Maritime history

Remembering Jutland

Zoe Craig — Tue, 19 May 2026 15:00:52 +0000

Remembering Jutland Zoe Craig Tue, 05/19/2026 - 15:00

Involving a total of 250 ships, the Battle of Jutland was a major clash between the British Grand Fleet and the German High Seas Fleet.

Both sides suffered heavy losses, but the result was one of the most keenly felt disappointments of the war.

Background to the Battle of Jutland

As an early war aim, the outnumbered Germans sought action with a small part of the Grand Fleet, which they planned to ambush and defeat with their full strength. From November 1914 German battlecruisers occasionally raided the English coastline. If challenged, their task was to draw pursuing British ships within range of the High Seas Fleet’s powerful dreadnought battleships.

The British responded by creating two rapid-reaction forces.

The first comprised Admiral David Beatty's fast battlecruisers at Rosyth, and the second a squadron of dreadnoughts at Cromarty. The British plan called for these forces to be supported by the rest of the Grand Fleet from Scapa Flow whenever they intercepted a German raid. These arrangements resulted in only one clash between the rival battlecruisers in January 1915, but they nonetheless made a major fleet action in the North Sea more likely.

The four phases of the Battle of Jutland

This long-awaited fight took place on 31 May 1916. The Battle of Jutland was a complicated affair that, for ease of understanding, is usually narrated in four phases:

‘Run to the south’ (roughly 3.30 to 4.40pm)
‘Run to the north’ (roughly 4.40 to 6pm)
The main fleet action (roughly 6 to 8pm)
The night action (about 8pm to 3am on 1 June)

Run to the south

An encounter between both sides' scouting vessels brought the British and German battlecruisers into contact and initiated the run to the south. The German Admiral Franz Hipper steered his squadron southwards towards his fleet's distant dreadnoughts.

Admiral Hipper's battlecruisers: Battle of Jutland, 31 May 1916 by Claus Bergen. (BHC0661)

Admiral Beatty gave chase but within half an hour had lost two of his battlecruisers to catastrophic explosions. Worse for Beatty and his surviving battlecruisers, by 4.40pm the leading German dreadnoughts were in sight and rapidly bearing down on him.

Thus far the German plan was succeeding brilliantly; not only had Beatty’s battlecruisers been lured into the trap but so had four dreadnoughts temporarily attached to his force. These ships, the Queen Elizabeth class, were the most powerful warships in the world and the Germans now had a perfect opportunity to isolate and destroy them.

Despite his losses and serious tactical predicament, however, Beatty saw his chance to reverse the situation by luring the Germans towards the Grand Fleet. The run to the north had begun.

Run to the north

Over the next hour and a half, the initial German success began to unravel. As Beatty’s ships headed northwards, they were hotly pursued by the High Seas Fleet, but despite intense German fire none of his remaining ships were sunk or crippled, and some managed to score damaging hits on the Germans.

Most significantly, at this stage of the battle the Germans still had no inkling of the threat that lay ahead of them. Shortly after 6pm, Beatty beheld the welcome sight of the leading British dreadnoughts.

The main fleet action

The main fleet action that followed represented the critical point in the battle. Despite very limited incoming information and poor visibility, Admiral John Jellicoe positioned his ships superbly.

When the Germans appeared at 6.17pm they were subjected to very heavy fire from a Grand Fleet formed up across their line of approach. Despite some successes against individual British cruisers, the Germans were unable to retaliate effectively and turned away.

Windy Corner, Jutland 2. Trial proof by William Lionel Wyllie. (PAF2238)

Believing he had shaken off the British, the German commander-in-chief, Admiral Reinhard Scheer, tried to re-engage on more favourable terms at about 7pm, only to discover the British dreadnoughts again arrayed across his path. Facing the massed guns of the Grand Fleet a second time proved too much, and Scheer again withdrew, this time for good. Wary of exposing his ships to mine and torpedo attacks, Jellicoe declined to pursue. His ships were now between the Germans and their base and by 8.45pm he had grouped his fleet into night cruising formation, hoping to resume the battle in the morning.

Night action

Despite Jellicoe's precautions, brushes continued to occur in the darkness between both sides' smaller warships.

Scheer meanwhile decided to risk a full nocturnal encounter to get his dreadnoughts home to Wilhelmshaven, precipitating the night action phase. His route took the German fleet through the British destroyer flotillas guarding the rear of the Grand Fleet, from whom they met determined but largely ineffective resistance.

Night action between cruisers, probably at the Battle of Jutland, 31 May-1 June 1916 by William Lionel Wyllie (PAE3124)

The Germans lost an old battleship, but by 3am had made good their escape.

The Battle of Jutland was over, with the loss of 14 British and 11 German ships, and 6,094 British dead against 2,551 Germans.

John Travers Cornwell, aged 16, the youngest British casualty of Jutland. He was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross. Portrait by Ambrose McEvoy (BHC2635)

The post-battle 'war of words'

Barely had the fleets returned to port when the propaganda ‘war of words’ began. Both sides claimed victory, and both faced accusations of having been defeated. The balance of losses favoured the Germans, but they had failed in their primary strategic aim of decisively defeating the Grand Fleet. Worse, the larger Royal Navy was better able to absorb such losses.

Shell damage suffered to the battleship HMS Warspite (1913) at the battle of Jutland. (N16494)

In a confidential report to the Kaiser, Admiral Scheer admitted that there was no possibility of knocking Britain out of the war through a decisive fleet battle. Instead, he added his voice to those advocating unrestricted submarine warfare against the British Empire. Germany took this path, to her ultimate detriment as the submarine campaign – while coming close to defeating Britain – failed to weaken the British blockade of Germany and was a major factor in the USA entering the war.

Jutland failed to live up to public expectations of a 'second Trafalgar', but it was a very important battle for both sides and had a profound impact on the course of the First World War.

The Frozen Deep: the Dickens-Franklin connection

Shane McMurray — Thu, 19 Mar 2026 11:01:00 +0000

The Frozen Deep: the Dickens-Franklin connection Shane McMurray Thu, 03/19/2026 - 11:01

Dickens's play The Frozen Deep (1856) was inspired by the Franklin tragedy. The play was hugely popular, riding on interest in polar exploration and a desire to find out what happened to Sir John Franklin and his crews. Today I plan to explore the background to the play's creation, and some of the related items we have at Royal Museums Greenwich.

The Franklin Expedition

Following the end of the Napoleonic Wars, in 1815, the Royal Navy needed a new challenge and employment for its vast workforce. The search for the North-West Passage was pitched as a national adventure, with the creation of a £20,000 reward. The public's imagination was captured by the supposed 'civilising of untamed and alien wildernesses by gallant and noble Englishmen'. The nation became obsessed by all things polar – there were paintings, lectures and merchandise.

Some of the polar explorers became the swashbuckling pin-ups of the era. A romanticised portrait (BHC2981) of Commander James Clark Ross was commissioned to mark his return from an expedition in 1833.

John Robert Wildman. Commander James Clark Ross, 1800-62. 1834. RMG ID: BHC2981.

Just over a decade later, in May 1845, the Franklin Expedition left England, aboard HMS Terror and HMS Erebus. The expedition party was last sighted in the July of that year. Concerns grew for their welfare and, in 1848, a series of highly publicised searches for Franklin and his crews commenced, largely instigated and partially funded by Franklin’s wife, Jane. A total of 39 missions set out, between 1847 and 1880, in an attempt to determine what happened.

Selected letters of Lady Franklin from this period were published in 2009, a copy of which is available in the Caird Library on our open access shelves (PBH2103).

A flurry of Franklin-related articles and merchandise were written and produced; there are some Staffordshire earthenware figures of Sir John and Lady Franklin in the Museum's decorative arts collection which are believed to date from this period (AAA5957).

'Sir John Franklin' and 'Lady Franklin', 1855. RMG ID: AAA5957.

In 1854, John Rae, a Scottish surgeon and explorer employed by the Hudson’s Bay Company, made the first European discovery of evidence of the crews' demise. On his return to London, he submitted a confidential report to the Admiralty, suggesting that cannibalism had taken place among the last survivors, based on Inuit eyewitness reports (a theory supported by more modern evidence). An important book, held on open access in the Caird Library, documents the significance of these oral testimonies (PBH8200).

From the mutilated state of many of the corpses and the contents of the kettles, it is evident that our wretched countrymen had been driven to the last resource - cannibalism - as a means of prolonging existence.
Rae, taken from the 1854 Admiralty Report

Rae also wrote a second sanitised report, intended for the public, which omitted the charges of cannibalism. The Admiralty released the wrong report to the press, causing a nationwide outcry, with the public believing, along with Lady Franklin, that such action was incompatible with the behaviour of Royal Navy sailors.

Dickens, who had already published several articles, poems, and short stories regarding the fated expedition, was strongly of the same opinion as Lady Franklin. With her support, he publicly discredited Rae's evidence in articles published in the journal Household Words.

But Dickens went further in correspondence accusing the Inuit peoples of being 'a gross handful of uncivilised people, with a domesticity of blood and blubber', and of attacking and killing Franklin and his men (Dickens to Mrs Watson, 1 Nov 1854, The Letters of Charles Dickens, Vol VII, 1853-1855, Oxford 1993).

