Carving out spaces: living above your business

In 1900, James Knight set about remodelling his business premises and home, which happened to be one above the other (Collins and Harman 1900, Press 17/3/1900: 4). He’d purchased the property the year before, having worked and lived there in the early 1890s (Lyttelton Times 19/3/1898: 6). At the time of purchase, the property – in High Street, Christchurch – consisted of three ground floor shops, each with a flat above. By the time James’s renovations were complete, it was just two ground floor shops and one flat upstairs, which he and his family (wife Charlotte and children Charles, Edith and Florence) promptly moved into (Collins and Harman 1900, H. Wise & Co. 1901: 209). It’s the layout upstairs that’s of particular interest to me, and the differences between the layout of this central city flat and your standard suburban house, and the complex picture they present.

James Knight’s premises prior to the alterations in 1900. The butchery was in the left-most shop. Image: Collins and Harman 1900.

Before we dive into that, though, a little context. In the 19th century Anglo-colonial world, particularly in England and the United States, the domestic urban landscape was characterised by the development of the suburb. This came about in part as a result of transport options that meant living further from your place of work was actually feasible (for those who could afford said transport options), but also as the central city was increasingly perceived as a dirty, dusty and disease-ridden place, thanks to the factories that sprang up as a result of the Industrial Revolution. Thus, again, those who could afford to decamped to the suburbs, where the houses were bigger (central city housing was often terrace housing) and there was greenery and the air was healthy. Of course this was bound up with money and class – those with working class occupations could rarely afford suburban living and had little choice but to live in often cramped inner-city housing (Archer 2005, Wright 1983). This is where New Zealand, and the opportunities it presented, differed: people from a wide variety of class backgrounds and with a range of occupations were able to live in the suburbs. And they did: my research indicates that occupational class was no barrier to purchasing land and building, and that this was, for most people, the preferred option and quickly came to represent the norm. You don’t need me to point out how this has shaped the New Zealand psyche (the same is also true of other British colonial nations, as Luke Malpass observed earlier this week).

But, when you couldn’t afford this, or simply chose to live in the central city, what did this actually look like, and how did it differ from a suburban home? Fortunately, the plans of Charlotte and James Knight’s renovations survive to shed some light on this.

Interior of James Knight’s butchery, c.1910. Image: Webb, c.1910.

In their original form, access to the flats above the shops was via stairs at the rear of the shop, meaning family and any visitors had to walk through the shop to get up to the living quarters. This would have been all well and good if you owned a tailor’s shop (as one of the other occupants did), but James was a butcher, and family and friends would have walked past numerous hanging carcasses to reach the staircase. Now, Victorians seem to have been a bit less squeamish about the realities of eating meat than we are today, but bear in mind that there wasn’t a whole of refrigeration going on at the time, so it may well have been a touch smelly and there might have been flies, particularly in the height of summer. There’s another factor at play, too.

During the Victorian era, the idea that work and home should be separate became increasingly prevalent among the middle class (this idea neatly sidestepped the fact that domestic work was, well, work). This seems to have been less of a concern amongst the upper middle class: doctors often had their consulting rooms in their houses and ‘gentlemen’ often had what was essentially a home office. For working class families, and particularly for the women in those families (who often took in work; Bishop 2019), such a separation was often impossible. Nevertheless, this was certainly the ideal for those with middle class occupations and likely also for many with working class occupations. Of course, covid has taught us that there are many reasons why this separation is a good idea and they have nothing to do with class or class aspirations.

The plans for the renovation of the ground floor, showing the central staircase. Image: Collins and Harman 1900.

But back to Charlotte and James. Not only did James convert the ground floor of his building from three shops to two, he changed how the first floor was accessed, giving it a completely separate staircase that was accessed from High Street, without having to go through the butchery (although there were also stairs at the rear of the shop). The family no longer had to pass through the shop with its carcasses to reach their home – and nor did they clutter up the shop space unnecessarily. But here’s where things get a little odd. After ascending the staircase, you arrived in the home, outside the bathroom and bedrooms, rather than next to the parlour or drawing room. Think about it: even today, the front door of your house typically opens into a communal space. Not only did Charlotte and James’s visitors arrive next to the bathroom, they then had to walk past all the family bedrooms and the servant’s bedroom (more on that in just a second) to reach the dining room. Most unusual. Bedrooms and bathrooms were typically considered to be the ‘private’ parts of a Victorian house, where guests were unlikely to venture. I am dissembling somewhat, as James’s office was near the top of the stairs, as was the sitting room (another oddity: most houses had a drawing room or a parlour, rather than a sitting room). This doesn’t change the fact you did land right outside the bathroom. I know I keep going on about this, but it flies in the face of pretty much all that I know about housing in the Anglo-colonial world.

