36 Photographs of Nothing

How to tell if your film is really loaded

How can I tell if my 35mm film is really loaded? This was a question I used to ask myself regularly, particularly if the film rewind knob didn’t rotate as I wound on, which was often the case.  

I used to load a camera, close the back and then wonder whether the film had really engaged properly. The frame counter would advance, but that’s independent of the film transport, so sometimes I would open the camera to check. Inevitably, the film would have loaded perfectly well, and I had just lost several frames, until the time I ignored the lack of rewind knob rotation and got 36 photographs of nothing.

The problem is that the frame (or exposure) counter tells you that you have pulled the camera’s film advance or winding lever. On most manual 35mm cameras it does not tell you that the film has moved.

The reason is straightforward enough. On most manual cameras the frame counter is operated by the camera’s winding lever. It does not measure film passing through the gate. If the leader has failed to engage properly, you can operate the advance lever, cock the shutter and advance the counter without advancing the film.

That means the number of exposures displayed on the counter can climb without a single frame passing through the gate. You can therefore load a film incorrectly, close the back and apparently take 36 photographs. The lever advances, the shutter fires and the counter reaches 36, but the film is sitting in the film cartridge, unexposed. This is about as bad as it gets in film photography.

What should tell you that the film is correctly loaded is movement of the rewind knob or crank, but it may not begin to turn immediately. There can be enough slack in the film inside the cartridge for several advances before that slack begins to turn the cartridge spool.

To address this, I’ve found that if I take up any slack by turning the rewind crank very delicately in the rewind direction, it will turn immediately when I wind on. It is an extra step in the process and needs to be done carefully, but I’ve found it works well.

How to tell if your film is really loaded
From the top clockwise: M6 slanted rewind knob and extended crank, M3 rewind knob with aftermarket crank, Nikon F2 rewind knob and extended crank.

I also wind and fire the shutter twice, with the back open.  This lets me watch the frames advancing, see that the sprocket teeth have engaged the perforations, and the leader is being wound onto the take-up spool.

With the back closed, the rewind knob and crank rotate, confirming that the film is being pulled through the camera. I tested this on the Nikon F3 and subsequently applied the method to a couple of other models (Olympus OM-1n and OM-2SP) with the same results.

Loading a 35mm SLR, step by step

These steps are for a conventional manual-loading SLR with a hinged back and a wind-on lever. It does not apply to a bottom-loading rangefinder and should not be applied to a motorised camera.

  1. Pull up the rewind knob, or flip the back-release latch, to pop the camera back open.
  2. Drop the 35mm cartridge into the left-hand chamber.
  3. Push the rewind knob back down so it locks into the cartridge.
  4. Pull the thin, flat end of the film (the leader) across the open back.
  5. Insert the tip of the leader into a slot on the right-hand take-up spool.
  6. Line up the holes along the edge of the film with the small metal teeth, the sprockets.
  7. Check the film lies straight across the film gate against the guide rails. Do not touch the shutter curtain.
  8. With the back still open, wind the lever through a full stroke and fire the shutter once or twice. I like to leave the back open to watch the film move, and with two actuations I know there is enough film wound around the take-up spool. One is probably enough, but I’d rather be certain. The take-up spool should turn, the film should travel across, and the teeth should sit in the holes.
  9. Turn the rewind crank gently in the rewind direction until the slack goes. Do not do this on a camera that loads using a motor as it could damage either the film or the camera.
  10. Close the back until it clicks shut. The pressure plate on the door is now holding the film flat.
  11. Advance and fire, and watch the rewind crank. If it turns, the film is moving and the load is good. Carry on until the frame counter reads 1. The frame counter only starts counting once the back is closed.
  12. If the knob and crank does not turn, the film is not moving.

The rewind control tells me that the film itself is moving and, by taking up the slack first, I can rely on its movement as confirmation.

Film Loading by Camera Generation

Given what I learned about film loading in these 35mm cameras, it strikes me that film loading can be divided into three generations.

GenerationExamplesLoadingOpportunities for error
Early 35mm manual/bottom-loadingLeica IIIf and similar screw-mount LeicasRemovable base and take-up spool, prepared film leader. Incorrect leader preparation or engagement; film not transporting; counter incorrectly set.
Improved manual loadingLeica M3/M4/M6, Pentax K1000, Olympus OM-series, Nikon F2 and F3Film path becomes more accessible and loading simpler. The M3 uses a hinged rear panel but retains a removable take-up spool; the M4/M6 rapid-load system uses loading prongs. Conventional SLRs expose the film path through a hinged back. Leader or sprocket engagement errors remain possible; photographer can mistake an advancing frame counter for evidence that the film itself is moving.
Hybrid and late electronicMinolta X-700; Nikon F6; Canon EOS-1VLoading indicators or motorised loading, automatic first-frame positioning, DX coding and increasingly sophisticated detection of loading failure.Considerably fewer opportunities for unnoticed loading failure. Model-specific procedures and overrides apply.
Film loading by 35mm camera generation
My Leica M3 with third party winder. When you pull up the rewind knob the crank clears the top plate.

The Rotating Dots of the Leica M3

My earliest Leica is an M3. The design retains Leica’s removable baseplate and take-up spool but adds the opening rear flap. The M3’s rewind knob does not rotate during normal film advance. Instead, the centre shaft, marked with red dots, rotates as film is pulled from the film cartridge.

It is an elegant piece of design, and cutched so you won’t suffer from flyback if you let go, but the result is slower winding. I added a third party winder to my M3, which doesn’t much mar its clean lines, and speeds up the rewind considerably.

The Nikon F6 is an Exception

There is a caveat.  The Nikon F6 manual specifically warns against turning the film rewind crank to reduce film slack: the film leader may come out of position and fail to advance properly.

In any event, the F6 does its own checking. The photographer positions the film leader and closes the camera; the motor performs the initial transport, and if the film is not seated properly, Err and E blink, and the rear screen reads FILM LOAD ERROR. This makes the classic blank-roll, whole film failure considerably harder to achieve, and raises the question of how we got from a tricky bottom load to an automated process with helpful messages.

Conclusion

I have seem videos on YouTube where film loads are performed at great speed with adminrable dexterity, without the extra step I use, and with the rewind knob/crank turning immediately. This leads me to conclude that my rather cautious practice is not for everyone, but it’s stopped me from fretting about taking 36 pictures of nothing rather effectively.

The Voigtländer Perkeo E (III) Compact Medium Format Camera

If you want to take a medium format camera somewhere where size and weight matter, in my case, the Goodwin Sands, the Voigtländer Perkeo is ideal.  With this camera, Voigtländer managed to miniaturise roll-film photography without miniaturising the negative. As a result, compared to most other medium-format cameras, it is extremely light and compact.  Equipped with its best lens option, the Color-Skopar 80mm f/3.5, and fitted with one of the faster leaf shutters (1/300 or 1/500), it is a practical proposition and perfectly capable of taking excellent pictures with plenty of detail.

Voigtlander Perkeo E (III)
My Voigtländer Perkeo E (III) (1955)

Perkeo = Small

The name Perkeo first appeared on a compact magazine camera called the Perkeo N°140, produced by Rudolf Krügener, a chemist, in the late 19th century. He had experience in developing small cameras, as one of his models was Dr Krügener’s pocketbook camera, one of the smallest cameras of its time at 45×100×140mm. 

Voigtländer’s first Perkeos were a range of small 3×4 cm self-erecting folders for 127 film in the early 1930s. The company resurrected the name for a series of 120-film 6×6 folders in 1950, and these later cameras are the subject of this article.

The name Perkeo is associated with diminutive proportions.  It is most often associated with the nickname of Giovanni Clementi (1702–1735), a court jester and wine steward of short stature at Heidelberg Castle.  The nickname was apparently derived from his response perché no? (“why not?”) when offered more wine, which he seldom declined.  He was celebrated for his prodigious wine consumption despite his small figure, and became a local legend.  Ironically, he was in charge of the largest wine barrel in the world, the massive Heidelberg Tun; Perkeo is not German for dwarf, as is frequently suggested. I have also seen it attributed to the Pygmy Batis (Batis perkeo), which is not a bat, but a tiny bird from the savannahs of north-eastern Africa. Whatever the origin, we can be sure it is intended to convey smallness.

The post-war Perkeo cameras are the subject of this article, specifically the uncoupled rangefinder model, known variously as the E, III or IIIE.  I’ve also seen IIIe. The Perkeos are compact vertical folders made by Voigtländer of Braunschweig in the early to mid 1950s, taking 6×6 cm exposures on 120 film.  All models use a small reverse-Galilean telescopic finder in a metal top housing with a cold shoe. 

Measurements depend on whether controls are included, but the ranges in the table below are a fairly safe bet.  

ModelWidthHeightDepth, folded
Perkeo I125–127 mm85–89 mm40–43 mm
Perkeo II125–127 mm85–89 mm40–43 mm
Perkeo E125–128 mm91–96 mm42–48 mm

Weights vary by lens and shutter, with the light end of the spectrum being a triplet Vaskar with a Pronto shutter.  At the other end is a four-element Color-Skopar with a Prontor-SVS or Synchro-Compur shutter with a rangefinder housing on top. The spread across the range is 480-560 grams.

Zeiss Ikon’s Super Ikonta and Balda’s Super Baldax are probably the closest lightweight alternatives, though both 6×6 folders offer a coupled rangefinder. The 6×6 Super Ikonta weighs around 660 grams and measures about 138 × 103 × 43 mm folded; the Super Baldax is a little heavier at 700 grams and 135 × 101 × 47 mm.

Voigtlander Perkeo E (III)
Voigtländer Perkeo E closed with the Leica M3 for size comparison.

The Perkeo I, II and E (III) models

The design appears to descend from the Bessa 66 of 1938, and the Perkeos are among the smallest, lightest 6×6 folders ever built.  Despite the light weight it feels very solid in the hand.

Perkeo I provides a finder, scale focusing, and double-exposure prevention interlock (except for the early models).  The film is advanced manually by turning the numbers through the red window on the back of the camera. Lens options were the Vaskar 75mm f/4.5, the Vaskar 80mm f/4.5, or the faster Color-Skopar 80mm f/3.5. A range of shutters were fitted: Vario, Pronto, Prontor-S, Prontor-SV, Prontor-SVS, Compur-Rapid, and the top-tier Synchro-Compur. Double exposure is lacking in early bodies.

Perkeo II. Adds an automatic frame counter and wind stop. The red window is needed only to set frame one; after that, the winding knob stops itself at each frame. This produces tight, consistent spacing, which is why a Perkeo II may yield an additional thirteenth frame on a modern roll of film. Almost all Perkeo IIs were fitted with the Color-Skopar 80mm f/3.5. The shutters fitted were the Prontor-S, Prontor-SV, Prontor-SVS, Compur-Rapid, Synchro-Compur.

Perkeo E (AKA III and IIIE): The final, less common variant, which adds an uncoupled rangefinder in the top housing and moves the Voigtländer name to the front of the body. To my eyes, this is the best-looking design. Once the rangefinder patch is aligned, you read the range from the top scale and then transfer it to the focusing scale.

As it was built using the Perkeo I’s film-transport system, there wasn’t enough space for the automatic counter, so you need to wind on using the red window. The E was fitted with the Color-Skopar 80mm f/3.5 and Prontor-SVS (to 1/300) or the faster Synchro-Compur (1/500).

FeatureEarly Perkeo ILater Perkeo IPerkeo IIPerkeo E
Double-exposure preventionNoYesYesYes
Red-window film advanceYesYesYesYes
Automatic frame counterNoNoYesNo
Automatic film advance stopNoNoYesNo
Uncoupled rangefinderNoNoNoYes

Dating the Perkeo models

Voigtländer Perkeo E (III)
An American Ad for the Perko E from 1955

The best dates I can find for the range is 1950 to 1955 for the Perkeo I, 1952 to 1955 for the Perkeo II, and 1955 to 1957 for the Perkeo E. McKeown’s Price Guide to Antique and Classic Cameras seems to be the best authority. No factory production records survive, so all dates come from catalogues and price lists. The bodies don’t carry a serial number, though the shutter and lenses do. The serial number on my Perkeo E is on the outer edge of the lens. As far as I can tell, the lens was made in 1954 for a camera introduced in 1955.

The rise and fall of the 6×6 Folder

The square 6×6 became popular in the mid-1930s. It was simpler to use, since there was no distinction between landscape and portrait orientation, and it suited contact printing and small enlargers. However, by the late 1950s the 6×6 folder’s day was over. Coated lenses and improved emulsions had made 35mm negatives ‘good enough’ and folders were costly to build. Professionals and serious amateurs moved to twin lens reflexes and the Hasselblad 500C, and the rest of the market moved to 35mm. The Pereko E was one of the last generation of folders and arrived just as the market had moved on.

The Lens

My Perkeo E has the Color (spelled thus) Skopar lens.  Skopar was Voigtländer’s name for their four-element Tessar-type lens. Color refers to the lens coating, which was considered better for colour photography.  It is a quality, sharp lens, with just a bit of softness in the corners wide open, though that was only evident on the one photo that came out sharp in the roll I tested critical focus on.  

Shooting with the Perkeo E (III)

Open the front door by pressing a small button on the base of the camera. Next, pull the door open until it gives a loud, positive click after it erects the lens.   To close the door, depress the two buttons on the inside of the door at the front.  If you need it, there is a small stand at the base of the door, marked with a red arrow.

Loading

Open the back by depressing the two buttons on the left (wind) side of the camera and pulling out the film advance knob, then swing the hinged cradle on the right-hand side (lens away from you) out.

Voigtlander Perkeo E
Interior of the Perkeo E (III) Medium Format Uncoupled Rangefinder

Move the empty take-up spool, usually in the camera, into the cradle on the wind side, and put the fresh roll into the opposite chamber. Pull the paper leader across the film gate and slot its tip into the take-up spool, then turn the knob a couple of times until the paper is straight and taut.

Swing the cradle back in and close the back until it latches. Close the cover.  Lastly, open the red window cover and wind steadily, watching for the warning dots and then the figure 1. Stop the moment it sits centred in the window.  On a Perkeo II, you stop at step five in the same way, then close the cover, flip the counter reset lever, and let the auto-stop advance handle the remaining frames. 

Setting the exposure

With no meter, you’ll need to use a handheld meter, a phone app, or the Sunny 16 rule, after which you can set the exposure on the shutter housing at the front of the camera. The speed ring runs round the barrel, giving you one second to 1/300 plus B on my E’s Prontor-SVS. The aperture has its own small lever near the bellows, running f/3.5 to f/16 with the Color-Skopar, and you read it against the scale on the lens barrel. 

There is a third ring on the camera on the SVS, which is a synchro switch for flash:

  • M for M-type flashbulbs, which you can use at speeds between 1/50 and 1/300.
  • X for electronic flash at any speed, and for bulbs at 1/25 or slower.
  • V for the self-timer, which also works with electronic flash up to 1/300 and bulbs up to 1/25. Its synchronisation matches X.

I’ve never used flash with the camera and leave the ring on X.  If needed, a flash plugs into the PC socket on the shutter barrel.

Focusing

Focusing using an uncoupled rangefinder was new to me, and I didn’t find it particularly easy when I tried it.  Being uncoupled, it requires two separate movements. First, you focus the rangefinder by aligning the images in the rangefinder patch from the rangefinder window.  This has higher magnification than the viewfinder to help achieve focus.

Next, you read the distance from the indicator on the top of the camera, and then finally transfer that figure to the lens.  Composition is done through the second window, which has lower magnification.  I couldn’t find accurate figures for magnification online, but after a fairly quick-and-dirty home test, I estimate 0.7 for the viewfinder and 1.1 for the rangefinder.

The rangefinder patch isn’t particularly bright, so I’ve moved to zone focusing, which is what you would do on the Perkeo I and II. There are focusing aids that assist with this. Set the aperture to f/8, then rotate the lens barrel to the triangle symbol on the lens, which is set just past the 3m metre mark (3.35m). Everything from 2.5m to 5m should be sharp. Set the focus to the circle symbol at 10.06m, and everything will be sharp from 5.05m to infinity. The circle is particularly useful for landscapes.

Setting and Firing The Shutter

The shutter is cocked using the cocking lever on the shutter housing beside the lens and fired with the button on the top plate.  Open the red window cover again to wind on to 2, and repeat for the rest of the roll.  At the end (12 or 13 frames), wind on until the paper trailer clears, then open the back in the shade and seal the roll.

Winding on and The Red Window

All three Perkeo models count frames through a small red window in the back door, and all but the earliest Perkeo I models are fitted with a rotating cover, marked with an X when closed.

Voigtlander Perkeo E
Top rear view of the Perkeo E (III)

The purpose is to keep light from fogging the film. The ruby-coloured glass passes only red light, which the orthochromatic and slow panchromatic stocks were less sensitive to.  Our faster modern emulsions and thinner backing papers are less forgiving, and a window left open throughout the roll may well fog the roll through the paper. On the Perkeo II, the cover is needed only briefly because the window is used only to position the first frame before the auto-stop advance takes over.  The Perkeo I and the rangefinder-equipped Perkeo E have no frame counter, and the cover needs to be opened each time you wind on.  I found this mildly tedious, and had I known that the Perkeo II’s design alleviated it, I might have chosen a different model. 

The Winding and Cocking Sequence

Wind the film on fully, until the mechanism clicks, before cocking the shutter. I found cocking against an unwound frame makes the shutter stick, though it didn’t jam, and winding on fully cleared it. Wind, cock, then fire is the sequence, which is necessary anyway to avoid losing track of whether the frame in the gate has already been exposed.

An Excursion to the Goodwin Sands 

I took my Perkeo E on a trip to the Goodwin Sands.  We were taken to the sands (and back!) by Dover Sea Safari, who were excellent.  The crew were both extremely professional and personable, and the boat was well equipped.  The journey from Dover takes about 30 minutes in clear weather, which is what we enjoyed.   All my gear had to fit into a small Peli-type watertight case, and I had a Nikon Zf, a 24-120 mm zoom, and a 100- 400  mm zoom to take.  The Perkeo was the only option for medium format.  

Voigtlander Perkeo E
The Goodwin Sands, with the East Goodwins Lightvessel on the horizon. Shot with a Voigtlander Perkeo E (cropped)

Shooting the Voigtländer Perkeo E was easy enough.  I didn’t have to worry about focus as I was always set to infinity, as I needed the horizon as sharp as possible for the East Goodwin Lightvessel, which you can see as a distant spec. We visited on the 1st of August 2026, just before it was permanently withdrawn and decommissioned by Trinity House on August 14th. She was last withdrawal of the historic lightship station markers. It was an event we wanted to mark, and the reason I took Nikon’s excellent 100-400mm zoom on my Nikon Zf.

I would have worried about having only 1/300 on a digital camera, but black-and-white film has so much latitude that it wasn’t a consideration.   At f/8 I needed about 1/500 most of the time, and the 1/300 I had available turned out to be sufficient to ensure the exposure was OK. The only drawbacks of shooting with the Pereko were the slow wind-on and the need to remember to cover the red window between frames.  I was glad I took it.

Further Reading

The Race to Sell the World’s First Camera

Worlds first camera
 The 1839 Susse Frères Daguerréotype  

I came across what might be the first camera you could actually buy at the excellent Westlicht permanent exhibition in Vienna.  The museum displays an impressive collection of 360 cameras and also hosts a 3D camera exhibition of 100 historically significant cameras.

The museum’s centrepiece and most valuable specimen, displayed as the world’s first commercially produced camera, is the “Susse Frères Daguerréotype”.   This is the story of that camera and the race to sell the world’s first camera.

On 19 August 1839, physicist François Arago stood before the Académie des Sciences and the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris to reveal the details of a brand-new process and apparatus, first announced in January. The hall was packed, and those who could not get in waited outside on the Quai de Conti to learn what had been said.

The Contenders

Two months earlier, on 22 June, the man who put his name to the camera, Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre, had signed contracts with two Paris firms to manufacture the camera. One was Alphonse Giroux et Cie of the Rue du Coq Saint-Honoré, an important Parisian manufacturer of luxury furniture and accessories. Giroux was Daguerre’s brother-in-law. The other was Maison Susse Frères, at 31 Place de la Bourse, a firm with a foundry business and a shop selling similar merchandise.

Both were granted the right to build the camera to Daguerre’s plans, though not on the same terms. Giroux’s cameras were endorsed by Daguerre and marketed on the basis that they were constructed under his supervision.   Susse Frères cameras were produced according to Daguerre’s plans. 

As a result, Giroux’s cameras carried an oval plaque bearing Daguerre’s own signature and a red wax seal dated with the year.  Susse Frère’s octagonal label stated that the camera had been made to the plans lodged at the Ministry of the Interior. 

The Timeline

Shortly after the Daguerreotype was announced, both firms went to press.  Here is the Daguerreotype/Giroux/Susse Frères timeline, according to Photobibliothek.ch, a private library on the history of photography that houses the original adverts.

DateEventSignificance
6 JanGazette de France publishes H. Gaucheraud’s “Nouvelle découverte”, describing Daguerre’s invention.The first public announcement of photography, one day before Arago’s presentation.
7 JanFrançois Arago announces Daguerre’s invention to the Académie des Sciences.The first official scientific announcement. 
Jan–JuneExtensive press coverage follows in France and abroad, alongside rival priority claims from Talbot, Gerber and others.Daguerre’s process becomes an international story months before the technical details are released. 
19 AugArago and Daguerre publicly reveal the process in Paris.The operating details become public and the French state effectively releases the process for public use.
21 AugGazette de France carries an advertisement from Alphonse Giroux & Cie.Subscription/advance advertisement. Giroux says the apparatus is manufactured under Daguerre’s direction and will be accompanied by explanatory instructions.
23 AugGazette de France carries a Susse Frères advertisement: “On souscrit au Daguerréotype chez Susse frères…”Susse Frères follows Giroux by only two days, again soliciting subscriptions/orders rather than announcing stock immediately available. 
25 AugLe Voleur reports extraordinary public interest at the Institut de France; crowds had arrived three hours before the presentation and three specimen daguerreotypes remained on display.Demonstrates the intensity of the publicity surrounding the commercial launch. 
6 SepSusse Frères and bookseller Delloye advertise Daguerre’s manual under its full title, Historique et description pratique des procédés du Daguerréotype et du Diorama, price 2 francs. Susse also advertises the complete daguerreotype apparatus with accessories for 350 francs.The wording changes to “En vente” on sale.
7 SepGiroux advertises Daguerre’s manual under its full title for 2 francs, with engraved plates, stating that Giroux is the only house making apparatus under Daguerre’s direction.Giroux’s corresponding full commercial advertisement appears the day after Susse’s. 

Giroux appears to win the publicity race with its advertisement of 21 August, but Susse Frères is the first to offer availability. On 6 September, Susse Frères says both the manual and 350-franc apparatus are “en vente”. Giroux’s comparable full-title advertisement appears on 7 September.

The Other Race

There was another race in progress. While Daguerre and his supporters were preparing to reveal the new process to the world, across the Channel English gentleman-scientist William Henry Fox Talbot had been pursuing photographic experiments of his own. News of Daguerre’s discovery, announced on January 7th, though without details of the process, travelled quickly.

Within weeks the news had reached Fox Talbot in England, who immediately recognised that Daguerre’s claims overlapped with the photographic experiments he had been conducting privately for several years. Fox Talbot responded quickly. On January 25th he exhibited examples of his own ‘photogenic drawings’ at the Royal Institution in London. Four days later, he wrote to the French physicist Jean-Baptiste Biot asserting his prior work, and on January 31st presented his paper, Some Account of the Art of Photogenic Drawing, to the Royal Society.

The First Sale

Back in Paris in Autumn 1839, who rang up the first sale of a Daguerreotype?  The available evidence isn’t conclusive, but I would bet that Susse Frères licensed but unendorsed position would create greater urgency, and the unsupervised nature of the manufacturing would probably make it a little faster, enabling the firm to get ahead by a few days. This is no more than a hypothesis, but not an unreasonable one.

worlds first camera
The Susse Frères advertisement of 6th September

The two cameras were similar, though the Giroux cost a little more. Both were wooden sliding-box whole plate designs mounted with a hand-ground achromatic lens made by Charles Chevalier.  The Giroux cameras were made of hardwood with a natural varnished finish, while the Susse Frères camera was made of a softer wood and painted black. 

The new Daguerreotype photographic process produced a small, short-lived occupational ecosystem that combined the skills of chemist, metalworker, optician, photographer, and portraitist. Several stages of the process, and thus more than one of these new daguerreotype jobs, were distinctly hazardous. You can read about this in the article The Short Lived, Hazardous Jobs of the Daguerrotype Era.

Technical specification 

Susse Frères Le Daguerréotype, 1839Susse Frères Le Daguerréotype, 1839
TypeSliding-box camera. 
Plate format167 × 216 mm, full/whole plate, approximately 6.5 × 8.5 in. 
BodySoftwood, black stained/finished; brass fittings. 
InteriorBlack velvet lining to camera and internal doors. 
FocusRear sliding-box arrangement; ground-glass screen interchangeable with plate holder. 
LensCharles Chevallier achromatic; approximately 38 cm focal length. 
Working apertureApproximately f/14. 
Exposure controlPivoting/swivelling brass plate at the front of the lens. 
Light control at rearTwo inward-opening doors operable from outside so the plate could be inserted while the camera remained light-tight. 

Source: Westlicht camera auction

Today, about a dozen Giroux cameras are known to exist, most of which are in museums.  There is one in the History of Science Museum, Oxford, and a copy in the National Science and Media Museum.  There are also examples in museums in Munich, Barcelona, Tokyo and New York.

The Westlicht example is the only authenticated example of the Susse Frères.  This appeared from an attic in Germany in 2007, so for most of photography’s history it was assumed there were no surviving Susse Frères, and that perhaps the advertisements referred to a production that had either never happened, or to a handful of examples that had been lost.

Whether it was actually the first camera sold remains impossible to prove. Giroux advertised first, but Susse Frères appears to have offered its camera for sale first. In the first days of September 1839, someone with a few hundred francs to spend walked into one of those two shops and purchased the world’s first camera offered for sale.

We don’t know which shop it was. But the sole surviving Susse Frères makes the more popular claim that the Giroux was the world’s first commercially produced camera rather less certain; and the race to sell the world’s first camera considerably more interesting.

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The Short Lived, Hazardous Jobs of the Daguerrotype Era

Few people today are familiar with the work of the plate polisher. This is unsurprising, given how quickly this role came and went. The plate polisher was one of the roles created by Daguerre’s new 1839 photographic process, which produced a small, short-lived occupational ecosystem that combined the skills of chemist, metalworker, optician, photographer, and portraitist. Several stages of the process, and thus more than one of these new daguerreotype jobs, were distinctly hazardous.

Daguerrotype jobs
Jabez Hogg Making a Portrait in Richard Beard’s Studio in London (Wikipedia Commons)

The Daguerreotypist could, and often did, run the entire process. He or she (there are several well-documented female practitioners) prepared the plate, sensitised it, judged the exposure, developed it over mercury, and fixed the image. The process involved the use of iodine, bromine, or chlorine compounds, as well as mercury vapour.

The most hazardous of these was mercury, which was heated repeatedly in poorly ventilated rooms. This produced various unpleasant neurological and behavioural symptoms including tremors and excess salivation.  The Iodine and bromine fumes were also irritating and corrosive to the eyes and respiratory tract.

In larger establishments, some of the laborious polishing and finishing work was undertaken by specialist assistants or suppliers. Our plate maker or plate preparer/polisher prepared the base physical medium. Daguerreotype plates were made of silver-plated copper and required polishing to an exceptionally smooth, mirror-like surface. 

In the larger studios that developed as part of the Daguerreotype ecosystem, sensitisers or chemical assistants could prepare the metal photographic plates in iodine and bromine boxes and handle the chemicals. This was particularly unpleasant work.

Development required that the exposed plate be held above heated mercury at 60–75°C. In a busy portrait studio this might happen repeatedly throughout the working day, so purpose-built mercury developing boxes were used by a Mercury developer/operator. 

After Fizeau’s 1840 improvement, which strengthened the image by depositing a fine layer of gold on the developed plate, many daguerreotypes were “gilded” or “toned” with gold chloride. This introduced another specialist chemical operation, usually involving heating the plate, which a gilder could do.

Because a daguerreotype was monochrome, studios employed artists to apply extremely fine areas of pigment to cheeks, lips, jewellery and clothing. These colourists or miniature painters could also be exposed to occupational dangers as Nineteenth-century artists’ colours could contain lead, mercury, arsenic and other toxic metals.

The daguerreotype image was vulnerable to abrasion and tarnishing, so plates were normally sealed behind glass and mounted in cases or frames. This supported trades in making wooden cases, leather coverings, and decorative mounts, which required the skills of case makers, frame makers, and finishers.

What I found fascinating is that the daguerreotype created so many roles beyond that of photographer. It’s fair to say that it created a whole chemical manufacturing and service chain around photography, albeit briefly. The heyday of these daguerreotype jobs was from the early 1840s to the late 1850s, after which the cheaper and reproducible wet-collodion process rapidly replaced the daguerreotype. The plate preparers, mercury developers and daguerreotype colourists largely disappeared with the daguerreotype during the 1860s, although photographic colourists continued working with later processes.

Other trades would last much longer. Camera and lens makers, photographic chemists and suppliers, studio assistants, retouchers, framers and case makers adapted to successive technologies and, in altered forms, survived well into the twentieth century or survive to this day.

Nikon F3 vs FM3A – Great Film Cameras

Development, launch, reception, adoption, production history and legacy

Nikon F3 vs FM3A
The Nikon FM3A and F3HP

As much as I admire the Nikon FM3A, I shoot with the Nikon F3 much more frequently.   I’ve had my hand on the FM3A, but changed my mind and taken the F3 more than once.  I think this is due to three factors.   The first is the most obvious; the FM3A is both more costly and less robust than the F3, so any knocks will hurt more.  The second is that the F3’s shutter and wind-on mechanisms both feel more solid and satisfying to me, and the third is that the HP viewfinder is really convenient with glasses. As a result, the F3 has travelled abroad with me quite frequently whilst the FM3A has been restricted to the UK. Both cameras are premium, manual-focus, aperture-priority Nikon SLRs, which is why they invite comparison. Curiously, they are almost opposites in one respect – the F3 was Nikon’s step into an electronic future, while the FM3A was a retrospective on a manual film camera past. What follows is a detailed comparison of the two, interspersed with shots I’ve taken with each camera.

Summary Comparison Nikon F3 vs FM3A

The F3 was Nikon’s professional system flagship. It was designed as a modular replacement for the F2 that would persuade sceptical pro photographers to accept an electronic shutter and automatic exposure. The camera’s strengths are its robust build, 100% viewfinder coverage, interchangeable finders and screens, many accessories, compatibility with pre-AI lenses through stop-down metering, mirror lock-up and unusually smooth professional ergonomics. Its main compromises are dependence on batteries for all normally selected shutter speeds, a slow 1/80-second flash synchronisation speed, a proprietary flash-shoe arrangement and a small LCD display.

