The working life of Museum of London

Since I joined the organisation in 1998, much of my work at the Museum of London Archaeology Service has been focussed on analysing and interpreting the vast quantities of 16th-19th century dated artefacts excavated as part of the redevelopment of the area between London’s Bishopsgate and Spitalfields market (just to the north of Liverpool Street station) during 1994-2005 (modern map).

Much of this material was found during the abandonment of backyard features of a dozen or so houses built during the late 17th/early 18th century. These backyard features, related either to the drainage of the kitchen, yard and guttering (soakaway pits) or the disposal of human and household waste (the privy) were often filled with both organic waste (cess, remains of meals) and rubbish (glass, pottery, pipes, hearth sweepings etc). Each individual feature was quickly filled though the dates when this occurred across these properties ranged between 1820-50.

I’ve used some archaeological jargon - in this context, a ‘feature’ is a hole in the ground that represents some human activity. ‘Assemblage’ is another term that has a specific meaning in archaeology - roughly speaking, it’s a group of artefacts found near each other.

These tightly dated finds assemblages, from properties on what was once Spital Square and Fort Street, Duke Street and Steward Street, London - a neighbourhood mostly demolished between 1920-50 - therefore required a different interpretive response and focus. By employing essentially genealogical approaches, I searched the surviving administrative records for these streets for the period (Land Tax assessments, commercial directories, Sun Life Insurance records, Sewer Rate books and census returns) and worked out the addresses of the properties studied. Once achieved, my attention shifted to finding out more about the people whom lived here at the time when these backyard features were abandoned.

This meshing of finds and documentary evidence - focussed on individual households - provided me with an intimate insight into the lives of many of Spitalfields forgotten residents.

Though this household archaeology approach, aided by using online resources such as the Old Bailey online (www.oldbaileyonline.org) and the The Times newspaper, captured much information, I am interested in finding out more about the following people whose possessions are now curated in our archive. I therefore welcome comments from any descendants of the families listed below! The names of the principal heads of household are given by address(along with the dates of occupation) though we often know the names of their children too.

1. Joseph Graham, Ann Graham and Mark Graham of 24 Fort Street: 1811-25. Silk manufacturers. Joseph died in 1817/8.
2. James Vernell and Elizabeth Ive Vernell of 25 Fort Street: 1813-24. James was a silk manufacturer, his brother John Vernell worked nearby on Steward Street.
3. Thomas Walker of 29 Fort Street: 1831-4. Silk manufacturer.
4. Barnabas Martin and Mary Martin of 29 Fort Street: 1841. Barnabas was a silk manufacturer.
5. William Gilbert of 30 Fort Street: 1830-5. Silk manufacturer. William and his family were long-term residents of Fort Street whom frequently moved between different houses here.
6. Judah Woolf and Rose Woolf of 31 Fort Street: 1871-9. Judah was a general dealer. Part of the Jewish community. London born.
7. Charles Millingen and Sarah (neé Barnet) Millingen of 5 Spital Square: 1847-57. Charles was employed as a umbrella manufacturer and were Ashkenazi Jews. Charles was London born, Sarah from the Bay of Biscay. More information about this family appears on GenPals Cemetery Project www.genpals.com <http://www.genpals.com/>
8. John Reid and Louisa Reid of 21 Spital Square: c1833-45. John was employed as a silk manufacturer. Scottish born.
9. William White and Ann White of 17 Crispin Street: 1841. William was employed as a shoe maker.

I look forward to receiving your comments about these 19th-century Londoners.

When visiting an archaeological site anywhere in the world, one of the most common mechanisms used in presenting the past and interpreting the way that people lived is through the numerous examples of the countless broken fragments of pottery found. Unsurprisingly, when my colleagues at the Museum of London Archaeology Service (MoLAS) dig a site in London, the amount of pottery they excavate ends up filling boxes (sometimes numbering into their hundreds….).

Why, however, is so much of this material found? Firstly, pottery is durable and so tends to survive well even when broken, secondly it has been readily available to Londoners since ‘London became London’ after the Roman Conquest of AD 43, and (thirdly) the millions of people whom have cumulatively lived in our city over the last 2000 years all would have used pottery in some shape or form. Think about how many plates, dishes and cups etc that you have already broken, and decided you should throw out or give away. Multiply this against the above factors and you can see how the Museum’s archaeological archive is filled with so much of this stuff.

Given the large volume of these excavated materials then it is little wonder that I represent just one of a number of people whose job it is to deal with either the Roman, Saxon or medieval and later pottery found from London’s archaeological sites. While the fragments I handle date from the later Saxon period in London (generally after AD 950) to later Victorian pottery, I also have colleagues who work on Roman pottery alone. It is a job that excites many (whilst also baffling a few).

At the most basic level of analysis, the identification of pottery is important because accuracy provides the main framework by which we can date the excavated layers, pits, privies, rubbish dumps, buildings etc we find in London (though this is the same for any archaeological site, anywhere in the world).

But how can we be so sure about our identification and our chronologies? We are fortunate that for the medieval period we now know something about where the pottery that sat on Londoner’s tables and their cooking areas was made. Here we have relied on the identification of the kilns and those waster pits around them containing their (broken) products, to match up against the similarly excavated in London. We therefore now know that the white-fired pottery with a green glaze so commonly found in excavations on medieval London was made in Kingston and its immediate environs simply because many of the pottery production centres making these pots have been excavated.

Chronological refinement can also be achieved for the tonnes of pottery found dumped behind London’s medieval wooden waterfront sequences, where dendrochronolgical analysis (tree ring dating), together with other evidence (for example coins), can be used to show when particular types of ceramics where most popular. Put another way this has shown that the products of a particular kiln or a particular style and shape of pottery (for example different shaped jugs) could be present in dumps dated to 14th century but completely absent in those dated earlier or later.

However, there is more to interpreting broken pottery than what I have written above. Different periods require different techniques and responses. This is the case when analysing the pottery dating to the Georgian and Victorian period, the material culture (not just pottery) of which I am particularly interested in. Much of my eight years working for MoLAS has been spent looking at the pottery excavated from sites around Spitalfields market, prior to its present day redevelopment. It is the interpretation of the pottery and other things discarded in quickly abandoned privies between the mid 18th and 19th century that provides the focus of my next blog.