The play: The Frozen Deep

Dickens co-wrote The Frozen Deep in 1856 with fellow writer Wilkie Collins. He was arguably at the height of his career and influence, both as a novelist and as a journalist; he was writing the novel Little Dorrit alongside publishing, editing, and contributing not only to the journal All the Year Round but also to Household Words.

The play tells the action-packed story of two rival suitors, Richard Wardour and Frank Aldersely, vying for the love of Clara Burnham. The men unwittingly join two different ships as part of the same expedition to discover the North-West Passage. When the ships get stuck in the ice, and both men are randomly drawn into the same search party, Wardour, the rejected lover, finds himself torn between a desire for revenge on his successful rival and the need for solidarity in such adverse conditions. Gentlemanly sacrifice prevails. Dickens later based the self-sacrificing hero of Sydney Carton in A Tale of Two Cities on Richard Wardour.

The play was first performed in private, in Dickens's home, Tavistock House, in January 1857. Dickens typically took not only the lead role of Wardour but also acted as stage manager. Other members of the cast were family and close friends. An account of the performance in the 17th January edition of The Illustrated London News says of Dickens 'too much praise cannot be bestowed on this artistic interpretation.'

Private theatricals at Tavistock House - scene from The Frozen Deep. Illustrated London News, 17 January 1857. RMG ID: ILN.

The Caird Library and Archive hold an entire run of The Illustrated London News in its periodical collection, and is available to view on request in the Reading Room.

The popularity of the play grew rapidly. Even Queen Victoria attended a Royal Command Performance in July of that year, praising both the writing and Dickens's acting, in her diary.

The Frozen Deep also had dramatic personal consequences for Dickens. It was through casting professional actors for the public runs that he first met 18-year-old Ellen Ternan, for whom he would later leave his wife Catherine. These larger performances, in the late summer of 1857, were seen by thousands.

Dickens also spoke at the Royal Geographical Society, in 1857, in support of the pending Fox voyage led by Captain McClintock. The Fox voyage was funded by public subscription, including a large sum from Lady Franklin. Here at the Caird Library and Archive we have on loan the papers of Captain McClintock, which are available on request for viewing in the Reading Room.

The McClintock expedition did discover the fate of Franklin and his crews – that the ships had become trapped in the ice, where many had died, including Franklin, and that the remaining men attempted to reach safety but died upon 'an island'.

On his return, McClintock was knighted and wrote an account of his trip. We hold several copies of the title, the voyage of the Fox in the Arctic Seas.

The aftermath of the Franklin Expedition

The Rae report and the subsequent furore marked a change in both attitudes towards, and methods employed, in polar exploration. The hysteria died down, and a more scientific, controlled, and rational approach was taken. The Frozen Deep was never successfully revived.

Franklin remained in the public imagination, largely due to Lady Jane Franklin's perseverance and aided by Dickens's key role in a high-profile public relations campaign. The search for the vessels and crew continued. It remains the worst disaster in the history of British polar exploration, with the loss of 129 men.

Prompted by the 50th anniversary of the fated expedition, artist William Thomas Smith imagined a scene of its final moments. The painting was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1895 (BHC1273).

'They forged the last links with their lives': Sir John Franklin's men dying by their boat during the North-West Passage expedition. William Thomas Smith, 1895. RMG ID: BHC1273.

Despite the contemporary nationwide refusal to accept that cannibalism could possibly have occurred, in the 1980s researchers recovered remains of the expedition crew on King William Island. Both academic and public interest in the fate of the men was reawakened.

This was heightened in 2014 and 2016, with the discovery of the wrecks of HMS Erebus and Terror. The expedition continues to fascinate, and recent television dramas have whet the appetite of the public, providing the kind of entertainment that Dickens also sought to produce with The Frozen Deep more than 170 years ago.

Will we ever know the full story of what happened?

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Most of us are familiar with the doomed 1845 Arctic Expedition led by Sir John Franklin and with his contemporary, the novelist Charles Dickens. But largely forgotten is a connection between the two.

Safeguarding Tresco's guardians: the Valhalla Collection

Zoe Craig — Tue, 17 Mar 2026 12:38:54 +0000

Safeguarding Tresco's guardians: the Valhalla Collection Zoe Craig Tue, 03/17/2026 - 12:38

On the tiny island of Tresco in Scilly, Atlantic winds sweep over white sands and rocky coves. Here stands a remarkable fleet – the figureheads of ships lost long ago to the reefs surrounding the islands.

These carved guardians, known as the Valhalla Collection, have watched over Tresco Abbey Gardens for generations, sharing stories of trade and bravery that shaped life along the island's shores.

Since 1840, these 30 figureheads have lived among the islanders as neighbours, landmarks, and reminders of a long and sometimes tragic maritime history. Each comes from a shipwreck on Scilly's treacherous coasts, where over a thousand vessels met their fate. Plucked from the surf and carried to safety, they found new life in Tresco Abbey Gardens – standing proud among the subtropical flora in one of Britain's most extraordinary landscapes.

Over time, the Valhalla Collection has become part of the island's fabric. Tresco families grew up with them; they are symbols of home, loss, resilience and connection to the wider world. These carvings remain a visible trace of an endangered traditional skill and the heart of a community shaped by the sea.

In the 1970s, the Valhalla Collection was bequeathed to the National Maritime Museum on the condition the figureheads remain on Tresco, their ancestral home.

Today, they are among Royal Museums Greenwich’s most treasured and remote holdings and its expert conservators’ regularly journey from the mainland to safeguard their survival.

But time and weather press harder each year, putting the Collection's survival at risk. You can support this important work by donating today.

Donate now

Guardians under threat

For almost two centuries, the figureheads have endured the very elements that once battered their ships. Their wooden forms, once brightly painted and built to withstand roaring seas, were made from a number of component parts and as such now face cracking, fading and decay. Every winter storm, every dry summer, every shift in temperature leaves its mark.

Unlike museum objects protected in climate-controlled galleries, the Valhalla figureheads continue to live outdoors, exposed to the elements while watching over Tresco as they have for generations. This is part of what makes the collection unique yet leaves them vulnerable.

Royal Museums Greenwich conservators face one of their toughest challenges on Tresco, a remote site demanding specialist skills, extensive travel, and careful preservation in harsh weather. Each visit, they are welcomed like old friends, because their work protects not only a national treasure but the island's heritage.

This effort grows more urgent each year, and it cannot continue without your help. You can help safeguard the Valhalla Collection for generations to come.

A collection at the heart of a community

To walk among the Valhalla Collection is to step into a shared history.

Each carving embodies lives lived at sea from South America to Norway: the figureheads are a reminder of the human stories woven into Britain's maritime past, which Royal Museums Greenwich exists to protect.

But on Tresco, their meaning is even more intimate. For Scillonians, the sea is both livelihood and legacy. The figureheads represent a connection to ancestors who lived with the constant reality of shipwreck.

They also serve as symbols of the island's identity, drawing visitors from around the world to one of the most unique maritime collections in the country.

Losing even one of these figureheads would mean losing an irreplaceable part of local and national heritage. You can help safeguard the Valhalla Collection for generations to come by donating today.

Donate now

Preserving Valhalla's future

Expert conservation is the only way to secure the Valhalla Collection for future generations. These essential repairs include:

stabilising fragile timber before cracks spread
consolidating original paint layers
protecting surfaces from moisture, salt, and biological growth
undertaking sensitive repairs that preserve historic integrity
ongoing monitoring, often under challenging outdoor conditions

Because the figureheads cannot be moved from Tresco, all conservation must happen on site. This means sending a team of conservators more than 300 miles across the sea. Their dedication ensures that the figureheads continue to stand watch – just as they have done since the 19th century.

Help safeguard Valhalla

The Valhalla Collection stands as a powerful testament to courage, community and the enduring spirit of our maritime past.

With your support, it will continue to inspire all who encounter it – from islanders who have known it since childhood, to visitors discovering its significance for the first time.

Every donation, large or small, enables our conservators to journey to Tresco, undertake vital treatments and protect these extraordinary carvings from further deterioration.

Without this support, the figureheads face inevitable decline – lost to decay, and with them, the stories of ships and sailors that shaped our history.

You can ensure the figureheads remain standing for centuries to come, guarding the gardens, witnessing island life, and preserving the echoes of the past.

Donate today to protect the Valhalla Collection.

Every gift helps protect this irreplaceable piece of maritime heritage before it’s too late.

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The mystery of the Mary Celeste

Freya Richards — Fri, 13 Mar 2026 16:43:59 +0000

The mystery of the Mary Celeste Freya Richards Fri, 03/13/2026 - 16:43

On 4 December 1872, the crew of the brigantine Dei Gratia sighted a ship adrift in the Atlantic near the Azores. The other vessel, Mary Celeste, was on an erratic course.

On receiving no answer to his hails, Captain Morehouse of the Dei Gratia sent two of his men over in a boat to investigate.

What they found on boarding the ship would give rise to one of the most intriguing and debated maritime mysteries of all time: the Mary Celeste was completely deserted.

The only clue as to the whereabouts of her crew was the missing boat which was normally stowed over the main hatch. However, nobody on board was ever seen again.