The FM3A was designed as a compact, premium manual-focus camera for experienced enthusiasts and traditionalists at the point when Nikon was moving to digital photography. Its design combines the FM2’s battery-independent mechanical operation with the FE2’s aperture-priority automation. The FM3A’s most notable achievement is its astonishing hybrid shutter: every manual speed from one second to 1/4000 second, plus Bulb, works mechanically without batteries, while aperture-priority mode provides stepless electronic timing from eight seconds to 1/4000 second. It is an engineering marvel.

Where taking a knock, finder coverage, interchangeable prisms (DE-3 high-eyepoint, DW-3 waist-level etc.) and mirror lock-up are needed the F3 has the edge. For compact travel photography the FM3A is more convenient – and better looking in my view. The FM3A also offers the faster shutter and flash synchronisation, a conventional hot shoe, DX coding and lower weight. Low weight is generally important to me, but when weight is at an absolute premium and I need to take a few lenses with me I will probably take the Olympus OM-1n, OM-2n or OM-2SP or the Leica M6 TTL.

As a purchase in 2026, the F3 is generally the better value as the FM3A commands a scarcity and last-of-the-line premium: FM3A asking prices I saw in the UK in August 2026 when I wrote this averaged about £739, compared with roughly £410 for the F3.

Development history and launch

Nikon F3: persuading professionals to accept electronics

F3 Vs FM3A
My 1982 Nikon F3HP with 50mm f1.8 pancake lens

Planning for the F3 began soon after F2 production stabilised. Purely mechanical shutters had earned professional trust, but electronics offered greater exposure accuracy, more automation, energy-saving functions and the possibility of better reliability through fewer and more efficiently adjusted components. Nikon therefore chose not merely to add aperture-priority exposure to an F2, but to develop a new professional camera around an electronically controlled shutter.

The F3 development programme began in 1973. The early concept, sometimes described in Nikon’s history as an “F3 Photomic AE”, retained the F/F2 pattern of placing the TTL meter and exposure electronics in an interchangeable Photomic finder. It was close to production but was abandoned when Nikon’s Engineering and Development Group succeeded in developing in-body metering using a semi-transparent “pinhole” reflex mirror and secondary mirror. Moving the meter into the body meant that waist-level, action and high-magnification finders could all retain TTL metering without individual meter assemblies or recalibration. The plan was therefore renewed and development restarted in 1976. The world moved at entirely different pace back then.

Formal design began in March 1977. Nikon stated three inherited F2-level objectives: high quality and reliability; ease of operation and versatility; and automatic operation. Electronic control and low power consumption were additional requirements. A modular horizontal-travel titanium-foil shutter was subjected to extensive accuracy and durability analysis, while value-engineering methods were applied to reduce component count and weight. The prototype was completed in November 1978.

The project also changed direction as new technologies became feasible. Nikon replaced an the analogue display initially envisaged with digital circuitry and a low-consumption LCD, adopted quartz shutter timing and developed an electromagnetic release. The MD-4 motor drive was treated as an integral part of the system rather than a peripheral accessory; Nikon targeted six frames per second, compared with four frames per second for the F2 drive, using a coreless motor and a lower-friction gear train.

Nikon F3 Vs FM3A
Vienna 2025, Nikon F3

Legendary designer Giorgetto Giugiaro, of Volkswagen Golf, Lotus Esprit, and Maserati Ghibli fame, was brought in for the exterior design. His contribution included the camera and MD-4 as a unified form, the shallow integral handgrip and the vertical red accent. The design language he introduced remained influential on Nikon cameras for many years.

NASA came calling in autumn 1978, while the F3 prototype was being finalised, asking for cameras capable of automatic exposure and unusually large film loads. Nikon produced a 250-exposure “Big” camera and a 72-exposure “Small” camera and delivered them in May 1980. The smaller version flew aboard Columbia in April 1981 without a backup camera and completed its mission successfully; later shuttle F3 configurations were further modified for long eye relief and gloved operation and used specialist lubricants.

The production F3 was launched in March 1980.

Nikon FM3A: combining the FM2 and FE2 in the digital era

The FM3A programme began in December 1998. Unlike conventional Nikon projects, engineers from Mito Nikon joined the Ohi plant design group at the outset because the camera was expected to require extensive hand assembly, adjustment and production-line expertise. The team began with seven people and later expanded to twelve.

The product concept emerged around April 1999 after some months of discussion. Nikon’s starting point was the continuing popularity of the New FM2 among experienced amateurs, photography students and photographers who valued operation without batteries. Customers were nevertheless asking for the convenience of aperture-priority exposure and TTL automatic flash. The design goal was therefore not simply “a final mechanical Nikon”, but a camera that would preserve full mechanical shutter control while adding the FE’s automatic exposure functions.

That requirement produced the hybrid shutter. Nikon had to package both the FM2-style mechanical linkage and FE2-style electronic control into essentially the same body volume as the New FM2. The resulting mechanism was unusually difficult to manufacture. Nikon initially doubted that a mechanically governed 1/4000-second speed could be achieved within the size and precision constraints. The company also had to locate a supplier capable of producing the tiny high-precision analogue ammeter used by the match-needle display.

Nikon F vs FM3A
Approaching storm, Deal beach, 2024, FM3A

Line preparation, pilot fabrication/initial manufacturing activity began in 2000 and full series output in April 2001. The intended April 2001 release was delayed until July because orders exceeded the supply available from the rather labour-intensive line.

The matching silver AI Nikkor 45mm f/2.8P pancake lens launched with the camera in July 2001. It weighed about 120g and incorporated a CPU for communication with later Nikon bodies. A black-finish lens followed in November 2001 at ¥48,000 before tax. The lens is extremely compact, and sharp, but I use the 50mm f1.8 pancake much more frequently.

F3 and FM3A Milestones 1973-2006

1973 Initial F3 development begins; Early meter-in-finder “F3 Photomic AE” concept
1976 F3 programme restarted around body-integrated pinhole-mirror metering
1977 Formal F3 design begins; Quartz timing, LCD and Giugiaro design incorporated
1978 F3 prototype completed; NASA approaches Nikon
1980 Standard Nikon F3 launched; NASA cameras delivered
1981 Nikon F3 Small flies aboard Space Shuttle Columbia
1982 F3HP and F3/T introduced
1983 F3AF and F3P introduced
1988 Nikon F4 succeeds F3 as current flagship, F3 remains in production
1993 F3 Limited introduced
1996 F3 High Speed appears
1998 FM3A development begins
1999 FM3A product concept fixed
2000 F3 discontinuation announced
2001 FM3A full production and launch in July
2002 FM3A receives Camera Grand Prix Special Prize
2006 FM3A production and final shipments end

Reception and adoption

Reception of the F3

The F3’s reception was divided – much as Nikon had anticipated. Supporters welcomed a robust, ergonomic, aperture-priority professional Nikon that retained lens compatibility. Others objected to an electronic shutter in a professional F-series body.

Nikon won the more conservative professionals over and total sales exceeded 751,000 by September 1992. The F3’s handling was particularly favoured. The Giugiaro grip and rounded body were considered more comfortable than the squarer F and F2, while the ball-bearing-supported film transport made the manual advance exceptionally smooth.

Critics, however, focused on the relatively small LCD display, the proprietary flash shoe and the marmite-like divisiveness of the red stripe. Its 1/80-second X-sync also became somewhat restrictive for daylight fill flash as 1/200- and 1/250-second shutters became common.

Reception of the FM3A

Nikon F3 vs FM3A
Magnus Cathedral at Kirkjubøur, Faroe Islands, F3

The FM3A received unusually enthusiastic attention for a manual-focus film camera launched beside Nikon’s D1X and D1H digital professional bodies. Advance orders exceeded production capacity and specialist magazines published extensive features.

Popular Photography considered battery-free operation one of the camera’s principal attractions and described the FM3A as one of the best manual-focus SLRs then in production. Camera Arts praised its straightforward controls, versatile flash functions and mechanical fallback, while Shutterbug highlighted intuitive control placement, metal construction and smooth operation.

The camera received at least three formal honours: the 2001 Good Design Award, selection as a 2001 Japanese Historical Camera, and the Camera Grand Prix 2002 Special Prize. The Camera Grand Prix award praised its popularity, topical significance and advanced engineering, particularly the survival of a genuine manual-focus SLR in an autofocus and digital market.

The FM3A sacrificed autofocus, matrix or spot metering, automatic film transport, interchangeable finders and mirror lock-up. Spot metering did actually reach prototype stage, but Nikon abandoned it because the design could not be mass-produced with adequate consistency. Mirror lock-up was omitted because engineering resources and packaging space were focused on the complex hybrid shutter.

Adoption

The F3 was designed for press, commercial, scientific and institutional use and was part of a broad professional system. The standard body and F3HP were used by professionals and serious amateurs, while the F3P, F3 Limited and F3H addressed press or specialist high-speed requirements.

NASA is the most famous and influential institutional adoption. The 72 and 250-exposure F3 derivatives were followed by versions adapted for shuttle cabin use. NASA features included larger controls for gloves, extended eye relief, modified lubrication, thermal protection and high-capacity film backs. NASA selection has done wonders for many products (think Omega Speedmaster, for example) and the F3’s adoption was both a technical validation and an important part of the F3’s professional reputation.

The F3 also played a role in early digital professional photography, as Eastman Kodak chose the F3/F3HP architecture as the camera basis for the Kodak DCS 100 system introduced in 1991.

Nikon aimed the FM3A at experienced amateurs. It was not aimed at professionals, as it arrived after Nikon’s D1 and at the same time as the D1X and D1H, when professionals were moving to autofocus digital cameras.

Technical and usage comparison

Core specifications

CharacteristicNikon F3Nikon FM3A
Market positionProfessional modular flagshipPremium compact manual-focus enthusiast/semi-professional body
LaunchMarch 1980July 2001
Exposure modesAperture-priority AE and manualAperture-priority AE and manual
Shutter architectureHorizontally travelling titanium-foil focal-plane shutter; electronically quartz timed at normal speedsVertically travelling aluminium-alloy metal focal-plane shutter; dual electronic and mechanical control
Automatic rangeStepless 8 seconds to 1/2000 secondStepless 8 seconds to 1/4000 second
Manual range8 seconds to 1/2000 second, plus B, T and X; selected normal speeds require powerOne second to 1/4000 second plus B, all mechanically timed
Battery-free operationSeparate mechanical release at about 1/60 second; T mechanically availableEvery marked manual speed and B
MeterTTL, approximately 80/20 centre-weightedTTL, approximately 60/40 centre-weighted
Metering rangeEV 1–18 at ISO 100 with 50mm f/1.4EV 1–20 at ISO 100 with 50mm f/1.4
Film speedISO 12–6400, manualISO 25–5000 by DX; ISO 12–6400 manually
Exposure compensation±2 EV±2 EV
AE lockYesYes
Viewfinder coverageApproximately 100%Approximately 93%
MagnificationAbout 0.8× with DE-2; about 0.75× with DE-3 HP 0.80× / 0.83× – sources vary*
Finder systemInterchangeable: standard eye-level, high-eyepoint, action, high-magnification and waist-level optionsFixed pentaprism
ScreensTwenty officially listed in Nikon’s launch-era account, including standard KK3 standard; B3 and E3 optional
FlashTTL off-the-film; proprietary F3 shoe system; PC connection; 1/80-second X-syncTTL off-the-film; standard ISO hot shoe and PC connection; 1/250-second X-sync; −1 EV flash-compensation button
Mirror lock-upYesNo
Depth-of-field previewYesYes
Motor driveMD-4, up to six frames per second; powered rewindMD-12, approximately 3.2 frames per second; manual rewind
DimensionsApproximately 148.5 × 96.5 × 65.5mmApproximately 142.5 × 90 × 58mm
WeightApproximately 715g body with DE-2Approximately 570g excluding batteries
FinishBlack standard; titanium and specialist variantsSilver/chrome or black
Primary evidenceNikon F3 history and manual-derived specifications.Nikon FM3A history and US specification sheet.

*Nikon corporate history states 0.83×, while the Nikon USA specification sheet gives 0.80×.

Shutter and battery dependence

The F3’s shutter provided quartz-controlled electronic timing, which improves consistency, and aperture-priority mode, which can select intermediate values steplessly. As the shutter speeds are electronic, an exhausted battery limits the camera to a separate mechanical release of 1/60 second or mechanical T operation. Given how small, inexpensive and easily available the F3’s batteries are I have never seen this as a limitation, but it troubled many photographers in its heyday, and is still the subject of debate in forums today.

Nikon FM3A
Winding gear, Deal beach 2023, FM3A

The FM3A’s shutter is mechanically far more ambitious. Selecting a manual speed engages the mechanical governor and linkage, while selecting ‘A’ activates the electronic timing mechanism. It replaces a single emergency mechanical speed with a full manual sequence from one second to 1/4000 second. The batteries are still required for the meter, aperture-priority automation, AE lock etc.

Metering and exposure control

The F3 concentrates approximately 80% of meter sensitivity in the central 12mm circle and spreads the remaining 20% across the rest of the frame. Light passes through tens of thousands of microscopic non-reflective areas in the main mirror, is redirected by a secondary mirror and reaches a silicon photodiode (SPD) in the bottom of the mirror box.

The FM3A employs a less strongly weighted 60/40 centre-weighted pattern, using paired SPDs located behind the pentaprism. Its rather lovely analogue match-needle display shows the meter’s recommended shutter speed and a separate indication of the selected speed. In aperture-priority mode, the needle shows the stepless speed the camera intends to use.

Neither camera provides matrix metering or a built-in spot meter. The F3’s stronger centre weighting reflected its pro design; Nikon’s brief was to replace the F2 for photographers who had spent years using handheld light meters and this pattern let a photojournalist meter selectively through the lens quickly and easily.  The FM3A employed the same, more forgiving, weighting the FM2 and FE2 used, so those photographers trading up or adding a body found the meter behaved as they expected.

Viewfinder system

The F3’s DE-2 standard finder gives approximately 100% coverage and relatively high magnification. The DE-3 High-Eyepoint finder, introduced as standard on the F3HP in March 1982, provides excellent eye relief for glasses wearers at the expense of some magnification. Action, waist-level and high-magnification finders are all available. Because the meter is in the body, exchanging finders or screens does not require a different metering prism.

Nikon FM3A
Lady Rosina, Deal Beach, FM3A

The FM3A’s fixed finder is smaller in system scope but exceptionally good for a compact SLR. Nikon redesigned the K3 screen to improve brightness and reduce split-prism blackout with slower lenses. The B3 plain matte screen was designed for macro and long lenses, and the E3 grid for architectural and landscape alignment. Its 93% coverage means more appears on film than is shown in the finder, which is convenient for uncritical consumer processing but less exact for slide, copy or tightly framed professional work.

Replacing the ‘Finder’

The term ‘finder’ can cause confusion when applied to the F3 and FM3A. This is because the term is used to refer both to replacing a focusing screen (FM3A and F3) and replacing a prism/finder screen assembly (F3 only).

The focusing screen sits on a shelf above the mirror, directly beneath the prism. It is a piece of ground glass, and it is where the image from the lens actually lands. Everything you see when you raise the camera to your eye is a projection onto that surface. The screen determines what focusing aid you get, such as a split-image wedge, a microprism collar, a plain matte field, or a grid. It also determines how bright the view is, and how the out-of-focus areas render.

The prism is the block of glass sitting on top of the screen. The image on the screen arrives laterally reversed and upside down, and the prism puts that right before it reaches your eye. On the F3 you can remove it and fit a waist-level hood in its place, and there is no prism in the light path at all; you look straight down onto the screen through a magnifier, with the image reversed left to right, just like you would with a Rolleiflex.

The finder, according to Nikon, means the whole viewing assembly of prism and eyepiece together, as a unit. This is why Nikon’s part numbers for the F3 carry finder designations rather than prism ones.

On the F3 both prism and screen come off. Nikon offered more than twenty screens for the camera and five finders or viewing heads. I’ll call them heads to avoid potential confusion. These were the standard DE-2, the high-eyepoint DE-3, the DW-3 waist-level, the DA-2 action finder, and the DW-4 magnifying finder. Lift the head off, and you are looking at the bare screen.

On the FM3A the prism is fixed and bonded to the top plate. The screens, however, come out through the lens throat. Nikon supplied three, being the K3 with split-image and microprism, the B3 plain matte, and the E3 with grid lines. Anyone who has fitted the grid screen for architectural work has, in a perfectly reasonable sense, changed the finder, as they have changed what they see. They just have not changed the thing that Nikon calls the finder.

The FM3A also accepts eyepiece accessories that thread onto the fixed prism, including dioptre correction lenses, the DG-2 magnifier, and the DR-3 right-angle attachment.

Finder Design Decisions

The F3 meters from a silicon photodiode in the base of the body, reading light passed down through the semi-silvered main mirror. The metering system therefore sits below the screen. Whatever head you fit, the meter reads identically.

The FM3A puts its metering cells in the prism, alongside the needle display. That is a cheaper and simpler arrangement, but it also makes an interchangeable prism close to unworkable, because every alternative head would need its own cells and display.

Lens compatibility

Both bodies use Nikon’s F mount, and for almost every lens Nikon has made since 1977, the two cameras behave identically. AI and AI-S Nikkors, the Series E lenses, the AI-P range with its CPU contacts, and the autofocus lenses of the AF and AF-D generations all mount and work fully on both bodies, with full-aperture metering and manual focusing. AF-S lenses are the same, offering manual focus provided the particular lens carries an aperture ring.

The F3 has a hinged meter-coupling lever that folds up out of the way, which allows unmodified pre-AI lenses to be mounted and metered stopped down, subject to checking the clearance on each individual lens. The FM3A has no equivalent release. Its coupling lever is fixed, and a pre-AI lens will foul it. The F3 will also accept fisheye lenses that require mirror lock-up.

Build, ergonomics and handling

Both cameras use rigid metal-based structures rather than moulded shells. Nikon’s FM3A has a copper-silumin aluminium-alloy chassis and metal outer body. The F3 likewise uses a strong die-cast alloy chassis and professional metal construction, but its modular finder, larger body and accessory couplings make it heavier.

Nikon FM3A
My FM3A on Deal beach 2023

The F3 is exceptionally smooth to handle, with the film advance being particularly noticeable. It is slightly let down by the proprietary flash location and the small, not terribly bright LCD – though the latter has proved far more durable than Nikon advised users in the manual. The guidance given there was that although the camera used the highest quality LCD available, it would lose contrast and become hard to read after six or seven years, at which point they should take it to a dealer or Nikon service centre for replacement. Nikon was guessing at LCD longevity, of course, and happily my 1980 F3 and 1982 F3HP LCDs are both still working fine. 

The FM3A has FM/FE type ergonomics: prominent shutter and film-speed dials, a conventional hot shoe, compact dimensions and a direct match-needle display. It is lighter and perhaps slightly less conspicuous.

Flash and motorisation

For flash, the FM3A offers 1/250-second synchronisation and its ISO-standard hot shoe accepts ordinary flashes while retaining Nikon TTL contacts. The −1 EV TTL-flash compensation button provides a quick fill-flash reduction.

Flash users might find the F3’s 1/80-second sync somewhat limiting. Dedicated TTL flash units use the contacts around the F3’s odd rewind-side accessory fitting, and hot-shoe flashes require an adapter or cable. On the plus side, the F3 offers a plethora of cords, high-capacity backs, finders, data equipment and motor-drive accessories. I have no experience of any of these.

The MD-4 transforms the F3 into a fast press or sports camera, advancing at up to 5.5 frames per second, or six with the mirror locked up, and rewinding a thirty-six exposure roll in a rapid four and a half seconds. It will also power the camera body should the F3’s own batteries run out. The unit weighs about 490 grams before the eight AA batteries, taking the full load to something like 1.7 kilograms with a standard lens.

The FM3A’s MD-12 is a little lighter at about 410 grams, and it manages 3.2 frames per second, but doesn’t provide a powered rewind. Instead, you use a slider that engages the camera’s film release so you can hand rewind.

Mirror Lock-up

For tripod, macro and long-lens work, the F3 also has mirror lock-up, which the FM3A lacks.

The F3 has a dedicated control. You just push in the depth-of-field preview button and rotate it, and the mirror rises and stays up until you release it. With the mirror up, the F3 cannot meter as its photodiode reads light passed down through the mirror, so raising the mirror cuts the light path to the meter entirely. The camera doesn’t actually tell you this because the LCD carries on displaying a shutter speed, but that speed is wrong. The right sequence is to meter first, hold the reading or transfer it to manual, and then lock the mirror.

Some fisheye lenses require mirror lock-up before they will mount on the F3 because they intrude far enough back into the mirror box that they would strike the mirror. With those fitted you compose through an accessory finder, because there is nothing to see through the camera.

The FM3A lacks this mirror lock-up, but has a decent workaround as its self-timer raises and locks the mirror at the start of its run, so the mirror is up and settled before the shutter opens.

Reliability and serviceability

The F3’s NASA qualification, more than 751,000 sales by 1992 and a production life extending to the year 2000 provide decent evidence of durability.

Age is not kind to anything much, but it is somewhat more spiteful to electronics than mechanical components. The F3’s LCD, electromagnetic release, metering electronics and dedicated flash contacts will eventually deteriorate and fail when it participates in the electronics apocalypse. The mechanical 1/60-second fallback is an emergency measure, but it isn’t much use in that final, terminal case. That sounds really quite morbid, but so far, so good, and I have an F, F2, FM and FM3A to fall back on.

The FM3A does not rely on a battery for shutter operation, but its hybrid assembly is far from mechanically simple. According to Nikon, its marvellous hybrid capability relies on a high part count, dual stop-shoe system, complicated gear routing, tight backlash control and individual hand adjustment. On the plus side, the FM3A repair documentation states that its basic construction follows the FM2 and FE2 and directs technicians to their manuals, tools and procedures where applicable, which might help somewhat with mechanical servicing. A bit.

Nikon F3 vs FM3A – which camera is best suited for what task?

RequirementMore suitable Reason
Press, sport or action with motor driveF3MD-4 at up to six frames per second, powered rewind, professional controls and extensive accessories
Use with glasses (spectacles)F3HPHigh-eyepoint DE-3 finder
Exact slide, copy or architectural framingF3Approximately 100% viewfinder coverage; interchangeable grid and specialist screens
Low-angle, waist-level or action-finder workF3Interchangeable finder system
Pre-AI Nikkor collectionF3Folding meter-coupling lever and stop-down metering
Daylight fill flashFM3A1/250-second sync and standard ISO hot shoe
Prolonged remote or cold-weather work (neutral with a supply of spare batteries!)FM3AFull manual shutter-speed range without batteries
Travel and street photographyFM3ASmaller, lighter, unobtrusive body
Film camera learningFM3AMatch-needle manual exposure is intuitive – I love it
Heavy lenses and prolonged professional handlingF3 or F3HPSlightly better grip, larger body and modular finder options

The question of which camera is ‘best’ depends on what the use case is. The above is my take on that and opinions will no doubt differ. Clearly, either body can produce identical image quality when fitted with the same lens, film and accurately controlled exposure.

Production, variants and serial numbers

F3 production history

Nikon announced the F3’s discontinuation in 2000. Nikon’s official figure of units shipped is 751,000 units by September 1992. A specialist serial database maintained by Nico van Dijk records F3 serial numbers beginning around 120xxxx in March 1980 and reaching 200xxxx by June 2000, with 201xxxx associated with parts.

F3 variants

VersionIntroduced (approx.)Distinctions
F3March 1980Standard body with DE-2 finder; black finish
F3HPMarch 1982Standard body supplied with DE-3 High-Eyepoint finder
F3/T champagneDecember 1982Titanium external covers; champagne finish
F3/T blackSeptember 1984Titanium external covers in black
F3AFApril 1983DX-1 autofocus finder; dedicated AF-Nikkor 80mm f/2.8 and 200mm f/3.5 IF-ED
F3PApril 1983Press-oriented sealed and reinforced controls, DE-5 finder with conventional shoe, specialist back and control changes
F3 LimitedOctober 1993Japanese-market collector version closely based on F3P; “Limited” marking
F3H / F3 High Speed1996Fixed semi-transparent mirror and high-speed motor configuration for very rapid sequences
NASA “Big” and “Small”Delivered May 1980; subsequent mission variants250- or 72-exposure capacity, modified controls, optics, lubrication and thermal arrangements
Nikon F3 vs FM3A
My 2001 FM3A with 45mm f2.8 pancake lens

Nikon FM3A production history

The FM3A was commercially available from July 2001 until production and final shipment ended in January 2006. Nikon says its early production could not satisfy demand, but digital camera adoption shortened its life to four and a half years of sales. Building a manual film camera at that point, with that amazing hybrid shutter does Nikon a lot of credit, in my estimation.

Nikon did not publish a production total or an official serial number allocation for the FM3A. User and collector sites list serial numbers from approximately 200000 or 200001 into the 310xxx–312xxx region, which gives a 112,000-number span, though this is not proof that 112,000 cameras were manufactured.

The two versions of the FM3A were silver/chrome and black.

FM3A production formIntroductionNotes
Silver/chrome bodyJuly 2001¥96,000 before tax in Japan; product number 1666 in Nikon USA literature
Black bodyJuly 2001¥99,000 before tax in Japan; product number 1667
Silver 45mm f/2.8P pairingJuly 2001Matching pancake lens introduced simultaneously
Black 45mm f/2.8PNovember 2001Black-finish lens added at ¥48,000 before tax

Legacy

The F3’s legacy

Nikon F3
The Ruined Manor at Hampton Gay, 2023, Nikon F3

The F3 established electronic shutter control and aperture-priority automation as acceptable in Nikon’s top professional line. The controversy over batteries was overtaken by the practical advantages of accurate timing and by the camera’s reliability in extended professional service. Nikon’s following flagship, the F4, expanded the formula with autofocus, more advanced metering, higher shutter speeds and integrated motorisation, but retained compatibility with a remarkably broad range of older F-mount lenses.

Its body-integrated metering was particularly influential. By moving the sensor out of the finder, Nikon preserved the interchangeable-viewfinder concept without sacrificing TTL measurement.

The F3AF was an important transitional product. It was Nikon’s first autofocus SLR system and demonstrated that focus detection could be integrated into a professional F-series platform.

The Kodak DCS 100 connection gives the F3 an additional legacy in that it participated in the transition that eventually displaced cameras such as the FM3A.

The FM3A’s legacy

The FM3A was the culmination of two existing Nikon product lines, fusing the mechanical FM/FM2 design with that of the electronically timed FE/FE2.

The FM3A demonstrated that a full-speed mechanical shutter and stepless electronic aperture-priority system could coexist, but it also marked the point at which such labour-intensive manufacturing was no longer feasible. Nikon’s history stresses that several subcontractor craftspeople and specialist engineers were approaching retirement and that the camera depended on local Mito-area expertise inherited from the FM2 and F3.

Buying: F3 vs FM3A

As I write this in 2026, the F3 is still an affordable film camera, though titanium bodies, clean F3P or Limited versions command higher prices.

The FM3A is consistently more expensive, with black bodies and complete 45mm f/2.8P sets being the most costly. I bought my silver/chrome FM3A from Greys of Westminster in about 2018 for a price I can’t recall, but I know it made me wince a little. Silver bodies with ordinary wear are the least costly but cost more than FM2, FE2 or standard F3 bodies.

Aesthetics

When I put the F3 and FM3A next to each other the F3 looks large and somewhat ungainly in comparison to the diminutive FM3A, which, like the FM2 (and the original F) are great looking film cameras. The F3’s square head, in particular, looks unlovely in comparison. In my view, it is still far better looking than Nikon’s autofocus models, however. As much as I love using the F6, it is not a thing of beauty. This kind of contrast must have been very apparent at the launch of the FM3A when it sat next to Nikon’s first digital models.

However, once I pick up either camera and use the controls, the feeling is reversed. The F3 feels just right, while the FM3A feels fine.

Nikon F3 vs FM3A
Side by side: the FM3A and F3

Nikon F3 vs FM3A Conclusion

These are both wonderful cameras.

The F3 led Nikon’s professional line from the mechanical F2 into a quartz timed, electronic future. NASA adoption and use as the basis for Kodak’s DCS 100 cement its importance in the timeline of photography. For the photographer it is practical, exceptionally hard wearing and feels great to operate.

The FM3A was Nikon’s last hurrah for the manual film camera, and offers a great deal of useful functionality in a very attractive package. Its 1/4000-second top speed, hybrid shutter, 1/250-second sync, conventional hot shoe, DX coding, bright match-needle finder and 570g body are a tough act to beat. The fact that it tends to spend more time on the shelf than in my bag is really down to the fact that the F3 feels so solid to pick up and operate, and I know it will take the inevitable knocks so much better.

Sources and Further Reading

Nikon

Manuals and museums

Reviews

Wikis and serial-numbers

Articles on this Site

Olympus Zuiko Lenses

Backdrop: Yoshihisa Maitani and the Olympus Compact SLR

Olympus came late to the 35mm SLR. When the original OM-1 appeared in 1972, the established makers had been building reflex cameras for more than a decade, and Olympus was not seriously regarded as a contender among them. What it had instead was a chief designer, Yoshihisa Maitani, the man behind the half-frame Pen and later the pocket sized XA.

The resulting OM-1 shows the leadership of a designer who viewed compactness as an engineering discipline rather than a styling exercise. Controls were repositioned to make better use of available space, unnecessary weight was stripped from components, and attention was paid to details often overlooked, such as mirror shock and operating noise. Naturally, as the soul of the camera, these ideas extended into the Zuiko lens range, which followed the same principle of reducing size without compromising performance.

Olympus Zuiko lenses
Galloper (Carousel Horse), Herne Bay pier, shot with 100mm f2.8 Zuiko lens/Olympus OM-1n

Zuiko Lenses

The name Zuiko means light of the gods and has been applied to Olympus lenses since 1936. They have a stellar reputation, illustrated by articles such as Are Olympus lenses the GOAT vintage lenses?

The OM system offers a wide range of compact lenses (from 8mm to 1000mm in primes), some of which are legendary. The 21mm f2 is often regarded as one of the finest ultra-wide lenses ever produced for a manual-focus SLR and is rare and expensive today. The 90mm f2 Macro is also extremely highly sought after for its extraordinary sharpness, macro capability and portrait performance. The lenses I use are listed below.