The plan for the renovation of the first floor. Image: Collins and Harman 1900.

Another odd detail was that the sitting room was positioned in amongst the bedrooms. Its location, however, was consistent with the idea that this sort of communal space where guests might be entertained was at the front of the house. But, again, the sitting room was typically a ‘public’ space and bedrooms were private, so putting them in the same part of the house was fairly unusual. Although, to be fair, in smaller houses (often built by or for those with working class occupations), where there was no dining room (the Knights had a dining room), the front two rooms (in the ‘public’ part of the house) were typically  the master bedroom and the parlour.

A further intriguing element of the layout of the flat was the position of the servant’s bedroom. In fact, the mere presence of a servant’s bedroom tells us something about Charlotte and James: that they could afford to employ a servant (full disclosure, James died with an estate valued at something like £25,000, but that was in 1918 and this was 1900 (Knight 1918)) and saw employing one as an important part of their lifestyle. I should perhaps have mentioned before now that James’s occupation – a business-owning butcher – positioned him and Charlotte securely in the middle class (if he were just a butcher, working for someone else, which is how his career started out, that would have been a working class occupation). But back to the position of the servant’s bedroom: it was pretty squarely in the middle of the house, which did make it close to the kitchen, etc. But family members couldn’t get from the dining room to their bedroom, or the sitting room, without walking past it. Again, this was unusual. Servant’s bedrooms were typically tucked away at the back of the house (in this flat, I would have expected it to be located back down by the scullery, or where bedroom 2 was), so that they, along with their work, could be hidden from view and kept out of sight of the family. Proximity to the kitchen was perhaps the deciding factor here.

There were multiple ways, then, in which the Knights’ flat did not conform to the norms of the day. This was no doubt a response to the spatial constraints of the original building, which was quite different in shape from your average house (typically square or rectangular, rather than this L-shape). Were the Knights aware of how much their home flew in the face of convention, of what visitors might have thought? I think they must’ve known it was unusual. The Knights didn’t reside here – business boomed and, by 1914, they’d moved to the west end of Cashel Street (NZER (Christchurch East) 1914: 68). As it happens, this was getting pretty close to the part of the central city favoured by the elite, being the land adjacent to Hagley Park and Cranmer Square, and the area immediately to the east – an area of greenness and spacious sections. I don’t know anything about the layout of this house – or the layout of other inner-city flats. An area that is ripe for further investigation – watch this space!

Katharine Watson

References

Archer, John, 2005. Architecture and Suburbia: From English Villa to American Dream House, 1690-2000. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Bishop, Catherine, 2019. Women Mean Business: Colonial Businesswomen in New Zealand. Dunedin: Otago University Press.

Collins and Harman, 1900. James Knight premises. [architectural drawing] Armson – Collins Architectural Drawing Collection, MB 1418-31252. Christchurch: Macmillan Brown Library, University of Canterbury. Link: https://kohika.canterbury.ac.nz/opac_canterbury/scripts/mwimain.dll/144/Description/Web_desc_det_rep?sessionsearch&fld=SISN&exp=32887

H. Wise & Co., 1901. Wise’s New Zealand Post Office Directory. Available at: ancestry.com.

Knight, James, 1918. Probate. Christchurch Probate Files 1855-2003, CH9756/1918 224 R22393867. Christchurch: Archives New Zealand.

Lyttelton Times. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

NZER (New Zealand Electoral Rolls). Available at: ancestry.com

Press. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Webb, Steffano, c.1910. Interior of James Knight's butchers shop in Christchurch. [photograph] Webb, Steffano, 1880-1967: collection of negatives, 1/1-004186-G. Wellington: Alexander Turnbull Library. Link: https://natlib.govt.nz/records/23073247

Wright, Gwendolyn, 1983. Building the Dream: A Social History of Housing in America. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press.

 Banner image: M. Hennessey, Ōtautahi Christchurch archaeological archive.