Was it foul play, an insurance scam, a mutiny, or something else that caused the crew to abandon ship? Discover more about this compelling unsolved puzzle.

A brigantine similar to the Mary Celeste © National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, Caird Collection

The Mary Celeste

The brigantine Mary Celeste left New York on 7 November 1872, heading for Genoa, Italy.

On board was Captain Benjamin Briggs, his wife Sarah and their two-year-old daughter Sophia.

Brigg’s crew numbered seven: his first mate Albert Richardson, who was well known to him; second mate Andrew Gilling; steward William Head; and seamen Gottleib Gouldschaal, Arian Martens, and brothers Boz and Volkert Lorenzen.

The ship was carrying around 1,700 barrels of high-grade alcohol.

A log slate similar to one which might have been used on Mary Celeste

What did they find on Mary Celeste?

Stepping aboard the drifting ship about a month after it had left New York, Oliver Deveau and John Wright from Dei Gratia found a strange scene: nobody was on board Mary Celeste.

A missing boat normally stowed over the main hatch suggested the crew may have abandoned ship – but why?

The ship's sails were partially set, but they and the rigging showed signs of damage. The fore and aft cargo hatches had been lifted and were lying on the deck.

One of the ship's two pumps was partially disassembled and nearby was a sounding rod – a measuring tool used to work out the depth of liquids in a ship's hold or tanks.

Aside from some water ingress, the crew's belongings appeared to be intact, and the only items missing were the ship's papers and Briggs' navigational instruments, reinforcing the idea that the ship had been deliberately abandoned.

Strangely, the log slate had been left behind, bearing a final entry for the morning of 25 November. A sword was also found in the captain's cabin, but Deveau and Wright saw no obvious signs of violence.

Bringing Mary Celeste to port

Despite the small number of crew available to him, Morehouse was determined to bring the Mary Celeste into Gibraltar. It was a risky decision, but the potential salvage payout justified it.

Sending Deveau and just two sailors back to the Mary Celeste, he set course for Gibraltar, roughly 600 nautical miles away.

Following an epic journey, the exhausted Deveau and his men arrived at Gibraltar on 13 December, the day after Morehouse and the Dei Gratia.

Straits of Gibraltar, watercolour by William Wyllie, early 1890s. © National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, Caird Collection

The Mary Celeste was impounded and a salvage court convened on 17 December. The proceedings continued until 25 February.

During that period, there was an intense debate as to what exactly could have caused the mysterious disappearance of Briggs, his family and his men.

Mary Celeste theories

Frederick Solly-Flood, the Attorney General for Gibraltar, remained convinced throughout that the cause of Mary Celeste's abandonment was foul play, and that Briggs and his family had been murdered by members of the crew, who then made off in the boat.

As the investigation progressed, evidence against this interpretation steadily mounted, but Solly-Flood remained convinced he was right.

The court's inability to come to a quick consensus fuelled wild speculation on both sides of the Atlantic, made worse by the press, some of whom added a steady stream of uninformed speculation.

The mystery of the Mary Celeste has never been solved, although many theories have been put forward in the decades since the investigation. These range from the fanciful (sea monsters or aliens), to violence among the crew, a possible insurance scam in which both Briggs and Morehouse were complicit, and an explosion caused by alcohol vapours in the hold panicking the crew.

The waters have been further muddied by popular culture, especially the fictitious J. Habakuk Jephson's Statement, which caused a sensation when it was published in the 1880s.

Claiming to be a true account by the only survivor of the Mary Celeste, it was written by Arthur Conan Doyle and is riddled with factual inaccuracies that are still sometimes taken as fact. One of the most persistent of these is the misspelling of the ship's name as 'Marie Celeste'.

Illustration from J.Habakuk Jephson’s Statement by Arthur Conan Doyle, published in The Cornhill Magazine, 1884

We may never know the precise details of what caused the Mary Celeste’s crew to abandon their ship, or what might have been going through Briggs' mind as he left the security of his ship to take his and his family's chances in a small boat in the middle of the Atlantic.

One thing is certain, though. For all the theories of what might have happened, the compelling mystery of the Mary Celeste and her company will continue to intrigue.

The ice trade: a cold business

Shane McMurray — Wed, 18 Feb 2026 14:32:46 +0000

The ice trade: a cold business Shane McMurray Wed, 02/18/2026 - 14:32

Nowadays we take refrigeration for granted; equally, we probably assume that our ancestors had to make do without it except in the depths of winter. If so, we would be wrong. Our ancestors had ice for their drinks and for keeping food cool, and our Victorian ancestors could even buy ice cream from sellers in the street. So how were they able to do this? Where did the ice come from and how were they able to keep it frozen?

Ice was harvested from ponds, rivers and lakes and stored in ice houses for use such as conserving food. Ice houses still survive today in various locations. They are well-insulated, predominantly subterranean structures usually located close to the source of ice. The ice could be packed inside so that its surface area was comparatively small, and it thawed slowly. A hole in the base of the structure allowed the water from thawed ice to escape, but the thawing process could take many months or even in excess of a year. King James I commissioned an ice house for Greenwich Park in around 1620.

Importing ice

Ice began to be imported into Britain in the 19th century. In the United States, Bostonian Frederick Tudor had started the ice trade at the beginning of the century and grew rich on the proceeds. Uniform blocks could be cut using ice ploughs, and the ice shipped nationally and even internationally to countries in the West Indies and the Caribbean.

A little later, businesses based in Boston exported ice to Calcutta, where it was bought by the British who were based there. The holds of the ships carrying the ice were insulated with materials such as sawdust and hay, and in this way it was possible for ice to be transported across vast distances.

The ice trade grew and other ice merchants joined in. Jacob Hittinger harvested ice from Fresh Pond in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His company Gage, Hittinger & Co. first exported Fresh Pond ice to London in 1842. Salem-based Charles B. Lander started harvesting ice from Wenham Lake in Maine. The first English-bound shipment of ice from Wenham Lake arrived in Liverpool on the ship Ellen in 1844.

Harvesting ice from Wenham Lake as depicted in The Illustrated London News of 17 May 1845.

The Wenham Lake Ice Company had their British headquarters in the Strand in London, where they displayed a two-foot square ice block in their window during the summer months. The satirical magazine Punch, in its issue of 14 June 1845, could not resist making fun of the enterprise:

A concern has lately started in the Strand, under the title of the Wenham Lake Ice Company. The stock of the company appears to consist of large blocks of ice, so that great care must be taken not to melt the whole of the capital.

While Punch may have found the enterprise amusing, it appears the company may have had the last laugh. Deliveries left the site twice daily and a block of ice was even sent to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert at Windsor.

Wenham Lake Ice Company also offered refrigerators for sale. These were metal-lined wooden boxes for storing food. Inside, they were fitted with shelves. The refrigerators were kept cool by being replenished with regular deliveries of ice and by being well sealed. The Illustrated London News of 17 May 1845 published an image of the type of ‘Refrigerator, or portable ice house’ then in use in American homes.

A refrigerator as depicted in The Illustrated London News of 17 May 1845.

Harvesting ice

In the same article, The Illustrated London News described the set-up at Wenham Lake and went into some detail about how the ice was harvested. It noted that, in contrast to the ‘occasional and fitful’ nature of ice collection in Britain, the harvesting of ice in America could

be regularly carried on through the whole winter; while the adjuncts of machinery for cutting and storing, and of steam for transporting it, are brought extensively into action.

The ice was cut by ‘machinery […] invented for that express purpose’ and was ‘worked, by men and horses’.

The article further reported that the storehouse at Wenham Lake could accommodate ‘20,000 tons of Ice’ and that the company had its own railway which connected ‘with the great railway to Boston.’

Norwegian ice began to be shipped to Britain in the 1820s, but the trade really developed from the 1850s. Initially the ice was cut from the lakes during the spring and loaded onto ships, but storage, in the form of ice houses, was soon built so that it was possible to transport the ice during the summer and autumn months as well. Norwegian ice exported to Britain was cheaper than Wenham ice and could out-compete it. The Wenham Lake Ice Company, the pioneer of exporting ice to Britain, began to focus more on its domestic market.

Ice being taken ashore, Great Yarmouth. RMG ID: P25689.

Ice cream

Besides helping to store food, ice was also used for making ice cream. Street sellers began selling ice cream comparatively early in Queen Victoria’s reign.

A Swiss Italian named Carlo Gatti (1817-1878), who settled in Holborn, London, in 1847, was one of the earliest sellers of ice cream. He sold ices and other eatables from a stall in Hungerford Market (close to where Charing Cross railway station is today). At least some of his ice came from the Regent’s Canal.

According to the Victorian journalist Henry Mayhew (1812-1887), who was writing when the selling of ice cream in the streets was very new, the ice-cream trade was not always profitable to begin with. He mentions one man who

sometimes went himself, and sometimes sent another to sell ice-cream in Greenwich Park on fine summer days, but the sale was sometimes insufficient to pay his railway expenses. After three or four weeks’ trial, this man abandoned the trade, and soon afterwards emigrated to America.

Customers trying ice cream for the first time could be surprised by its effect. One street seller to whom Mayhew spoke told him:

Lord! how I’ve seen the people splntter [sic] when they’ve tasted them for the first time. I did as much myself. They get among the teeth and make you feel as if you tooth-ached all over.