  • Olympus OM 24mm f2 A great wide angle lens. Prices are relatively high.
  • Olympus OM 28mm f2.8 One of the best value lenses in the OM system. It’s extremely small, lightweight, optically solid and produces sharp images from moderate apertures.
  • Olympus OM 35mm f2. A versatile lens with attractive rendering. Not at at its best wide open, but it compensates with character.
  • Olympus OM 50mm f1.2 Atmospheric art lens, soft wide open. Obviously larger and heavier than the f/1.8, but still small for a 1.2. There is an interesting review of this lens with a Sony Alpha by Phillip Reeve.
  • Olympus OM 85mm f2. An outstanding portrait lens.
  • Olympus OM 100mm f2.8. Can be overlooked in favour of the better known 85mm, but it is one of the sharpest lenses in the OM range and its compact for its focal length.

Zuiko Lenses on Digital Cameras

The use of Zuiko lenses on contempory ‘mirrorless’ cameras (horseless carriages) is described very well in this Quora post, which I have reproduced in full below.

Olympus OM Zuiko lenses from the 1980s are heavily favored by contemporary digital photographers and videographers for several distinct reasons:

  • Exceptional compactness: Modern mirrorless camera bodies are prized for being small, but attaching a massive modern autofocus lens often defeats the purpose. Because the OM system was built around making gear as small as physically possible, lenses like the Zuiko 50mm f/1.8 or 28mm f/3.5 are remarkably tiny. They balance effortlessly on compact mirrorless bodies from brands like Sony, Fujifilm, or Panasonic without making the setup front-heavy.
  • Distinct optical character: Modern digital lenses are engineered to mathematical perfection, which can sometimes result in images that feel somewhat sterile. Vintage Zuiko lenses offer a softer micro-contrast, organic lens flares, and a gentle transition into out-of-focus areas. This provides a highly sought-after “cinematic” or analog rendering straight out of the camera, while still retaining excellent center sharpness.
  • Tactile manual focus: Built before the widespread adoption of plastic autofocus housings, OM lenses feature all-metal and glass construction. Their heavily damped, smooth manual focus rings were designed exclusively for human hands, not autofocus motors. Because modern mirrorless cameras feature digital tools like focus peaking and viewfinder magnification, manually focusing these vintage lenses is actually faster and more precise today than it was on the original analog film bodies.
  • Seamless adaptability: The original Olympus OM mount has a flange focal distance of 46 millimeters. Mirrorless cameras typically have flange distances under 20 millimeters. This structural difference leaves plenty of room to mount a simple, inexpensive metal adapter ring to bridge the gap. Because the adapter is just an empty tube spacing the lens correctly from the sensor, it requires no corrective glass elements that might degrade the image quality.

For photographers seeking the analog soul and mechanical build quality of vintage glass without paying the massive premiums commanded by classic rangefinder lenses, the Olympus OM Zuiko lineup hits an ideal sweet spot of character, price, and scale.

Selected Sources

From Suffolk to Michigan

The Story of Two Newrick Brothers: Thomas William Newrick (1835–1895) & Henry Valentine Newrick (1832–1915)

The Suffolk Coast

On the eastern edge of England, where the county of Suffolk meets Norfolk at the mouth of the River Yare, there is a cluster of coastal towns and villages: Great Yarmouth, Gorleston, Belton, Pakefield, Lowestoft, which face the North Sea across marshes and sand dunes. It was here, in the 1830s, that two brothers were born into the Newrick family: boys who would grow up to cross an ocean, live through a civil war, and build lives on the American frontier.

Henry Valentine Newrick was born on 14 February 1832, Valentine’s Day, in Pakefield, a fishing village just south of Lowestoft. His brother Thomas William Newrick followed on 31 October 1835, born a few miles inland in the market town of Beccles, in the Waveney valley. Their father was John Henry Buttifant Newrick, born in 1806 in Great Yarmouth, just across the river from Pakefield. Their mother was Susanna Weavers, who was born around 1810.

The Newrick name had roots in this corner of East Anglia. John H.B. Newrick’s father, James, had been born in 1772 in Belton, a village close to Pakefield. In fact, the Newrick family tree extends back to James Newark (1695-1171) of Burgh Castle, Suffolk, the writer’s 8th great-grandfather.

At some point, James Newrick  (b. 1772) migrated north to County Durham, where he died in 1830 at Wearmouth, near Sunderland, on the River Wear. This northward move planted the Newrick name in the industrial Northeast of England and established a line of ironworkers and engineers who would later move to Woolwich. Other branches of the family would seed their own emigrant lines to New Zealand and Australia, but John H.B. Newrick’s branch stayed in the Suffolk–Norfolk borderlands until they left for good.

There is one more Suffolk connection to note. In the tiny parish of Sotterley, barely four miles from Beccles, a girl named Louisa Clutten was baptised on 4 January 1839, the daughter of William Clutten and Hannah. She would become Thomas’s wife, thirty years and an ocean later. The proximity of the Newricks of Beccles and the Cluttens of Sotterley, who were close enough to share a market day, makes it all but certain that the families knew one another before either crossed the Atlantic.

Departure

By the late 1840s, the Newrick family had left Suffolk for Croydon, on the southern outskirts of London. The move was part of a broader pattern: Croydon was growing rapidly, its population swelling after the railway arrived in 1839, and it drew workers from across southern England. Thomas was baptised on 8 April 1849 at the parish church of St John the Baptist, Croydon — a strikingly late baptism at the age of thirteen, which may have been due either to the family’s move to a new parish or to a requirement for confirmation.

Two years later, the 1851 census recorded Thomas, now fifteen, as a servant in a Croydon household headed by one Harrietta Nanes, aged sixty-five. He was the only male among six residents, apparently serving as a general domestic in a gentlewoman’s establishment. His birthplace was given as Beccles, Suffolk, and his surname was rendered as “Newick”—a phonetic variant. Of Henry, there is no trace in the 1851 English census. He may already have been in America, or may have been enumerated elsewhere and not yet found.

The family emigrated around 1852. Henry’s 1910 census return lists his year of immigration as 1852 and records 61 years of American residence in 1900. His obituary, published in a Parsons, Kansas, newspaper, stated that he “was born in England and moved to America with his parents when but a small boy” — a description coloured by the passage of decades, since he was, in fact, about twenty. Thomas would have been sixteen or seventeen: old enough to have completed his service in Croydon and to join the family’s crossing. Their sister Caroline, about fifteen, presumably accompanied them. Their parents, John and Susan Newrick, are recorded as “both buried in England,” suggesting they either returned to England at some point or never emigrated—a discrepancy that remains unresolved.

Michigan in the 1850s

The Newrick brothers settled in Michigan, specifically in the central part of the Lower Peninsula, in the country drained by the Saginaw River and its tributaries. This was still largely frontier territory in the 1850s.

Isabella County, where Thomas would be recorded in 1863, had been formally organised only in 1859; its first permanent white settlers had arrived as recently as 1854. Its county seat, Mount Pleasant, was established at the geographic centre of the county in 1860, when the total population was approximately 1,441; roughly half American settlers and half Native Americans of the Saginaw Chippewa nation. The neighbouring county of Saginaw, to the east, was more developed, its economy driven by the lumber trade that would make the Saginaw Valley one of the great timber-producing regions of nineteenth-century America.

Henry married first. In 1858, in Saginaw, he wed Caroline Wilcox, born in 1837 in New York to Oziel Wilcox, a peddler from Connecticut, and Lucy Leete, also of Connecticut. It was a marriage that joined an English immigrant to a woman of old New England stock. Their first child, William H Newrick, was born around 1859; a daughter, Florence, followed around 1862.

Thomas’s movements in this period are less clear. He was recorded in the Third Ward of Mount Pleasant, Isabella County, in July 1863, when the Civil War draft enumerators came calling. He was listed as “married,” aged twenty-seven, born in England. Whether he had married by this date or whether the record is in error remains an open question. No wife or children have been identified for Thomas before his 1868 marriage to Louisa Clutten.

The Civil War

The American Civil War reached the Michigan frontier through the Enrollment Act of March 1863. This was the first national conscription law in United States history, and it required the enrolment of every male citizen and declarant alien between twenty and forty-five. Those aged twenty to thirty-five, married or unmarried, were placed in Class 1 and liable to be called first if a congressional district’s volunteer quota was not met.

On 1 July 1863, Thomas was enrolled in the draft. He appeared in the Consolidated Lists under the name “Thomas Newick”; the dropped-R spelling that American clerks naturally produced. He was classified as Class 1, resident in the Third Ward of Mount Pleasant, within Michigan’s Sixth Congressional District. This sprawling district encompassed Isabella, Saginaw, Bay, Gratiot, Genesee, and numerous other counties stretching into the Upper Peninsula.

The draft was deeply unpopular. Men felt, one contemporary account noted, that being drafted “robbed them of their patriotism and branded them as unwilling defenders of the nation.” In practice, the 1863 draft produced remarkably few soldiers. Of 292,441 names drawn nationally, roughly 190,000 were exempted for disability or hardship, over 52,000 paid the $300 commutation fee (equivalent to roughly $5,000 in an unskilled worker’s wages), and 26,000 furnished substitutes. Only 9,881 men, barely three per cent, actually entered the army through the draft process. In Michigan, “very few were drafted,” as most quotas were filled by volunteers, often incentivised by substantial bounties.

Thomas, it appears, was among the majority who did not serve. No record of military service under any spelling variant of his name has been found. Whether he paid commutation, furnished a substitute, or was exempted, we do not know.

Henry’s path was different. On 26 February 1864 — seven months after Thomas’s enrollment — Henry walked into the recruiting office at Corunna, in Shiawassee County, and enlisted as a Private in Company D of the 3rd Michigan Cavalry. He gave his age as twenty-eight, understating it by about 4 years; he was actually 31, married, and the father of 2 young children. 

The timing suggests that Henry may have enlisted as Thomas’s substitute. The Enrollment Act explicitly permitted substitution, and brothers doing so for one another was not unknown. However, there is no evidence to support this.

The 3rd Michigan Cavalry had been organised at Grand Rapids in late 1861 and served primarily in the Western Theatre — Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, and the Gulf states. By the time Henry joined Company D, the regiment had already seen hard fighting. Henry served through the final year of the war and was mustered out on 17 June 1865 at Baton Rouge, Louisiana, having held the rank of Private throughout. He came through the war alive and, so far as the records show, physically intact.

Thomas: The Saginaw Entrepreneur

Figure 1: Thomas W Newrick with daughter Nellie and Frank Brooks Cole

After the war, the brothers’ paths diverged. Thomas remained in Michigan. At some point in the mid-to-late 1860s, he moved, or prepared to move, from Isabella County toward the Saginaw area. On 28 January 1868, he married Louisa Clutten in Detroit, Wayne County. The marriage record named him as “Thomas William Newricke,” aged thirty (slightly understated), and his bride as “Louisa Clutte.”

Louisa had been baptised on 4 January 1839 in Sotterley, Suffolk, just four miles from Thomas’s birthplace of Beccles. Both were children of the same stretch of English countryside.

Thomas and Louisa settled in Saginaw County, where the 1870s and 1880s were the peak years of the great Michigan lumber boom. The Tittabawassee River, which flowed through the county into the Saginaw River and on to Lake Huron, was the principal highway for floating logs to the sawmills. By 1872, thirty-six mills, some of the largest in the country, operated along the Saginaw River. Thomas positioned himself at the intersection of this economy and the emerging farming country as forests were cleared.

His obituary, published in the Saginaw Evening News on 26 January 1895, recorded three distinct enterprises: he “once conducted a ferry across the Tittabawassee River,” “owned a grocery on S. Porter in Saginaw,” and had business interests “also in Hemlock.” Operating a river ferry in the lumber era was significant work, requiring a county licence and serving the constant traffic of loggers, farmers, and goods. The grocery on South Porter Street placed him in the commercial heart of old Saginaw City, on the west bank of the river.

Figure 2: Downtown Saginaw, about a decade after Thomas’s death

The 1880 Federal Census captured Thomas at the height of his business activity. On 5 June 1880, he was enumerated in Saginaw City as a retail grocer, aged about forty-two, living with Louisa, whose birthplace was confirmed as England and whose parents were English-born. Four days later, the agricultural census recorded his farm in Saginaw County — shopkeeper and farmer simultaneously, a common enough combination in rural Michigan. His neighbours on the agricultural schedule bore German surnames — Schilds, Knaile, Bytte, Meier, Engel- reflecting the mixed Anglo-German character of the Saginaw Valley’s settler population.

Thomas and Louisa had a child, Nellie Louise Newrick, in March 1874. Nellie was born in Saginaw City and baptised there, probably at St John’s Episcopal Church, the parish where Thomas would later be buried.

By 1887, Thomas had added another role: he was appointed Postmaster of Hemlock City, a small lumbering community in Richland Township, Saginaw County, about fifteen miles west of Saginaw. Hemlock was first settled in 1865, and its post office was established in 1869; by the 1880s, it was a modest but established village along the plank road connecting Saginaw with the farming country of Gratiot County. The postmaster’s compensation of $159.30 reflected a small rural office, probably run from Thomas’s own premises alongside his grocery. In this era, a postmaster appointment was a federal patronage position that signified civic standing.

By 1890, a directory placed Thomas at 1008 Adams Street, west side, Saginaw — probably his grocery, having moved from or supplemented the South Porter Street location. The “west side” placed him on the old Saginaw City bank of the river, consistent with his established roots. He was a man of substance: farmer, grocer, ferry operator, and postmaster.

Henry: Cavalryman, Farmer, Livery Man

Henry’s war ended at Baton Rouge in June 1865. Within five years, he had left Michigan entirely. In 1870, the census found him in Fort Scott, Bourbon County, Kansas — deep in the southeast corner of the state, close to the Missouri border. He was farming, with real estate valued at $1,000. His household comprised his wife Caroline (née Wilcox), son William and daughters Florence and Sarah. The family was joined later by a fourth child, Laura, born around 1872.

Fort Scott was a natural destination for a Union veteran. The town had been a military post since 1842 and played a significant role in the “Bleeding Kansas” conflicts of the 1850s. After the war, it became a railhead and agricultural centre, drawing settlers from across the Midwest. Kansas actively recruited veterans with offers of cheap land and the westward-expanding railroad.

By 1880, Henry had moved from farming into a business that suited a cavalry veteran: he was keeping a livery stable on Carroll’s Plaza in Fort Scott. 

His sister, also named Caroline (born 1837), may have been in the household at various times, potentially contributing to the census confusion that listed his wife’s surname as “Newrick” rather than “Wilcox”.

Tragedy struck in March 1885 when Caroline Wilcox Newrick died, aged forty-eight, and was buried in Fort Scott. Henry, now fifty-three, was left a widower with adolescent and young adult children. His daughter Sarah, then about seventeen, appears to have assumed the role of housekeeper and companion — a position she would hold for the rest of Henry’s life.

On 4 August 1890, Henry filed for a Civil War pension in Kansas, for service with Company D, 3rd Michigan Cavalry. The timing coincided with the Dependent Pension Act of that year, which expanded eligibility to any Union veteran unable to perform manual labour, regardless of whether the disability was service-related. 

In 1896, Henry moved from Fort Scott to Parsons, in neighbouring Labette County, where he would spend his final years. He lived for a time on the Plaza, then near the old county fairgrounds south of the city. By 1900, he was a widowed farmer, renting on Johnson Avenue with Sarah as his sole companion. By 1910, he owned his home outright at 2421 Main Street, making him a man of modest but secure means, living on his own income.

Henry was a member of the Grand Army of the Republic, the veterans’ organisation that served as a fraternal society, political lobby, and mutual aid network for Union veterans. A 1906 GAR muster roll records him as a member of the Parsons post, aged seventy, born in England, resident at Rural Free Delivery #4.

His funeral service in August 1915 was conducted at home by the Reverend P. H. Chappelear of the Washington Avenue Methodist Church. However, the veterans escorted his body to the cemetery and conducted the service at the graveside. This was a fitting farewell for a man who had ridden with the 3rd Michigan Cavalry half a century earlier.

Henry Valentine Newrick died on 8 August 1915 at his home in Parsons, after a lingering illness, at the age of eighty-three. He was buried in Oakwood Cemetery, Parsons. His obituary noted that he was survived by two daughters: Miss Sarah, who lived with him, and Mrs Morris (née Florence) of Joplin, Missouri, and one son, W. H. Newrick, an engineer on the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad, known as the “Katy.” He was, the newspaper recorded, “well known to all of the older residents of this city.”

Thomas: Last Years

Thomas William Newrick died on 25 January 1895 in Saginaw, Michigan, at the age of sixty-one, twenty years before his elder brother. His funeral service was held at St John Episcopal Church, the American counterpart to the Church of England, where he had been baptised in Croydon nearly half a century earlier. He was buried at Oakwood Cemetery, Saginaw, a municipal cemetery established in 1868. His grave, the cemetery records note, has no marker.

His obituary appeared the following day in the Saginaw Evening News. It was a brief notice — recording the ferry, the grocery, and the Hemlock connection — but its appearance in the city’s daily newspaper reflected a man of standing in his community.

Louisa died on 14 November 1892, three years before Thomas, making him a widower at the time of his own death. Their daughter, Nellie Louise, remained in the Hemlock area. In 1893, she married Frank Brooks Cole, the son of another Civil War family. Frank’s father, Captain Frank J. Cole, had enlisted as a Private in Company G, 13th Illinois Infantry, at Dixon, Illinois, on 6 June 1861, mustered in by his own father, Captain George M. Cole. The elder Cole rose from Private through the ranks of the 13th Illinois and the 6th Missouri Cavalry to Captain: Frank’s mother, Susan L. Brooks Cole had been the public librarian at East Saginaw. The Cole and Newrick families had been neighbours in the Saginaw area since at least the early 1870s.

Frank Brooks Cole served in the Navy during the Spanish-American War, was a concert soloist at leading American hotels in early life, and went on to become the first president of the Pasadena Chamber of Commerce and Mayor of Pasadena in 1926. He died around 1943 at their home in Hermosa Beach.

Nellie outlived him by three decades. She moved north to Pismo Beach, San Luis Obispo County, to be near their daughter, Susan O’Connor, and died there on 12 October 1974 at the remarkable age of one hundred. Born nine years after the Civil War ended, she lived to see men walk on the moon and was the last link in Thomas and Louisa’s Suffolk-to-Michigan story. She and Frank had five children: Thomas (1894-1984), Maxine Ruth (1896-1985), Franklin Brooks Jr. (1901-1987), Susanna L. (1905-1987), and a daughter who became Mrs Lloyd C. Bauer.

Two Brothers, Two Oakwoods

The brothers’ final resting places were both in Oakwood. Thomas at Oakwood Cemetery in Saginaw, Michigan; Henry at Oakwood Cemetery in Parsons, Kansas. Both men left the same small corner of Suffolk, settled in the same part of Michigan, lived through the same war, and ended their days a thousand miles apart, in cemeteries that share a name.

Thomas was the settler-entrepreneur who put down roots, built businesses, and became a prominent member of his community: grocer, farmer, ferry operator, postmaster, and churchman.

Henry was the soldier-pioneer who moved west, kept a livery stable, and spent his last decades in the company of fellow veterans who had shared the same experience.

Both were ordinary men, but with extraordinary stories.

Sources

  • Parish Register, Pakefield, Suffolk — Baptism of Henry Valentine Newrick, 19 March 1832. FHL Film 918521.
  • Parish Register, St John the Baptist, Croydon, Surrey — Baptism of Thomas William Newrick, 8 April 1849. FHL Film 994333.
  • 1851 Census of England and Wales — Thomas Newick, servant, Croydon. Piece 1601, Folio 122, Page 29.
  • U.S. Civil War Draft Registrations, 1863 — Thomas Newick, Isabella County, Michigan. Series Nm-65, Entry 172.
  • Record of Service of Michigan Volunteers in the Civil War, 1861–65 — Henry V Newrick, Pvt, Co. D, 3rd Michigan Cavalry.
  • NPS Civil War Soldiers & Sailors Database — Henry V. Newrick, Pvt, Co. D, 3rd Michigan Cavalry. NARA Film M545 roll 30.
  • Michigan Marriage Records — Thomas William Newricke to Louisa Clutte, 28 January 1868, Detroit. FHL Film 001377622.
  • Suffolk County Baptism Register — Louisa Clutten, 4 January 1839, Sotterley. FHL Film 918543.
  • 1870 U.S. Federal Census — Henry Valentine Newrick, Fort Scott, Bourbon County, Kansas.
  • 1880 U.S. Federal Census, Population Schedule — Thomas William Newrick, Saginaw City, Michigan. ED 315.
  • 1880 U.S. Federal Census, Agricultural Schedule — Newrick, Thomas William., Saginaw County. ED 313.
  • 1880 U.S. Federal Census — Henry Newrick, Fort Scott, Kansas (livery stable, Carroll’s Plaza).
  • The Postal Service, 1887 — Post-Offices and Postmasters, Michigan, p. 539: Hemlock City, T. W. Newrick.
  • Directory listing, 1890 — Thomas William Newrick, 1008 Adams, w S, Saginaw.
  • U.S. Civil War Pension Index — Henry V Newrick, D 3 Mich Cav, filed Kansas, 4 August 1890.
  • Michigan Death Records; Saginaw Evening News, 26 January 1895 — Obituary of Thomas W. Newrick.
  • Find A Grave — Thomas William Newrick, Oakwood Cemetery, Saginaw (biography present).
  • Find A Grave — Henry Valentine Newrick, Oakwood Cemetery, Parsons, Kansas.
  • Church Register, Saginaw — Baptism of Nellie Newrick, 30 March 1874. FHL Film 967179.
  • Michigan Marriage Records — Nely L. Newrick to Frank B. Cole, 23 January 1900, Merrill. FHL Film 000967190.
  • Death Record — Nely L Cole, 30 March 1874 – 12 October 1974, San Luis Obispo, California.
  • U.S. Social Security Applications — Thomas Newrich (father), Louisa Clutten (spouse), Nely Louise Cole (child).
  • 1900 U.S. Federal Census — Henry Newrick, Parsons, Kansas (widowed, farmer).
  • 1900 U.S. Federal Census — Cole household, Hemlock Village, Saginaw County, Michigan.
  • Grand Army of the Republic Muster Roll, Parsons, Kansas, June 1906 — Henry V Newrick.
  • 1910 U.S. Federal Census — Henry B [sic] Newrick, 2421 Main Street, Parsons, Kansas.
  • Obituary — “Death of Henry V. Newrick,” Fort Scott or Parsons newspaper, August 1915.
  • Caroline Wilcox Newrick — born 1837, New York; married Henry V. Newrick, 1858, Saginaw; died March 1885, Fort Scott, Kansas. Research records.
  • Imperial Publishing Co., The County of Saginaw, Michigan: Topography, History, Art Folio (Saginaw, 1896). Portrait plate, Richland Township: “12. T. W. Newrick, deceased.” University of Michigan Digital Collections; Library of Congress (LC item 2007626770).
  • Imperial Publishing Co., The County of Saginaw, Michigan: Topography, History, Art Folio (Saginaw, 1896). Land ownership map, Richland Township, p. 25: “Newrick Est.”
  • Record of Service of Michigan Volunteers in the Civil War, 1861–1865, Vol. 36 (Cavalry), p. 124: Henry V. Newrick, Co. D, 3rd Michigan Cavalry.
  • Illinois: Roster of Officers and Enlisted Men — Frank J. Cole, Pvt, Co. G, 13th Illinois Infantry. Enlisted 6 Jun 1861, Dixon, Illinois. Transferred to the 6th Missouri Cavalry.
  • NARA, Compiled Military Service Records — Frank J. Cole, Co. G, 13th Illinois Infantry. Film M539 roll 17. Physical description: age 22, 5’8¼”, brown hair, black eyes, light complexion. Residence: Fenton, Whiteside Co., Illinois. Occupation: clerk. Promoted Adjutant, 6 Mo. Cavalry, by order Gen. Halleck, 15 Feb 1862.
  • U.S. Civil War Pension Index — Susan L. Cole, widow of Franklin J. Cole. Application 410599, Certificate 323539. Filed from Michigan, 14 Oct 1889.
  • Ancestry.com — Susan L. (Susie) Brooks Cole (Feb 1843 – 18 Nov 1919). Born in Illinois; married Franklin J. Cole, 30 Oct 1862, Whiteside, Illinois; died in Los Angeles, California.
  • Ancestry.com — Nellie Newrick (30 Mar 1874 – 12 Oct 1974). Born in Saginaw; married Frank Brooks Cole, 1893; died in Pismo Beach, San Luis Obispo, California.
  • Obituary — Franklin B. Cole, aged 70, former Mayor of Pasadena. Newspaper clipping (undated, c. 1943). Hermosa Beach, California.
  • 1880 U.S. Federal Census, Agricultural Schedule — Tittabawassee Township and Buena Vista Township, Saginaw County, Michigan. Page 9.

Researched by Nigel Williams, 2026. The writer is a first cousin five times removed of Thomas and Henry, through the Newrick line of his mother, Yvonne Patricia Newrick.

The Ruin of the Squire of Nettlebed

Introduction

Squire of Nettlebed
Reading Union Workhouse

Many families have a story that describes former prosperity or an aristocratic connection that isn’t exactly true but isn’t completely false, either.  The ancestor who owned half the village, for example, turns out to have been the proprietor of a modest farm.

My grandmother ‘Grandma Williams’ (Gwendoline Frances 1903-1991) told my sister and me just such a story sometime in the early 1970s, when we were small children.

In it, our ancestor, The Squire of Nettlebed, had a wife named Annie Andrews and gambled and drank the family fortune away.  He died penniless and was buried in a pauper’s grave. Grandma insisted that we would have been a wealthy family if he had been more abstemious and was strongly opposed to gambling. 

I was curious about this, and after my father died in 1979, his brother, Uncle Peter, a large, loud man who never married, helped me search the graveyard in Nettlebed.  We found nothing to confirm the story. 

This is unsurprising, given there was never a squire in the family, and the man who died a pauper was not from Nettlebed.  However, there were some facts behind my Grandmother’s story.

The Andrews

Frederick Andrews (my 3rd great-grandfather) appears to be the man who inspired the story. He had a wife called Ann, and he died as a pauper, having spent time in at least two Poorhouses.  This is his story.

Frederick Andrews and his twin sister Ann were born in 1827 in Bucklebury, Berkshire, to George (b. 1796), a shoemaker, and Jane (b. 1806, née Lindsey).

His future wife was also named Ann (née Dinch).  She came from the village of Ogbourne St. George, Wiltshire.  They married in October 1847. Five generations of Dinch lived in the tiny Wiltshire village: Ann, her father, Edward, and three previous generations named John. John the Elder was born in 1706.

Ogbourne St. George is best known for its role in deceiving the Germans during World War II: the manor house’s address was used in a letter from a fictitious ‘Pam’ to an equally fictitious but also deceased ‘Major Martin’.  The rationale was that ‘no German could resist the Englishness of such an address’.   

Frederick and Ann Andrews had five children in 13 years: George (1848), Clara (1853), Emma, my 2nd great-grandmother (1855), William (1858), and Henry (1861).

In 1861, Frederick was working as a ‘Grocer and Poulter’, Ann as a charwoman, and his eldest son George was a 13-year-old errand boy. George would go on to work at the Huntley and Palmer Biscuit Factory in Reading for over 20 years. 

Destitution

In 1871, Frederick was working as a ‘Servant Groom’. His son William was working as a Labourer at a Mill, and Henry was still at school.

Ann died in 1880.  Where Frederick was on census night in 1881 is unknown, as he does not appear in the returns. What is certain is that within fifteen months he was in London, sick, and on the parish – as an inmate in the infirmary of Islington Workhouse.  The record states: ‘Andrews, Frederick, aged 55, admitted 8 July 1882, discharged 20 July 1882. Twelve days.’   There is no ‘See old reg.’ against his name, which may mean it was his first time in the institution.  Many entries above him have no leaving date but are marked ‘dead’.

The census of 1891 finds Frederick in The Reading Union Workhouse.  This opened in 1867 on Oxford Road in Reading, to consolidate several local parish poorhouses. It comprised receiving blocks, an infirmary and a fever block.

For its time, it was considered clean and well run, though the rule was that the conditions of the pauper relieved at public expense were that they should be ‘less eligible’ than those of the lowest-paid independent labourer. Eligible is used here in its older sense, meaning desirable or worth choosing.

Frederick was in Reading Union ten years later at the next census, in 1901. He died on the 10th June 1904, aged 76, once again, or still in the Workhouse, of cardiac disease and exhaustion. Whether he remained within its walls throughout all those years, or passed in and out of them, destitute, we do not know.

The Nettlebed Connection

Frederick Foster (1855-1942) married my 2nd-great-grandmother, Emma Andrews, in 1880.  He was born in Nettlebed, as was his mother Emma Dyer (1819-1896).  This is the connection to Nettlebed.

The Real Squire of Nettlebed

Ironically, there was a squire of Nettlebed who endured financial woes during Frederick Andrews’ life.  1894, the manor was bought from the ancestral owners, the Stonors, by H. H. Gardiner, a wealthy London businessman. He was forced to sell in less than a decade after suffering financial losses . Robert Fleming, the Scottish financier and grandfather of Ian Fleming, then bought the estate in 1903.

Bromley and Hackney Workhouses

As I did more research, I found that he was not the only ancestor to have resided in the workhouse.

James Smith (1807-1885), my 4th great-grandfather, an agricultural labourer, was in the Bromley Union Workhouse in 1881 and died there four years later.

Mary Turkington (1845-Bef.1911), my 3rd-great-aunt, was a soldier’s daughter born in South Africa.  Her husband William Turkington (1843-1901) was one of the many men in the family tree who served in the Royal Artillery serving in China during the Second China War from Jan 1860 to April 1861.

At the 1881 census, Mary and William were living in Streatham. Sometime between then and 1885, William and Mary appear to have separated, and she spent time in Hackney Workhouse in June 1885.  In 1891 she was supporting herself by working as a dressmaker and living as a lodger without him.  She had a further spell in Hackney Workhouse in March 1902.  

From Workhouse to Hospital

Finally, I found that the vaccination records of my cousins in the Williams branch of the family from Usk, Wales, were in the Pontypool Union. This was beginning was the beginning of a transition of the institution from Poor Law workhouse to Panteg County Hospital and finally to a free NHS hospital in 1948.