Of fish knives and sherry glasses: examining class in 19th century Christchurch

Edward Watson Tippetts lived alone. No wife, no children. No need to read anything into this, but it was unusual for mid-late 19th century Christchurch. As it happens, he may not have lived alone: although he never advertised for a servant, his lifestyle, gender and social situation indicate that it’s highly likely he employed one, and it’s possible that they lived in, as servants of the day often did. That Edward lived alone is not what makes him the focus of today’s blog post, however – it’s more of an interesting side bar, as it were. The real reason I’m writing about Edward is social class, and that his changing social position provides some insight into the nuances of investigating social class and material culture in Christchurch in the mid-19th century.

A Chinese export porcelain plate that Edward threw out. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

Class feels like an old-fashioned topic to be writing about, particularly when you’re focusing on a privileged white man, but the reality is that class and social status were key to shaping the lives of colonial settlers in 19th century New Zealand. Thus, understanding how class functioned at that time and place is important for understanding life then. More than that, class continues to shape New Zealanders’ lives today, and exploring class in the 19th century can help us understand how it affects people’s lives today, and why that’s the case.

A chamber pot, decorated with the Cattle Scenery pattern, that Edward threw out. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

It’s generally accepted that, particularly during the early phase of British settlement of New Zealand, class boundaries were more porous here than in Britain. In part, this was because the colonial setting removed people from their context (and their support networks), enabling them to construct their identities as they saw fit. Further, this was a setting where money could talk (there was by no means a direct relationship between class and money in Britain, although there was a strong correlation) – and where it was possible for a far greater range of people to make significant amounts of money. Not only were class boundaries more porous, there was no true upper class (in the British sense) here, and occupations that were generally considered middle class in Britain were upper middle class occupations in New Zealand (McAloon 2004, Olssen and Hickey 2005). It’s important to recognise that the class system I’m writing about applied to New Zealand’s colonial settlers, not iwi Māori. Nor would it have applied to Chinese settlers.

One of the decorative salad oil bottles Edward threw out. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

Edward grew up in a middle class household in London (his father was a lawyer) in the 1830s and 1840s, immigrating to Christchurch in 1851, aged 21 (Ancestry 2024). Here, he founded the company Tippetts, Silk and Heywood with his fellow shipmates, Alfred Silk and Joseph Heywood (Macdonald 1952-64: 264). I’d like to hazard a guess that, Edward’s name being first in the business’s name, he put up the bulk of the funds for it. The partnership was dissolved in 1855 (Lyttelton Times 14/7/1855: 1). At around this time, Edward had a brief foray into the Australian goldfields, before returning to manage the Steam wharf in Heathcote. This was followed by a fairly short-lived investment in a hotel at Woodend, and then a lengthy period of employment as a goods shed manager on the railways (Macdonald 1952-64: 264).

A buff-bodied Bristol glazed jug thrown out by Edward. The relief moulding is of a pastoral scene, with people drinking under some trees. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

All this delving into Edward’s employment history is important, because I use occupation to define class. It’s not a perfect method (there isn’t one), but in Aotearoa we’re fortunate to be able to draw on some rigorous historical research about occupational class and status in the late 19th century (although the authors would note that this was developed in south Dunedin and should be applied with caution elsewhere; Olssen and Hickey 2005). Drawing on Olssen and Hickey’s work, then, Edward’s various occupations – small business proprietor and white-collar – were solidly middle class. But in his parents’ eyes, he would essentially have taken a step down the class ladder, as it were. But the archaeological and historical record show that Edward’s lifestyle in Christchurch befitted a member of the upper middle class in this city.

The sale of Edward’s goods and possessions, 1878. Image: Lyttelton Times 15/2/1878: 4.

Edward lived in Avonside for more than 10 years, in a house he probably built (LINZ c.1860: 425). This house had a drawing and a dining room, both of which were more typical of upper middle class that middle class houses (the latter typically had a parlour, as opposed to a drawing room, and was unlikely to have a dining room). These rooms were fitted out with, amongst other things, a loo table, various sideboards and set of croquet (which was surely more use outside, but no matter). The sale of Tippetts’s household goods in 1878 revealed a range of specialised dining accoutrements, such as dessert spoons, entrée dishes, a fish knife and a dessert service (Lyttelton Times 15/2/1878: 4). From the rubbish Tippetts threw out, we know he also had fancy glasses, some of which would have been used for serving sherry, as well as rather ornate salad oil bottles, Chinese export porcelain, a rather fabulous jug and a surprisingly pretty chamber pot, alongside your more standard black beer bottles and Willow pattern china.