The seller told Mayhew about two of his customers, a servant maid and her man:

I knew one smart servant maid, treated to an ice by her young man—they seemed as if they was keeping company—and he soon was stamping, with the ice among his teeth, but she knew how to take hern, put the spoon right in the middle of her mouth, and when she’d had a clean swallow she says: ‘O, Joseph, why didn’t you ask me to tell you how to eat your ice?’

From those small beginnings, a larger business grew.

Britain continued to import naturally-produced ice into the 20th century, when artificial refrigeration eventually took over.

Sources for researching the ice trade

‘Ice’, in The Illustrated London News, Vol. VI, No. 159. London, 17 May 1845, p. 315-16 (RMG ID: ILN).

Henry Mayhew, London labour and the London poor. Griffin, Bohn, and Company, London, 1861 (RMG ID: PBF5076). The ice cream sellers are described in volume 1.

D. V. Procter, Ice carrying trade at sea: the proceedings of a symposium held at the National Maritime Museum on 8 September 1979, Maritime monographs and reports no. 49. Trustees of the National Maritime Museum, London, 1981 (RMG ID: PBN4801).

Gavin Weightman, The frozen water trade: how ice from New England lakes kept the world cool. Harper Collins Publishers, London, 2003 (RMG ID: PBF3781).

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In this blog we explore how our ancestors obtained ice in an age before widespread domestic refrigeration.

Shipyard Spotlight: hiding in plain sight

Shane McMurray — Tue, 27 Jan 2026 16:09:34 +0000

Shipyard Spotlight: hiding in plain sight Shane McMurray Tue, 01/27/2026 - 16:09

Once a year, the Caird Library, like other specialist archives and libraries, close the reading rooms for a 'work week', allowing staff to take on a variety of projects. These tasks can vary: enhancing catalogue records, item maintenance such as re-housing items or physically moving collection items to re-organise their locations.

It can also be a journey of discovery.

Such was the case while I was working in the periodicals collection where I found a slim volume, hiding in plain sight, bound in the same colour as another title, the Glasgow Herald Trade Review. It must have come to our library as a part of the acquisition of the Glasgow Herald Trade Review.

First issue of Shipyard Spotlight published by the Admiralty in June, 1942.

About Shipyard Spotlight

Shipyard Spotlight, published by the Admiralty, was circulated for sale in all shipyards in the UK, during the Second World War. Around 10,000 copies were printed every month in 1942. Interestingly, in the first few issues, it took several swipes at the trade unions before suddenly halting its attacks. It also published rather unsubtle and patronising government propaganda.

A short excerpt from the First Lord of the Admiralty, A.V. Alexander, was published on the front page of the first edition:

Those who build and repair our ships are playing a very big part in our war effort. Every day saved in the construction or repair of naval and merchant ships is of immense value.

The purpose of the publication

The second page of the first edition of Shipyard Spotlight contains the heading ‘Your paper’ with an introduction to the purpose of the publication: ‘there will be nothing more important than getting new ships to sea and repairing the damaged ones … After the war we shall be told what a tremendously important role you have played’.

The early editions encourage letters to the editor: ‘All communications should be sent to…’ Interestingly, after six months of circulation the address and invitation to correspond was removed. One wonders if they were receiving inappropriate types of communication which was deemed unsuitable for the purposes of worker morale.

'In and Around the Shipyards' in Shipyard Spotlight (August, 1942).

Talk of the yards: women rising through the ranks

The ‘In and around the Yards’ (later renamed ‘Talk of the Yards’) section of the newspaper was an attempt to highlight workers from shipyards around the country. It included those who had reached a notable number of years of employment; new appointments and promotions (a small paragraph noted a woman rising to a supervisor position) and, in the August 1942 issue, this note about women entering the engineering profession:

If women like the work, they can become quite good engineers, is the opinion of Mr F.H. Reid, principal of Sunderland Technical College. Women will be able to take day engineering courses at the college next session.

A scene from one of the many shipyards involved in building coastal vessels. Shipyard Spotlight (June, 1944).

Competition Corner and a changing workforce

Competition Corner was a popular submission which was published monthly. In the April 1943 issue, one was titled ‘Ideas wanted for a competition!’ The competition ideas and the winning entries that were published are a great insight into the thinking of the working men and women of the time.

The winner announced in the May 1943 edition was Miss W. Fitzgerald, with her winning entry: ‘Write down six reasons why you welcome women in the yards.’ To the winning entry was added this response: ‘While, naturally, this is something that mainly concerns the men, there is no reason why women shipbuilders should not compete too.’

The winner’s suggestions included: ‘Women add beauty to an ugly environment’ and ‘Eve is doing a magnificent job along with Adam.’

Speaking of women working in shipbuilding, there is an article in the Australian newspaper, The Daily News, with a photograph of Miss Betty Warren, the British actress, showing her at work in her yard. Miss Warren and her partner purchased the Stebbings shipbuilding firm, and they produced 12 lifeboats, five whalers, 1500 rafts and 2000 masts. After the war, Miss Warren was keen to build her own yacht.

When you don’t work, you work for the enemy

An article in August 1942 titled: ‘Worthless. A factory in Detroit has adopted an unusual method of dealing with absentee employees’ gives another example of wartime propaganda.

The management of the American factory obtained a quantity of worthless German milliard-mark notes and put one of them in the pay envelope of each of the offending workmen with this explanation:

The extra pay enclosed is your reward for failing to report for work one day last week. This money comes from a country that is glad to pay you not to make supplies for our soldiers. When you don’t work, you work for the enemy.

T.N.T. and wartime photography

A persuasive slogan appears in the October 1942 issue: 'T.N.T.’ The Minister of Production, Oliver Lyttelton, coined the phrase to represent the urgency of the work – ‘Today, Not Tomorrow’. It does not have the explosive meaning that it might be interpreted as today.

Overall, Shipyard Spotlight has many photographs of workers, ships (launching and building), notable visitors (some with various employees ‘photobombing’ the photos) and one entire two-page spread in the July 1943 Supplement dedicated to the women workers of the shipyard, titled: 'Women in shipbuilding; some jobs they can do.'

(There are also numerous photographs of women in shipyards throughout issues of this paper).

Fitting out stage featured in the 'Women in Shipbuilding' section of Shipyard Spotlight (July, 1943).

The captions across all Shipyard Spotlight's photos are very general and few actually state where the photo was taken – for example, ‘A conference in the yard’. Was this due to feelings that if they identified the photo’s location, it may be an incentive target for the enemy?

As well, it is noticeable that the articles rarely, almost never, credit an author. The general feeling by the contributors of this article is that the articles were most probably produced by a few junior civil servants.

Mr Tonnage: a cartoon mascot

In the January 1943 issue, possibly intended as a mascot, a cartoon was introduced called ‘Mr. Tonnage’. This cheeky chap’s job was essentially to encourage workers to increase production with a jolly opinion and to also mock the enemy and perhaps instil bravado among the workers.

A cartoon drawing of 'Mr Tonnage' by J. F. Horrabin in Shipyard Spotlight (January, 1943).

The end of the war and the end of the paper

The May 1945 issue headlined, ‘Supply lines are growing longer’.

The article seems to be encouraging the workers to continue to ‘soldier on', as supplies were needed for the allied troops in Germany and other ships they had built were being sent to the Far East to assist in the fight against the Japanese.

Throughout the newspaper, there were various articles found in the column ‘Mentioned in Despatches’, which made note of vessels and their various actions during the war. They were identified by name of ship and name of the companies that owned them; this shorthand was probably easily known by the men and women who built them.

Another article, ‘For Good Service’, lists names of dockyard workers who were awarded the Imperial Service Medal, along with their occupation and the name of the dockyard where they worked.

A small article – ‘Scrap that becomes souvenirs’ – gives credence to the fact that pieces of the scrapped warships will probably be re-used by ex-Royal Navy personnel to create mementoes such as model ships or furniture. I wonder if any of those creations made their way into museums?

Throughout the war, the ‘troops’ of the shipyards were kept informed, celebrated and encouraged to ‘do their bit’ through this unique publication. In the last issue, the First Lord of the Admiralty, A.V. Alexander repeated the sentiments of the Royal Navy, no doubt which many of the British people shared:

… [we] pay tribute to those who have played their part during the war years in producing the volume of shipping and ship repairs which alone enabled us to keep open the sea lanes to this country.

The effort to produce this newspaper by the Admiralty and the editor C Hope Johnston must have offered the men and women in the shipyards a glimpse of the positive impact that their work was doing for the war effort.

The issues of Shipyard Spotlight in our collection cover the entire run of the publication, from No. 1, June 1942 to No. 43, December 1945. Included are special editions, which are separate from each issue. Most issues consist of four pages and cost one penny per issue.

Resources

Hansard. Oral Answers to Questions, Royal Navy. HC Deb, 9 September 1942, c141.

WordPress. Shipyard Spotlight. Stebbings Archive, 18 June 2011.

Actress runs shipyard. The Daily News, 24 February 1945, page 23.

Please contact the library team if you are interested in learning more about this unique publication.

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This month we explore Shipyard Spotlight, a short-lived wartime government publication recently discovered in the collections of the Caird Library and Archive. It offers researchers a fascinating glimpse into the changing social attitudes of the time.