Sources

  • England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538–1975 (baptism, Bucklebury, Berkshire, 23 December 1827)
  • England & Wales, Christening Index, 1530–1980
  • 1841 England Census (Thatcham, Berkshire)
  • London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754–1938 (marriage to Ann Dench, St Sepulchre, London, 3 October 1847)
  • England, Select Marriages, 1538–1973
  • 1851 England Census (St Bartholomew the Great, Middlesex; lodger)
  • 1861 England Census (St John, Greenham, Berkshire; grocer and poulterer)
  • 1871 England Census (Greenham, St John the Evangelist, Berkshire; servant groom)
  • London, England, Poor Law Hospital Admissions and Discharges, 1842–1918 (Islington workhouse infirmary, admitted 8 July 1882, discharged 20 July 1882)
  • London, England, Workhouse Admission and Discharge Records, 1764–1921
  • 1891 England Census (Reading Union Workhouse, Oxford Road, Reading; general labourer)
  • 1901 England Census (Reading Union Workhouse, Reading)
  • Death certificate, General Register Office (died Reading Union Workhouse, 10 June 1904, aged 76, cardiac disease and exhaustion)
  • England & Wales, Civil Registration Death Index, 1837–1915
  • England, Select Deaths and Burials, 1538–1991
  • Web: UK, Burial and Cremation Index, 1576–2014 (burial, Reading, 14 June 1904)
  • England & Wales, Civil Registration Death Index, 1837–1915 (Ann Andrews, 1880)
  • Victoria County History, Oxfordshire, volume eighteen, Nettlebed (British History Online)
  • Peter Higginbotham, The Workhouse: The Story of an Institution, workhouses.org.uk (Reading Union workhouse)
  • British Medical Journal, report on Reading Union workhouse infirmary, 1894 (Nursing Commission on Provincial Workhouses

Newrick Origins and Migration

The Newrick Surname

Newrick is a relatively rare English surname.  This is primarily because, unlike the name Smith for example, which developed thousands of times, independently, it probably descends from a small number, or perhaps only a single, founder family in East Anglia. 

The order for the gravestone of James Newrick, (1772 Belton, Suffolk, 1830 Wearmouth, Durham), a miller, and my 5th great-grandfather

 The surname is generally regarded as an East Anglian variant of Newark. In Norfolk and Suffolk, the forms Newark and Newrick were historically used for members of the same families, apparently reflecting local pronunciation at a time when surname spelling was not fixed. The underlying name is locational and derives from Old English elements meaning “new work” or “new fortification”. Its linguistic roots are therefore Anglo-Saxon, although hereditary surnames developed considerably later.

Origins: The East Anglian Coastal Belt

The Newrick family’s story begins on the East Anglian coast in the late seventeenth century. The earliest traceable ancestor is James Newark, born in 1695, whose line descends through William Newark (1716–1791) and Robert Newark (1742–1810) before the surname variant Newrick appears in the next generation, with James Newrick born at Belton, Suffolk, in 1772. 

Robert Newark’s son James married Elizabeth Butterfont, born at Toft, Norfolk, in 1774, and it is their children who carry the story north to Wearmouth; Elizabeth died at Sunderland in 1843, having made the journey with her family. The Butterfont name was preserved as a middle name by two of her sons, William Cooper Butterfont Newrick, born at Great Yarmouth in 1800, and John Henry Buttifant Newrick, born there in 1806, a deliberate marker of maternal descent across a generation where parish records were unreliable. The family’s roots in the Suffolk and Norfolk coastal strip thus span at least five generations before the move north.

The First Recorded Newrick

The first recorded Newrick is James, born in 1772 at Belton, Suffolk, a parish a few miles inland from Great Yarmouth. Another branch emerges at Great Yarmouth itself, this time bearing the distinctive middle name Buttifant, likely a local Norfolk surname, with William Cooper Butterfont Newrick born there in 1800 and John Henry Buttifant Newrick in 1806. 

Still further inland, Thomas William Newrick, who would emigrate to Michigan in the 1850s, was born at Beccles in 1835, while Henry Valentine was born at Pakefield, near Lowestoft, in 1832. Bringing these threads together, the family’s roots lie in the Suffolk and Norfolk coastal strip: a zone of mixed arable farming, fishing, and small-scale craft trades.

This was also one of the regions most severely affected by the parliamentary enclosure movement. Between 1790 and 1815, successive Enclosure Acts extinguished common grazing rights across East Anglia, driving agricultural labourers off land they had worked for generations. E.P. Thompson, in The Making of the English Working Class (1963), traces the resulting drift of displaced rural labour toward the industrial north; and John Langton and R.J. Morris, in Atlas of Industrialising Britain (1986), map the flow of that migration along the east coast corridor, from the Norfolk and Suffolk lowlands toward the Durham and Northumberland coalfield. James Newrick’s move from Belton to Wearmouth before 1830 follows that route precisely.

The Durham Interlude: Wearside and the Industrial North

Wearmouth in the first decades of the nineteenth century was undergoing rapid expansion in coal, glass, and above all, shipbuilding. For a rural labourer from Suffolk, the wages on offer represented a transformation in circumstances. After James Newrick died at Wearmouth in 1830, a second generation was already established at Sunderland and North Shields. Charles C Newrick was born at North Shields in 1807, and Nathaniel Aaron in 1814. Later, James Archibald, born at Sunderland in 1826, would move on again to Darlington, where a further branch of the family put down roots and eventually dispersed to New Zealand and New South Wales.

This north-eastern phase set the pattern for further movement within industrial Britain. The Durham generation did not stay put. James Newrick, born in Sunderland in 1832, was a moulder, a foundry worker who cast metal components in sand or clay moulds, and his trade followed the railway frontier. The great railway building booms of the 1840s and 1850s created insatiable demand for iron moulders and engine fitters.

Crewe had been purpose-built by the Grand Junction Railway from 1843 as an engineering and locomotive works town, its population of barely two hundred growing to over eight thousand within two decades, almost entirely dependent on the railway. Oswestry, where James and his family were settled by 1871, was the headquarters of the Cambrian Railways from 1864, with locomotive workshops drawing skilled men from across the north and midlands. Raphael Samuel, in his essay “The workshop of the world” in History Workshop Journal (1977), documents this pattern of skilled iron workers following the railway frontier westward; James Newrick’s trajectory from Sunderland moulder to Oswestry moulder maps directly onto it.

From Oswestry to Woolwich, and the Arsenal

Charles Owen, James’s eldest son, took the next step. Already working as a moulder at sixteen in 1871, he had advanced to engine fitter by 1881, and by the mid-1880s, he had brought his family south to Plumstead, where he found employment at the Royal Gun Factory within the Royal Arsenal complex. To understand why Charles moved, it is important to note that the Arsenal had expanded dramatically from the 1850s onward; the Royal Gun Factory, established in its modern form in 1856, was by the 1880s recruiting specifically for engine fitters and skilled metalworkers, often targeting men with railway engineering experience. 

The pull from the Welsh Marches to Woolwich therefore followed an established recruitment pipeline from the industrial midlands and north. By the 1890s, the Arsenal employed over ten thousand workers, making it the largest single industrial employer in Britain.

What is striking about the Plumstead household is how the Arsenal shaped the next generation. Charles Owen’s sons George, moved north to help establish the Royal Ordnance Factory at Blackburn. He was awarded the MBE for his work there. George’s brother, Richard Oswald, served in the Royal Artillery during the first World War and his sister Mary Ethel married a gunner, Albert Victor Wraight.  Frank and Oscar Brown, first cousins and sons of Elizabeth Newrick, rose to Chief Inspector of Ordnance Machinery.  The world of armaments and ordnance drew James Newrick’s descendants south from Sunderland and held them for three generations.

Emigration

While Charles Owen’s branch moved toward Woolwich, other members of James’s family emigrated in the final decades of the nineteenth century. 

Four of James’s children settled in British Columbia: Elizabeth at Wellington, William also at Wellington, Mary Jane at Comox, and Ada, whose husband, Thomas Balderston, was a coal miner at Fernie in the Kootenay district in 1911, the year after his arrival from England. Elizabeth, William, and Mary Jane settled within a few miles of one another on Vancouver Island, in communities built around the Dunsmuir collieries; the tight cluster has the character of chain migration, one sibling following another to familiar faces and known work. 

James, the fifth sibling to emigrate, went to Queensland rather than British Columbia, settling in Brisbane and marrying there around 1901. Queensland’s Assisted Immigration Act of 1869 had specifically targeted agricultural and skilled industrial workers from Britain, and its emigration agents were active in the north of England through the 1870s and 1880s.

The James Archibald branch at Darlington produced its own emigrant generation. Sarah Ann Newrick went to Dunedin , New Zealand in the 1870s, dying there in 1898; William Malcolm ended his days in Hawke’s Bay, also in New Zealand. Frederick Charles, a photographer, died in Granville, New South Wales, in 1928.

The Suffolk branches went to North America: Thomas William to Saginaw, Michigan, in the 1850s, and Henry Valentine eventually to Kansas. These movements belong to the broader story of mid-Victorian emigration to the United States, driven by industrial recruitment in the Great Lakes iron and steel belt rather than by colonial land settlement.

Summary

The Newrick migration across four generations fits a pattern well documented in literature on British internal and overseas migration (see Secondary Sources below). The first move, from East Anglian agriculture to Wearside industry, was driven by enclosure and industrial wages. The drift through the industrial north and midlands tracked the railway frontier. Moving to Woolwich was driven by Arsenal’s recruitment. Overseas dispersal, to Vancouver Island, Queensland, New Zealand, and New South Wales, followed organised colonial recruitment and chain migration, characteristic of late nineteenth-century British working-class emigration. It is notable that much of the migration was toward known work in established communities, along paths laid down by those who had gone before.

Sources for Newrick Origins and Migration

Parish registers and church records

  • England and Wales, Christening Index, 1530–1980
  • England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538–1975
  • England, Select Marriages, 1538–1973
  • England and Wales Marriages, 1538–1988
  • England, Select Deaths and Burials, 1538–1991
  • Norfolk, England, Church of England Baptism, Marriages and Burials, 1535–1812 (Burgh Castle; Caistor-next-Yarmouth; Great Yarmouth)
  • Norfolk, England, Bishop’s Transcripts, 1579–1935
  • Northumberland, England, Church of England Baptisms, Marriages and Burials, 1538–1938 (baptism of Charles Chicken Newrick, Christ Church, Tynemouth, 3 July 1808)
  • Durham, England, Church of England Baptisms, Marriages and Burials, 1538–1919 (Bishopwearmouth; burial at Nile Street, 19 December 1830)
  • Cheshire, England, Parish Registers, 1538–1909 (Crewe)
  • England and Wales, Quaker Birth, Marriage, and Death Registers, 1578–1837 (TNA RG 6)
  • England and Wales, Non-Conformist and Non-Parochial Registers, 1567–1970

Civil registration and probate

  • England and Wales, Civil Registration Birth Index, 1837–1915
  • England and Wales, Civil Registration Marriage Index, 1837–1915 (including Albert Newrick, Q4 1869, Sunderland, vol. 10a, p. 712)
  • England and Wales, Civil Registration Death Index, 1837–1915
  • England and Wales, National Probate Calendar (Index of Wills and Administrations), 1858–1995

Census returns

  • 1841, Bishopwearmouth, Durham (Ballast Hills; Charles Chicken Newrick, agent)
  • 1851, Bishopwearmouth and Sunderland, Durham (including the “Dewick” transcription)
  • 1861, Lancashire and Crewe, Cheshire
  • 1871, Oswestry, Shropshire (Tower Works Street)
  • 1881, Oswestry, Shropshire (Middleton Road; not yet obtained, see snag 14)
  • 1891, 1901, and 1911, Plumstead and Woolwich, Kent (Elm Street; 36 Purrett Road)
  • 1901, Grantham, Lincolnshire
  • 1841 to 1891, Darlington, Durham, for the James Archibald branch
  • 1841 to 1871, Tynemouth and North Shields, Northumberland
  • 1921 Census of England and Wales
  • 1939 Register of England and Wales

Emigration, shipping, and overseas records

  • UK, Outward Passenger Lists, 1890–1960 (TNA BT 27)
  • Queensland, Australia, Assisted Immigration, 1848–1912, and associated agents’ records (James Newrick, SS Sirsa, 1884)
  • Canada, Incoming Passenger Lists, 1865–1935 (LAC RG 76)
  • Censuses of Canada, 1891, 1901, 1911, and 1921 (Nanaimo, Wellington, and Comox districts, Vancouver Island)
  • British Columbia Vital Statistics: births, marriages, and deaths registrations
  • Archives New Zealand passenger lists; New Zealand electoral rolls, 1853–1981; New Zealand Births, Deaths and Marriages historical records (Dunedin and Hawke’s Bay)
  • New South Wales Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages (Frederick Charles Newrick, Granville, 1928, registration 11860)
  • Australia Electoral Rolls, 1903–1980 (Reid division, New South Wales)
  • United States Federal Census, 1860 onward (Saginaw, Michigan; Kansas)

Apprenticeship, directories, newspapers, and maps

  • Indenture of James May Butterfunt Newrick, 8 February 1834, Newcastle upon Tyne
  • Durham County Advertiser, January 1834, insolvency notice for James May Butterfunt Newrick, grocer, Bishopwearmouth
  • Ward’s Directory of Sunderland and District
  • Kelly’s Directory of Kent, Woolwich and Plumstead sections
  • Ordnance Survey town plans, Woolwich and Plumstead, 1:500 and 1:2500
  • Trove, for Queensland and New South Wales newspapers; Papers Past, for the New Zealand press
  • Royal Arsenal Woolwich records, The National Archives (verify the SUPP series in the catalogue before citing)

Compiled trees and indexes

  • Ancestry Family Trees
  • Geneanet Community Trees Index

Secondary works

  • E. P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (London, 1963)
  • Arthur Redford, Labour Migration in England, 1800–1850, 2nd edn, ed. W. H. Chaloner (Manchester, 1964)
  • Dudley Baines, Migration in a Mature Economy: Emigration and Internal Migration in England and Wales, 1861–1900 (Cambridge, 1985)
  • John Langton and R. J. Morris (eds), Atlas of Industrializing Britain, 1780–1914 (London, 1986)
  • Colin G. Pooley and Jean Turnbull, Migration and Mobility in Britain since the Eighteenth Century (London, 1998)
  • John Douglas Belshaw, Colonization and Community: The Vancouver Island Coalfield and the Making of the British Columbian Working Class (Montreal, 2002)
  • Marjory Harper and Stephen Constantine, Migration and Empire (Oxford, 2010)

The Life of Edward Williams 1870-1926

My great-grandfather Edward Williams

My great-grandfather Edward Williams was born on 10 April 1870 in Usk, Monmouthshire. He was the youngest of seven children of Abraham Williams (1826-1905), a sawyer from Llanfihangel-juxta-Usk and Ellen Rebecca Williams (née Lucas, and also from Usk). Abraham’s father John (1791-1862) had been a cordwainer (bookmaker), and Abraham worked at that trade for the first few years of his working life before becoming a sawyer.

Usk is an old market town in Monmouthshire, set on the river of the same name about ten miles north-east of Newport. A Norman castle stands above it, overlooking an ancient bridge that still stands. The town had prospered in the first half of the nineteenth century, but by the time Edward was born in 1870, its prosperity had faded, and the population had declined due to the agricultural depression.

Edward had two sisters, Elizabeth (b.1850) and Frances b.1868), and four brothers: Henry (b.1853). George (b.1859), Blandford (b.1861) and Abraham (b. 1866).

Abraham and George became sawyers like their father. Through most of the nineteenth century, the sawyer’s trade was heavy manual labour. A log was rolled onto trestles above a saw pit and cut lengthwise by two men working a long framed saw. Abraham senior was probably a pit sawyer. From the 1850s onwards, steam and water driven mills began to take the work, first in the towns and the ports and later in the country districts. Edward’s brothers probably worked in a commercial mill.

George James Priddy and my 3rd great aunt Frances Priddy (née Williams), seated. George’s father Edward was also a wood turner.

Blandford moved to Richmond, Surrey, where he became a bricklayer. Henry made a similar move to Camberwell in the same trade. Elizabeth is difficult to trace, but it appears she moved to London and became a cook, whilst her sister Frances married George James Priddy (1868-1940), a wood turner, and stayed in Wales. Edward grew up in Usk and trained as a tailor.  However, sometime in the late 1880s, he left Usk and moved to London, where he joined the Police.

By this time, policing had become a sought-after occupation, with only about one applicant in five gaining acceptance. Senior Metropolitan Police officers preferred recruits from the countryside to Londoners, believing them healthier, more disciplined, and less likely to face conflicting loyalties when policing their own neighbourhoods. Consequently, only around one in ten Metropolitan Police constables was London-born. A young Welshman newly arrived from Usk would have fitted the profile of an ideal recruit.

Edward was appointed as a constable on 28 January 1889. By 1891, he was living within the police station establishment at West Hill, Wandsworth (V Division), as a serving constable.

Wandsworth was an expanding and socially varied London district whose crime was predominantly ordinary urban crime: theft, burglary, drunkenness, assault, domestic disturbance, juvenile offending and public-order offences. For the constable on the beat, policing consisted of continuous patrol, preventing theft, controlling disorder and managing the daily frictions of a growing population.

Edward married Alice Bowler in 1896, and over the following decade, they had four children: Lawrence (1898), Louisa (1901), Francis (1905), and my Grandfather, Leonard Alfred (1906). By the time Leonard was born, the family was living in Newington, Surrey. In December 1898, Edward transferred to L Division(Lambeth), which became his final police posting.

Lambeth was a tougher beat, as its densely populated streets were subject to far more drunkenness, assaults and public-order offences, and its police court was among the busiest in London.  Street robbery, prostitution, drunken disorder and pickpockets were all likely to have been more common in Lambeth than in Wandsworth.

After 20 years of service, Edward retired from the Metropolitan Police in April 1909 on medical grounds and was awarded a pension of £33 14s 4d per annum. At the time of his retirement, the family was living in Walworth.

Edward Williams police medals. As I was a small boy when my grandfather gave them to me, he asked me not to swap them.

By the 1921 census, Edward was still living in London with Alice and their children, within a working household as the children moved into clerical and commercial work. Leonard worked as a clerk at Scotland Yard, while Lawrence Edward held a similar post at the Ministry of Agriculture in Whitehall. Louisa, Ellen and Francis all worked as shop assistants.  Later in life Francis would also become a policeman.

The one photograph we have of Edward appears to be a post-retirement portrait, probably taken in the last decade of his life (1916-1926).  I have the original, and it was the first example I have seen of a portrait that uses pencil retouching over a photographic base.   It was proably a Bromide enlargement reworked with pencil, a technique popular in the early 20th century. Photographers used enlargements on light-sensitive bromide print paper and manually enhanced them with graphite to add artistic depth, fix imperfections, or mimic the painterly look of the Pictorialist movement.

Edward died of pulmonary tuberculosis in 1926 at the family home in Archway Street, Barnes, aged 56. Whilst this condition was not uncommon at the time, it was a particular threat to men who spent years outdoors in all weathers.  The policeman’s beat both shaped and perhaps hastened the end of his life.  

Sources

  • General Register Office: birth (Usk, 1870), marriage (St George Hanover Square, 1896), and death (Barnes, 1926) entries.
  • Census returns, 1871 to 1921 (Wales and England).
  • Church of England parish registers (marriage and baptisms), London and Surrey.
  • Metropolitan Police service and pension records, The National Archives (MEPO).

Compiled by Nigel Williams, January 2026. Edward Williams was my great-grandfather.

A Generation of Seafaring & Engineering Newricks

The children of Charles Owen Newrick (1855-1911) and Mary May Hiles (1855-1935)

Introduction

Growing up, I knew the Newrick family leaned towards the scientific and mathematical.   My mother, Yvonne Patricia Newrick (1941-2024), was proficient at maths and enjoyed it.  My Uncle and Grandfather, both named George, were engineers by trade.

Newrick family
Figure 1:The erecting shop at George Clark’s Southwick Works, Sunderland, photographed in the early years of the works. Joseph M. Newrick worked here as Foreman Marine Engineer in 1921. Photograph preserved by Thomas Olsson.

As I learned more about the family history, I found this pattern repeated.  Many Newrick men were engineers. Several Newrick women also married into the profession, marrying engine fitters, toolmakers, turners and machinists. 

As I went deeper into the records, a particular engineering specialisation emerged; the world of ordnance and artillery.  Charles Owen’s cousins, Frank and Oscar Brown, sons of his aunt Elizabeth Newrick, both rose to the rank of Chief Inspector of Ordnance Machinery in the Army Ordnance Department, Oscar holding the DSO.  George, Charles Owen’s own son, was awarded the MBE for his engineering work, initially at Woolwich and later at the Royal Ordnance Factory at Blackburn.  In turn, his son, my Grandfather, also worked at the Woolwich Arsenal.

Another recurring theme in the Newricks also emerged: life at sea.  The Newrick line had produced seafarers before Charles Owen’s children were born, and the Merchant and Royal Navies would figure heavily in the life of this branch of the family.  

The intersection of engineering and the sea was marine and maritime engineering, encompassing work in the engine room, at sea, and in constructing the huge engines that powered ships crossing the oceans.

Newrick family
Figure 2: James Newrick (1861-1945), who arrived in Australia on the SS Sirsa in 1884.

The pull of the sea ran through the wider family too. Of my 3rd great-grandfather James’ children (by his two wives), five emigrated in the decades around the turn of the century.

His son James (1861-1945), settled in Queensland and married there around 1901. Four others, Elizabeth, Mary Jane, William, and Ada, made for British Columbia, three of them ending within a few miles of one another on Vancouver Island, at Wellington, Comox, and Nanaimo. That cluster on the island, with its coal mines and harbour traffic. Charles Owen, by contrast, went south to Woolwich.

From Sunderland to Plumstead

Charles Owen Newrick was born in Sunderland in 1855, the eldest surviving son of James Newrick, an iron moulder who moved his family across the north and midlands of England for work. By 1871, they were settled in Oswestry, Shropshire, at Tower Works Street, where Charles Owen, then sixteen, worked alongside his father as a moulder; a foundry worker who cast metal in sand or clay moulds to produce components for industrial machinery.

He married Mary, née Hiles, a Shrewsbury woman, in 1877; the Hiles family had worked the mills on the Rea Brook since the late eighteenth century, acquiring Abbey Mill and several others along its lower reaches. 

Their first two children, James William and Emily May, were born there in the late 1870s. By 1881, he had advanced from moulder to engine fitter, a step reflecting both his growing skills and the demands of the railway and engineering works that then dominated Oswestry.

It was at this point, during their years on Middleton Road while raising their young family, that they relocated south, Charles and Mary welcomed Edith, their fourth child, in Plumstead around 1884, signalling the family’s establishment in Kent by the early 1880s. James Newrick, Charles Owen’s father, would later die in Grantham in 1900.

After arriving in Kent, Charles worked at the Royal Gun Factory, part of the Royal Arsenal complex. The family first lived on Elm Street, later moving to 36 Purrett Road, Plumstead. By the 1891 census, the Elm Street household had nine children, five of whom were born in Plumstead. (Mary was born in Shrewsbury in 1858.)

Purrett Road, Plumstead

The family at 36 Purrett Road in Plumstead was large. Between 1878 and 1898, Mary and Charles had fourteen children, thirteen of whom survived infancy, and two of whom perished in WWI. In 1890, Mary was briefly admitted to Cane Hill Asylum but returned home in January 1891. 

The adult children of Charles and Mary were: James William (eldest son), Emily May (eldest daughter), Charles Hiles, Frederick Arthur, Irwin Owen, George, Harold, Edith, Richard Oswald, Agnes Elizabeth (youngest surviving daughter), and Florence (who died at five). By 1911, Charles (the father) was fifty-five and still at the Royal Gun Factory. Frederick and George were then working at the Western Electric Factory in North Woolwich, and the Purrett Road household had thinned as older children left.

This article is the story of the Newricks of Purret Road, Plumstead.

James William Newrick 1878-1952

Newrick family
Figure 3: The RMS Albania

The eldest son, James William, born in January 1878, went to sea as a Marine Fireman and later Marine Engine Driver. He served many years in the merchant navy, earning a medal for wartime service. In 1925, he served aboard the SS Albania on a voyage to New York.

His personal life was complicated: he lived with Emily Elizabeth Clark, a Plumstead woman whose husband was in the Royal Navy, and had two sons with her before her husband died in the catastrophic November 1914 explosion of HMS Bulwark off Sheerness.

Emily Elizabeth Clark was herself a child of the Arsenal world: her father, John William Clark, had worked as a labourer in the Laboratory, the ammunition production arm of the complex, until his death in tragic circumstances in 1889, when Emily was eight. She grew up in Plumstead, married, was abandoned by her husband when he joined the Royal Navy, and was living with her children when James William entered her life.

James married Emily the month after her first husband’s death in late 1914. He outlived her—she died in Lambeth in 1952, and James himself died the following year at the age of seventy-five.

Emily May Newrick 1879-1969

Emily May, the second child and eldest daughter of Charles and Mary, was born in July 1879. In 1901, she had left Plumstead and worked as a nurse in a household in Leyton. In 1921, she was working as a private nurse for Colonel W. W. Chitty, an Indian Army officer who commanded the 119th Infantry of the Indian Expeditionary Force (The Mooltan Regiment) in the First World War. The Chittys lived at a fashionable address; Lansdown Crescent, Notting Hill.  

In the 1920s, Emily travelled widely, appearing on P&O and Blue Funnel Line passenger lists to India, South Africa, and Japan, always listed as a nurse. A second-class passage to Bombay in 1923 cost about thirty-two pounds, a significant sum for a nurse, which suggests these were working voyages. Her trip to Yokohama, a hub for British expatriates, may have meant caring for a naval or colonial family. Emily never married. In the 1950s, after decades in London, she moved to Sussex and died in Chichester in January 1969, aged eighty-nine, outliving most of her siblings.

Edith Newrick 1884-1921

Edith, born in 1884, married David Vince in 1921. David, born on 16 October 1885 at East Wickham Road, Welling, was the son of Job Vince, a general labourer, and Esther Emma, née Harris. That same year, 1921, the couple were living at 10 Graham Road, Bexleyheath, with their young son, George Frederick. Prior to the First World War, David had worked as a nurseryman and was listed as a labourer in 1921. By 1939, he had become a Naval Ordnance Examiner—a role connecting him, occupationally, to the world of armaments and inspection that had defined Edith’s father’s career at the Royal Gun Factory. By 1939, Edith was a patient at the Kent County Mental Hospital in Maidstone. Her mother, Mary, had herself been briefly admitted to Cane Hill in 1890.

Charles Hiles Newrick 1887-1952

Charles Hiles Newrick, born in 1887 to Charles and Mary, enlisted in the Royal Navy at Portsmouth in April 1905, aged seventeen. His long career spanned both world wars; he served aboard Impregnable, St George, Victory I, Bellerophon, Agamemnon, Venerable, and others. He advanced from Ordinary Seaman to Leading Seaman and passed his Petty Officer exam in March 1909.

He served in the First World War and, in January 1920, transferred to the Royal Australian Navy. In 1930, he married Ann Elizabeth Lyall, an Australian, in Victoria and settled at HMAS Cerberus, the RAN’s main training base. He served through the Second World War and was discharged as a Petty Officer in 1947. Ann died in September that year. Charles died in Heidelberg, Victoria, in 1952 at sixty-five, and was buried at Springvale.

Frederick Arthur Newrick 1889-1915

Frederick Arthur, born in January 1889, also went to sea, but as an engineer rather than a deck or engine-room rating. By July 1915, he held the specialist role of First Refrigerating Engineer aboard the SS Durham, a London-registered vessel making a voyage from Southampton to Sydney. By August 1919, he was rated as Second Engineer. In June 1924, he was serving as Acting Engineer aboard the SS Hororata of the New Zealand Shipping Company, which arrived in New York from Newcastle. By 1934, his Continuous Certificate of Discharge again listed him as Second Engineer, on the SS British Hussar. Frederick married Florence Hardy in 1913, and they had two children, Queenie and Frederick. He died in 1984 in Hastings, Sussex, at the age of ninety-five.

Irwin Owen Newrick 1892-1915 

Figure 4:  The letter from Mary to the authorities, thanking them for the return of his effects

Irwin Owen Newrick, born in 1892, enlisted as a Special Reservist at Woolwich in February 1908, giving his trade as Electrical Engineer. He served with the 6th Battalion, The Buffs (East Kent Regiment), as Private L/9108. Before the First World War, he saw postings to India and Singapore; after the war broke out, he returned to England in 1914 and was posted to France with the British Expeditionary Force. He died on 9 November 1915. He has no known grave and is commemorated on the Loos Memorial, Panels 15-19. In April 1916, his mother, Mary, wrote to the War Office to acknowledge receipt of his effects, signing herself Mary M. Newrick of 36 Purrett Road.

Harold Newrick 1895-1915

Harold, born in 1895, served as Gunner 40955 in the Royal Garrison Artillery, 108th Heavy Battery. During the First World War, he was wounded in France and died of his wounds on 24 May 1915, six months before his brother. On 9 July 1915, Mary wrote to the War Office asking which hospital Harold was in, as she had heard nothing since a report dated 7 June. She did not yet know he was dead. He is buried at Bailleul Communal Cemetery Extension, Nord, grave I. F. 88.

George Newrick 1894-1968

George, my great-grandfather, was born in April 1894 and worked as an engineer. He started with Vickers and later worked at Woolwich Arsenal. In the late 1930s, he moved north to help establish the new Royal Ordnance Factory at Blackburn, a wartime armaments facility of strategic importance. He was awarded the MBE in the 1958 New Year Honours for his work there. He married Rose Ann Mayes in April 1915, the same spring Harold died of his wounds. They had four children: George, Joyce, Margaret Rose, and Brenda. George died in Blackburn on 25 January 1968, aged seventy-three. My mother Yvonne Newrick recalled that he enjoyed repairing watches and clocks, which seems a fitting hobby for a man who, as his son, my Grandfather, told me, ‘could work to the very tightest of tolerances’.

Richard Oswald Newrick 1897-1961

Figure 5: Richard Newricks CR2 record showing the name change

Richard Oswald enlisted in the Royal Field Artillery and served in France starting in 1915, the year both his brothers Irwin and Harold were killed. In 1917, he was listed as a deserter.  Somehow, he reached a port, joined the merchant marine under the name George Hiles (using his mother’s maiden name), and went to sea. In 1934, he resumed his birth name and continued his maritime career through the 1930s. He later returned to Plumstead, dying there on 24 May 1961 at the age of sixty-four. The date of his death matched Harold’s, forty-six years earlier.  

Agnes Elizabeth Newrick 1900-1973

Agnes Elizabeth, the youngest surviving daughter, married Herbert Joseph Matthews at Greenwich Register Office on 1 January 1910 and settled in Wanstead, Essex. Herbert served in the First World War as a Sapper with the London Electrical Engineers, a specialist Royal Engineers unit, and was stood down from colours in March 1917. He returned safely, and the couple were still at Wanstead in 1939, Herbert working as a Stockbroker’s Clerk and serving as an ARP warden. They had two daughters, Agnes and Kathleen.

The Parents, Charles Owen and Mary

Charles Owen Newrick died in 1911, before the world war that would take two of his sons. Mary lived until 1935, long enough to have buried Irwin and Harold, to have seen Richard vanish into the sea under a borrowed name, and to have watched Frederick, Charles Hiles, and James William pursue their careers across the world’s oceans. Her letter, thanking the authorities for the return of Irwin Owen’s effects, was strikingly poignant. Mary died at seventy-seven. She was the last living member of a household that had scattered from Purrett Road to Hasting, Bailleul, Melbourne and Yokohama.

