Category: Mudlarking

Mudlarking is time-consuming. I spend hours collecting, washing, drying, sorting, arranging, photographing, labeling, and writing about what I find. But I love it. I can’t WAIT to show things to people back in the US who will be able to learn from, and teach me about, what I’ve found.

Tuesday during the low mid-day tide I celebrated my children’s return to school by doing something they find mind-numbing: kneeling on hard rocks and not paying enough attention to passing boats to keep my feet dry. (The Thames doesn’t have waves, but large craft create them; they can rather quickly go further up the beach than you expect.)

I exercised little self-restraint while collecting, picking up anything that caught my eye and quickly plopping it into the bag. I had some delightful discoveries when I washed up.

This find made my day. The domino is thin, about 1.5mm. I suspect it is bone or ivory. I found it propped sideways against a rock, just one thin short edge visible. (I’ll send a photo into the Museum of London to see whether she wants to record it.)

I suppose it goes well with my best find from two months ago (the last time I was out on the Thames), a wooden die:

I found a few very curious things that I cannot identify, such as the bit of antler, top left. It isn’t JUST an antler, because the narrow end is clearly worked – rounded, with some cuts. A friend suggested that it might be the top of a walking cane, but I’m not sure the top is smooth enough for that. It doesn’t have the slick, worn pattern I’d expect regular use to create. Hmmm…do you have ideas?

The rest of the objects are natural (not man-made) items I collected. Below the antler is an oyster shell – the discarded “street food” wrapper of Elizabethan London. Usually I ignore them – they’re everywhere and ugly – but this one has a faintly opalescent blue color. Below that, two bits of agate, and at the bottom, coral. These didn’t erode from the local clay; they were imported. When, and from where, I cannot tell. The other objects are mother of pearl. Someone must have worked them nearby; the small patch of beach I visited is littered with them.

What I most enjoy finding are the really tiny things. The way I FIND tiny things is to hunt for pins. When I’m close enough to the ground to find lots of pins, I’m close enough to find fabulous treasures (like a domino!). I’d heard that there was a spot with a LOAD of pins near my favorite hunting ground, but I’d never encountered it because I hadn’t been looking there when the tide was low enough. Tuesday I found it. I saw the ground just bristling with pins, I started picking them up…and counting. 341 pins and two very wet feet later (and my jeans, all the way to my knees) I quit – the incoming tide had covered the sweet spot. Before finding this “nest” of pins, I’d collected quite a few, so (as usual) I counted them when I got home. How many do you think I found?
 

Five hundred and thirty two. Those little piles are 25 pins each. Later, like when I can no longer go mudlarking in the Thames, I must study them. Sort them. Learn from them. Maybe polish them up and see how shiny they can get!

Besides pins, the tiniest things I found were beads (middle). The column on the left at first seamed like beads – the larger object has the tiniest hole I can imagine running through the center – but now I wonder whether they might be a fossilized something? On the right are two marble-like objects. The lower one is coarse – cracks all over, not perfectly round. Are they man-made? Were they for industrial purposes, not playthings?

More strange and unidentified finds below: on the left, a rusted bit of pipe (now blocked with rusted-on sand, but originally hollow) with intricate piercings. What can it be?

The second column is buttons. Top a modern, boring one that says “Cherokee” – but below that is one that says “16 Fenchurch St” and “Kin(g?) Bros.” I can find the shop location – about a 20 minute walk from where I found the button, in the middle of the City of London – but I cannot decipher or locate the name of the tailors. The odd twisted bit below the third, upside down and totally plain button, is (I think) a button shank, one on which the soldering has failed, detaching it from its button.

The third column, top two items, are twists of wire that likely held goods ready for sale, maybe pins. Below are a series of wires that have been shaped, worked – but I cannot discern their uses.

Last a collection of seven aglets, two very thin wire rings, both split, and two hooks for holding clothing closed. I especially love the large bent hook, so clearly hand-made.

I have no idea why I picked up so many rusted iron nails and odd brass tacks this time out. The super-tiny tack on the right even has a pattern on its head.

Even after cleaning and studying, some of the metal and wire fragments I find are just that – unidentifiable scraps. I was actually at the point of putting away the items below before I figured out what those two similar gray bars on the left are: printer’s type. I have a colon and a lowercase letter “m”.

The long wire with the metal tag was also a surprise, because the reverse looks like this:
 

A merchant’s tag, perhaps? And is that a letter T before the S, or perhaps a poor impression of a J?

And pottery. Of COURSE I found pottery. I’m really no expert at identifying it, but I’ll do my best. I’ve linked to Julia’s excellent blog posts about similar mudlarking finds; her writing has been fascinating and informative to me.

