, the e grocer, of High Street, with his black bell-topper nodding to his gait as he r perambulated the distance between his p shop and his residence in Hereford a Street. We always knew him as 20e per-cent-Johnston, to distinguish him from our other acquaintance of the same name. And Bill Lodge, the butJfcher, who erected the concrete and e » matting cricket practice pavilion next t to Collins’s Hotel, where many a rip.t ping half-hour’s batting to the trundlt ling of Lodge and the professional PoLS cock was to be obtained at a nominal T cost. n And there was Colborne Veel, with >t bis long, shaggy beard and monocle, e striding along Montreal Street to his office at the Normal School buildings—ie truly a picturesque though, somewhat n unique figure. And so one might is ramble on and on were it not for the h limit of the reader’s patience and the ts editor’s scissors. My contemplation ft bas been most amusing and interesting >f to myself, and I only hope that those d old fogies who are able to wade g through my reminiscences may derive equal satisfaction from the memories n they will assuredly revive.