Researched and written by Nigel Williams. Charles Owen Newrick (1855–1911) was the writer’s great-great-grandfather.

Battery Sergeant Major William Boston, Royal Artillery (1850-1921)

Introduction

I knew nothing about the Boston family whilst my Grandmother, Eleanor Victoria Newrick (née Tremble), was alive. My mother, Yvonne Patricia Newrick, spoke of ‘Ernie and Ada’, her grandparents, but that was all I knew of the Boston family until I started to research the family tree.

Ada-and-Ernie.jpg
Figure 1: My Great Grandparents Ernie and Ada Tremble (nee Boston)

It was during that research that I first glimpsed the deep family connection with the Royal Artillery. Ernie (Ernest Alfred) Tremble (1889-1961) served in the regiment, as did his wife’s father, William, the subject of this article. So did Ada’s brothers, James and Joseph Boston. From there, I found that the Chapmans (William Boston’s second wife’s family) included two generations of Artillerymen and that they had married into another artillery family, the Stubbs.

And so it went on. On the same (maternal) side of the family I also found gunners in the Browns, Fairburns, Hiles, Newricks, Trotter and Wraight families. On the paternal side I found them in the Baileys and the Bowlers. Many had served abroad and fought in Britain’s Imperial wars (principally Afghanistan, China, India and South Africa), and the death toll in action was substantial, particularly in the First World War. Many of these families had a connection to Woolwich, the birthplace and spiritual home of the Royal Artillery for nearly 300 years.

Later, I learned of the Bostons’ origins in Ulster and their migration to Australia and America, including their service in the American Civil War, but the story began with William. 

Early Life and Military Service

William Boston was born in 1850 in Magheralin, County Down, Ireland, to James (1806-1879) and Ellen (née Plunket). He came from a weaving community: the greater Magheralin, Lurgan, and Waringstown areas were known worldwide as the “Cambric Trade” center, famed for high-quality hand-woven damask and linen cambrics. However, we know nothing more about his life before the army.

William enlisted in the Royal Regiment of Artillery at Lisburn on 6 July 1868; his profession was listed as ‘weaver’. He was medically examined and passed fit at Belfast the following day, and formally approved by Colonel Grant, Commanding 3rd Brigade Royal Artillery, on 11 July. From Belfast, he was posted to Woolwich, the administrative base of the Royal Artillery, arriving there on 29 July 1868.

William Boston
Figure 2: oval-vignette studio portrait of Sergeant William Boston in dress tunic, probably taken between 1885 and 1888.

William’s early years of service were spent at home stations. After initial postings to Woolwich and Shoeburyness, where an accident on fatigue duty put him in hospital for six days, he served at Guernsey from late1871.

His first confirmed Good Conduct Pay award, at the rate of one penny per day, was granted on 1 July 1870. A second increment followed on 2 July 1871.

He returned from Guernsey in 1873, serving at the Curragh, in Ireland, then Shoeburyness and Portsmouth. 

He was appointed Bombardier on 4 September 1874. On 12 October 1875, he married Elizabeth Chapman at the Register Office in Portsmouth. Elizabeth, born in 1854 to William Chapman and Mary Kingsbury, was twenty-one; William was about twenty-five at the time of their marriage.

Posting to India

Within weeks of marriage, William was posted to India. He arrived in Bombay (Mumbai) in December 1875 and was in Delhi by 30 December.

Elizabeth did not remain in England, but followed William to India as an army wife. She joined him at Gwalior, where their son John George Boston was born on 7 April 1877.

Perched atop a sheer sandstone plateau rising over 300 feet above the surrounding plain, Gwalior Fort is an ancient hill fort described by Mughal Emperor Babur as the “pearl amongst the fortresses of Hind.” In the late 19th century, it was a symbol of British imperial authority and regarded as the “key to Hindustan”. Following the Indian Rebellion of 1857, Britain retained a permanent military presence there, with detachments of the Royal Artillery responsible for manning the fort’s guns. 

On 28 September 1877, William re-engaged at Gwalior to complete 21 years of service. The Boston family would most likely have lived in the British cantonment at Morar, around three miles to the east of the fort. Established in the 1840s and substantially rebuilt after the Indian Rebellion of 1857, Morar was intended to be the principal British military station in Central India. By the 1870s it contained barracks for European and Indian troops, officers’ bungalows set within spacious compounds, parade grounds, gun parks, magazines, hospitals, churches, messes and administrative buildings, all laid out along broad, tree-lined roads in accordance with British cantonment planning.

Life in the cantonment was highly ordered. Reveille, drill, artillery practice, inspections and maintenance filled much of the working day, whilst evenings might include mess dinners, sport, church parades or concerts organised by regimental bands. Soldiers lived in large barrack rooms, while married men usually occupied modest family quarters nearby. Although the imposing walls of Gwalior Fort dominated the skyline, the cantonment itself was a self-contained British community, deliberately separated from the surrounding Indian towns and villages.

Fort-Gwalior.jpg
Figure 3: Gwallior Fort, Central India, c.1870s. Elizabeth Chapman, wife of Bombardier William Boston, died within the fort garrison on 26 August 1878, aged twenty-four. Their son John George died here the following April.

The posting, which was so damaging to William’s health, proved fatal for Elizabeth. She died at Gwalior Fort, India, on 26 August 1878, aged twenty-four, and was buried there the following day. 

William was in hospital in the same garrison at the time, one of a succession of admissions attributed to the climate. Their son John George survived his mother by seven months, dying at Gwalior on 1 April 1879.

The Afghan Campaign

The Second Afghan War brought William into active service. He reached Kandahar in January 1879. In the spring of 1880, he marched north with Sir Donald Stewart’s division towards Kabul, and on 19th April the column was attacked at Ahmed Khel by several thousand Ghazi tribesmen, who charged downhill upon it at close quarters. The guns fired at almost point-blank range. The action was over within an hour. William was awarded the clasp for the Battle of Ahmed Khel, and he reached Kabul with the division on 2nd May.

William was promoted to Corporal on 10 March 1880 and was awarded Good Conduct Pay at three pence per day on 4 July 1880. The Afghan Campaign medal roll (WO100/54) confirms his entitlement to the Afghanistan Medal with the clasp for Ahmed Khel.

Further postings at Morar, Delhi, and Agra in the early 1880s were marked by recurring illness, treated with cinchona, a source of quinine.

William was promoted to Sergeant on 15 March 1882 at the 1st Brigade, Eastern Division. He later endured ninety-four days of erysipelas (a bacterial skin infection) at Landour Hill Station in 1883. Landour was a hill cantonment and military sanatorium, located in the Himalayan foothills above Dehradun.

In September 1885, an Invaliding Board at Landour recommended a change of climate to England. He returned to Woolwich that November.

Return to England and Second Marriage

Back in England, William served at Alderney, Plymouth, and Sandown in 1886 and 1887.

In February 1886, William married for the second time. Confusingly, his second wife, Eliza Ann, born in 1867, shared the Chapman surname with his first wife, Elizabeth, and her father bore the same Christian name, though they were not related. Eliza Ann’s father, William, also served in the Royal Artillery. He was born in 1844 in New London, Canada, and whilst there is no record of his father, his birthplace makes it highly likely that he was also a soldier in the British Army.

William was awarded the Long Service and Good Conduct Medal on 1 January 1887 and promoted to Battery Sergeant Major on 1 September 1889. This was the senior warrant officer grade in a Royal Artillery battery and marked the culmination of a career that began as a teenage gunner at Woolwich. As BSM, he was responsible for discipline, drill, training and the day-to-day efficiency of the battery. He was then transferred to the Banffshire Artillery, almost certainly as a drill and gunnery instructor to the volunteer artillery stationed there.

He was permitted to continue service beyond his twenty-one-year engagement on 4 July 1889, and entitled to Good Conduct Pay at five pence per day from 7 July 1889.

The 1891 Scotland census shows the family at No. 32, Seatown, Cullen, Banffshire. Eliza Ann was aged 23; daughters Elizabeth and Ellen Amelia were aged 3 and 2, respectively; and the Bostons’ baby son, William, was aged 7 months. 

Discharge and Civilian Life

William Boston was discharged on 20 March 1894 in Cullen after twenty-five years and two hundred and fifty-seven days. He was awarded a pension of two shillings and eightpence per diem for life, and his character on discharge was recorded as Very Good.

He settled at 61 Kingsman Street, Woolwich, where he lived for the rest of his life. The 1901 census lists him there with Eliza Ann and the children: Elizabeth, Ellen Amelia, William, Ada Mary, James Richard, and Joseph Henry. William was working as Assistant Manager in the Royal Artillery canteen in Woolwich.

Kingsman Street was laid out during the rapid expansion of Woolwich in the second half of the nineteenth century. It lay close to the Royal Arsenal and was built largely to house the thousands of people employed there. Residents would typically have included arsenal workers, dockyard labourers, soldiers and their families, skilled tradesmen and railway workers. The houses were modest two-storey Victorian terraces built very close together, often with tiny backyards and outside toilets. By the early twentieth century the area was extremely densely populated.

By 1911 William and Eliza Ann were running a confectionery business. There were still six children at their Kingsman Street home, including the new baby, Annie Isabel, and Albert Edward, aged 9. Ellen Amelia, aged 12 in 1901, had left home and married. Three of William’s sons would later serve in the British Army: James Richard Boston and Joseph Henry Boston in the Royal Artillery and Albert Edward Boston in the Royal Army Ordnance Corps.

The 1921 census, taken in June of that year, records William at the same Kingsman Street address, occupation: Army Pensioner, Royal Garrison Artillery. Joseph Henry, now twenty-two, was living at home with his wife, Ethel Victoria, and their infant daughter, Joan Ethel, William’s first confirmed grandchild. Albert Edward Boston, aged nineteen, and Annie Isabel, aged eleven, completed the household.

Death

Six months after that census was taken, on 28 December 1921, William died at home. The cause of death was cerebral haemorrhage following influenza (four days) and bronchitis (five days).

The death was registered by his daughter, Ellen Amelia Huish, Plumstead, who had married a fireman, Fred Huish, and was recorded, with a certificate as present at the death. Administration of his estate was granted to his widow, Eliza Ann, in January. William’s effects were valued at £220 16s. 2d. 

Afterword

William Boston left Magheralin at seventeen and never returned. The regiment took him to Woolwich, Guernsey, the Curragh, Bombay, Gwalior, Kandahar and Kabul, and it took from him a wife and a son within eight months, in a garrison where he was himself repeatedly in hospital. He came home invalided, married again, rose to Battery Sergeant Major, and spent his last years of service on the Banffshire coast teaching gunnery to volunteers. He was discharged with a character of Very Good and a pension of two shillings and eightpence a day, and he lived out the next twenty-seven years in a terraced house a few hundred yards from the Arsenal.

The Royal Artillery did not leave the Bostons with him. James Richard and Joseph Henry followed their father into the regiment. Albert Edward joined the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, and Ada married a gunner. The connection with Woolwich, which began with William’s arrival from Belfast in July 1868, would endure.

Sources

  • WO97 (Chelsea Discharge Board and Service Records); Medical History Forms F (pages 3–7);
  • Statement of Services; Record of Services; Regimental Registry of Marriages
  • Afghan Campaign Medal Roll WO100/54
  • Long Service and Good Conduct Medal Register, WO102/8
  • 1891 Scotland Census (CSSCT1891_42)
  • 1901 England Census RG/571 f.190
  • 1911 England Census RG/2867; 1921 England Census
  • Probate Record, Principal Registry, January 1922
  • Ireland, Select Births and Baptisms, 1620-1911
  • India Select Deaths and Burials, FHL Film 510857

Researched by Nigel Williams, March 2026.  William Boston was the writer’s great-great-grandfather.

James Frederick Newrick’s Life at Sea

 James Frederick Newrick 1839–1896

Early Life and Family

James Frederick Newrick was born in 1839 in Durham to Nathaniel Aaron Newrick, a miller, and Charlotte (née Dawson Maddy), who was 24. James was baptised at the church of St. Mary The Less, which was founded in the 12th century as a garrison chapel for soldiers stationed on the nearby city walls.

The family lived in Durham Lane (1841) and South Johnson Street (1851), in Sunderland. Though his father was a miller, there were seafarers in the family through his Uncle Charles Newrick (1807-1858), who married Isabella Blythe in 1829. Her father, William Blythe (1788-1855), and brother, Robert Robson Blythe (1822), were both Master Mariners. William was also a shipowner.

Apprenticeship

James first appears in naval records in September 1855, when he was bound as an apprentice at the age of sixteen.   This is the same route as Robert Robson Blythe took at the same age in 1838.

On 22 September 1855, he entered into a five-year indenture, enrolled at Sunderland, to serve aboard the vessel Margaret, a ship of about 247 tons. A vessel of that tonnage in the 1850s was modest in size by ocean-going standards, probably a brig or small barque, and crewed by about a dozen men. Ships like this commonly traded across the North Sea and Baltic, carrying coal outward and returning with timber, grain, or naval stores. 

Apprenticeship was the recognised starting point for a serious maritime career: a period in which a boy learned the work of seamanship; handling sails and rigging, standing watches, learning shipboard routines, and gradually being introduced to the navigational knowledge that separated an ordinary sailor from a future officer.

James’s indenture expired in September 1860, by which time he would have been about twenty-one years old and ready to move beyond apprentice status into the ranks of fully competent seamen.

Sunderland

Sunderland in the 1850s was one of Britain’s most active shipbuilding and exporting ports. The River Wear was lined with yards constructing wooden brigs and barques, many engaged in the coal and Baltic trades. To be apprenticed there meant immediate immersion in a tough maritime environment shaped by North Sea crossings, timber imports from Scandinavia, and the outward coal trade from County Durham.

The years following the completion of his apprenticeship were the formative middle stage of his career. Between 1860 and 1865, he would have served as an able seaman and, increasingly, as a man being prepared for responsibility on deck.

These were the years in which he accumulated the sea time and experience required under the Merchant Shipping Act framework to present himself for examination. Promotion in the merchant service was not automatic: advancement depended on proven competence, recorded service, and success in formal testing.

Transition to Officer

By January 1865, at about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, James had achieved a major professional milestone. On 14 January 1865, the Board of Trade issued him a Certificate of Competency as Second Mate. This qualification marked his transition from the forecastle into the officer ranks.

The Second Mate was a navigational officer responsible for watchkeeping, assisting with chartwork, and taking on duties that required literacy, numeracy, and technical skills. His certificate was formally entered into the General Register and Record Office of Seamen two days later, confirming his standing within the official national system of certificated merchant officers.

Shortly after his promotion, James married Julia Lewis at St George in the East, located in the docklands fringe, close to the River Thames, London, on 11 April 1866. 

 First Mate

James continued his upward progress over the next three years. Having served as a Second Mate and gained further experience, he advanced again through examination and certification. On 22 September 1868, the Board of Trade granted him a Certificate of Competency as First Mate, which was entered in the register the following day. This was an even higher rank, placing him as the chief officer under the master.

A First Mate carried major responsibility for the ship’s daily management, discipline, cargo operations, and the safe running of the vessel, and was legally qualified to assume command if required.

By 1871, James and his wife Julia were living with Julia’s mother in Poplar, London.

Final Chapter – The Dreadnought Seaman’s Hospital

In the final months of his life, James Frederick Newrick reappears in the records of the Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital at Greenwich, the institution for the care of merchant sailors arriving in the Port of London. Set against the backdrop of the Royal Naval College and the great river traffic of steamers and sailing vessels, it was a familiar institution to seafarers of every rank.   

From1821-1870, the Dreadnought was a floating hospital, based in three successive converted warships, one of which, HMS Dreadnought, veteran of the battle of Trafalgar, gave the hospital its name. It then moved onto land and, until 1986, occupied the buildings that are now a student hub for the University of Greenwich.

By May 1896, he was fifty-seven years old. An admission on 9 May 1896 records him as “James Fred Newrick,” aged 57, born about 1839 in England. A second entry, dated 2 June 1896, refines his birthplace to Durham. 

The Dreadnought treated seamen who were currently serving or who could demonstrate a legitimate connection to the merchant marine. His admission there therefore confirms that, more than forty years after being bound apprentice in 1855, he was still recognised within the maritime system. 

At the time of his admission, James was serving as an Able Seaman on the Loch Lomond, a coastal role on a Glasgow-registered barge owned by Aitken Lilburn & Co.  Seafarers often continued in the short-sea and coastal trades as they aged. 

Death

The hospital records his illness as “Abd. Aneurysm” (Abdominal aortic aneurysm, a dilation and eventual rupture of the main abdominal artery). This condition was uncommon but recognised in late Victorian medical practice, particularly among older men engaged in physically demanding occupations. In 1896, there was no effective surgical treatment, and rupture was often fatal. James died at the Seaman’s Hospital on 20 June 1896.

More than forty years after beginning his apprenticeship aboard the Margaret in Sunderland, he remained part of the merchant marine system, his working life concluding under the care of the seamen’s hospital at Greenwich.

Sources

  • 1841 England Census (Bishopwearmouth, Durham)
  • 1851 England Census (Bishopwearmouth, Durham)
  • 1871 England Census (All Saints, Poplar, London)
  • England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538–1975 (baptism, St. Mary-the-Less, Durham, 23 June 1839)
  • England & Wales, Civil Registration Birth Index, 1837–1915
  • England & Wales, Civil Registration Marriage Index, 1837–1915
  • London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754–1938 (marriage to Julia Lewis, St George in the East, 11 April 1866)
  • England & Wales, Civil Registration Death Index, 1837–1915
  • UK, Apprentices Indentured in Merchant Navy, 1824–1910 (indenture, Sunderland, 22 September 1855, the Margaret)
  • UK and Ireland, Masters and Mates Certificates, 1850–1927 (Certificate of Competency, Second Mate, 14 January 1865)
  • UK and Ireland, Masters and Mates Certificates, 1850–1927 (Certificate of Competency, First Mate, 22 September 1868)
  • England, Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital Admissions and Discharges, 1826–1930 (admission, 9 May 1896)
  • England, Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital Admissions and Discharges, 1826–1930 (admission, 2 June 1896)
  • UK and Ireland, Find a Grave Index, 1300s–Current
  • Web: UK, Burial and Cremation Index, 1576–2014 (burial, Greenwich)
  • Ancestry Family Tree

Researched by Nigel Williams.

 James Frederick Newrick was the writer’s 1st cousin 5 times removed. 

Albert Newrick and the Loss of the SS Clandon

Ship’s Carpenter, Milburn Fleet. Lost at sea, North Atlantic, January 1885

Introduction

During my research into the Newrick family (my mother, Yvonne, was born a Newrick), the initial date I found regarding the SS Clandon’s (ON 77105) disappearance was January 22nd 1885.  This gave me an unpleasant start, as it was the same day and month as my father, Laurence Williams, disappeared in an aircraft crash at sea in 1979.

My father’s body  was never discovered, and I have been wary of the date ever since. As it turns out, that date was not material to the Clandon’s disappearance, as she actually set sail on her final voyage two days later, and the date of her sinking is not known. However, that connection, between two men lost at sea in January in unexplained circumstances, has stayed with me.  As I write this, it occurs to me that this might explain the work I have put into the research for this account of Albert Newrick’s life and the vessel on which he lost his life, which is the most extensive I have written about any of my ancestors.  

Early Life and Family

Albert Newrick was born in 1848 in Bishopwearmouth, Sunderland, County Durham. He was the fourth son of Nathaniel Aaron Newrick (1814–1865), a miller from North Shields, and Charlotte Dawson Maddy (1815–1898), who came from London.

The family lived at 19 South Johnson Street, Sunderland. By 1851, the household included Albert’s three older brothers: James Frederick (b.1839), Aaron Henry (b.1842), and Joseph Maddy (b.1845). Albert, aged three, was the youngest. More children followed: Mary (born 1851), Charles William (b.1851, died 1854 in infancy), Mary Emma (b.1855) and Charles Septimus (b.1857). By 1861, the family had at least seven surviving children.

Nathaniel was a miller by trade, but the family’s connection to the sea ran through Albert’s uncle, Charles Newrick (1807–1858), who had married Isabella Blythe in 1829. Isabella’s father, William Blythe (1788–1855), and her brother, Robert Robson Blythe (1822–1872), were both Master Mariners from Sunderland; William was also a shipowner. It was through the Blythe connection that Albert and his brother James found their way to the maritime world.

Albert’s eldest brother, James, entered the merchant service in September 1855, apprenticed at the age of sixteen aboard the Margaret, a vessel of about 247 tons. He would rise through the ranks, gaining his Certificate of Competency as Second Mate in January 1865 and as First Mate in September 1868. James married Julia Lewis in 1866 at St George in the East, in London’s docklands. He remained in the merchant service until his death at the Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital, Greenwich, in June 1896, aged fifty-seven. James story is told in the article James Frederick Newrick’s Life at Sea. Albert would follow a different path to the sea; through the shipyard.

Apprenticeship

By the time of the 1861 census, Albert was thirteen years old and already bound as a shipwright apprentice. His brother Aaron, aged eighteen, had followed their father into milling; James, at twenty-one, had already been at sea for six years; Joseph, at fifteen, was absent from the household, possibly apprenticed elsewhere. Two younger siblings, Mary Emma and Charles, were still children at home.

Sunderland in the 1860s was one of the world’s greatest shipbuilding centres. The River Wear was lined with yards, Laing’s, Doxford’s, Thompson’s, and many smaller concerns, turning out wooden and increasingly iron-hulled vessels for the merchant trades. A shipwright’s apprenticeship meant learning the practical craft of building ships: working with timber, iron, and the complex geometry of hull construction.

A shipwright apprenticeship typically lasted five to seven years, taking Albert through to about 1866 or 1868.  Here he acquired the skills of a ship’s carpenter, including caulking, structural repair, and an understanding of how a ship’s hull worked under stress.

Marriage and Life Ashore

In the fourth quarter of 1869, Albert married Mary Dent in the registration district of Sunderland. He was about twenty-one years old.

By 1871, Albert and Mary were living at Chapel Row, Shildon, County Durham. He was working as a joiner, and Mary was twenty years old.  They had a baby daughter, Charlotte Anna, who, it seems likely, was named after Albert’s mother, Charlotte.

Shildon was an inland railway town, not a port. It was the home of the Stockton and Darlington Railway’s works, and there would have been ample employment for a man with carpentry and woodworking skills. At this point in his life, Albert appeared settled: a young husband and father, working a skilled trade ashore, some distance from the sea.

However, the family had suffered loss by this time. Albert’s brother Joseph had died in 1870, aged just twenty-five, leaving a widow, Matilda Patterson. 

Going to Sea

Sometime between 1871 and 1878, Albert left his life ashore and went to sea as a ship’s carpenter. What prompted the change is not known. The agricultural depression of the 1870s affected inland towns; the pull of better wages at sea may have been a factor, or perhaps the example of his brother James, by then a certificated First Mate, drew him back to the sea.

A ship’s carpenter held a specialist and responsible position aboard a merchant vessel. He was not part of the deck or engine room hierarchy, but stood apart as a skilled tradesman charged with the ship’s structural integrity: maintaining the hull, decks, hatches, masts, and boats; sounding the bilges; caulking leaks; and making emergency repairs in heavy weather. On an iron vessel, the carpenter’s work also encompassed the wooden fittings, hatch covers and derrick gear.

Albert found employment with W. Milburn & Co. of Newcastle and London, one of the substantial tramp shipping firms based in the North East. The Milburn fleet operated iron cargo steamers across the world’s trade routes — to the Americas, to Australia via the Suez Canal, and wherever freight could be obtained. It was within this fleet that Albert would spend most of his years at sea, moving between vessels as the company’s needs and the trades demanded.

The SS Clandon 1878-1885

The SS Clandon (Official Number 77105) was an iron screw steamship built by Charles Mitchell & Co. at their Low Walker yard on the Tyne, Yard Number 358. She was launched on 4 April 1878 and completed the following month.

Her dimensions were 285.0 feet in length, 35.0 feet beam, and 24 feet depth of hold, with a gross tonnage of 1,970. She was powered by a compound inverted two-cylinder engine (32 and 62 inches in diameter, 42-inch stroke) rated at 200 nominal horsepower, built by R & W Hawthorn of Newcastle, driving a single screw. In addition to steam power, she was rigged as a half brigantine, carrying fore-and-aft sails as an auxiliary in case of engine failure.

Figure 1: There is no known photograph of the Clandon. The closest visual representation is probably the Tyne (1878) which had similar dimensions and tonnage.

The Clandon was registered on 29 May 1878 to Watts, Milburn & Co., London, and transferred in 1879 to W. Milburn & Co. At the time of her loss, her owner was Mr John Davison Milburn, shipowner, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, with Mr Milburn as the managing owner. She had cost about £30,000 to build.

During her construction, she was built under special survey at Lloyd’s, inspected three or four times a week by Mr Moverly, then Lloyd’s surveyor at Newcastle. Many of her plates were tested in his presence by bending and punching. The materials and workmanship were considered of the best quality, fully up to Lloyd’s requirements for a first-class ship.

She was classed 100 A1 from her launch and retained that classification until her loss. Her plating averaged 2/16ths thicker amidships than at the extremities, and on one or two strakes, 3/16ths thicker. She was treble-riveted amidships and double-riveted at the ends. She was built with five transverse bulkheads and was of the water-ballast type.

Her first master was Captain Dinsdale, who would later testify that she had carried two cargoes of grain and one of cotton across the Atlantic, and that on all occasions she had proved herself a good sea boat. She was, in the language of the day, an “ocean tramp”; a cargo vessel with no fixed routes, running between ports wherever freight could be found. Her trade took her across the Atlantic and far beyond.

The Cardenas Incident

The Clandon’s Atlantic trade was not without incident. In the summer of 1883, on a voyage from Montreal to Cardenas — the sugar port on the northern coast of Cuba — she ran aground at Cardenas. The casualty was reported to Lloyd’s by cable through Matanzas: the British steamer Clandon, from Montreal for Cardenas, had gone ashore, and attempts were being made to get her off. The Board of Trade’s register of wrecks and casualties recorded the stranding against her official number, 77105, and closed the file that June.

The attempts to refloat her evidently succeeded. She was got off, repaired, and returned to service, retaining her 100 A1 classification to the end. 

That is the ship’s record, from her launch on the Tyne to the eve of her last voyage. Albert Newrick’s part in it begins earlier, in the autumn of 1880, with a crew agreement signed in London.

Figure 2: The Board of Trade register of wrecks and casualties. Official number 77105 appears twice — the 1883 stranding at Cardenas, reported by cable via Matanzas, from which she was refloated; and, lower, the 1885 loss with all hands, noted among the missing vessels on 10 April 1885.

1880–1881: Albert Newrick’s Eastern Voyage

On 4 November 1880, Albert Newrick signed the crew agreement for the SS Clandon in London. He was thirty-two years old. His previous ship was recorded as the Clandon herself; he was not joining fresh but rolling over from an earlier agreement, having already served aboard her for at least one previous voyage and possibly since her maiden year of 1878. He signed on as a carpenter at six pounds per month.

SS Clandon
Figure 3: The 1881 Crew Agreement.

The agreement, signed by Captain Ralph P. Walton of Sunderland, gave the Clandon liberty to trade from London to Cardiff and thence to Malta, the Mediterranean and Black Seas, the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, the Indian and China Seas, the Cape and Australian Colonies, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and the coasts of the Americas; a standard worldwide tramping charter, not exceeding three years. An additional clause provided that all hands would receive an extra two pounds per month while employed to the eastward of Suez. This was a bonus that would be earned.

The crew that assembled in London in early November was international, typical of the merchant service. Alongside Albert from Sunderland, the Mate J. Harvey from Sunderland, and the 2nd Mate Wm. Frank Reynolds from Cardiff, there was a Boatswain and five Able Seamen from Malta — Frank Bonello, Salvatore Ferrugia, John Shambrey, Joseph Caparo, Richard Mousie, and the brothers G.E. and Joseph Portelli — a seaman from Elsinore in Denmark, one from Dominica, a Donkeyman from Stockholm, and engineers from Maryport, Manchester, and Glasgow.

Twenty men signed on at London on 4 and 5 November, and the voyage commenced on the 5th. From London, the SS Clandon proceeded to Cardiff, almost certainly to load coal; South Wales steam coal being the standard outward cargo for tramp steamers bound east. She then set course for the Mediterranean.

Through the Canal

The consular certificates stamped on the crew agreement record the ship’s progress with bureaucratic precision. On 3 December 1880, the agreement was deposited and returned at the British Consulate in Port Said, at the northern entrance to the Suez Canal. Three days later, on 6 December, the ship arrived at Suez at the canal’s southern end. The transit had taken the standard three days.

From Suez, the Clandon entered the Red Sea. Eight days later, on 14 December 1880, she arrived at Jeddah, the ancient port on the Arabian coast that served as the gateway to the holy city of Mecca.

The Pilgrim Trade

At Jeddah, the nature of the voyage becomes clear. The British Consul’s certificate records that Richard Mousie, Able Seaman, was discharged and left behind on the grounds of sickness. The Consul investigated, found the grounds genuine, paid Mousie his wages of four pounds six shillings, delivered his effects, and made arrangements to send him home to Malta at the ship’s expense.

But it is the Singapore certificate, dated 20 January 1881, that reveals what the Clandon was doing in those waters. The 2nd Mate, William Frank Reynolds, was left behind at Singapore in hospital, suffering from “smallpox sustained while employed on board in the Pilgrim trade.”

The Clandon was carrying Hajj pilgrims. The annual pilgrimage to Mecca drew tens of thousands of Muslims from across Southeast Asia, from the Malay Peninsula, the Dutch East Indies, British India, and beyond, to Jeddah and back. The return traffic, carrying pilgrims home after the Hajj, ran through December and January. British and Dutch cargo steamers were routinely hired into this trade for the season, their holds temporarily converted to carry human passengers in conditions that were often overcrowded and insanitary. Smallpox outbreaks were a known and feared hazard. Quarantine regulations existed, but enforcement was uneven, and the pilgrim ships were notorious for violating them.

Singapore and Rangoon

The Clandon cleared Jeddah on 18 December 1880 and, with her pilgrim passengers, crossed the Indian Ocean to Singapore, arriving by mid-January 1881. It was here that the smallpox struck the 2nd Mate. Reynolds was hospitalised ashore; the ship’s agents, Messrs John Meyer & Co., guaranteed his expenses and passage home. His wages were settled partly in sterling and partly in Singapore dollars.

Singapore brought further trouble. A crew member named William Lake, who had joined at an intermediate port, was discharged on the grounds of imprisonment. Whether this was a local criminal matter or a shipboard offence referred to the authorities is not recorded. Two replacement seamen, Thomas Taylor and Robert Bevan, were signed on at Singapore to fill the gaps in the crew.