Some is hand painted in blue:

or other colors:

Some is transferware (the top left has three tiny people on it):

Some is stoneware with blue accents…hmmm…except for the top right and top left, which might be different.
 

A few are unique, like the eagle-like cup handle (?) and next to it the tile with the fleur-de-lis. Some are enigmas, like the ridged one in the middle with black squiggles. And the four with blue paint might be delftware…if I’m identifying it correctly.

There are lots of bits with green glaze, and some of them are likely Tudor or Medieval:

Some are way too big, and I probably should have left them on the shore, but then I thought I might have a pottery-making friend who’d like to see them. The one on the right might be a stove tile – it has glaze on one edge as well as the top surface.

Some have holes, as if they might be colanders. Or are curved like handles. Or have holes because they came from, well, what? The last two are likely pipkin handles.

Blue and green shell-edged pearlware is so common that at first I thought it was something completely modern, not Victorian.

I never get tired of the patterns on combed slipware:

There is assorted white pottery – some salt glazed, some pearlware, some who knows what:

Some is delicate porcelain:

and some is coarse and chunky, like this roof tile (I liked its triangular hole), handle to a “Bellarmine” jar, and a piece of redware painted with green slip.

Some are slightly less common, like the black basalt stoneware, spongeware, and bandedware. Hmmm…and the bottom most banded piece might not belong with that group.

And pipes. Even though the spot that was so rich in pipes a few months ago has been picked over until it is nothing but boring fragments of pipe stems and crushed bowls without maker’s marks, I did find these to take home. A few maker’s marks, a couple ends of the pipe stem (see how it tapers to such a narrow end, and the way it is rounded?), and one fancy Victorian pipe stem. It says “Parker” on the reverse and “(J)ohn St” on this side.

I also brought home a few glass fragments. The photo simply cannot capture what is so intriguing about these. The top bit has aged iridescent, the large one is full of tiny air bubbles, the white one has a lovely shine, the scaly one is an opaque teal color, and the bottom one is simply a nice worn bit of sea glass.

Treasures. Every last thing is, to me, a tiny treasure. And as annoying as it is to clean and dry and store everything (and to loose the use of my kitchen counter while I work through the task), I can’t wait to go mudlarking again.

I finally photographed my mudlarking finds from 27 June. Nothing I found was “wow”-worthy, but I had a great time. People might enjoy seeing what sort of historical refuse one finds along the Thames foreshore.

This isn’t my first time wandering the waterline — while we were living near St Paul’s we set off on walks along the river more than once. Once we happened to be out at low tide and I encouraged the kids to come down with me and take a look. At that time I didn’t even know that the Thames had tides — I’ve lived along rivers most of my life, but not tidal ones!

In May I took my brother-in-law and his fiance down to the shore. Although I’d learned how to look up the tides, I didn’t know where to climb down to the water. Many stairs have locked gates. We spent perhaps half an hour looking around the south bank near the OXO Tower, and I found what I’d hoped for: several bits of clay pipes. Most were plain with larger bowls, likely from the 18th century. The tiny bit on the lower right has a word on it, DROIT, which I assume means the piece was stamped with the motto Dieu et mon droit.

In late June, guided and inspired by London Mudlark‘s Facebook posts and Julia’s Mudlarking Blog, I set off for the river below Millenium Bridge, the pedestrian passage from St Paul’s Cathedral to the Tate Modern Museum. The tides were unusually low (conveniently in the middle of the day when the boys were at school), the skies were sunny and the weather warm.

I snapped photos as I was leaving — when the water was low I was too busy hunting. The tide comes in quickly; I stayed only two hours, but when I arrived I could easily walk beyond the pilings. Across the river is the reconstructed Globe Theatre (not located in quite the same place as the original, but fairly close). Downstream you can see Southwark Bridge and The Shard — the newest, tallest building in London.

My goal was simple: I wanted to find pins. I’d heard that they were everywhere on the foreshore, and I thought that they would be one of the most accessible costume-related Tudor-era finds that I might make. I have never had much interest in antiques. In my opinion, if it is cool enough for me to want it, it belongs in a museum where everyone can see it. As with so many things having to do with history, the experience of living in England is changing me. (For example, I now consider something from the 18th century “fairly modern” and “not that special”.) At the School of Historical Dress leatherworking class I’d seen mudlarking finds that Jenny Tirimani and Karl Robinson bought: belt buckles, studs, chapes, purse frames and ornaments. This shifted my thoughts about mudlarking: here were actual Tudor era objects from which I could learn, but they weren’t museum-display-worthy. Without a metal detector I didn’t think I’d find any buttons or buckles, but if pins were plentiful, then I’d set my sights on those: findable, interesting, not valuable.