Jane Austen and the Royal Navy

Anonymous — Fri, 12 Dec 2025 09:00:00 +0000

Jane Austen and the Royal Navy Anonymous (not verified) Fri, 12/12/2025 - 09:00

Readers of Jane Austen's novels will be familiar with her naval references. Less well-known is that two of her brothers served and became admirals in the Royal Navy. Some of Francis and Charles Austen’s papers are held in the Archive of the Caird Library at the National Maritime Museum.

To mark the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen's birth, there will be a small display of Austen-related archival material at Royal Museums Greenwich. I've also updated this blog post (first published in 2023), to explore some of the nautical themes in Austen's novels, and the naval careers of her two brothers which helped shape two of her best-loved novels.

Jane Austen’s maritime connections

Jane Austen was born on 16 December 1775 in Hampshire and began writing in her teens. For nearly all her adult life, England was at war with France; two of her brothers enjoyed naval careers during this transformative period in British maritime history.

Jane was in almost constant written communication with them while they were away at sea. When they were not, Jane paid extended visits to her brothers and their families, meeting their many naval acquaintances.

We know that, like practically all British people of any means at the time, the Austens had numerous family connections with the transatlantic slave trade. Austen's father, Rev. George Austen, was a trustee for an Antigua sugar plantation; Jane's aunt, Jane Leigh Perrot, was born into a wealthy family of enslavers in Barbados.

As Royal Navy officers, Jane's brothers were involved in the maintenance of the transatlantic slave trade underpinning the 'colonial system' largely before 1807. Following the abolition of the slave trade, they undertook patrolling/interception work.

Furthermore, Jane lived in Bath for three years, only 11 miles from Bristol, the busiest British port in the transatlantic slave trade until Liverpool took over in the mid-18th century.

Jane was well-informed and passionate about the national issue of abolition; she wrote to her sister, Cassandra, saying she was 'in love with' Thomas Clarkson, a prominent campaigner against the slave trade and the author of The History of the rise, progress and accomplishment of the abolition of the African slave-trade by the British Parliament (PBB3495/1-2).

Jane died in on 18 July 1817, in Winchester. The event was recorded by her brother Charles, in his diary on 20th July (AUS/109).

Private collection on loan to the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London. Reproduced by kind permission (RMG ID: AUS/109).

Only four of Jane’s novels were published during her lifetime and she received little acclaim or financial reward. Now, however, she is considered one of the greatest writers in the English language. According to her nephew, 'with ships and sailors, she felt herself at home' which I believe is clearly demonstrated in two of her novels.

Maritime themes in Mansfield Park

In Mansfield Park, Fanny Price is the eldest daughter in an impoverished naval family struggling to survive on half pay, in Portsmouth, the Navy’s largest and most important base.

Portsmouth Point, Thomas Rowlandson, 1811 (RMG ID: PAF3841)

Fanny is adopted by rich relatives, the Bertrams, and transported to the opulent surroundings of Mansfield Park. It becomes apparent as the novel progresses that Sir Thomas Bertram has a sugar plantation on Antigua, which he visits off-stage, for part of the novel. On his return, the 'dead silence' (see Mansfield Park, page 155) that greets Fanny’s questioning of her uncle about the slave trade has been poured over.

Does the silence reveal the Bertrams’ collective guilt at the fact they owe their elegant lifestyle to the exploitation of enslaved people? Or are they just completely disinterested in the distant plantation which ‘pays the bills at MP’? Are we blowing a passing reference out of all proportion? Or is Austen’s meticulous attention to detail such that every reference, however small, is meaningful?

The very name of ‘Mansfield’ has loaded connotations with the Earl of Mansfield and the Zong case, and would have been clearly recognized by her 19th-century readership. 'Norris', the name of Fanny’s awful aunt, is shared with a notorious contemporary pro-slavery campaigner.

The issue will no doubt continue to be debated because of Sir Thomas’ silence. Significantly, Austen’s most famous mention of enslavement is in the form of an unanswered question; she leaves it hanging, inviting debate and discussion.

We learn about Fanny’s beloved brother William’s naval career. We experience her anxiety about having a relation away at sea for years on end and feel William’s frustration at failing to advance from midshipman, through lack of connections, after seven years of service.

We are introduced to Mary Crawford who, through her admiral uncle, is accustomed to socialising among the highest (although possibly not the most moral) ranks of the Navy, with 'their bickerings and jealousies … Of Rears and Vices, I saw enough' (see page 48).

When William visits Mansfield, his nautical tales enthral everyone. Through Crawford connections, the patronage system is worked to finally promote William to lieutenant, leaving Fanny under obligation to an unwanted suitor: Mary’s brother, Henry.

Accompanied by a jubilant William, Fanny returns to Portsmouth in disgrace, for refusing Crawford. When the latter visits Fanny and her family to renew his wooing, he is caught up in the excitement and pride of the naval dockyard, which he has visited ‘again and again’ (see page 316). We share Fanny’s anguish at premature separation from William, as he rushes off to join his ship, the Thrush, at Spithead.

The Nymph Frigate passing the Round Tower on Portsmouth Point, on her leaving the Harbour; with a view of Spithead, and St Helen's at a distance, Bowles & Carver, 1800 (RMG ID: PAD5998)

We hear on the last page of the novel of William’s ‘continued good conduct and rising fame’ (see page 371).

The Navy in Persuasion

Persuasion is set in 1814, at the (temporary) cessation of the French wars. Austen explores how 'this peace will be turning all our rich Navy Officers ashore. They will be wanting a home … Many a noble fortune has been made during the war' (see Persuasion, page 20).

Some consider these maritime returnees as an attractive marriage prospect, but others, such as Sir Walter Elliot, view the Navy negatively as 'the means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers and grandfathers never dream of' (see page 22). He also objects to the effect such a life has on sailors’ appearances; 'they are all knocked about, and exposed to every climate, and every weather, till they are not fit to be seen' (see page 22).

Captain Frederick Wentworth had first met the Elliots eight years before the novel starts, falling in love with Sir Walter’s daughter, Anne. He proposed, but she is persuaded, against her own better judgement, to refuse his offer due to his lack of both fortune and rank.

Anne has since kept an eye on his career through the ‘navy lists and newspapers’, with their tales of ‘successive captures’ (see page 29), and so is fully aware of his accumulated prize money. By the time he returns to England, he is a gentleman of fortune, having been made a commander following the Battle of San Domingo, fighting against the French over control of the riches of the sugar plantations.

Duckworth's Action off San Domingo, 6 February 1806, Nicholas Pocock, 1808 (RMG ID: BHC0571)

The novel explores many maritime topics, some positive, and some less so. The first words Anne speaks are in defence of the Navy:

The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and all the privileges which any home can give. Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we must all allow.
Persuasion, page 21

There is the issue of surviving on half-pay when without a ship, which became an increasing problem and was widely discussed at the time, resulting in 1814 in a new peacetime pay scale. We are also given insights into what effect a naval career can have both on those in service and those remaining at home.

Mrs Croft, possibly based on Charles’ wife, Fanny Palmer, has remained with her husband during their 15 years of marriage, both at sea and at his stations abroad, and declares 'I can safely say, that the happiest part of my life has been spent on a ship' (see page 61).

The importance of prize money (or lack of it) does not only affect Captain Wentworth. Captain Benwick was forced to put off marriage, 'waiting for fortune and promotion' (see page 81), but by the time it came, his fiancée had died. Admiral Croft comments 'these are bad times for getting on' (see page 139), and there is a subtle reminder of the possible dangers a naval career entails, with reference to Captain Harville’s lameness.

While Louisa Musgrove and her sister ‘burst forth into raptures of admiration and delight on the character of the navy … of sailors having more worth and warmth than any other set of men in England’ (see page 83), there is also their mother’s grief at the death of her midshipman son, at sea.

As Anne and Wentworth rediscover their love for one another, and Anne herself becomes a naval wife, the novel closes with even the narrative voice showing a strong bias towards the Navy:

His profession was all that could ever make her friends wish that tenderness less, the dread of a future war all that could dim her sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor’s wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession which is, if possible, more distinguished in its domestic virtues than its national importance.
Persuasion, p 203

Sir Francis William Austen (1774–1865)

Sir Francis William Austen’s naval career spanned 79 years, first entering the Royal Naval Academy at Portsmouth, in 1786. The display includes Francis’ mathematical workbook from the two years he studied there (AUS/14, on display December 2025 – March 2026).

Jane’s brothers were both helped in their early naval careers by family connections. Their older brother James and their cousin (another Jane) both married into influential naval families. Rapidly promoted to midshipman within ten months, Francis gained immediate commission, being appointed lieutenant of an armed brig, the Dispatch, in 1792, unlike the frustrated William Price in Mansfield Park.

Use of a further family connection meant that in early 1805, Francis was posted to the Canopus, and accompanied the Victory across the Atlantic and back, in search of combined French and Spanish fleets, before joining the blockade of Cadiz.