From Singapore, the Clandon proceeded to Rangoon, arriving by 2 February 1881. The agreement was deposited at the Mercantile Marine Office there and returned on 15 February. Rangoon, modern Yangon, was one of the great rice-exporting ports of the British Empire, so the Clandon was probably loading rice for the homeward voyage. This was a pattern typical of a tramp steamer of the period: coal outward from Cardiff, pilgrims from Jeddah to Singapore and rice homeward from Rangoon.

Homeward

The homeward voyage took the Clandon back through the Indian Ocean, the Suez Canal, and into the Mediterranean. On 21 March 1881, she called at Malta, where the Boatswain Frank Bonello and the Able Seaman Salvatore Ferrugia were discharged by mutual consent; Maltese men stepping off at their home island, as had plainly been arranged. Two replacements, Michele Abela and Natale Randich, signed on for the remaining leg. The certificate was issued by Edward Cassolani, Superintendent of the Ports at Malta.

On the night of Sunday, 3 April 1881, a census was taken of all persons in England and Wales, including those aboard merchant vessels. Albert Newrick appears on the return for the Clandon (RG 11/5286), listed as entry number 3: “A. Newrick, Married, aged 32, Carpenter, born Sunderland, Durham.” The ship was at sea, nearing home. Albert was the only man listed as married among the first fifteen entries. Somewhere ashore, Mary and young Charlotte Anna were waiting for him.

On 10 April 1881, the Clandon arrived at Liverpool, and the crew was discharged. Albert received a balance of wages of 12 pounds, 4 shillings, and 5 pence. His character was recorded as Very Good for both General Conduct and Ability in Seamanship; the highest marks a merchant seaman could receive. Captain Walton, who had commanded the ship throughout, remained aboard for the next agreement.

1881: The Huntingdon

Albert did not stay long ashore. Less than four months after his discharge at Liverpool, on 29 July 1881, he appears on the inward crew list of the SS Huntingdon (Official Number 82874), arriving at Sydney, New South Wales, from Melbourne. He is listed as “Albert Newrick, Carpenter, aged 34, Sunderland.” The Huntingdon was a newly built steamer of 1,464 tons, registered in London, under the command of Captain William John Haynes, with a crew of twenty-six.

The Huntingdon appears in contemporary shipping notices alongside other vessels managed by W. Milburn & Co. from their offices at Billiter-avenue, London, trading to Australia via the Suez Canal. Albert had not left the Milburn fleet; he had simply moved between the company’s ships, as merchant seamen routinely did. 

At this point in his career, Albert was a skilled tradesman employed within a fleet, moving between vessels worldwide as opportunities arose. The Milburn company operated their tramps on whatever routes offered freight: the North Atlantic grain trade, the Australian run, the pilgrim traffic, and routes to the Far East and beyond. Albert’s world was not one ship but many, and his horizons were not the North Sea but the oceans.

1881–1884: The Middle Years

Between his appearance on the Huntingdon in July 1881 and his return to the Clandon in October 1884, Albert’s movements are only partly known. When he signed on the Clandon at North Shields on 28 October 1884, his previous ship was recorded not as the Huntingdon but as the Marcia, of London. There may have been other vessels in between; the Marcia was simply the last before his return to the Clandon.

There are several vessels named Marcia, but only one fits: an iron screw steamer, Official Number 70611, registered at London, built in 1874 and of about 1,060 tons gross. She was the sole London steamer of the name afloat in the years Albert was at sea.

Whether she was a Milburn vessel is less certain. She does not appear in the surviving lists of Milburn ships, and neither her name nor her modest tonnage fits the company’s pattern of the 1880s; this suggests that the Marcia, unlike the Clandon and the Huntingdon, belonged to another owner. The registered ownership can only be confirmed by physically inspecting her Board of Trade registration file, but on the evidence so far, Albert’s last berth before he returned to the Clandon appears to have lain outside the Milburn fleet.

What is clear is that Albert remained at sea throughout this period. He was a career ship’s carpenter by now, a man in his mid-thirties with at least six years of deep-sea service behind him.  The Marcia was simply one more ship in a working life that took him wherever the freight trades led.

1884: The Penultimate Voyage

On 28 October 1884, Albert Newrick signed the crew agreement for the Clandon at North Shields. He was thirty-six years old. The master was Captain Thomas Pittick, aged thirty-four, who had succeeded Ralph Walton at some point during the intervening years. The agreement was for a voyage from the Tyne to Newport News, Virginia, and thence to any port within seventy-two degrees North and sixty degrees South latitude.  This was another worldwide tramping charter, not exceeding three years.

The crew that assembled at North Shields in late October 1884 included several men who would remain with the ship to the end. William George Kirkaldy, aged thirty-five, of London, signed on as Mate. John Hunter, forty-nine, of Forfar, was 2nd Mate. L.H. Nicholson, just twenty, of Leeds, was 3rd Mate. Daniel Woowat, thirty-four, signed as Cook. John George Thoburn, twenty-six, of North Shields, was 2nd Engineer, and John Scholfield, twenty-six, of Newcastle, was 3rd Engineer.

The Able Seamen were an international crew: men from Birkenhead, Germany, Sweden, Norway, and Shetland, drawn from a dozen different ships.

Albert’s wages had fallen since 1881, from six pounds to five pounds ten shillings per month. The early 1880s had been hard years for the merchant shipping trade; freight rates were depressed, and seamen’s wages had fallen with them. But the Carpenter still earned more than the 3rd Mate and well above the Able Seamen at three pounds ten shillings. 

The Clandon sailed from North Shields on 29 October. By 22 November, she was in New York, where the crew agreement was deposited at the British Consulate General and returned on the 29th. She then proceeded to Newport News to load cargo before recrossing the Atlantic to Avonmouth, where the crew was discharged on 22 December 1884.

Albert signed the discharge, with what may be the last record of his signature. He received a balance of six pounds five shillings and eightpence halfpenny. Captain Pittick did not discharge but remained aboard.

SS Clandon
Figure 4: A page of the 1884 Crew Agreement showing Albert’s signature.

It was three days before Christmas. Albert had been paid off at Avonmouth, far from Sunderland. Whether he travelled home to see Mary and Charlotte Anna, or stayed near the ship is not known. The turnaround was tight. Within weeks, the Clandon would be in New York again, loading for her final voyage.

The SS Clandon’s Final Voyage

Albert’s discharge at Avonmouth on 22 December 1884 gave him only the briefest spell ashore. Five days later, on 27 December, he signed on again for the Clandon at Newport, in Monmouthshire, where the ship had moved round to load. The new agreement, signed by Captain Thomas Pittick as master, was for a voyage from Newport to New York and thence to any port within seventy-five degrees North and sixty degrees South latitude, to end in the United Kingdom, with a maximum term of one year. It was the familiar worldwide tramping charter, and it carried the master’s standard endorsement: no spirits allowed.

Much of the crew signed at Newport in the days after Christmas, and many were Newport men, or men lodging in the town. Albert’s address on the agreement was given as 4 Mill Side, Newport — the same address entered for Arthur Williams, the ship’s cook. Whether this was a genuine lodging or one of the boarding-house addresses that seamen so often gave in place of a home is impossible to say. But it suggests that Albert spent that last Christmas not in Sunderland with Mary and the children, but in the Welsh coal port beside his ship. 

The Clandon sailed from Newport on 28 December 1884 and crossed to New York, arriving in January 1885, where she began loading for the homeward voyage to Leith. She was under the command of Captain Pittick.

She had loaded a large and varied cargo for the Atlantic crossing to Leith: 23,333 bushels of wheat, 25,541 bushels of corn, 10,343 sacks of flour, 1,000 barrels of sugar, 790 cases of canned goods, 200 barrels of lubricating oil, 2,400 staves, 68 packages of woodware, 40 packages of manufactured wood, 1 package of hardware, 4 packages of furniture, 16 wheels, 8 cases of agricultural implements, 227,887 pounds of lard, 1 case of drugs, 131,168 pounds of tallow, 100 barrels of pork, and 45 bags of clover seed.

In all, she carried 2,394 tons of cargo, 74 tons of dunnage, 30 tons of stores, and about 300 tons of coal; a total dead weight of 2,798 tons, some 42 per cent above her gross tonnage. Her draft on leaving, as recorded in the official notice left by the captain with the British Consul at New York, was 21 feet 3 inches forward and aft, giving a freeboard of about 5 feet 6 inches. In salt water, with the ashes and ice on board consumed, she would have risen a few inches, giving a freeboard of about 5 feet 9 or 10 inches — just within the limits prescribed by Lloyd’s and the Board of Trade for a winter North Atlantic crossing. She was, as the subsequent inquiry would note, as deeply laden as she could be with safety to those on board.

The crew numbered 27 hands all told. 

The New York Crew

The complement that finally carried the SS Clandon to sea was not quite the crew that had signed at Newport. New York, a great port, with higher wages to be had on American ships and a constant demand for hands, was notorious for tempting men to desert, and the Clandon lost several.

On 16 January 1885, two able seamen slipped the ship at New York: Antonio Ferrari, aged thirty-two, of Trieste, who had joined from the Austin Friars, and Lewis Beale, aged forty-six, late of the Universal. Two others who had signed at Newport — the able seaman M. Bargross, a Greek, and the fireman James Bunnion of Sunderland — are marked in the account as having failed to join at all.  The first engineer, Arthur Petton of North Shields, had been discharged sick at Newport on 23 December, before the ship even crossed, leaving her to make the Atlantic passage with only her second and third engineers.

To fill the gaps in the forecastle, two able seamen were engaged at New York on 22 January 1885: A.G. Olsson, aged twenty-three, and K.A. Lundgren, aged twenty, both signing on from the Burswell of Newcastle. They joined the ship two days before she sailed.

Whatever chance, or trouble, or better offer drew the deserters off the ship saved their lives; and whatever need drove the two replacements aboard cost them theirs, forty-eight hours later, when the Clandon put to sea for the last time.

Figure 5: List C, the Account of Crew delivered at the end of the voyage. Antonio Ferrari and Lewis Beale are marked “deserted” at New York on 16 January 1885; M. Bargross “did not join”; and the first engineer, Arthur Petton, was discharged sick at Newport.

Before sailing, the vessel was surveyed by Mr Jenkins, the marine surveyor to the Bureau of Inspection of the Board of Underwriters at New York, who found her fit for the voyage. Mr McCaldin fitted her for the reception of her cargo. The stevedore, Mr Hogan, oversaw the loading. Mr Chapman, the pilot, took her to sea. All would later testify that she left in a thoroughly good and efficient state.

On 24 January 1885, the pilot left her outside the bar at Sandy Hook, at about one or half past one in the afternoon. The Clandon headed out into the North Atlantic, bound for Leith. She was due to arrive on or about 14 February.

Three Missing Steamers

Terrible gales struck the North Atlantic between 28 January and 1 February 1885. It had been hoped that the overdue vessels might have put into Fayal in the Azores for shelter. But the steamer Cremona, arriving at Liverpool after coaling at Fayal on the 16th of February, brought no news of any of the missing craft.

By late February, the fears were turning to certainty. On 23 February, the North British Daily Mail in Glasgow reported that the Clandon, twelve days overdue at Leith, was supposed to be lost in the Atlantic with all hands. The agents at Leith had received no news of her since she left New York. Seventy-five guineas had already been paid for re-insurance on the steamer.

SS Clandon
Figure 6: Newspaper report — San Francisco Chronicle, California, Wednesday 25 February 1885.

On 25 February, the Dumbarton Herald carried the news among its shipping disasters: “Among other casualties mentioned is the supposed foundering of the Clandon, a large ocean steamer bound for Leith. The steamship Preston, of West Hartlepool, is also thought to have gone to the bottom with all hands.”

On 28 February, the St James’s Gazette in London listed five overdue Atlantic steamers by name: the Guiston, the Preston, the Fernwood, the Hundard, and the Clandon. Three of them were owned by Messrs William Milburn and Co. of London. Their total value, including freight, was nearly 500,000 pounds. Their crews would number two hundred men in all.

The New-York Tribune reported from the American side that, in all probability, the officers and crews of at least three ocean steamers that sailed from New York the previous month would never relate their experiences. The story was picked up by newspapers across the United States, including the San Francisco Chronicle on 25 February.

By mid-March, the shipping agents and underwriters had reached a final conclusion. The Aberdeen Weekly Journalreported on 14 March under the headline “Loss of Four Steamers: One Hundred Men Missing.” Mr Spence, of the agents Simpson, Spence & Young, offered his opinion: the steamers, running at eight or nine knots during the fearfully tempestuous week ending 31 January, had likely disabled their steering gear and, broaching to, were left with all on board to the mercy of the waves.

No wreckage from the Clandon was ever reported to have been found, and no bodies were recovered.

The Inquiry

On 13 June 1885, a formal investigation was held at the Sessions House, Westminster, under the authority of the Merchant Shipping Acts, before H.C. Rothery, Esquire, Wreck Commissioner, assisted by Captain C.Y. Ward, Captain James Kiddle, R.N., and W.B. Robinson, Esquire, Chief Constructor R.N., as Assessors. The case was numbered 2577.

Mr Mansel Jones appeared for the Board of Trade. Mr Roche appeared for the owners. Four witnesses were examined by the Board of Trade, and the depositions of five witnesses taken at New York were produced and read. Mr Roche produced four further witnesses from New York, Newcastle, Liverpool, and Newport. The Fernwood inquiry, involving the same owners, the same dimensions, the same port, and a departure only two days earlier, had been heard immediately before. Mr Mansel Jones noted that the evidence applicable to one was, for the most part, equally applicable to the other.

The Court examined Clandon’s construction, her condition when she left New York, whether she was overladen, whether she had sufficient stability, and the insurance effected upon her. On every point, the evidence was satisfactory. She had been built under special survey at Lloyd’s, classed 100 A1, and had retained that classification until her loss. Her plating was thicker amidships than the minimum required, treble-riveted at the centre and double-riveted at the ends. Her boilers, built by Messrs Hawthorn of Newcastle, were seated so securely that even if the vessel had turned bottom up, they would not have become unseated. She was properly stowed, not overladen, though as deeply laden as she safely could be, and her stability was considered sufficient.

Mr Milburn had valued her at £22,000, about £11 per ton on the gross tonnage. She was insured for that amount: £11,210 at Lloyd’s, £6,120 in Mutual Clubs, and £4,670 by the owners themselves. The Commissioner noted with satisfaction that, unlike in the Fernwood case, the owners had insured her at what appeared to be a fair value and had taken a large portion of the risk themselves.

The Verdict

The Court’s verdict was clear. The newspapers had blamed the January storms. The shipping agents had spoken of disabled steering gear, and vessels left to the mercy of the waves. But the Wreck Commissioner, having heard the evidence of ice and icebergs in the North Atlantic lying across the course the SS Clandon would naturally have taken, reached a different conclusion: “The only conclusion to which we can come is that she may have come into collision with some of these icefields or icebergs and have foundered.”

The Dead

The Register of Deaths of Masters and Seamen in British Merchant Vessels (BT 334) records the official deaths of the SS Clandon’s crew for the half year ending 30 June 1885. The cause of death for every man is entered as “D.W.”: Drowned and the place of death as “Sea.” The official date of death is given as 24 January 1885, the day the pilot left her at Sandy Hook. This is an administrative date, the last date the vessel could be accounted for, rather than the actual moment of loss, which came sometime in the days that followed.

Albert Newrick appears at line 16, page 410, sheet 1193: “A. Newrick, aged 36, Carpenter, D.W., Sea.”

The register names twenty-seven men. The youngest was W. Penfold, aged just sixteen. The full complement, as recorded in the death register, was: T. Pittick (Master, aged 30); Wm. G. Kirkaldy (1st Mate, 36); John Hunter (2nd Mate); L.H. Nicholson (3rd Mate, 20); J. Wright (Boatswain, 32); A. Newrick (Carpenter, 36); Daniel Woowat (Steward, 34); Arthur Williams (Cook, 22); Joseph Furness (A.B., 40); William Howard (A.B., 23); Henry Sykes (A.B., 34); H. Jones (A.B., 29); John McAlister (A.B., 27); A.G. Olsson (A.B., 23); K.A. Lundgren (A.B., 20); J. Powell (A.B.); Jno. Geo. Thoburn (2nd Engineer, 26); John Scholfield (3rd Engineer, 26); E.F. Nelson (Donkeyman, 25); W. Fisher (Fireman, 35); John Vernica (Fireman, 31); Michael Kavanagh (Fireman, 29); Alexander Grassie (Fireman, 21); William Makarovsky (Fireman, 24); W. Penfold (16); W. Haswell; J. Sutton (Fireman).

Aftermath

Albert’s wife, Mary, and their six children survived him. The youngest, Lily Marion, had been born in March 1884 and was not yet a year old when her father sailed from New York for the last time. She would have had no memory of him.

Charlotte Anna, the eldest, was about fifteen at the time of the loss. She later married George Walker and lived until 1932. Joseph Maddy, the eldest son, born in 1872 and named after Albert’s brother, Joseph Maddy Newrick, entered the marine engineering trade. By 1921 he was working as Foreman Marine Engineer at Messrs G. Clark, Southwick Engine Works, Sunderland, one of the Wear’s foremost marine engine builders, living with his wife Isabella at 68 Ormonde Street. He died in 1941. Ada, born in 1874, married Daniel Krimpen and lived until 1954. Jane Anne Atkinson, born in 1879, married John Humble and died in 1944.

John James, born around 1875, followed his father towards the sea, though through the engine room rather than the carpenter’s shop. A newspaper notice of the marine engineers’ examinations held at North Shields records him as one of the successful candidates for a 2nd– class certificate in July 1900. By 1911, however, he is recorded as an inmate at Sunderland Borough Lunatic Asylum at Cherry Knowle, Ryhope, aged thirty-four, with his occupation given as “formerly Engineer.” What brought him there is not known. He died in 1925.

Lily Marion, the youngest, married William Davison Ramsay in New Zealand in 1906, having emigrated from Sunderland sometime after the 1901 census. She died at Linwood, Christchurch, on 2 August 1920, aged thirty-six, with her youngest child not yet two years old.

Mary Dent survived her husband by forty-four years, dying in 1929.

The Milburn company itself had suffered a catastrophic loss. In the space of weeks, W. Milburn & Co. lost the Clandon, the Fernwood, and the Coniston; three steamers and the best part of a hundred men. The Plainmeller, another Milburn vessel of similar dimensions, would also go missing the following year. Despite the losses, the company carried on. The ocean tramp trade  required ships and men, and there was no shortage of either in the ports of the North East in the 1880s.

Figure 7: The erecting shop at George Clark’s Southwick Works, Sunderland, photographed in the early years of the works. Joseph Maddy Newrick worked here as Foreman Marine Engineer in 1921. Photograph preserved by Thomas Olsson, formerly draughtsman at the works.

Sources

Crew Agreements

  • SS Clandon (ON 77105), Crew Agreement 1880–1881. Maritime History Archive, Memorial University of Newfoundland. Agreement commenced in London, 5 November 1880; terminated in Liverpool, 10 April 1881. Master: Ralph P. Walton. Albert Newrick, Carpenter, entry 4.
  • SS Clandon (ON 77105), Crew Agreement 1884. Maritime History Archive, Memorial University of Newfoundland. Agreement commenced at North Shields, 29 October 1884; terminated at Avonmouth, 22 December 1884. Master: Thomas Pittick. Albert Newrick, Carpenter, entry 5.
  • SS Clandon (ON 77105), Agreement and Account of Crew (Foreign-Going Ship, Form Eng.1) and Account of Crew (List C), final voyage. Office copy forwarded to the Registrar General of Seamen. Signed at Newport, 27 December 1884; sailed 28 December 1884; New York to Leith, 24 January 1885. Records the master (T. Pittick, aged 34, of Essex), the crew’s Newport addresses, desertions of two able seamen at New York (16 January 1885), the first engineer discharged sick at Newport (23 December 1884), and two able seamen engaged at New York (22 January 1885).

Census Records

  • 1851 Census: HO 107/2395, Bishopwearmouth, St Michael’s Parish Church, Sunderland. Entry 95, 19 South Johnson Street.
  • 1861 Census: RG 9/3766, Bishopwearmouth, Sunderland. Entry 106.
  • 1871 Census: RG 10/4928, Shildon, County Durham. Entry 174, Chapel Row.
  • 1881 Census: RG 11/5286, aboard SS Clandon, at sea. Entry 3.
  • 1911 Census: RG 14, Bishopwearmouth and Ryhope, ED 12–13, Piece 30259. John James Newrick, inmate, aged 34, formerly Engineer, born Bishop Auckland, Durham. Sunderland Borough Lunatic Asylum, Cherry Knowle, Ryhope.

Marriage Record

GRO Marriage Index: Albert Newrick, Q4 1869, Sunderland registration district, Volume 10a, Page 712.

Death Records

  • Register of Deaths of Masters and Seamen in British Merchant Vessels, half year ending 30 June 1885 (BT 334). FHL Film 1483317, sheet 1193, page 410, line 16.
  • Great Britain, Select Deaths and Burials, 1778–1988: A. Newrick, aged 36, death date 24 January 1885, Merchant Marine, At Sea.

Board of Trade Inquiry

Formal Investigation No. 2577: “Clandon” (S.S.), The Merchant Shipping Acts, 1854 to 1876. Sessions House, Westminster, 13 June 1885. Before H.C. Rothery, Wreck Commissioner. L. 367. 2354. 180.—6/85. Wt. 408. E. & S.

Board of Trade Casualty Registers

Board of Trade / Registry of Shipping and Seamen, Registers of Wrecks and Casualties: SS Clandon, ON 77105, London. Stranding at Cardenas, reported by cable via Matanzas, 1883 (vessel refloated and returned to service); loss with all hands, entered among “Missing Vessels”, 10 April 1885, twenty-seven crew lost. Managing owner J.D. Milburn, Newcastle.

Vessel Records

  • Tyne Built Ships: SS Clandon, Charles Mitchell & Co, Low Walker, Yard No. 358, ON 77105.
  • Tyne Built Ships: SS Burswell (1878), the vessel from which A.G. Olsson and K.A. Lundgren joined the Clandon at New York.
  • Crew List Index Project (CLIP)SS Clandon, ON 77105, crew agreements 1878–1884 held at Maritime History Archive, Newfoundland.
  • Crew List Index Project (CLIP): Huntingdon, ON 82874, London, Steam, 1,464 tons, built 1881. TNA registration record BT 110/150/46 (not yet digitised).

Australian Records

New South Wales, Australia, Unassisted Immigrant Passenger Lists, 1826–1922: SS Huntingdon, Melbourne to Sydney, arrived 29 July 1881. Albert Newrick, Carpenter, aged 34, Sunderland.

Newspaper Reports

  • “Supposed Loss of an Atlantic Steamer and All Hands,” North British Daily Mail, Monday 23 February 1885.
  • “Ocean Tramps Believed to Be Lost,” New-York Tribune, Tuesday 24 February 1885.
  • “Trade Notes: Shipping Disasters,” Dumbarton Herald and County Advertiser, Wednesday 25 February 1885.
  • “Missing Steamers,” St James’s Gazette, London, Saturday 28 February 1885.
  • “Three Missing Steamers,” San Francisco Chronicle, Wednesday 25 February 1885, page 3.
  • “Loss of Four Steamers: One Hundred Men Missing,” Aberdeen Weekly Journal, Saturday 14 March 1885, page 6.
  • “Feared Loss of a Liverpool Steamer and 28 Lives,” Liverpool Mercury, Thursday 12 March 1885 (SS Coniston crew list).
  • “Marine Engineers’ Examinations at North Shields,” Shields Daily Gazette, Friday 7 July 1900. John J. Newrick named among successful candidates for 2nd class certificate.

Consular Certificates (from Crew Agreements)

  • H.B.M.’s Consulate, Port Said: Agreement deposited and returned, 3 December 1880.
  • H.B.M.’s Consulate, Suez: Ship arrived 6 December 1880.
  • British Consulate, Jeddah: Steamer entered 14 December 1880; cleared 18 December 1880. R. Mousie discharged sick; repatriation to Malta arranged.
  • Shipping Office, Singapore: 20–26 January 1881. Wm. Reynolds hospitalised (smallpox, pilgrim trade); Wm. Lake discharged (imprisonment); Thos. Taylor and Robt. Bevan engaged.
  • Mercantile Marine Office, Rangoon: Agreement deposited 2 February 1881; returned 15 February 1881.
  • Port Department, Malta: 21 March 1881. Frank Bonello and Salvatore Farrugia discharged (mutual consent); Michele Abela and Natale Randich engaged. Signed: Edw. Cassolani, Superintendent of the Ports.
  • British Consulate General, New York: Agreement deposited 22 November 1884; returned 29 November 1884.

Researched by Nigel Williams.

Albert Newrick was a first cousin five times removed of the writer, through his mother, Yvonne Patricia Newrick (1941–2024).

Brigadier Duncan Brown, CBE, MC (1896-1946)

Royal Army Ordnance Corps.

Commander of the British Empire Medal

Introduction – The Ordnance Family

My great-grandfather George Newrick (1894-1968) worked as an engineer at Woolwich Arsenal and moved to Blackburn to help establish the new Royal Ordnance Factory (ROF) Blackburn in the late 1930s.  He was awarded the MBE for his work there in 1958.  His son, my grandfather, George William Newrick (1915-2004), also worked at Woolwich Arsenal.

Four generations earlier, the Newricks were living in the North East of England, and my 3rd great-aunt Elizabeth Newrick (1835-1926) married Thomas Dixon Brown (1831-1902), a Foreman Fitter from Bishopwearmouth. Thomas moved south to work at the ‘Royal Gun Factory’ (Woolwich Arsenal) and raised two sons who both became Chief Inspectors of Ordnance Machinery for the British Army during WWI.  Frank Brown was appointed in December 1914, and his brother Oscar in December 1915. Those sons in turn raised two Brigadiers, Duncan in the RAOC and Cecil in the Royal Marine Artillery.

By a curious coincidence, Brigadier Duncan Brown died in Victoria Hospital, Deal, Kent, where my mother, Yvonne Patricia Newrick, had her last spell in hospital before her death in 2024.  He was buried at the Churchyard of the Blessed Mary, Walmer, near Deal, known locally as ‘Old St. Mary’s ’, which is located just a few hundred yards from where I lived in as a boy in the 1960s and early 1970s.  This is Brigadier Brown’s story.

Early Life

Duncan Brown was born on 27 August 1896 in Karachi, Sindh, India (now Pakistan). He was the eldest son of Oscar Brown of the Army Ordnance Department and his wife Alice Mary Ann Stephenson. 

Duncan’s grandfather, Thomas Dixon Brown (1831–1902), was an engineer originally from Bishopwearmouth, Durham, who worked as a Foreman Fitter in the Royal Gun Factory at the Royal Arsenal, Woolwich, the heart of British weapons manufacture. Thomas married Elizabeth Newrick (1835–1926), whose own family became closely associated with the manufacture of ordnance. Elizabeth’s grandnephew, Charles Owen Newrick (1855–1911), was a munitions fitter at the Royal Arsenal, and Charles’s son George Newrick (1894–1968) would later be awarded the MBE for his work helping to establish the Royal Ordnance Factory at Blackburn during the Second World War. 

Thomas and Elizabeth’s two sons both entered the Army Ordnance Department as officers, each with six years’ prior regimental service. The elder, Frank Brown (1862–1944), a Member of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers, rose to Lieutenant-Colonel and received the OBE. He progressed through the ranks of Inspector of Ordnance Machinery and was appointed Chief Inspector of Ordnance Machinery on 8 December 1914, barely four months after the outbreak of war.

Duncan Brown’s Father

The younger brother, Oscar Brown (8 November 1864–1932), Duncan’s father, followed a parallel path: Inspector of Ordnance Machinery 2nd Class from 1897, 1st Class from 1906, and temporary Chief Inspector from 31 December 1915 before being confirmed in the post on 20 February 1917. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Order that same year. As Chief Inspectors, the two brothers were jointly responsible for ensuring that the Army’s heavy weapons and the machinery used to manufacture them were properly designed, inspected, and fit for service — a remarkable concentration of expertise within a single family.

Oscar’s career took his growing family across the breadth of the British Empire. Duncan’s younger brothers were born in a succession of imperial postings: Stuart in Colombo, Ceylon, in 1901; Ivor Granville in Queenstown, Cork, around 1906; and Mervyn in Hong Kong around 1910. By 1911, Alice had borne seven children, of whom six survived — suggesting at least one sibling died in infancy, a common sorrow among families following the flag to tropical stations.

By 1911, with Oscar now a Major stationed near Dover, the family was settled at Roslyn, Salisbury Road, in the town. Duncan, then fourteen, was a pupil at Dover College, the school perched above the harbour whose buildings had once formed the Priory of St Martin. From Dover College, he proceeded to the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich. This was the same Arsenal complex where his grandfather had worked as a fitter in the Gun Factory. He joined in 1914 as war engulfed Europe.

The First World War

Duncan was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Garrison Artillery, Special Reserve of Officers, on 27 August 1915, his nineteenth birthday. He was posted to the 91st Anti-Aircraft Battery, Royal Field Artillery, and in September 1915 crossed to France with the British Expeditionary Force. He served on the Western Front in France and Belgium until 16 October 1916, when he returned to England.

His second deployment came in October 1917, this time as an Acting Captain attached to a Territorial Force Royal Artillery unit. He served continuously until the Armistice in November 1918, and was promoted to Acting Major on 25 October 1918, just weeks before the guns fell silent. During this second tour, he was wounded twice — both wounds occurring in the intense fighting of 1918, the year of the German Spring Offensive and the Allied Hundred Days. His Army List entry carried the double wound marker (××), official confirmation of his injuries.

For his services, he was Mentioned in Despatches, gazetted on 7 July 1919, and was awarded the Military Cross — one of eighty-nine Old Dovorians to receive that decoration during the Great War.

Duncan Brown was not the only member of his generation to serve. His younger brother Stuart (1901–1971) joined the Royal Navy, qualifying as a Torpedo Officer and serving aboard HMS Enterprise among other ships; by the Second World War he had risen to Acting Commander. His cousin Cecil Thomas Brown (1894–1942), son of Uncle Frank, was commissioned into the Royal Marine Artillery in November 1914 and served aboard several capital ships during the war. Cecil was appointed OBE for his command of HMS Glory‘s Royal Marine detachment during the Allied intervention in North Russia in 1918–19. 

Between the Wars: Iraq and Kurdistan

Duncan’s war did not end with the Armistice. In 1919–20, he took part in operations in Mesopotamia (Iraq), for which he received the Iraq Medal with clasp. He relinquished his Acting Major rank in July 1919 and, after a period of peacetime soldiering, joined the Royal Army Ordnance Corps in 1923.