Two of the sherry glasses Edward threw out. Image: M. Lillo Bernabeu.

It’s the things with specialised forms and functions – the dining room, the entrée dish, the fish knife, the sherry glasses – that are particularly indicative of upper middle class status in New Zealand in the 19th century (Lawrence et al. 2012, Watson 2022: 336). At this point, it’s important to note that, in England, these objects would have been associated with middle class status, demonstrating how class changed between the two settings. The purchase of specialised objects indicates sufficient disposable income to do so. More than that, though, it indicates the desire to embrace the lifestyle – and class – that these things embodied, whether it was because it was the class you had grown up in, thought appropriate for you or because it was the social class you aspired to (Bell 2002: 261). Something else that’s important to note is that it wasn’t just the ownership and use of these things that mattered, it was the ‘correct’ use of them – numerous advice and etiquette manuals of the day provided, well, advice on the correct (upper) middle class ways to behave, both recognising and feeding into social anxieties about not behaving correctly (Fitts 1999: 58-59). Given Edward’s background, it seems likely that he would have known how to use his sherry glasses and fish knives, and that he was replicating the lifestyle he was familiar with from his childhood and one that he felt befitted him. Research suggests that this lifestyle wouldn’t have been familiar to many of his middle class contemporaries in Christchurch.

The story of Edward, his house and his things highlights the twists and turns class takes as the context changes, as well as how the simple ascription of a particular class based on a category such as occupation is not the whole story. This was not news to me, but I loved exploring how this particular example played out. If nothing else, it highlights that everyone’s experience is different, and that it is all to easy to lose the nuance when you start talking about large categories, such as “the middle class”. These terms obfuscate and hide the reality of people’s lived day-to-day experiences, and how they adapted to their circumstances. Edward arrived in a new city, where class definitions and boundaries, although more porous than he was used to, were still very real, but things were changing, and there was the opportunity to move beyond the strictures of the world he had known. Whether or not he saw his life in these terms is hard to tell: while the occupations he pursued might suggest this, the material culture and lifestyle he embraced suggests that he had not left behind many of the cultural norms he was familiar with and that defined his family’s social class.

References

Ancestry, 2024. Edward Watson Tippetts. [online] Available at: https://www.ancestry.com/family-tree/person/tree/70543637/person/392303379650/facts [Accessed 12 July 2024].

Bell, Alison, 2002. Emulation and empowerment: material, social and economic dynamics in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Virginia. International Journal of Historical Archaeology 6(4): 253-98.

Fitts, Robert K., 1999. The archaeology of middle-class domesticity and gentility in Victorian Brooklyn. Historical Archaeology 33(1): 39-62.

Lawrence, Susan, Alasdair Brooks, and Jane Lennon, 2009. Ceramics and status in regional Australia. Australasian Historical Archaeology 27: 67-78.

LINZ, c. 1860. Canterbury Land Index Deeds Index ‐ C/S 1 ‐ Subdivisions of rural sections register. Archives New Zealand, Christchurch office.

Lyttelton Times. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Macdonald, G. R., 1952-64. Macdonald Dictionary of Canterbury Biography. [online] Available at: https://collection.canterburymuseum.com/explore [Accessed 12 July 2024].

McAloon, Jim, 2004. Class in colonial New Zealand: towards a historiographical rehabilitation. New Zealand Journal of History 38 (1): 3-21.

Olssen, Erik and Maureen Hickey, 2005. Class and Occupation: The New Zealand Reality. Dunedin: Otago University Press.

Watson, K., 2022. 101 demolitions: how a disaster shed light on life in nineteenth century Christchurch. PhD thesis, University of Canterbury.

Straight to gaol

“The practice of inflicting pain on children as punishment was widely accepted in Pakeha [sic] society as an essential child-raising tool for parents and other caregivers” (Maclean 2006: 7). It’s a confronting statement, and refers to 19th century New Zealand, where, indeed, the right to physically punish a child was enshrined in law. Somewhat ironically (to 21st century eyes), a section of the Children’s Protection Act 1890 stated that “[n]othing in this Act contained shall be construed to take away or affect the right of any parent, teacher, or other person having the lawful control or charge of a child to administer reasonable punishment to such child.” This law reflected broad societal acceptance amongst Pākehā of the practice of physically punishing children, as well as preserving the right of the courts to sentence a child to such a punishment.