HMS Canopus, Rudolph Ackermann, 1796 (RMG ID: PAH0757)

Francis was then sent by Nelson to Gibraltar, to collect provisions, despite his pleas to remain and face the imminent engagement. Nelson assured him he would be back in time for the battle, but this was not to be. As a result, Francis was absent from the Battle of Trafalgar, which was of lifelong disappointment to him. He had no connections or leverage with Nelson’s replacement, Collingwood, and had to put off marriage, having missed out on prize money.

On display until March 2026 are Nelson’s plan or ‘Order of battle’ for what would be the Battle of Trafalgar, showing the Canopus as the leading ship (AUS/17/1).

The following year, however, Francis did gain recognition and reward (like Captain Wentworth) at the Battle of San Domingo, still onboard the Canopus. He then remained in active (albeit mundane) service almost continuously until the end of the Napoleonic Wars, including escort duties to India, China and in the Baltic.

In a letter home, in 1808, Francis left no doubt about his views on enslavement:

slavery however it may be modified is still slavery, and it is much to be regretted that any trace of it should be found to exist in countries dependent on England, or colonized by her subjects...
Francis Austen, 1808

During the writing of Mansfield Park (1812-1814) Jane wrote to Francis for information about naval vessels and to request that she might use the names of the ships in which he (and his brother) had served. She mentions four ships in the novel with Austen connections - the Elephant, which Francis was commanding in the Baltic at the time, the Canopus, the Endymion, in which his brother Charles served three times, and the Cleopatra, in which Charles sailed home in 1811.

Over the next three decades, Francis was regularly promoted but he did not actually return to sea until 1844, at the age of 71. His final posting was as Commander-in-Chief of the North America and West India Station. In 1848, he then came home to Portsmouth and continued to be promoted, finally becoming Admiral of the Fleet in 1863, two years before his death. Three of his sons entered the Navy.

Charles Austen (1779–1852)

Charles followed his brother into the Royal Naval Academy in 1791. His first commission was in his cousin’s ship, the Daedalus. In 1797, he was promoted to lieutenant for his part in the Battle of Camperdown.

A Representation of the Glorious Victory obtained by Admiral Duncan over the Dutch Fleet, Octr. 11th.1797, G. Thompson & J. Evans, 1797 (RMG ID: PAF4688)

In 1800, Charles was a lieutenant on board the Endymion, when it captured the French ship Le Scipio. He used the resulting prize money to buy Jane and Cassandra gold cross pendants set with topaz; in Mansfield Park, Fanny’s beloved brother William gives her ‘a very pretty amber cross’ when he returns from seven years away at sea.

On display until March 2026 is the lieutenant’s logbook from the Endymion, recording the capture of the Scipio on 8 May 1800 (ADM/L/E/106).

In 1804, Charles was then made commander, following a series of engagements including the capture of three men-of-war and two privateers. He then spent almost seven years patrolling the Eastern seaboard of North America, before returning to England in 1811.

Following Napoleon’s escape from Elba, Charles was sent first to pursue a Neapolitan Squadron said to be in the Atlantic; then to aid the blockade of Brindisi; and finally to suppress piracy off Greece. This all occurred before his ship, the Phoenix, was wrecked - fortunately without loss of life. Despite being cleared of any error or negligence, Charles then struggled to find another command. He did not go back to sea for a decade, having to survive, with his increasing family, on half pay.

Charles was then stationed in Jamaica, before an accident in 1830 forced him to return home for another eight years, prior to being promoted to rear admiral in 1846 for his contribution in the bombardment of Acre. In 1850, he was made Commander-in-Chief of the East Indies and China Station, where he led the capture of Rangoon in 1852, before dying in the line of duty, of cholera. His two sons both entered the Royal Navy.

The Austens at Royal Museums Greenwich

There will be a small display of some Austen-related archival material, outside the Caird Library, in the Sammy Ofer Wing of the National Maritime Museum until March 2026.

Sadly, none of Jane Austen's notebooks or diaries have survived. Most of Jane's letters to various family members were destroyed by her relatives, which I think makes our archival holdings even more precious.

Francis’s papers (AUS/1-17) were presented as a gift to the National Maritime Museum by Captain Ernest Leigh Austen in 1930. They cover almost all his active service and include official logbooks, letter books, order books, and loose papers, which mainly comprise general remarks and notes.

Charles’s papers (AUS/101-163) contain a complete series of diaries that he kept between 1815 and 1852, which were deposited at the Museum as a private loan in 1962.

You can request to view the items, not on display, in the Caird Library Reading Room. For further information on this subject, we have the following titles within the Caird Library:

The Caird Library is open Tuesday–Friday, 10.00–16.45. Please note, the Caird Library and Archive will be closing at 4.45pm on Thursday, 18 December 2025 and will re-open at 10.00 on Tuesday, 6 January 2026.

References

Please note that all references relate to the following editions: Mansfield Park (Oxford University Press, 2008) and Persuasion (Oxford University Press, 2004).

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In this blog we explore some of Austen’s literary nautical themes, but also consider her actual maritime connections.

Henry Clifford, artist and engineer

Shane McMurray — Tue, 25 Nov 2025 10:13:37 +0000

Henry Clifford, artist and engineer Shane McMurray Tue, 11/25/2025 - 10:13

Painting by Henry Clifford of the SS Great Eastern off Trinity Bay, Newfoundland, July 1866 (RMG ID: BHC3383).

The Caird Library and Archive holds a recently catalogued collection of personal papers from the engineer and maritime artist Henry Clifford. The collection includes correspondence, diaries, artworks and photographs from his personal and professional life.

For most of his career he worked for the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company as an undersea cable-laying expert, but his personal papers, especially the letters he exchanged with his father, reveal a long-held desire to be an artist rather than an engineer.

Early life

Henry Clifford was born in 1821 in Hull, the son of corn merchant William Clifford. Despite Henry’s artistic ambitions, his father encouraged him to pursue a more practical trade, and in 1838 he took up an engineering apprenticeship in Aberdeen.

One letter he wrote to his father when he was 23 highlights his lack of enthusiasm for the engineering profession, but a lack of confidence about changing course:

…as long as I am at it, I will attend to it, as much as I can, but if it is not advantageous for me to continue in it, I must think no more of it, but try to make the best of a bad job – though I shall be loath to lay it aside after the time I have spent on it. Also, I am so unfit for anything else.
Henry Clifford

During the 1840s, Henry returned to Hull and went into partnership with two other men to form a shipbuilding business into which his father invested £12,000. However, one of the partners, Thomas Brown, embezzled from the company in order to pay off personal debts, causing its collapse.

By the age of 30, Clifford was still drifting, not having secured a steady engineering job and still harbouring ambitions of becoming a full-time artist. However, a letter from his father, dated 20 July 1851 (RMG ID: CLF/2/1), makes it clear he thought his son should abandon his artistic dreams once and for all: ‘My idea of painting is this – that your time as a Portrait Painter has gone by…. I fear your commencing in the Fine Arts is now late in the Day’.

However, the letter also reveals a twinge of paternal regret for not allowing his son to pursue his artistic ambitions, both for his son's happiness and his own bank balance:

If instead of going to Aberdeen you had gone to London, and commenced there, it would have been a good thing for us all, as we should neither have known Brown … and I should probably have now plenty of money in my pocket, and you would, I have no doubt, succeeded in what you appear to have taken the most delight in.…
William Clifford

His father concluded: ‘So, my dear Henry, you must really look about you, and I hope something will turn out for you to make a good living.’

Cable engineer

The father’s hopes for his son materialised with the help of the telegraph engineer Charles Tilston Bright. Henry and Charles were acquainted, having a familial link through marriage. The precise connection is explained in a family history volume included in this collection, compiled by Henry Clifford’s grandson Henry Dalton Clifford (RMG ID: CLF/1).

Bright was precocious and, unlike Clifford, laser-focused on his chosen profession. In 1856, aged just 24, he became one of the co-founders of the Atlantic Telegraph Company, which was established to lay an undersea telegraph cable between Europe and North America. Bright appointed Clifford, who at 35 was over a decade older than him, as his Chief Assistant Engineer.

The process of laying a transatlantic telegraph cable involved placing a length of cable on two ships which would head to the middle of the ocean. The two cable ends were then spliced together, and the ships would head in opposite directions, one to Europe and the other to America, while the cable was lowered or ‘paid out’ into the sea to rest on the seabed.

Clifford was involved in the design and construction of the cable paying-out machinery. The first expedition in August 1857 failed when the cable snapped, and the second in June 1858 was abandoned due to stormy weather. However, a third attempt later that same summer successfully laid cable connecting Trinity Bay in Newfoundland with Valentia in Ireland.

This was a momentous occasion, celebrated on both sides of the Atlantic. Queen Victoria and US President James Buchanan exchanged congratulatory messages via the cable, and Charles Bright received a knighthood at the tender age of 26. However, the cable did not last long and had stopped working by October 1858.

Certificate from the directors of the Atlantic Telegraph Company to Charles Bright, Henry Clifford and others in recognition of the 1858 cable laying expedition (RMG ID: CLF/7)

In 1864, the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company (which would become known as Telcon) was established with the aim of manufacturing a more durable transatlantic undersea cable. Henry Clifford joined the company from the outset and would remain there until the end of his career. He was initially employed as an engineer, and was promoted to Engineer-in-Chief in 1871. He held this role until 1893, when he resigned and was appointed Consulting Engineer.