The year before, on a Wednesday in late July or early August 1922, he had married Miss Hilda Edith Birch at the Church of St Peter and St Paul, River, near Dover. Hilda was the daughter of Edwin Birch, an Assistant Overseer and Rate Collector, and his wife Edith Rebecca, of “Beechgrove,” Kearsney, Dover. The couple had met through the Dover connection — Duncan’s years at Dover College and the Brown family’s residence in the town. The 1921 Census had captured him as a “visitor” at the Birch family home, a young officer courting the daughter of the house. His best man was Lieutenant Gordon Brown, R.N., a relative serving in the Royal Navy.

Royal Air Force Service

On 14 October 1927, now a Major in the RAOC, Duncan was seconded to the Royal Air Force in the Middle East as a Temporary Ordnance Officer, 3rd Class. From 9 September 1929, he served with the Iraq Army as Inspector of Ordnance Services. It was in this role that he saw what would prove to be the most distinctive active service of his inter-war career.

From March to July 1932, Duncan took part in operations in the Barzan area of Northern Kurdistan, aimed at suppressing the revolt of Sheikh Ahmed of Barzan, a Kurdish tribal and religious leader who had risen against the Iraqi government. The operations covered a wide area from Diana to Erbil, Aqra, and Suri, extending north to the Turkish frontier. No British Army units were present as formed bodies; British personnel served with Iraqi forces, making those who qualified for campaign awards a particularly small group. Brown’s ordnance expertise was called upon in difficult mountain terrain far from established supply lines.

For these services, he received a rare combination of honours: the clasp “Northern Kurdistan” to his General Service Medal, one of only a small handful of Army recipients, and the Iraq Active Service Medal with clasp “Barzan 1932,” of which only nine British servicemen were recipients. The Iraqi government awarded him the 4th Class of the Order of Al Rafidain, gazetted in the London Gazette on 20 January 1933. His father, Colonel Oscar Brown DSO, died that same year, 1932, having last been recorded living at The Thatch, Dolvin Road, Tavistock, Devon.

The Second World War

Duncan was promoted to substantive Lieutenant-Colonel on 6 June 1939, three months before the outbreak of war. On 24 October 1939, he was appointed Assistant Director of Ordnance Services at the War Office in London, where he served through the fall of France, the Blitz, and the vast expansion of Britain’s wartime forces. He was promoted to Acting Colonel in March 1940 and Temporary Colonel that September.

In August 1941, he was appointed Deputy Director of Workshop Services at the War Office, a key role overseeing ‘the maintenance and repair of warlike equipment’. With this appointment came the rank of Acting Brigadier, confirmed as Temporary Brigadier in February 1942. From October 1942 to March 1944, he served as Deputy Director of Ordnance Services with Anti-Aircraft Command, responsible for ordnance supply to Britain’s entire air defence network; a fitting appointment for an officer who had begun his career in an anti-aircraft battery on the Western Front nearly three decades earlier.

British Army of the Rhine (BAOR) Service

A brief appointment as Deputy Director of Clothing and Stores at the War Office followed in early 1944, before Duncan was assigned to his final and most senior role. By the war’s end, he was serving as Director of Ordnance Services with the British Army of the Rhine (BAOR), the force responsible for the occupation of Germany. For his wartime services as a senior Ordnance Officer, he was created a Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE), Military Division, gazetted on 10 April 1945. The Gazette entry recorded him in his substantive rank of Lieutenant-Colonel (temporary Brigadier), Army number 13981, Royal Army Ordnance Corps.

Duncan’s cousin Cecil had not lived to see the end of the war. Brigadier Cecil Thomas Brown OBE, Royal Marine Artillery, had risen to command all anti-aircraft defences in Ceylon during the critical period of the Japanese advance into the Indian Ocean in early 1942. On 24 July 1942, he was killed when his aircraft, a Douglas DC-2 of No. 31 Squadron RAF, crashed in the Nandi State Forest in North Mysore, India. He was forty-seven years old. The two cousins, both Brigadiers, both engaged in anti-aircraft and ordnance work, had carried the family tradition forged in their grandfather’s Gun Factory workshop into the highest levels of military service.

Death and Burial

Brigadier Duncan Brown, CBE, MC, died on 19 October 1946 at the Victoria Hospital, Deal, Kent, at the age of fifty. He was still serving as Director of Ordnance Services with BAOR at the time of his death. His death certificate records the cause as marasmus resulting from a subphrenic abscess caused by a duodenal ulcer — a prolonged and debilitating illness suggesting he had been unwell for some time, most likely invalided home from Germany. Brown had given 31 years of continuous military service, from his commission on the Western Front at the age of 19 to his death, barely a year after the end of the Second World War.

He was buried at the Churchyard of the Blessed Mary, Walmer, near Deal, known locally as ‘Old St. Mary’s. This churchyard is just a few miles along the Kent coast from Dover, where he had gone to school, met his wife, and been married. His widow, Hilda Edith Brown, was living at 7, The Beach, Walmer, at the time of his death. His mother, Alice, survived him by twelve years, dying in 1958.

Duncan Brown’s medal group, accompanied by detailed research, was subsequently sold through a specialist dealer. The rarity of his Barzan 1932 clasp, one of only nine to British recipients, and the breadth of his service across two world wars, Iraq, and Kurdistan, make it one of the more notable RAOC groups of the period.

Honours, Awards and Medals

Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE), Military Division — London Gazette, 10 April 1945

Military Cross (MC) — date of gazette to be confirmed; likely 1918–1919

Mentioned in Despatches — London Gazette, 7 July 1919

Order of Al Rafidain, 4th Class (Kingdom of Iraq) — London Gazette, 20 January 1933

1914–15 StarBritish War MedalVictory Medal

General Service Medal with clasps “Iraq” and “Northern Kurdistan.”

Iraq Active Service Medal with clasp “Barzan 1932” — one of only nine British recipients

Plus Second World War campaign medals

Sources

  • London Gazette, Sixth Supplement, No. 37025, 10 April 1945 (CBE announcement)
  • Medal Index Card, The National Archives (WW1 service and medal entitlements)
  • Army List: Gradation List of Officers (multiple editions, c.1918–1920)
  • Army List: Army Ordnance Department, p. 1754 — Chief Inspectors of Ordnance Machinery (showing Frank Brown and Oscar Brown DSO)
  • Generals.dk — British and Commonwealth general officers database
  • Census of England and Wales, 1911 (Brown family household, Dover)
  • Census of England and Wales, 1921 (Birch family household, Dover)
  • Dover Express, 4 August 1922 (wedding announcement)
  • Biographical summary (from medal auction catalogue, with detailed research)
  • Family tree research (Ancestry.com)
  • Find A Grave, Memorial No. 35307074 (burial at Blessed Mary of Walmer Churchyard, Walmer, Kent)
  • Wikipedia: General Service Medal (1918) — Northern Kurdistan clasp details
  • Wikipedia: Dover College — WW1 honours context
  • 1891 Census: Thomas D. Brown, Foreman Fitter, Gun Factory, Plumstead (TNA, RG12/539)
  • Death Certificate: Duncan Brown, 19 October 1946, Entry 157, Victoria Hospital, Deal; General Register Office, England and Wales. Certified by R.C. Aitchison, M.B.; registered 21 October 1946.
  • Research by Nigel Williams on Brigadier Cecil Thomas Brown OBE, Royal Marine Artillery (family and ordnance heritage details)

Researched February 2026 by Nigel Williams. Duncan Brown was the writer’s second cousin three times removed through Elizabeth Newrick (1835–1926). George Newrick MBE (1894–1968) was the writer’s great-grandfather. 

The Olympus Compact SLRs

OM-2n
Olympus OM-2n with 50mm f1.2 lens. Shot on Deal Beach on a blustery day.

When I picked up an Olympus OM-1n SLR the first thing that struck me was how compact it was.  Looking through the viewfinder it seemed to defy physics as it appeared to be bigger on the inside than the outside, due to the viewfinder’s massive size. 

Fast forward to today and I own three Olympus OM bodies and an assortment of lenses. The cameras are the OM-1n, OM-2n and OM-2SP (Spot). As a confirmed Nikon SLR shooter it seemed an odd move to adopt another system. Fellow Nikon shooters certainly thought so…  

But the OM-1 is just so compact – as are the lenses.  It is also a remarkably good looking camera, the original compact SLR and a great film camera.  This, and an attractive purchase price, was the justification for my OM-1n acquisition.  An OM-2n, a camera responsible for a major milestone on how cameras measure light, beckoned a year later at a camera fair.  The later, clever but slightly awkward OM-2SP appeared at the same event a year later and gives me most of the more sophisticated OM-4, which I do not own.  This is the story of those three cameras, with a postscipt on the rest of the Olympus compact SLR series. There is a companion article on Zuiko lenses.

I love diminutive film cameras, especially when their lenses are equally compact.  This, for me, is a large part of the appeal of Leica – and the leading reason for its genesis.  But rangefinders are an entirely different breed to SLRs and by moving into Olympus I was duplicating what I already had in the Nikon system.

Yoshihisa Maitani and the Olympus Compact SLR

Olympus came late to the 35mm SLR. When the original OM-1 appeared in 1972, the established makers had been building reflex cameras for more than a decade, and Olympus was not seriously regarded as a contender among them. What it had instead was a chief designer, Yoshihisa Maitani, the man behind the half-frame Pen and later the pocketable, capless and caseless, XA.

Yoshihisa Maitani approached camera design from an unusual angle. Although trained as an automotive engineer and obsessed with photography from an early age, he was less interested in preserving established practice than in questioning it.

At Olympus he first made his name with the half-frame Pen, a camera conceived around the idea that high optical quality should not be reserved for expensive equipment. This he expressed as the lens is the soul of the camera.

Maitani was a visionary, but it took him a year to convince his superiors that a smaller SLR was a viable proposition, not least because it was technically challenging.  In his own words:

However, every manufacturer had tried to develop smaller SLRs, and I was asking the production staff to do something that others had been unable to do. It was a challenge for the designers as well as for those in production. They wanted us to add 1 millimeter here and 3 millimeters there. There was a battery compartment in the bottom of the camera, and we wanted to insert packing to make it at least splash-proof, if not waterproof, but there was not enough space. When I yielded and gave them 1 millimeter, they immediately produced a design. They were so happy! People were competing for millimeters of space.

Maitani’s design brief was uncompromising: his insistance that the new camera had to be substantially smaller and lighter than contemporary rivals, was accompanied by an uncompromising view of its durability. He insisted on a shutter life of 100,000 cycles at a time when a tenth of that figure was acceptable.

The resulting OM-1 shows the leadership of a designer who viewed compactness as an engineering discipline rather than a styling exercise. Controls were repositioned to make better use of available space, unnecessary weight was stripped from components, and attention was paid to details often overlooked, such as mirror shock and operating noise. Naturally, as the soul of the camera, these ideas extended into the Zuiko lens range, which followed the same principle of reducing size without compromising performance. Maitani’s contribution was to demonstrate that careful engineering could achieve what many considered impossible.

Olympus claimed roughly a 35 per cent reduction in both volume and weight against the average SLR of the day, whilst still handling like a robust camera. The OM bodies were also notably quiet.

The Olympus OM-1n – The Compact Revolution

Olympus compact SLR
Cropped Deal beach scene, shot with the OM-1n

Development

The camera that started the compact SLR revolution was launched in 1972 as the M-1, in Maitani’s honour. Leica objected to the name, since its rangefinders had long carried the M designation, and Olympus renamed it the OM-1 in 1973. From there it evolved in stages: the OM-1MD of 1974 added a motor-drive coupling on the baseplate, enabling five frames per second; and the OM-1n of 1979 gathered a long list of refinements.

Operation

When anyone picks up an OM-1n the first thing that strikes them beyond its diminutive form is the size of the viewfinder. This, of course is what made the camera famous in the first place. Its 97% coverage was good, but not unique.  It was the 0.92× magnification was extraordinary, and the real engineering achievement was combining both. 

This is because they result from two competing design goals.  Making the image appear large to the photographer (high magnification) and showing as much of the image as possible (high coverage) collide in camera design. Olympus quoted a 0.92× magnification with a 50mm lens and about 97 per cent coverage, and the view is something like 30 per cent larger than most SLRs of the period. 

The second is the placement of the shutter-speed ring around the lens mount rather than on the top plate. It’s a logical design choice to put the aperture and shutter speed on concentric rings on the lens, though some photographers found the change irritating at the time.

Outstanding Manual Focus

One of the great strengths of the OM-1, and all the Olympus compact SLRs, is the ability to achieve crtical focus. Whilst the viewfinder image is unusually large and immersive, the standard Olympus focusing screens are equally important.

I have found the combination of a coarse microprism collar, a highly visible split-image rangefinder and a bright matte field provides exceptionally strong focus discrimination. Rather than just maximising brightness, Olympus prioritised the photographer’s ability to see the exact point of focus. As a result, many photographers find that OM SLRs exhibit a pronounced “focus snap”, with a very clear transition between in-focus and out-of-focus subjects. In short, the OM-1 and its successors are perhaps the easiest manual focus cameras to achieve good results with. I have tried many different focusing screens on Nikon SLRs, including the F3HP with a K screen, FM3a and FE2, and the Olympus still comes out slightly ahead.

Olympus compact SLR OM-1n
The isolated church at Hampton Gay, shot in reflection with the OM-1n

Internals

Internally, the OM-1n is fully mechanical, with a cloth focal-plane shutter running from 1 second to 1/1000 plus B. The meter is full-aperture TTL using two CdS cells either side of the eyepiece, with a simple match-needle display, and it is the only thing on the camera that needs a battery. The mirror is an oversized, air-damped design, which is why these cameras are so quiet and low on vibration, and the OM-1n is the only OM body with a mirror lock-up. The interchangeable focusing screens drop in through the lens mount.

There is one drawback for modern owners: the OM-1 meter was designed around a 1.35V mercury cell that is now unavailable.  The workarounds are a Wein zinc-air cell, an MR-9 voltage-reducing adapter, or by metering externally and accepting a small offset.  I use the Weincell.

Reception and legacy

TThe OM-1 was immediately recognised as a breakthrough in industrial design. It didn’t add new features but it proved a professional SLR could be made small, quiet and beautifully integrated. Maitani and Olympus had created a masterpiece that changed the course of camera production in the 20th century. From then on, the race to build smaller, more-capable SLRs was on.

As a result, the compact bodies that followed from Pentax, Nikon and others all owe a debt to the OM-1. Today it is widely regarded as the defining OM camera and one of the great mechanical SLRs.

The Olympus OM-2n – Off the Film

Development

The OM-2 prototype appeared at the 1974 Photokina in Cologne, and it shipped in late 1975. From the outside it is similar to the OM-1: with same dimensions of 136 × 83 × 50mm, only slightly heavier at around 520g. The OM-2n of 1979, my version, refined the formula with improved TTL flash support for the new T-series flashes and longer automatic exposures.

Olympus compact sir
Folkestone harbour arm, shot with the Olympus OM2-SP

Operation

The OM-2 added an electronic shutter and aperture-priority automatic exposure. Flicking the selector to manual invokes a match-needle scale.

The OM-2 was the first production camera with off-the-film (OTF) TTL direct metering. Before the exposure it reads light bouncing off a patterned first shutter curtain; during the exposure it reads light reflected from the film surface itself adjusting as it goes and without needing a memory circuit. That is why the camera can meter automatically out to around 60–120 seconds. Olympus marketed the system as TTL Direct, or Auto Dynamic Metering. However, unlike the OM-1, the OM-2 does not offer mirror lock-up.

I have had problems with my OM-2n, with two lots of films partially spoiled by incomplete shutter movement.  The second repair sorted it, and it’s been reliable since. 

Reception and legacy

The Olympus OM-2 was received very positively when it launched in late 1975, although the enthusiasm came more from photographers and the specialist press than from the wider consumer market. The trick the OM-2 had up its sleeve was that the same OTF principle that ran the ambient meter also controlled TTL flash. That neatly solved the fiddly business of flash exposure and virtually every other manufacturer adopted the idea. OTF ambient metering had fewer imitators, the Pentax LX of 1980 being the most notable, but TTL OTF flash became the industry standard for the rest of the film era.

The Olympus OM-2SP (Spot)

Development and naming

The OM-2SP is short for OM-2 Spot/Program. Confusingly, it is not a variant of the OM-2, but is based on the OM-4. It arrived in 1984, the year after the OM-4, despite the lower model number, and production ran to 1988.

Operation

The OM-2SP keeps the OTF aperture-priority and manual modes of the OM-2 and adds a programmed auto mode, where the camera chooses both aperture and shutter speed, and a spot meter which reads a small central patch from the focusing screen.  This was a single spot meter, not the multi-spot system of the OM-4. The program mode was advanced for its day and worked with older lenses not built for shutter-priority automation. 

The OM2-SP Meter

To engage spot metering on the OM-2SP the photographer turns the selector to Manual/Spot which changes where the reading comes from. In program and aperture-priority mode the camera reads off the patterned shutter curtain and the film surface, whereas in Manual/Spot it reads a small central patch from the focusing screen. This is not the exact centure, but the outer portion of the microprism. 

The display is vertical strip down the left of the viewfinder, with a shutter speed scale marked alongside. In the automatic modes a bar rises to the speed the camera has chosen. Warnings use same strip. OVER blinks for overexposure, and in program mode it blinks to indicate that the lens must be stopped down. A plus and minus symbol at the foot of the display blinks whenever exposure compensation is engaged.

The camera warns audibly as well. An electronic beeper backs up the finder display, sounding for overexposure and underexposure.

Auto is extremely straightfoward to use, but I found Manual/Spot metering counterintuitive at first. The metering bar on the left is still used, but it changes to a null indicator. Here, the tip of the bar now shows how far the current settings sit from the metered value currently set, moving in third-stop steps against a fixed point marked between two small triangular indicators. The photographer turns the aperture ring, the shutter speed ring, or both, until the tip of the bar meets that fixed point. This is perfectly straightforward, but what confused me intitally was that the bar extends right to the bottom of the viewfinder, where if you have exposure compensation engaged, as I did, there is a flashing +- symbol.

Other OM-2SP Considerations

Where the OM-1 and OM-2 have a smooth wind and a quiet mirror, the OM-2SP uses a double mirror whose secondary mirror produces a slightly louder, less refined sound. It’s still a tough, dependable body, but not quite as refined as it’s predecessors. It also has a long-standing reputation for heavy battery drain. This is because their is no ‘off’ position, as such. The meter deactivates after a short period, but leaves the circuitry slightly active, which is a problem early OM-4 models also suffered from. There is a alleged fix of setting the camera to B (Bulb) or 60 (mechanical 1/60th sec), but that’s an internet myth – the 1/60th setting is a fail-safe, not a power control.

Speaking of which, whilst the OM-2 stops when the battery gives out, the Spot does offers that 1/60th of a second mechanical backup.

Reception and legacy

At launch, the OM-2SP’s biggest problem was timing. By 1984 program AE was already commonplace, and multi-segment evaluative metering, first seen on the Nikon FA of 1983, had made a single spot meter look dated. The camera had also arrived just as autofocus was beginning to reshape the market. Minolta’s Maxxum/7000 would appear in 1985 and rapidly change buyer expectations.

Olympus Camera Comparison

 OM-1nOM-2nOM-2SP
Introduced1979 (OM-1 line from 1972)1979 (OM-2 line from 1975)1984
ShutterMechanical, 1–1/1000 + BElectronic, auto to ~120s; manual 1–1/1000Electronic to 1/1000; 1/60 + B mechanical
Exposure modesManualAperture-priority, ManualProgram, Aperture-priority, Manual
MeteringCentre-weighted TTL CdS meterOTF centre-weighted (first OTF camera)OTF + single spot
Mirror lock-upYes (OM only)NoNo
Works without batteryYes (meter excepted)NoOnly 1/60 + B
Body weight (approx.)~500g~520g~540g

Legacy

Between them these three Olympus compact SLRs carry a decent share of the OM system’s importance. The OM-1 set the stage for the compact SLR and proved a small camera could be extremely competant. The OM-2 gave the world OTF metering and TTL OTF flash, the single most widely copied idea to come out of the system and the basis of film-era flash automation.

The OM-2SP’s is a bit of an oddball, but it is undoubtedly a very good camera, giving you the best of the OM-4, Olympus’s peak professional OM body, in an easier to use package. It lacks the OM-4’s famous multi-spot metering system, which was one of the most advanced metering systems of any manual-focus SLR, but I would argue that features such the 8 spot readings stored in memory and averaging of multiple spot readings are infrequently used.

The OM-3, OM-4 and titanium variants, which I have not shot with, are covered in the postscript below the section on Zuiko lenses.wn 85mm, but it is one of the sharpest lenses in the OM range and its compact for its focal length.

Olympus Compact SLR Camera Specifications

Olympus OM-1n

  • Type: mechanical 35mm SLR, cloth focal-plane shutter
  • Shutter: 1–1/1000 sec + B
  • Metering: full-aperture TTL, two CdS cells, match-needle
  • Exposure: manual only
  • Finder: fixed pentaprism, ~0.92× at infinity (50mm), ~97% coverage, interchangeable screens via mount; mirror lock-up
  • Film speed: ASA 25–1600
  • Power: one 1.35V mercury cell (meter only; now requires an adapter or zinc-air substitute)
  • Dimensions / weight: 136 × 83 × 50mm; ~500g body (sources differ: 490–510g)

Olympus OM-2n

  • Type: electronic 35mm SLR, electronic focal-plane shutter
  • Shutter: auto to ~120s; manual 1–1/1000 + B
  • Metering: OTF TTL direct (centre-weighted); SBC cells for live exposure, CdS for readout; first production OTF camera
  • Exposure: aperture-priority auto and manual
  • Flash: TTL OTF auto flash with T-series units
  • Finder: fixed pentaprism, ~0.92× at infinity (50mm), ~97% coverage, interchangeable screens; no mirror lock-up
  • Film speed: ASA 12–1600
  • Power: two 1.5V silver-oxide cells (SR/S-76)
  • Dimensions / weight: 136 × 83 × 50mm; ~520g body

Olympus OM-2SP (US: OM-2S / OM-2S Program)

  • Type: electronic 35mm SLR; introduced 1984, produced to 1988
  • Shutter: electronic to 1/1000; 1/60 and B mechanical
  • Metering: OTF centre-weighted (program / aperture-priority) plus single spot (manual); light range approx. -5 to +18 EV
  • Exposure: programmed auto, aperture-priority auto, manual
  • Flash: TTL auto with T-series flash, 1/60 sync or slower; permanent hot shoe
  • Finder: pentaprism, ~0.86× at infinity (50mm), ~97% coverage, interchangeable screens
  • Film speed: ASA 12–3200
  • Power: two SR44 silver-oxide or LR44 alkaline cells
  • Dimensions / weight: 136 × 84 × 50mm; ~540g body

Postscript: The OM-3, OM-4, and the Titanium Variants

I have not shot with these cameras (yet), but am including a note on them for completeness. The OM-3 and OM-4 both arrived in 1983 and shared the same advance, a multi-spot meter that could take up to eight readings from around the frame and average them, with highlight and shadow buttons to place a tone deliberately. An LCD replaced the match needle, and top shutter speed rose to 1/2000. The difference between them is that OM-4 is electronic, whilst the OM-3 is fully mechanical.

The OM-3 did not sell well sold, as the cheaper OM-1n was still in production, and Olympus discontinued it in 1986, which is why the OM-3 is a more expensive body to buy today. Both were later reissued with titanium top and bottom plates. The OM-4Ti of 1986 cured the battery drain that had afflicted early OM-4 bodies and added Super FP synchronisation, giving flash out to 1/2000 with the F280 unit. The OM-3Ti followed about eight years later, in very small numbers, and it is the last true OM camera; it is also the most expensive of them all to buy today (£1,100-£3,000 as I write this in 2026). The OM-4Ti stayed in production until about 2002 and is far more affordable (£230-£1,500).

If I were to acquire another Olympus compact SLR it would probably be the OM-Ti, for its faster shutter and better battery life.

OM-3OM-3TiOM-4OM-4Ti
Introduced19831994 (sources differ: 1994–1995)19831986
ShutterMechanical, 1–1/2000 + BMechanical, 1–1/2000 + BElectronic to 1/2000; 1/60 + B mechanicalElectronic to 1/2000; 1/60 + B mechanical
Exposure modesManualManualAperture-priority, ManualAperture-priority, Manual
MeteringCentre-weighted + multi-spot (to 8 readings), highlight/shadow controlAs OM-3, plus TTL flash and Super FPOTF centre-weighted + multi-spot, highlight/shadow controlAs OM-4, plus Super FP flash to 1/2000
Mirror lock-upNoNoNoNo
Works without batteryYes (meter excepted)Yes (meter excepted)Only 1/60 + BOnly 1/60 + B
Body weight (approx.)~540g~510g~540g~510g

Selected Sources

The Leica M6 TTL 0.58 – Great Film Cameras

The M6 and M6 TTL are both regularly eulogised as the greatest rangefinders, and sometimes the greatest film cameras of all time. This accolade is usually reserved for the 0.85 viewfinder version, primarily because it handles critical focusing with fast lenses better than the other models. This was the M6 TTL model I decided to buy.

However, the M6 TTL that arrived from the dealer was the 0.58, which was an unwelcome surprise. This is a wide-angle variant, equipped with the lowest magnification finder on a Leica M film body, and aimed at wide-angle shooters and spectacle wearers who found it difficult to see the full framelines on higher magnification models. It is a model that has its fans, but is not typically the subject of the same degree of reverence.

A return was going to prove to be expensive due to import charges. So, after some negotiation with the dealer, I reluctantly agreed to keep the 0.58 at an advantageous price, with the intention of getting a 0.85 M7 to accompany it later. Surprisingly, and partly due to the influence of the Leica Q and Q2 (more of which later), it is the M6 TTL that has become my favourite Leica film camera.

I enjoy researching the background to the cameras I use, so this is the story of the M6 TTL, the development of the Leica M viewfinder variants, and why the 0.58 model has earned my affection.

Background: From the M3 to the M6

To understand the evolution of the Leica M series leading up to the M6 TTL, it is important to add a little context on two developments: the introduction of a built-in light meter and viewfinder magnification options.

A Note on Rangefinder Optics

Unlike SLRs, which show the scene directly through the taking lens via a mirror and prism, rangefinders cannot present what the lens ‘sees’ in the finder. Instead, the Leica M and other rangefinders use a separate viewfinder window for composition, which shows a wider field than the lens records. To frame what will actually be captured, bright framelines are projected into the finder. These change according to the lens that is mounted, sometimes as a single frame and sometimes in pairs. SLRs avoid this issue because the finder image comes directly through the lens, eliminating the need for framelines.

Rangefinders are also limited to lenses of a maximum of 135 mm focal length because of the combined constraints of viewfinder scale and focusing accuracy. As the focal length of the lens increases, the view through the finder represents a narrower angle, so the corresponding frameline shrinks within the viewfinder. This makes composition progressively more difficult.

At the same time, longer and faster lenses demand increasingly precise focusing, and the rangefinder’s Effective Base Length reaches its practical limit around 135 mm. Beyond this point, accurate framing and focusing become too difficult for practical use.

Finder Magnification

The Leica M3 of 1954 used a 0.91× finder, which was ideal for 50 mm and longer lenses but required auxiliary optics for wider focal lengths.

With the M2 (1957), Leica settled on 0.72× magnification as the best compromise, a standard carried through the M4 (1967), the M5 (1971), and the Canadian models, the M4-2 (1977) and M4-P (1980–1986).

Light Meter Development

The M5 (1971) introduced through-the-lens (TTL) light measurement, but the design was poorly received. Leica abandoned a meter with the M4-2 and M4-P, leaving users to rely on the shoe-mounted Leica-meter. By the early 1980s, however, virtually every professional SLR offered TTL metering as standard, making this omission increasingly untenable.

Leica realised the M needed to be brought up to date while retaining its core identity of a compact form, mechanical reliability, and longevity – without incurring prohibitive development costs.

TTL metering was the least intrusive upgrade Leica could make, requiring only a modest change to the body design (adding light metering diodes and LEDs in the finder) and preserving the fully mechanical shutter and manual exposure control.

Predecessor: The Leica M6 “Classic” (1984–1998)

The result was the Leica M6 (now known as the ‘M6 Classic’ – never an official designation). A prototype was developed in 1981, and the model was launched in 1984, becoming the first M with built-in TTL light metering. This was a centre-weighted system that reads from a 12mm spot on the shutter curtain and displays the exposure with a pair of LEDs in the finder. The M6 featured a die-cast zinc body with zinc top and bottom plates, and was offered only in a black finish.

The M6 was updated in 1986 with the addition of plastic protective inserts above the strap lugs and the addition of a chrome finish alongside black. In 1987, the top plate engraving was simplified to a large “M6” without “Leica” above it. Further stylistic changes occurred in 1988 when production moved from Wetzlar to Solms – the engraving changed to “LEICA GMBH GERMANY and the red dot changed from “Leitz” to “Leica.”

Later, there were numerous limited edition versions for collectors of both the M6 and M6 TTL, the most important of which was the M6J special edition in 1994, which introduced the 0.85× finder.

The M6J – 1994

After the M3, with its tele-friendly 0.91 magnification, 0.72× magnification became the defining standard for Leica M rangefinders. The M2, M4, M5, M4-2, M4-P, M6 Classic, all used the 0.72× finder exclusively, as did the 2014 M-A.

The lower magnification struck a balance: it preserved sufficient focusing accuracy for 50 mm and longer lenses, while making 35 mm framelines visible without auxiliary “goggles,” which was increasingly important for photojournalists and documentary photographers. 

Whilst 0.72× might offer the best balance, a tele viewfinder is useful with 50 mm lenses, especially fast ones like the Summilux or Noctilux, where the higher magnification improves focusing precision, and it becomes essential for longer focal lengths, not least because it offers framelines for tele lenses.

Accordingly, Lecia added a tele option with the M6J in 1994, a Special Edition 40th Anniversary Leica M. This introduced the 0.85× finder, a first since the M3’s 0.91×. It also excluded the 28 mm frameline, reinforcing its focus on longer lenses, though, unfortunately for 75/1.4 Summilux users, a 75 mm frameline was not added as well.

The M6J generated demand for regular M6’s to be converted to the .85 M6J finder. Once the M6J production run of 1640 cameras (40 cameras for each year of the 40 years of M production) has sold out, unsurprisingly, Leica received many requests for a regular M6 with the higher magnification finder.   Thus, the .85 finder M6 finder was introduced in the Leica M lineup four years later in 1998. 

Leica M6 TTL (1998–2002)

By the late 1990s, TTL flash metering had become standard even in mid-range SLRs from Nikon, Canon, and Minolta, which set expectations for both professional and enthusiast photographers. Leica’s rangefinders were primarily used by photojournalists, street photographers, and documentary shooters, many of whom avoided flash entirely. However, a subset of users, particularly those doing event or portrait photography, wanted more accurate flash results than manual flash offered.

