MIKE: Ephemeral. My favourite word in the English language. Why? Possibly because it is often met in the context of that glorious, short-lived creature, the butterfly, but also because of its origin. Other words I enjoy? Mellifluous, hyperbole, lugubrious, evanescent and many more, all of which are derived from the classical languages of my teaching career, Latin and Greek. Could there be anything more graphic than logorrhoea, conjuring up the torrent of verbiage pouring out of someone's mouth? But another favourite of mine has no classical associations. 'Serendipity', linked with Ceylon which was formerly known as Serendip, was coined in the mid-18th century by Horace Walpole, and means, according to my dictionary, 'the happy knack of making chance finds'. It was not quite a chance find that resulted in this article, rather a chance meeting.
Recently, as a friend and I were walking round Virginia Lake, we met a gentleman with a camera, who was sitting upon one of the lakeside benches. We exchanged cursory greetings, and he asked if he could take a photograph of us. We agreed, he did so, and my friend asked him the reason for this. The answer - he was trying to re-create a 100-year-old painting of a view of the lake which included two fishermen. He showed us a postcard of this painting, which, rather Monet-esque in style, appealed to both of us. Although the location seemed plausible, we felt obliged to point out that the two of us did not really match the tranquillity of the scene, unlike the fishermen. He agreed. And that was the beginning of a most interesting conversation.
The photographer in question was Jim Norris, a long-time patron of the Sarjeant Gallery and a great admirer of Herbert Babbage, the painter. Born in Australia in 1875, Babbage came to New Zealand, with his mother and two brothers, in 1881, where they were later joined by their father. He studied at Wanganui Technical College, where his promise as an artist saw him engaged later as a student teacher at the school. In 1902 he travelled to Europe, studying firstly in London, then Paris. Returning to Wanganui for two years in 1909, he had his work exhibited in several cities. During that time he suggested to the Collier family that a trip to Europe would be beneficial for Edith's development as an artist. She made the trip, her subsequent works proving him correct. Taking a ship back to England in 1911, Babbage went to live in St Ives, Cornwall, where there was a flourishing colony of artists. His paintings, in both oils and watercolours, consisted mainly of landscapes and waterside scenes.
Unable to serve in World War I because of his age, he joined the Royal Defence Corps, guarding viaducts in Wales which were essential for the transport of munitions. Early 1916 produced a dreadful winter of blizzards and snow drifts, exposure to which had a deleterious impact on his health. His death, on October 14, 1916, was attributed to the severity of the wintry conditions.
Babbage's talent as an artist was, on two occasions, recognised by the Royal Academy's selection of one of his paintings for inclusion in its annual exhibition. Bateaux des Pommes*, a scene on the Seine in Paris, was chosen in 1908, and in 1916 his painting of The Viaduct - the very one his regiment had been guarding - was hung 'on the line', a prime position in the hall one passed through on entering the exhibition.
As an ardent admirer of Babbage's work, Jim Norris decided to write a book about him and travelled to Europe last year to trace links to the artist and his paintings, hoping to gain further valuable information for his publication. With his wife, Linda, he spent time in Paris, followed by Grindelwald in the Swiss Alps, where Babbage liked to holiday, and finally England. There they were able to go to St Ives and find Babbage's studio, now converted to a modern apartment, and also Cardiff, where they visited both the War Cemetery where he is buried and the Goitre Coed Viaduct he had guarded during the war. Although many of his works are in the hands of relatives, the Sarjeant holds 11 (including Bateaux des Pommes), the largest number in a public gallery. In 1999 an exhibition of his paintings, Brushes of Light, was held at our gallery, curated by Paul Rayner. It was this exhibition that fired Jim's interest and enthusiasm for Babbage, and now he owns a collection of some works himself.
The title of Jim's forthcoming book, When the Lark Rises, is taken from an untitled, anonymous poem of four stanzas, written as a tribute to Babbage after his death. It may well have been written by his friend, Edith Skinner, who appears in Frances Hodgkins' painting The Edwardians, in the Auckland Art Gallery. I found the book both entertaining and informative, its attraction enhanced by the large number of colour plates included, and I wish to acknowledge Jim's generosity in permitting me to extract so much information from it. It is due for publication before October, the month which will see the centenary of the artist's death. Jim has suggested that the Sarjeant may find this an appropriate time for another exhibition. I certainly hope so. It would be wonderful to see the gallery's collection on show again, along with others loaned by private collectors.
Many of you who read this column will know how much I enjoy Virginia Lake (now officially Rotokawau) and its surrounds. In Jim's book there is a comment that Babbage's parents lived in 'Rotokawau', the family home overlooking the lake, and were active members of the Beautifying Society, which cleared weeds, planted trees and preserved the attraction of the lakeside. More than a century later and Maurice Traill's group, of which I am a member, still performs those same tasks. Serendipity indeed!
(Footnote; The title Bateaux des Pommes is, according to reliable French sources, grammatically incorrect. It should read Bateaux de Pommes. In all of Jim's research, however, he found only 'des'. Perhaps this was the name assigned by Babbage himself? At any rate, since 'des' is the accepted version, I have followed that tradition.)
mjstreet@xtra.co.nz
Chance meeting leads to history
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