The cables were manufactured in factories located at Morden Wharf and Enderby’s Wharf by the Thames in East Greenwich. At one point Clifford lived on Park Row in Greenwich, near to these factories and just a stone’s throw away from the current site of the National Maritime Museum (which would have been occupied by the Royal Hospital School at that time).

Photograph showing the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company works at Enderby’s Wharf, East Greenwich, late nineteenth century (RMG ID: CLF/11).

A cable-laying expedition by Telcon in July 1865 ended in failure when the cable broke and could not be recovered. However, a further attempt a year later in July 1866 was successful and established a lasting connection between Europe and North America.

Photograph taken in 1890 showing Henry Clifford (second from left) with colleagues (RMG ID: CLF/11).

Maritime artist

Through his employment with the Atlantic Telegraph Company and Telcon, Henry Clifford would establish himself as a successful and well-respected engineer in a burgeoning industry. However, he still found a way to indulge his love of art, and painted several maritime scenes of the cable-laying expeditions he was involved in.

Clifford’s personal papers include some copies of his artworks (see CLF/10/3 and CLF/10/4), and there are also examples of his work in the Museum’s art collection. Several of his paintings depict the SS Great Eastern, the mammoth steamship designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel which was used in the cable-laying expeditions of 1865 and 1866, among others.

Painting by Henry Clifford of the SS Great Eastern, circa 1880 (RMG ID: BHC3382).

Henry Clifford died on 18 May 1905 in Blackheath, aged 84.

Museum collections

There is a good deal of material on this subject to be found in the collections of the Caird Library and Archive. The library has several books about telegraph cables, and the archives contain numerous related manuscripts, including the business records of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, and the logbook kept by the commander of the SS Great Eastern during a cable-laying expedition in 1873.

The Museum also holds a variety of objects relating to the Atlantic telegraph cable including prints and drawings, charts, commemorative items such as medals and jugs, and even some examples of submarine cable made by Telcon at the time of the early cable-laying expeditions during the mid-nineteenth century.

Section of cable manufactured by the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, 1866 (RMG ID: AAB0111).

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Despite art being his first love, Henry Clifford went on to play a key role in the pioneering transatlantic cable-laying expeditions of the nineteenth century.

Unfit for service: healthcare and welfare in Nelson's Navy

Freya Richards — Wed, 19 Nov 2025 17:20:45 +0000

Unfit for service: healthcare and welfare in Nelson's Navy Freya Richards Wed, 11/19/2025 - 17:20

As a Caird Research Fellow, I spent months in the Caird Library and Archive examining the 32 volumes of letters concerning the medical administration of the Royal Navy during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815).

These volumes contain the correspondence sent from the Board of the Admiralty to the Sick and Hurt Board, which was responsible for medical services in the Navy until 1806. The responses from the Sick and Hurt Board to the Admiralty can also be found here and here.

The letters reveal much about how naval administrators managed occupational health, disability and welfare during the period.

In this article I've attempted to give a picture of how seamen, officers and other naval employees were evaluated as ‘unfit for service’ due to injury, illness or old age: a process known as 'invaliding'.

A second blog, available here, examines what support was available after invaliding.

Content warning: this blog contains content which may cause distress. Some of the historic language expressed is considered offensive, and its presence is not an endorsement of the terms. This language has been retained to reflect the historical context of the times.

What happened to sailors injured at sea?

If a sailor was injured or taken ill in active service, their medical care would be under the direct supervision of the ship surgeon and surgeon’s mates.

The patient would remain on the ‘Sick List’ to recover on ship until they were fit to return to duty. In cases of serious injuries or chronic illnesses, the ship surgeon could give their patients a ‘Sick Ticket’, which referred them to a naval hospital for further treatment.

At hospital, the patient would receive follow-up care from a team of naval physicians and surgeons. If ‘cured’, they would be returned to service where they could resume active duty. In some cases, officers were granted extended medical leave to recover at home rather than in hospital.

Haslar Hospital, Portsmouth

PAD1074 • Prints & Drawings

Seamen would have been sent to a naval hospital for treatment or invaliding, such as Haslar Naval Hospital at Portsmouth.

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From ship to shore: the invaliding survey

If the hospital physicians and surgeons decided that the patient’s condition was unlikely to improve, they would be ‘surveyed’ for invaliding.

A survey would include a medical examination to evaluate whether the patient was likely to benefit from further hospital treatment. Captains or other officers also participated in these surveys to determine whether the patient was capable of their role. This means that invaliding was not decided on medical grounds alone, but also involved a judgement of an individual’s capacity to contribute their labour to the ship.

Physicians and surgeons submitted lists of individuals whom they had surveyed and invalided to the Admiralty and Sick and Hurt Board. These lists contain details of each patient: name, rank, age, height, time in service, information on their ‘disease or hurt’, and further remarks.

Inside the archives

Tap the images to explore an example of an invaliding survey carried out at Plymouth Hospital in October 1795.

Inside the archives

Tap the images to explore an example of an invaliding survey carried out at Plymouth Hospital in October 1795.

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Invaliding survey on marines conducted at Plymouth Hospital, October 1795

The conditions listed in the document range from 'Old Ulcered Leg', 'Vertigo from a Fractured Skull' as a result of fall on board ship, and 'Hectic', which referred to a feverish cough and flush associated with phthisis (tuberculosis).

ADM/E/45

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Invaliding survey on marines conducted at Plymouth Hospital, October 1795

At the bottom of the page, the two surveying surgeons signed their names (left) following a statement noting the presence of two marine officers (signed, right) at the survey.

ADM/E/45

These invaliding surveys were standardised in June 1801 after a series of complaints were levied against surgeons and physicians at Plymouth Hospital. It was alleged that these medical men had been invaliding seamen by ‘private survey’ – or in other words, without the presence of captains or other naval officers.

To gain greater control over the process, the Admiralty ordered that all surveys in port should occur in naval hospitals rather than on ships or in officers’ private quarters. The participation of non-medical men was also re-affirmed: officers were to be examined by at least one physician, two surgeons, and the hospital governor, while regular seamen were to be examined by three captains and their surgeons (see ADM/E/48 and ADM/F/31).

Invaliding abroad

Invaliding surveys were also conducted on hospital ships as well as on foreign stations. Senior commanders like Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson regularly sent in the results of the surveys conducted in their fleets.

Invaliding survey from Mediterranean fleet, sent to the Admiralty by Nelson, March 1804 (ADM/E/50)

Michael Dillon, a seaman of the Centurion, provides an example of a seaman who was invalided while serving abroad.

Dillon was receiving treatment for a fever and liver complaint in the Bombay General Hospital in India when he 'received a blow on his head from an insane Person'. The surgeon of Bombay General Hospital 'recommended him as a fit object for Charity' since the blow 'has disabled him from serving again in His Majesty’s Service'. The surgeon explained the case in a letter to the Board of the Admiralty, which was then forwarded along with Dillon’s invaliding certificate to the Sick and Hurt Board (ADM/E/48, January 1802).

The invaliding process was normally initiated by surgeons and physicians, but men could also request assessment for themselves. Sometimes the wives, family members or commanding officers of naval workers applied to the Admiralty or Sick and Hurt Board on their behalf.

Attitudes to disability

The relationship between invaliding and disability was complex. Disability was a fluid construct and its impact depended as much on the individual’s rank on ship and their ability to work as it did a medical condition or impairment. What could be 'disabling' to a seaman may not be for an officer.

For example, while the loss of an arm did not prevent Admiral Nelson from continuing in the service, such an injury would have been entirely disabling for a seaman or sailmaker whose manual labour and craft required the use of both arms.

Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, 1758-1805

BHC2889 • Oil Paintings

A half-length portrait depicting Horatio Nelson, when a rear-admiral, facing forward with his head turned to the left. His empty right sleeve is pinned across the front of his coat, a reminder that he lost his right arm at Santa Cruz in July 1797.

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Previous capacity to work with a disability or chronic condition was also a consideration. Lieutenant George Lusk, who suffered from epileptic fits and 'an alienation of the mind', was not considered appropriate for invaliding by the physician of Plymouth because 'he laboured under the disease even when a Midshipman'. Since he had already proven he could work with such a condition, he was not invalided (ADM/E/49, July 1803).

Being invalided from service did not mean that you were unable to work at all. Some men were invalided from sea service to work in the dockyards, while officers made requests to transfer to shore duties. The cook’s position on the ship was also famously given to those who were no longer able to sustain manual labour.

Cook

PAF4969 • Prints & Drawings

Ship's cooks were usually disabled seamen but were ranked as warrant officers. They were not appointed for their culinary skills, but produced the seaman's standard diet of boiled beef or pork and the ubiquitous ship's biscuit.

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In a very rare case, invaliding came with a promotion.

In December 1796, William Pike, a former carpenter’s mate of the Malabar, was invalided by survey at Deal Hospital as ‘unfit for Sea Duty’. Lieutenant Lewis Cole, the Governor of Deal Hospital, wrote to the Admiralty to requested that Pike be promoted for ‘he is well qualified to act under me as Midshipman or Master at Arms' for Deal Hospital. This was agreed by the Sick and Hurt Board (ADM/E/45, December 1796).

In this case, being disabled from one role clearly did not mean that Pike was unable to continue working in the Navy entirely.