But I had to figure out how to find pins. I started walking near the water’s edge, just looking. I found pottery shards. Although they weren’t what I wanted to collect, I found them irresistible. Tiny little bits of history, itty bitty hand painted patterns, spots of color among the stones. I would almost immediately imagine them as jewelry, and they would slip into my bag. Blue is by far the most common color:

There are geometric patterns (rows 1 and 2) and hand painted pieces (3) with recognizable botanical motifs and outdoor scenes (4). Some are more modern transfer ware (especially the fourth row), and some I have no idea about! There are also other colors, especially green:

I grouped some together as “brown”, which included basic styles like slipware and salt glaze. The first piece on the third row has a nice raised pattern to it, too. Perhaps it is part of a Bellarmine jar? I won’t pretend to be any sort of expert, as almost everything I know comes from reading posts by the ladies I mentioned above!

The shimmering glass, which I REALLY didn’t mean to collect, caught my magpie eye. Unfortunately, the iridescent layer flakes easily. I found the center of the bottle interesting, perhaps because it clearly shows where the item was hand made. I find arts in which I have not dabbled, such as metal and glass work, fascinating, imagining that they are beyond my abilities.

Clearly, I was not finding pins. As I pressed further down the shore, I tried to picture in my mind what the London Mudlark’s photo of pins in situ looked like…sand. I needed to find sand. The shore is rocky, washed clean by the wake of many boats. I wandered away from the largest stones, found a sandy/muddy bit and knelt. Stared at it. Found it. A pin. Another. Another, and another. I stayed on my knees until they were bruised and I could find no more scraps of metal, then moved on to another likely patch of damp sand, and more success. When I came home, I counted 99 pins in my bag — counting ONLY ones that still had wire-wrapped heads.

I think I have two chunky hat pins in here (far right), and the rest would be pins for dressing or sewing. Some are incredibly tiny and delicate.

While down in the mud I also found some other intriguing metal bits: aglets! These covered the ends of laces with which clothes used to fasten; we retain them in modern clothing on the tips of shoelaces. My finds varied slightly: one hole going all the way through both sides, one hole only on one side, or two holes; tapered or straight; both edges crimped under at the side seam or just one (none of them seemed to just meet in the middle, like those I’ve bought at reenactor markets). Two of them still have the metal pins through the holes at the top (aglets were not sewn to cords). I wonder — was one long edge (or two) bent slightly, then the whole tube curled around the end of the braid or ribbon that was being finished? That way not only would the pins at the top grip the cord, the entire length of the aglet would bite into it. Or were they rolled into their final shape before the braids were inserted?

I also found a small metal rod (a stylus?), a claw-shaped metal object (my biggest mystery), three interlocking riveted rings (like mail), a single riveted ring, some rings without rivets, some twists of wire that I think probably held small bundles of good, and a tack.

The metal scraps on the left below might be trimmings from making aglets and wire. The pile of wires undoubtedly contains many pins that have lost their heads (I can see where many of them have been sharpened at one end).

I was not alone on the foreshore; I spoke to several other mudlarkers and a photographer. We would inquire politely about what brought us to the Thames that day, and all wanted to know why I was kneeling in the dirt. I was by then soaked from the knees down. Waterproof boots were no match for the waves that rolled toward me in the wake of passing boats. Kneeling near the waterline, I couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid these, and soon stopped trying. All were impressed by the bristling handful of pins.

I collected other odds and ends, too: A pocketknife that reminds me a great deal one I had as a child; it had been my grandfather’s and he let me have it. A clay marble. Some sort of rusted nails that seem to have a covering of metal that is peeling off them — I don’t know what they are, just something curious. And a bit of metal that I think was the head of a safety pin.

There are square, hand-forged nails on the shore of all sizes. I collected a few to show my aspiring blacksmith son.

One can also find bones and teeth on the shore, mostly leavings from long-ago butchers. I think I’ll send these back to the river next time, along with the shiny little chunk of pyrite I collected.

I was nearly ready to leave, just looking about a bit under the bridge itself, when I again struck up a conversation with two mudlarkers (the same two mentioned in Julia’s blog post!). They kindly invited me to join them at the Tate Modern for a bite, and we had a wonderful time chatting there. They showed me photos of the jewelry they make with their finds, and we found each other’s Pinterest pages. I probably needed that conversation time more than any mudlarking, as Tom had been in California for five days and I hadn’t done anything social during that time. Wonderful ending to a wonderful day!