Not only were physical punishments handed out to alarmingly young children in 19th century New Zealand (and numerous other countries), so too were sentences of incarceration. These punishments reflected a society – and legal system – that saw little difference between children and adults and did not recognise that children might be both more vulnerable than adults and less able to think through the implications and rights and wrongs of their actions. These attitudes began to change towards the end of the 19th century with the passage of the 1893 Criminal Code Act. With this act, children under seven could no longer be prosecuted for their actions, while those aged between seven and 14 could only be prosecuted if there was evidence that they knew they were doing wrong (Watt 2003: 7). 

These legislative changes, though, came too late for Robert Bruce Hardie. Robert was the son of Andrew and Maria Hardie, born in Shoreditch (not Scotland, as you might have expected with that name) in 1868, the fourth of their eight children (only six of whom survived childhood; Ancestry 2006-24). The Hardie family arrived in Christchurch in 1874 and by 1879 had bought land and built a very small house (just over 50 square metres!) in the Avon loop, on the outskirts of central Christchurch. It is through this house that Robert came to my attention. Robert’s first encounter with the law was in 1878, when he was arrested and charged with stealing a horse blanket and some apples. During the court case that followed, the policeman involved described Robert as a good boy who’d not been in trouble with the law before but noted that he was in “bad health”. Given these mitigating circumstances, he was sentenced to six hours in prison (Star (Christchurch) 1/11/1878: 3). He was 10.

The house that Andrew and Maria Hardie built in the Avon loop, in Christchurch (the door and windows had been replaced in the early 20th century). Andrew and Maria built this small house in 1879, and lived here until 1886. Image: P. Mitchell, Ōtautahi Christchurch archaeological archive.

Prison in this case was probably the rather forbidding Addington Gaol. Surprisingly little has been written about the history and operation of this gaol, and it is not clear how children imprisoned there were treated. Late in the 1870s, it was noted that it was difficult to keep boys in the gaol separate from other prisoners there, implying that this was at least the intention, if one that was not always observed (Lyttelton Times 7/10/1879: 6).

The only surviving building from Addington Gaol, in 2005 (the building is now a backpackers). In the same way that little has been written about the history of gaol, there are surprisingly few photographs of it. Image: Wikipedia.

If this short spell in prison had been intended to deter Robert from future criminal behaviour, it wasn’t successful. The following year, he was in trouble with the law again, this time for being involved in the theft of some bags. While some of the other boys involved were sent to Burnham Industrial School, Robert and one other received a harsher punishment – they could not be sent to the school because they had previous criminal convictions (Globe 29/5/1879: 3). Burnham Industrial School had been established in 1873, under the Neglected and Criminal Children Act 1867 (HNZPT 2023). Under this act, neglected children were to be sent to industrial schools (to receive an education and vocational training), and ‘criminal’ children to reformatory schools, recognising the different circumstances leading to their situation, and to prevent the latter influencing the former (Globe 8/7/1881: 2). In reality, however, both ‘types’ of children were often sent to the same institution, as can be seen in the case of Robert’s contemporaries.

Robert, however, was less fortunate. This time, he was sentenced to 24 hours in prison, and 24 lashes with the cat-o’-nine tails (Globe 29/5/1879: 3). No, I didn’t know that the cat-o’-nine tails was a legal punishment for crimes in New Zealand either. Until 1941 (NZHistory n.d.). I still find it somewhat mind-boggling that ‘the cat’, which was specifically designed to inflict “intense pain”, could fall within the parameters of ‘reasonable force’ (MHNSW 2024). (And it feels like delving into this particular issue might provide some insight into Aotearoa’s current high rates of child abuse.) Maria, Robert’s mother, observed during the court case that “if he got a good flogging it would do him good,” reflecting the broader societal view that physical punishment was not only appropriate, but beneficial (Globe 29/5/1879: 3). In case you’ve missed it, I’d like to state here that Robert was just 11. Subsequent events would prove Maria quite wrong.

A cat-o’-nine tails, held by the New Zealand Police Museum. The label on it states that it was authorised for use by Minister of Justice A. L. Herdman on 6 October 1913. Image: Te Ara - the Encyclopedia of New Zealand.