Next steps: what did sailor welfare look like?

There were no standardised criteria for invaliding a naval worker. The decision was subjective, based on the cultural norms of the time and the perception of those making these decisions: physicians, surgeons, captains and officers.

Invaliding surveys were crucial in determining whether the patient qualified for support in the Navy’s welfare system. To read more about the next steps for an invalided naval worker, click here.

About the author

Dr Manon C Williams is a historian of maritime health and medicine. Her research focuses on ship surgeons and the medical administration of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Royal Navy. She is currently a Caird Research Fellow at Royal Museums Greenwich, where she is investigating the invaliding process in the Royal Navy during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815).

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Hidden in the seemingly mundane bureaucratic letters of the Royal Navy lie some fascinating insights into the role of the British state in providing healthcare and welfare to ill and injured seamen.

How did Nelson's Navy care for injured and aged sailors?

James Gill — Wed, 19 Nov 2025 15:30:32 +0000

How did Nelson's Navy care for injured and aged sailors? James Gill Wed, 11/19/2025 - 15:30

The Caird Library and Archive hold the correspondence sent between the Board of the Admiralty and the Sick and Hurt Board (ADM/E, ADM/F and ADM/FP).

These letters offer a glimpse into how the Royal Navy administered disability claims and provided welfare for naval servicemen.

This article explores what happened to seafarers who were declared 'unfit for service': what support was available, and how was it accessed?

A second blog, available here, documents the process of invaliding itself.

Who were the Greenwich Pensioners?

Welfare support was provided to some naval workers in the form of a 'pension'.

Sailors on active service had one shilling deducted every month from their wages to fund the scheme. These welfare provisions were supplemented with unclaimed prize money and government funds.

Aged and disabled sailors could qualify for long term accommodation and care at the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich, where they became ‘in-pensioners’. Admission was strictly assessed to cater only to individuals perceived as being most ‘deserving’. Prospective candidates were referred by a surgeon or commanding officer for an ‘examination’ at the Admiralty’s offices, which occurred on the first Thursday of every month.

It is unclear what precisely occurred in these examinations, but it likely involved a review of the candidate’s service history, character references from captains or supervising officers, a physical exam, and questions about the candidate’s health and conditions.

Greenwich Hospital viewed from the north and showing pensioners, 1830

PAH9662 • Prints & Drawings

A view from the north-west corner of the Queen Anne Court looking diagonally across the Grand Square towards the Painted Hall. Greenwich Hospital was established in 1695, with the first Pensioners arriving in 1705.

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‘Out-pensions’ were regular payments made to disabled sailors who did not live in Greenwich Hospital. The out-pension system was initially managed with the Chatham Chest, a chest held at Chatham Dockyard holding the funds to pay pensions to disabled seamen. In 1803, Greenwich Hospital took over the Chest’s administration, and it became known as the Chest of Greenwich. These payments were based on a scale that accounted for injury type and, later, length of service.

Out-pension payments were not enough to subsist on alone, and they should not be mistaken for the ‘superannuation’ payments, which offered officers a portion of their pay in retirement after a set length of service.

Chatham chest

AAA3310 • Furniture

This iron chest, ordered in 1625 and held in Chatham Dockyard, was built to contain the funds to pay pensions to disabled seamen. The chest has five locks: a disguised keyhole in the top, which operated an elaborate lock covering the entire interior of the lid, and four hasps for padlocks. The keyhole in the front of the chest is false.

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A certificate given to a 40-year-old lieutenant marine, William Simms, records that he had ‘received a musket ball through his left arm, which fractured the humerus’. The wound was sustained while quelling the mutiny aboard HMS London in May 1797, as testified with the signatures of eight officers.

This injury, acquired in the line of duty, granted him access to the Chest at Chatham, the seal of which is stamped on the upper left of the page.

Lieutenant William Simms’ certificate for the Chest at Chatham (ADM/E/46, February 1798)

An Act of Parliament, held on 3 May 1796, sought to prioritise sick pay and pensions for those ‘wounded in action’. However, the correspondence between the Admiralty and Sick and Hurt Board reveals that workers suffering from chronic medical complaints, occupational injuries and old age also received support as in-pensioners or out-pensioners.

How seafarers sought support

Most seafarers were referred directly to welfare support by surgeons, physicians, or captains as part of the invaliding process. Some seamen, however, accessed this system of welfare on their own terms by petitioning the Admiralty directly or having a family member or patron write on their behalf.

Writing in September 1800 from Manchester, Patrick Grant, a seaman formerly of HMS Ramilles, wrote to the Board to request help with his disablement:

I hope youl pardon the Liberty I take in writing an see justis Done Me as I am Diseabled of one of my Limbs in his Majestees Servis.

Grant had been given his Sick Ticket by Doctor Fox at Falmouth Hospital, but the assistant surgeon misplaced the ticket and left, leaving him with no proof of his medical examination and claim for relief.

Grant wrote that he was 'rendered unfit to get my living' and requested that the Board inquire into his case to prove his service and injury: ‘I hope your honour will have the books looked back to the time the Ramilles was Lost an youl find my name in there’.

Patrick Grant's letter to the Admiralty requesting assistance (ADM/E/47, September 1800)

A slip inserted next to Grant’s letter contained the messy notes of a Board’s clerk who had rifled through the Admiralty’s records to support Grant’s case: ‘8 April to 6 July 1782, invalided on board’.

Grant was writing nearly 20 years after his injury to gain support from the Navy, presumably because had managed to eke out a living up until then despite his disability.

Despite very little evidence of fraud, the Admiralty often expressed fear that seamen would try to 'game the system' by acquiring a medical discharge to get a pension. Invaliding and welfare assessments sometimes included references from captains to determine whether the individual was of 'good character'. This attempt to police 'disability fraud' reflected constructed notions of the 'deserving' and 'undeserving' poor.

Informal support outside the Navy

Not everyone received support. Many naval workers were refused welfare from the Navy due to shorter terms in service or unqualified discharges. Instead, they had to rely on informal support, such as family, charity, begging, or relief from county poorhouses and workhouses.

Occasionally we can recover traces of these individuals in the archive when they were perceived as being ‘disruptive’ to local communities. In April 1806, the Guardians of the Poor of Alverstoke wrote to the Admiralty about ‘the poor, the maimed, and disabled’ naval workers in their parish. Alverstoke was the location of Haslar Naval Hospital, so it received many of those discharged from service.

To illustrate the ‘innumerable’ invalided workers that relied on their charity, the Guardians offered the examples of Jane Morris and Ann Burke, two women who had served as nurses at the Haslar for ‘upwards of 40 years’ before being discharged and ‘thrown as chargeable on this Parish’. Similarly, John Hughes, a seaman invalided from Haslar as ‘an idiot’, was ‘delivered to the Guardians of this Parish’ by the hospital as their concern (ADM/E/52, April 1806).

It is unclear whether the Guardians were writing to complain about the burden of caring for these individuals or to solicit financial aid from the Admiralty. Whatever the case, the letter showcases the immense pressure on local communities to support the invalided workers who had been denied naval pensions.

A Distressed Sailor

PAF3804 • Prints & Drawings

Many disabled seamen survived on charity, begging and casual labour.

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The Admiralty also received letters from local community members about seamen and officers who were seen to suffer from a broad class of illnesses classified as ‘mental derangement’.

On 3 August 1805, Mr Clarke, a Magistrate from the County of Middlesex, reported that James Thorpe, a seaman discharged from the Zealand, had ‘committed several violent acts’. This behaviour had been linked to ‘evidence of his being insane’. Writing from the Public Office of Shadwell, Clarke inquired to the Board on ‘the propriety of confining the Man in the Hospital for insane Seamen at Hoxton’ in order ‘to prevent future mischief’ (ADM/E/51, August 1805).

In another case, Benjamin Turner, a Sergeant of the Royal Marines, was found in the local workhouse ‘raving mad’. The Vestry Clerk of St Anne’s Westminster wrote in to the Admiralty on 17 May 1804, who forwarded the letter to the Sick and Hurt Board. A few days later, the Sick and Hurt Board requested that the sergeant be sent to Bethlem Royal Hospital, a hospital that specialised in early psychiatric care in London (ADM/E/49, May 1804).

At the height of war, particularly in the years between 1810 and 1812, a large number of seamen were outsourced to asylums such as Bethlem and Hoxton due to poor mental health, which was then referred to as ‘madness’ or ‘insanity’. These asylums operated as places to confine individuals who were considered too ‘disruptive’ to integrate into local communities.

Making sense of the system

Naval administrative correspondence may at first glance appear to be a dull read but enclosed in these volumes are snapshots of the lives of maritime workers when they were at their most vulnerable. Examining these records allows historians to reconstruct the process of invalidation and the provision of welfare.

The pension system in the Navy was pioneering for its time and reveals the state’s early involvement in offering support to its workers. More importantly, these letters reveal where the system failed. Letters from poorhouses and local magistrates make clear that the Navy fell short of caring for all aged and disabled seamen.

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Night action

The post-battle 'war of words'

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From ship to shore: the invaliding survey

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Invaliding abroad

Attitudes to disability

Next steps: what did sailor welfare look like?

About the author

Further reading

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