Robert appeared before the court again several times over the succeeding years, always for petty thefts (e.g. Star (Christchurch) 28/12/1880: 1, Lyttelton Times 25/3/1881: 3). On most occasions, he was both incarcerated and whipped, with the lengthiest imprisonment being for 3 months, to be accompanied by 18 lashes at the beginning and end of the sentence (Lyttelton Times 19/8/1879: 3). He was 11. A notable exception came in March 1881 when, rather than being imprisoned, his father was instructed to “chastise” him – given what had gone before, I assume that this was an instruction for Andrew give him a flogging and thus that this is state-sanctioned violence by a parent against a child (Lyttelton Times 25/3/1881: 3). I may be reading too much into this, but I doubt that a stern telling-off was going to be considered sufficient chastisement. Later that same year, Robert was sent to the Caversham Industrial School (in Dunedin) for three years, and this brought his youthful offending to an end (Globe 13/7/1881: 3). It’s not clear why Robert was sent to the Caversham school and not Burnham, but it may have been because Burnham would not accept children with a criminal conviction (Globe 8/7/1881: 2).

Robert’s offending may have come to an end at this point, but the story doesn’t end here. In 1897, his children, Dorothy (aged five) and Bland (three) were removed from his care and taken to Burnham Industrial School, after being found in the company of their drunk father (described as a “habitual drunkard”) and other drunk men and women, including a prostitute (Star (Christchurch) 26/1/1897: 3). Their mother had died the previous year (BDM Online n.d.).

From a 21st century perspective, there are many details of this story that are shocking. The sheer brutality of the punishments meted out to Robert Hardie are hard to fathom, and seem completely out of proportion to his crimes. They reflect a world where it was deemed appropriate for the state to undertake the painful physical punishment of its citizens, and where such punishments were seen as a deterrent. Not only did the state carry out these punishments, it also enabled parents and other caregivers to do the same (see the work of Debra Powell (2012) for a discussion of the tensions that this led to when it came to courts prosecuting caregivers for child abuse). Aside from the brutality, what is most notable for me is that there was no attempt at reform – which, to be honest, feels like a loaded, paternalistic word. What I mean is that there was no attempt to change Robert’s circumstances, there was only punishment: there was no examination of the broader context in which his offending was carried out, or the reasons for, or attempts to change this. It was just straight to punishment. Actually, literally, straight to gaol. Which would have disrupted his education – if, in fact, he was attending school (legally, he should have been, but it is not clear whether or not this was the case) – and thus affecting his future opportunities. This situation reflects very different attitudes from those that guide our justice system today but, perhaps, in some of what I have outlined can be seen some of – if not the roots – at least the symptoms of our horrifying child abuse statistics.

Katharine Watson

References

Ancestry, 2006-2024. Andrew Douglas Hardie. Ancestry. [online] Available at: https://www.ancestry.com.au/family-tree/person/tree/14687068/person/148513297/facts?_phsrc=AxX355&_phstart=successSource [Accessed 21 March 2024]. 

BDM Online, n.d. Death search – Lillian Annie Hardie. Births, Deaths & Marriages Online. [online] Available at: https://www.bdmhistoricalrecords.dia.govt.nz/search/search?path=%2FqueryEntry.m%3Ftype%3Ddeaths [Accessed 21 March 2024].

HNZPT, 2023. Burnham Camp Post Office. Heritage New Zealand Pouhere Taonga. [online] Available at: https://www.heritage.org.nz/list-details/3063/Burnham%20Camp%20Post%20Office [Accessed 21 March 2023].

Lyttelton Times. Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Maclean, Sally, 2006. Child cruelty or reasonable punishment? A case study of the operation of the law and the courts 1883-1903. New Zealand Journal of History 40(1): 7-24.

MHNSW, 2024. Cat-o’-nine-tails. Museums of History NSW. [online] Available at: https://mhnsw.au/stories/convict-sydney/cat-o-nine-tails/ [Accessed 21 March 2024].

NZHistory, n.d. Flogging and whipping abolished. New Zealand History – Nga korero a ipurangi a Aotearoa. [online] Available at: https://nzhistory.govt.nz/flogging-whipping-abolished [Accessed 21 March 2024].

Powell, Debra, 2012. Reading past cases of child cruelty in the present: the use of the parental right to discipline in New Zealand court trials, 1890–1902. In: Kirkby, Dianne (ed.). Past Law, Present Histories. Australian National University e-Press, pp. 107-124.

Star (Christchurch). Available at: https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers

Watt, Emily, 2003. A history of youth justice in New Zealand. Unpublished report prepared for Principal Youth Court Judge Andrew Becroft.

Banner image: Canterbury Stories.