Leica responded by adding TTL off-the-film flash metering to the M6 design, while also addressing the ergonomics of the shutter dial and metering display. Here is a rundown of the most significant differences between the M6 and the M6 TTL:

Leica M6 TTL 0.58
LEICA M6 TTL 0.58

M6 TTL Changes

  • TTL Flash Control
    • Hotshoe engraved with “TTL” and a flash bolt.
    • Four contacts in the shoe instead of one.
    • Finder now included a flash-ready LED in addition to the three meter LEDs.
  • Revised Meter Display
    • From two LEDs (> and <) to three LEDs (> o <)
  • Shutter Speed Dial
    • Enlarged for easier use at eye level.
    • Rotated in the logical direction matching meter arrows (opposite to M6 Classic).
  • Body Height
    • 2.5mm taller than the Classic to accommodate the TTL circuitry
  • Advance Lever
    • Now with an articulated plastic tip, often criticized but useful in cold climates

There were three variants of the M6 TTL, two of which were introduced at launch, which are shown in the table below.

M6 TTL VersionIntroducedFrameline Configuration
M6 TTL 0.72×199828 + 90 mm
35 + 135 mm
50 + 75 mm 
M6 TTL 0.85×199835 + 135 mm,
50 + 75 mm
90 mm
M6 TTL 0.58×200028 + 90 mm
35 mm
50 + 75 mm

Wide Angle Shooting – and External Viewfinders

Leica M3
My Leica M3 28mm setup, with an external 28mm viewfinder and light meter mounted on dual shoe. A 3rd party winder completes the ruin of the camera’s clean lines.

Before Leica introduced wide-angle framelines into the M viewfinder, photographers relied on external viewfinders mounted on the accessory shoe to compose with lenses wider than 50 mm. The Leica M3, with its high-magnification 0.91× finder, had framelines only for 50, 90, and 135 mm lenses. To use the then-new 35 mm Summicron, Leica supplied “goggles” (optical adapters) that modified both view and rangefinder, or an external 35 mm finder such as the SBOOI. As Leica added 35 mm framelines in the M2 (1957), external finders became primarily associated with 28 mm, 24 mm, and 21 mm lenses, which were too wide for the in-camera framelines of the time.

These finders allowed accurate composition but required separate focusing through the camera’s rangefinder, then recomposing with the accessory finder. Even into the M4-P and M6 era, when 28 mm framelines were added, lenses of 21 mm and wider still required an external finder, making them a distinctive part of Leica rangefinder shooting.

A Lightweight Film Camera

The M6 TTL isn’t the lightest manual focus metered 35mm camera. That distinction, in my collection at least, goes to the featherweight Olympus OM-1m, closely followed by the Nikon FM2N. The table below shows the leaders for that type of camera in my collection.

However, it is the lenses that make it such a great choice for landscape photography when weight is at a premium, as you can carry the highest quality glass without much of a weight penalty.

ManufacturerModelIntroducedTypeAEWt (g)
OlympusOM-1n1979SLRN510
NikonFM2N1984SLRN540
NikonFE21983SLRAE550
NikonFM3A2001SLRAE570
LeicaM6 TTL1998RFN585
LeicaM72002RFAE610
NikonF3 HP1982SLRAE715

Shooting with the M6 TTL 0.58

My first real shooting opportunity with the M6 TTL came at a friend’s 60th birthday, which he hosted near his home in Belap, Switzerland. It was a spectacular setting as the high-altitude resort overlooked the Great Alestch Glacier, the longest and largest glacier in the Alps. On the day we were leaving, low clouds rolled in, and it was an unforgettable experience to walk amongst them, with the scenery appearing and disappearing as the clouds rolled past.

M6 TTL 0.58
Belalp, Valais, Switzerland.

Along with the 28mm Elmarit-M lens that I use so often, I took the Summicron-M 50mm and Elmarit-M 90mm f2.8 that I used with the M7. I included these on the basis that I was likely to be focused at infinity, so focusing accuracy with the 0.58 wouldn’t be an issue – an assumption that proved to be correct.

The M6 TTL is a pleasure to shoot with. Loading was trouble-free, and rewinding was quicker than with the M3. The framelines and rangefinder patch are bright, and I never encountered the path flare that some users find so troublesome.

Leica M6 TTL 0.58
Walking amongst the clouds, Belalp, Switzerland

The camera has a very solid tactile mechanical feel with a quiet shutter. Accurate, usable exposures are easily obtained by metering from a mid tone or shadow with texture, and the three-dot exposure display is intuitive. Perhaps best of all, those jewel-like miniature lenses are a joy to use. The body, film and lenses took up little space in my pack, and given the exertions of the hiking, I was glad they weighed so little.

Leica M6 TTL 0.58
The Great Alestch Glacier, Belalp

Aftermath: Leica M7, MP M-A and The Return of the M6

In 2002, the M6 TTL was succeeded by the M7, which introduced an electronically controlled shutter and aperture-priority auto-exposure and retained the same choice of viewfinder magnifications (0.58×, 0.72×, and 0.85×).

A year later, in 2003, Leica launched the MP (‘Mechanical Perfection’), which was a return to a mechanical shutter and the M3’s elegant, clutched but slow film winder. It also offered upgraded viewfinder optics to reduce flare. The MP was originally offered in all three magnification options, but is now only offered in 0.72 form.

In 2014, Leica introduced the M-A, a stripped-back, all-mechanical film body with no meter, positioned as the spiritual successor to the M3 and M2. It was produced only with the 0.72× finder, reaffirming that magnification as Leica’s universal standard.

Nearly two decades after the original, Leica revisited the M6 (2022): a modernised interpretation of the 1984 M6 Classic, with brass top and bottom plates, improved coatings in the finder, and 0.72× magnification. The model sported the three-LED light meter display of the M6 TTL but omitted both the larger shutter dial and TTL flash metering.

Final Word

A year or so after I acquired the M6 TTL 0.58, I purchased a black 0.85 M7. This late-model film camera, which features a few additional refinements I appreciate, including Aperture-Priority Auto-Exposure (AE), an exposure compensation dial (±2 EV in 1/3-stop increments), and DX coding with manual override. On the last point, the one control that lets the M6 TTL down is the fiddly ISO dial on the back. The M7 does introduce a battery dependency, but has two manual backup speeds of 1/60s and 1/125s, and I always carry spares.

In theory, I should prefer the M7. In practice, the M6 TTL has become my go-to Leica. I think this is for two reasons. The first, and most important, is that I now shoot with a 28mm lens most often for landscapes and street photography, rather than a 35mm lens. This is a focal length I came to really appreciate with the Leica Q and subsequently the Q2, and for that, it is ideally suited. 

Secondly, I prefer the M6 TTL’s manual exposure display to the Auto Exposure mode on the M7, despite the promise of higher accuracy offered by the quartz-timed stepless speeds in that mode. The M7 offers the same manual focus display as the M6 TTL, though limited to the engraved shutter speeds in manual exposure. 

Much praise has been heaped on the Q series with its built-in 28mm Summilux, whilst its tele and standard siblings shade the wide-angle Ms. I can understand why that is the case, but for me, the 0.58 has proved to be a very happy accident, and I wouldn’t swap it.

From Wet to Dry: The Gelatin Dry Plate Era, 1870s–1900s

The gelatin dry plate, introduced in the 1870s, was a major milestone in photographic history. Unlike the wet collodion process, which required plates to be sensitized, exposed, and developed while still wet, dry plates were factory-prepared and could be stored for months before and after exposure.

Each dry plate consisted of a sheet of glass coated with a light-sensitive gelatin emulsion of silver halides. This made photography far more practical as exposures were dramatically shorter and cameras became more portable.

Development

Gelatin Dry Plate
An homage to the gelatin dry plate era and the pictorialists. The ruin of Hampton Gay in Oxfordshire. Shot with a long (30 second) exposure in 2017.

The gelatin dry plate emerged in the 1870s as a solution to the limitations of the wet collodion process, which demanded swift preparation and immediate development. In 1871, English physician Richard Leach Maddox proposed using a gelatin emulsion of silver bromide on glass as a more stable light-sensitive coating.

His idea was refined over the next decade by inventors such as Charles Bennett, who in 1878 discovered that heating the emulsion increased its sensitivity, making much shorter exposures possible. For the first time, photographers could purchase factory-prepared plates that remained sensitive for months, eliminating the need to carry portable darkrooms into the field. 

Printing

A variety of printing processes became available during the dry plate era, which are summarised in the table below.

MediumDescriptionMain UseProsCons
Gelatin Silver Print (developing-out paper, DOP) 1885Paper coated with gelatin-silver emulsion; image developed chemically after exposure.Became the standard black-and-white print medium from 1890s into the 20th century.Sharp detail, good contrast; relatively stable when well-processed; widely available.Early versions had cold, blue-black tone (less warm than albumen/ platinum); could still fade if poorly fixed.
Platinum Print ca. 1873Paper sensitized with iron salts and platinum; image formed from platinum metal.Favoured by Pictorialists, fine-art and portrait work.Rich, subtle tonal range; extremely permanent; matte, velvety surface.Expensive materials; long exposures; process nearly died out during WWI (platinum shortage).
Carbon Print Popularised 1860sPigmented gelatin tissue exposed with a negative, then transferred to final support.Artistic photography; high-quality archival prints.Permanent image (carbon pigment); wide tonal control; multiple colour options.Laborious multi-step process; not for rapid commercial use.
Gum Bichromate Print
1890s
Paper coated with gum arabic, pigment, and dichromate; exposed and developed by washing away unhardened gum.Pictorialist, painterly effects; art photography.Painterly, flexible, could layer colours; strong artistic control.Low detail compared to silver; very slow, contact printing only.
Photogravure 1879Intaglio printing: gelatin resist and etched copper plate inked and pressed on paper.High-end art books; Pictorialist works; fine reproductions.Rich continuous tones; luxurious, permanent prints.Complex, expensive, required printing press.

Camera Design

Camera design began to shift dramatically in response to the introduction of the gelatin dry plate. Earlier wet-plate photography had tied cameras to bulky tripods and portable darkrooms, but the new plates, which were sensitive, durable, and ready-made, freed photographers from those constraints.

The 1870s saw the refinement of the folding field camera, with bellows for portability and interchangeable lenses for versatility. Lighter wooden bodies, and more precise shutters made cameras easier to transport and quicker to operate. With reduced exposure times, photographers could capture instantaneous images of movement, street scenes, and everyday life far more easily.

Gelatin Dry Print
A very late Gelatine Dry Plate Print from 1909. British battleships HMS ‘Dominion’ with HMS ‘Hibernia’ in distance, Source: Wikipedia Commons

The gelatin dry plate era bridged the gap between the era of handcrafted photography and the age of mass production, paving the way for the roll film and snapshots of the late nineteenth century.

For more on early photography you might consider these articles, which also be found on this site:

Made with Collodion: The Media that Shaped An Era

Collodion
The Miners’ Bridge, on the Llugwy, North Wales, Roger Fenton, 1853, collodion/albumen (Source: Wikipedia Commons)

The collodion process of 1851 transformed how images were made, shared, and preserved.

It was also known as wet-plate photography and involves coating a piece of glass with a collodion emulsion, sensitising it in silver nitrate and then taking the picture immediately so that it can be developed whilst the plate is still wet.

Collodion ushered in a new standard of clarity and reproducibility compared to earlier processes, while albumen prints brought a mass-produced format into family albums and parlours.

However, during the collodian era, there was an extensive range of methods to create images, including direct positives as well as prints.

I found the easiest way to get to grips with the various media types made from the collodion process was to put them in a table, which you can see below.

Each medium had its strengths and limitations and collectively they shaped a photographic era that bridged the artisanal origins of photography and its industrialized roll-film coming of age.

Medium
Introduced
DescriptionPositive/ Negative
Main Uses
ProsCons
Albumen Print
1850
Paper coated with egg white (albumen) and silver salts, contact printed from negatives.Positive (print)
Dominant 19th-century print process
High-gloss surface, fine detail, warm tonal range; could be mass-produced.Faded easily without good fixing/washing; labor-intensive coating process.
Ambrotype
1854
Under-exposed collodion negative on glass backed with black to appear as positive.Negative used to make a unique Positive
Studio portraits; popular keepsakes.
Cheaper and faster than daguerreotypes; sharp detail; less reflective.Unique image (no copies); fragile glass; limited tonal depth.
Tintype (Ferrotype)
1856
Under-exposed collodion negative on black-lacquered iron, exposed as direct positive.Negative used to make a unique Positive
Working class portraits, itinerant/carnival photographers.
Durable, cheap, quick to produce; popular for portraits/traveling photographers.Lower image quality; usually small format.
Salt Print
1839
Paper soaked in salt and silver nitrate, contact printed from a negative.Positive (print)
Early landscapes, architecture, scientific documentation
Soft tonal range, relatively easy to produce, allowed multiple prints.Survived in low volume into collodion era, but prone to fading; less detail than albumen prints.
Collodion Positives on Paper
1850s
Direct collodion image on paper to serve as a unique positive.Positive
Experimental niche process
Lightweight inexpensive positives.Rare; lacked popularity and longevity.
Carte de Visite (albumen format)
1854
Multiple small albumen prints from collodion negatives mounted on card.Positive (print)
Mass social phenomenon; portraits of family/celebrities
Cheap, portable, mass-produced, socially fashionable.Small size limited artistic impact; often faded.

Footnote: Later Nineteenth Century Processes

After the collodion era gave way to more convenient dry plates, photographers began experimenting with more artistic printing methods. These “exotic” processes were less about sharp detail and more about mood and craftsmanship. Platinum and palladium prints created soft, velvety tones; gum bichromate and carbon printing added painterly layers of pigment; oil and bromoil let artists brush ink directly onto the image; and photogravure gave photographs the richness of fine art prints. Together, they defined the Pictorialist movement of the 1890s–1910s, when photography strove to look and feel like art.

Further Reading

For more on early photography you might consider these articles, which also be found on this site:

The Life and Cameras of Thomas Ottewill

For his influence as a camera maker, Thomas Ottewill is biographically elusive. We have examples of his cameras, but we know little about his business, less about his family life and nothing at all about his final years and death. In this article I have attempted to assemble what is known and research the gaps. Several remain, but I think this article is probably the most complete version of his life and work so far.

Much remains unknown, but what follows is a timeline of his life and cameras, based on the many sources that can be found online, followed by a summary of his legacy. The main source for the cameras is the excellent British Camera Makers, an A-Z Guide to Companies and Products.

Context: Photography 1851-1865

Thomas Ottewill was a leading figure in the shift from opticians and instrument-makers to a specialised manufacturing and retail industry, with British firms scaling up the production of cameras, lenses and sensitised materials.  During that period, much else changed.

Early Camera timeline thomas Ottewill
An 8 x 12″ Ottewill Sliding Box Camera – Source Peter Coeln Photography

It is the collodion era. Frederick Scott Archer’s wet collodion (1851) rapidly displaces the daguerreotype and calotype because its glass negatives offer an improvement over the calotype process, which relies on paper negatives, and the daguerreotype, which produces a one-of-a-kind positive image. By the International Exhibition of 1862 the catalogue could state that, “with some few exceptions, all [exhibits] were produced by the collodion process.” 

Albumen paper, developed by Blanquart-Évrard in 1850, becomes the dominant print, pairing with collodion negatives and enabling large-scale production.  

The period witnesses mass adoption via new formats: the carte-de-visite (patented in 1854) turns portraiture into an affordable, collectible commodity and stereoscopy becomes a household entertainment after its 1851 Crystal Palace showing.  

Photography professionalises and institutionalises. The Photographic Society (RPS) is founded in 1853 with the explicit mission to promote the art and science of the medium, publishing the Journal of the Photographic Society from the same year.  

It also expands in purpose, illustrated by Roger Fenton’s 1855 Crimean War campaign, one of the earliest systematic documentary projects of conflict.  

These are Thomas Ottewill’s times. This introductory description of the period is necessarily brief, so for more context you might like to read the Early Photography Timeline on this site or perhaps the articles on Made with Collodion, Fox Talbot, The First Camera Lens, and Wet Plate Photography.

Formative Years

1821 Thomas Ottewill is born in Maidstone, Kent, a town where many nineteenth-century Ottewills originated from, moving to London for work as the century progressed. The surname itself is a rare southern variant of Ottewell/Ottiwell/Otwell from the Norman personal name Otuel. (Sources: 1861 Census, Government Records Office, Geneanet.com)

1842 Thomas marries Jane Dyson, daughter of Robert, Coachman, at St. Pancreas in May. Thomas is working as a Cabinet maker and living at Clark’s Place Islington. (Source: marriage record)

1844 Thomas and Jane’s first child, Henry is born. The couple went on to have four sons and three daughters, as shown in 1861 census. Sarah Jane, 1846; Alfred, 1848; Amelia, 1851; Herbert 1853; James 1856; Emily 1858. (Source: 1861 Census)

Early Career

Pre 1851 Ottewill works at London optical and photographic firm Horne, Thornthwaite & Wood (‘Horne & Co.’) prior to starting his own firm. (Sources: Early Photography, Advertisement 16th July in Notes & Queries)

1851 Ottewill launches a business at 24 Charlotte Terrace, Islington, initially specialising in daguerreotype apparatus, as Thomas Ottewill. (Source: Company Details, Early Photography)

Thomas Ottewill
Daguerrotype apparatus. Source: Post Office London directory 1854.

As can be seen in this listing, Ottewill was both early and unusual as a specialist camera-maker in 1851. The table above shows that most London suppliers in the daguerreotype era came out of optics (e.g., Shew, Gogerty) or “philosophical/instrument” shops (Horne, Thornthwaite & Wood; Hobcraft), with only “Thomas Ottewill, camera manufacturer” listed as a dedicated maker. 

This listing was made only a dozen years or so after photography’s 1839 debut, and in the same year collodion breaks through, which puts Ottewill in the first-wave of camera makers, and distinct from the opticians who typically focused on lenses and retail and often jobbed out wooden bodies. 

Over the 1850s–60s the trade would diverge. Opticians like Ross concentrated on lenses/branding while specialist cabinet-shops (Ottewill, later Hare, Meagher and Garland) built the cameras. These were frequently rebadged for the opticians and other retailers. Ottewill sits right at that pivotal point: he trained hands from cabinet-making, sold under his own name, and also manufactured for optics houses, helping move camera production from the bench of the general “instrument maker” into dedicated camera workshops.

Cameras

Thomas Ottewill started by producing Dagurrotype cameras. Whilst his first cameras are likely to have been sliding box cameras, his first identifiable camera model is the folding sliding-box of 1853. 

Thomas Ottewill
Ottewill folding box camera. 1990-5036/7299 Science Museum Group Collection Online.

1853 OTTEWILL’S DOUBLE FOLDING CAMERA (1853): sliding box (registered design), for 10 × 8 inch wet-plates. Once the lens panel and focusing screen frame had been removed the inner and outer boxes folded inwards on side hinges. (Lewis Carroll, the author, is said to have been a user of one of the Double Folding models). (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn)

This wet-plate camera featured a collapsible design, where the front and back panels could be detached and placed flat on the baseboard to create a compact, field-portable package. The design is described in detail on the Early Photography site:

Ottewill’s design combined the folding principle with the sliding box design. Both the inner and outer boxes carry hinges on their sides so that they can fold inwards and collapse. The outer box folds from a little way above the baseboard, this leaves space for the folded inner box. To collapse the camera remove the dark slide, remove the front panel, open the door on the top of the outer box, with the inner box drawn back a frame can now be seen at the front of the inner box, this is removed, both boxes will now collapse. 

Ottewill advertises the camera in Notes and Queries in June that year: T. OTTEWILL (from Horne & Co.’s) begs most respectfully to call the attention of Gentlemen, Tourists, and Photographers, to the superiority of his newly registered DOUBLE-BODIED FOLDING CAMERAS, possessing the efficiency and ready adjustment of the Sliding Camera, with the portability and convenience of the Folding Ditto. Every description of Apparatus to order.

The reaction to the camera at the time was effusive. Photographic Journal (then Journal of the Photographic Society, December 21, 1853) praised its combination of strength and portability writing “there is none which more fully combines the requisite strength and firmness with a high degree of portability and efficiency.”  

The Role of the Simple Sliding Box Camera

Whilst Ottewill’s folding double-body was aimed at field work where bulk and weight mattered, a good deal of photographic work, such as portrait studios and copying, prized body rigidity and alignment over compactness. A plain sliding-box has fewer joints, less flex, and is therefore potentially more rigid, which was important when mounting the heavy lenses of the time.

Partnerships Form and Dissolve

1854 The business becomes a partnership: Ottewill & Morgan, with William Morgan, about whom nothing else seems to be known.

1855 The partnership of Ottewill & Morgan is dissolved on the 12th April. The business rebrands to Thomas Ottewill & Co, a partnership between Thomas Ottewill and photographer/artist Frederick Aaron Gush (1817-1869). Gush was the brother of Victorian portrait painter William Gush (1813-1888).

Bellows and Stereoscopic Cameras

1856 CAPTAIN FOWKE’S CAMERA: one of the first to use bellows: the front (fixed), and rear (moving) standards secured to a baseboard. The front standard carried a tapered wooden, four-sided extension to hold the lens panel. This model was still being advertised, with improvements, in 1858, and shown as available in teakwood

Captain Fowke’s Camera was one the first camera with concertina-pattern pleated bellows, designed by Capt. Francis Fowke, R.E., patented No. 1295 (31 May 1856). Ottewill built the production examples.

Ottewill’s advert for Fowke’s Portable/Bellows Camera described it as “Invented for and used by the Royal Engineers… the most portable as well as the lightest camera in use.” (Source: National Science & Media Museum blog)

By 1856 Ottewill claimed to ‘have erected extensive workshops adjoining their former shops, and having now the largest manufactory in England for the making of cameras, they are enabled to execute with dispatch any orders they may be favoured with’ (source: Advertisement, Photographic Notes, no. 14,vol. 1, 1November 1856, p. 229.)

Ottewill continues to advertise in Notes and Queries: OTTEWILL’S REGISTERED DOUBLE-BODY FOLDING CAMERA, with Rack-work Adjustment, is superior to every other form of Camera, and is adapted for Landscapes and Portraita, – May be had of A. ROSS, Featherstone Buildings, Holborn and at the Photographic Institution, Bond Street.

1857 SINGLE LENS STEREOSCOPIC CAMERA: required two pictures to be taken in succession; the camera being slid along a slightly curved track on a mounting platform to make the two exposures. (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn)

Charles Dodgson immortalises Ottewill’s double-folding camera in a parody of Longfellow’s poem ‘Hiawatha’, in which he describes the camera, the wet-collodion process and the process of making a photograph.

Architect-photographer C. G. H. Kinnear’s designs a tapered-bellows field camera. The introduction of bellows was a milestone in camera design as it provided a lightweight method of extending body sections. Kinnear’s tapered bellows enabled the camera to fold into a very compact form because each pleat nested into the next, larger pleat. Ottewill and other manufacturers would later make improved versions of the camera.

Ottewill & Co. expands operations, occupying adjacent properties and “extensive workshops. The company claimed to be the largest camera maker in England at the time.

1858 STEREOSCOPIC BOX CAMERA: a folding/collapsible box; much the same as the designs of Meagher and Hare. In 1859 advertised as the NEW STEREOSCOPIC BOX CAMERA. (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn)

A ‘Monster camera’, an oversized, large-plate version of Captain Francis Fowke’s folding bellows camera built by Ottewill, is shown at the 1858 Photographic Society exhibition. I can’t locate its dimensions, but period price lists show Ottewill selling very large formats (≥24×22 up to 30×30 inches), which is likely the class to which the 1858 “monster camera” belonged. For example, C. E. Clifford’s  illustrated catalogue (National Art Library/RPS copy; ca. 1860–63) lists the sizes of “Improved Double-Body Folding Camera in a table, which runs to 30×30 inches.

On the 18 May 1858 The Ottewill Gush partnership dissolves by mutual consent. Ottewill assumes all debts and continues the business alone; Gush moves on to other partnerships.

An Early Swing Back

1859 IMPROVED KINNEAR’S CAMERA: conventional design; optionally with swing back. The sizes in which this model was made have not been traced specifically but they are known to have been made in a range, or to special order. (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn – they suggest 1860s for the introduction)

The “Improved Kinnear Camera”, was derived from the design of architect-photographer C. G. H. Kinnear’s tapered-bellows field camera of 1857. A Christie’s lot essay says Ottewill made an Improved Kinnear-pattern camera in 1859 and “claimed [it] was the first to introduce a swing back.” 

A swing back is an adjustable rear standard: the ground-glass/plate frame pivots on one (or sometimes two) axes so the sensitized plate needn’t stay square to the baseboard. The swing back was used chiefly for plane-of-focus control and small compositional refinements.

Whilst Ottewill’s swing back was undoubtedly early, some sources state that the movement was introduced earlier:

Tilt and Swing to the Back. These movements are found on studio cameras as early as the 1840s. Cameras fitted with tilt and swing are shown in Knight’s catalogue (1853) and described in Willats’s catalogues of 1849 and later. The 1849 catalogue claims it was introduced by Dr Leeson in 1845. (Source: Early Photography)

Meagher shows a Kinnear-derivative with a swing back described at a Photographic Society meeting in 1860.

Regardless of who introduced it first, by the mid-1860s the movement is routine on studio cameras, becoming a standard control on professional models through the 1870s.

The Early 1860s, Growth and Bankruptcy

1860 OTTEWILL’S MINIATURE CAMERA mahogany, with a brass lens mount and very similar in appearance (apart from the material) to the Skaife Pistolgraph… even to the wooden box and ball-mounted stand. Simple flap-type shutter (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn)

1860s OTTEWILL’S DOUBLE-BODY FOLDING CAMERAS; and the SUPERIOR SLIDING-BODY FOLDING CAMERAS: made in a range of (unspecified) sizes — the latter in vertical/horizontal format, or in a square pattern; optionally in mahogany or teak (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn)

This 1860s “double-body” and “superior sliding-body” models are an evolution of the 1853 model offering more formats (vertical/horizontal/square), materials (including teak), and working features like repeating backs, while staying within the sliding-box-folding tradition that distinguished Ottewill’s field cameras. 

1860s STUDIO CAMERAS and PORTRAIT CAMERAS: several types and sizes of sliding-box cameras; some with sliding/repeating backs (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn)

1861 The census of that year shows Ottewill employs 21 men and 3 boys. On the 31 December Ottewill files for bankruptcy. The court requires Ottweill to surrender himself to Henry Philip Roche, esq, a Registrar of the said Court, at the first meeting of creditors, on the 15th of January the following year. (Source: London Gazette)

1862 On the 15th of March, the Bankrupty Court grants Ottewill an Order of Discharge. (Source: London Gazette)

The Collis Partnership and Debtors Prison

1863 The firm evolves into Ottewill & Collis & Co., with James Collis (formerly with Ross & Co.) as partner. Ross was a leading London firm of “manufacturing optician.” that had introduced an influential doublet portrait lens in 1841, placing the firm among the earliest English manufacturers of photographic lenses.   Ottewill made much of the connection. An 1867 advertisement stated that they had been manufacturing for Ross for 15 years and that Mr Collis was previously working for Ross for 13 years. 

1864 In October Ottewill is adjusged bankrupt for a second time, and is held as a Prisoner for Debt in the custody of the Sheriff of Middlesex, at No. 1, Breams’-buildings, Chancery-lane. (Source: London Gazette).

The Breams’ buildings were not a prison like Newgate , but a Sheriff’s officer’s “sponging-house” (lock-up) used to hold debtors after arrest on a writ while they tried to settle or arrange terms. A debtor was seized by a sheriff’s officer and taken to a sponging-house, and only if no arrangement was made would he be brought before the court and committed to prison.

Contemporary descriptions of Chancery-Lane lock-ups paint a picture of closely supervised rooms, fees for everything, and constant pressure to pay. Debtors could receive visitors and have food sent in, but at their own expense, while officers’ charges mounted.  (Sources: The National Archives and The Spectator Archives)

Last Mention

1865 Ottewill faces creditor hearings and examination. The last mention of him appears late in that year in the London Gazette relating to his bankruptcy material.

1867 James Collis, a former employee of Ross in the accounts department, is accused by Ross of embezzlement and £20 is offered for his apprehension. (Source: Early Photography).

Late 1860s: OTTEWILL’S PLATE CHANGER: one of the earliest designs; carried eighteen plates and could be used on any suitable camera taking a conventional plate carrier. (Source: British Camera Makers, Channing & Dunn – no date for introduction provided)

43 Barbara Street Islington

A note that Ottewill was “possibly living at 43 Barbara St., Islington” in 1870 from the Early Photography site, is the last mention I can find of Thomas Ottewill.

The 1871 census shows Jane Ottewill living in 43 Barbara Street, working as a dressmaker with her daughter Sarah (also working as a dressmaker), James (aged 15, working as a stationer) and Emily (aged 12, scholar). Jane is listed as married, not as a widow.

After domestic service, needlework (dressmaking, millinery, shirt-making) was the default resort for urban women, mostly piece work done at home, often working extremely long hours in poor conditions. Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor records peak-season extremes with women “working frequently their 20 hours a day… often sitting up all night”. These were the conditions later reformers would call the “sweating system.”

Given Thomas’s first bankruptcy was a decade earlier (31 Dec 1861), and that his financial troubles continued on-and-off from then on, It is likely that Jane to begin taking in paid work well before the 1871 census records it. Michael Pritchard’s The development and growth of British photographic manufacturing and retailing 1839-1914 notes that “the business stopped completely for a period of months” when Thomas Ottewill was made bankrupt in 1864, which would necessitate anohter income to feed the family.

It is quite likely that Jane’s work shifted from supplemental to principal income as Thomas’s finances collapsed the second time.

I have not been able to find any records to confirm Thomas’s death. Jane appears to have died in 1889 in Islington (Oct-Dec 1b/173) aged 70.

Legacy

At the 1862 International Exhibition the work of ‘the photographic cabinet-makers’ George Hare, Patrick Meagher and Thomas OttewiIl drew much attention. One reviewer, Samuel Highley, noted that their cameras ‘are of the very best of English workmanship, and contrast very favourably with the productions of our foreign neighbours’. All three businesses were specialist camera makers with photographic manufacturing being the major part of their businesses. (Source The development and growth of British photographic manufacturing and retailing 1839-1914, Michael Pritchard)

Looking back, the British Journal Photographic Almanac in 1898 noted that Ottewill ‘may be regarded as the source to which the best school of English camera-making traces its origin’ 

From these reviews we can conclude that both as a maker and mentor, Thomas Ottewill helped set the course of early British camera manufacture. His workshop trained a small group who went on to lead the trade, including George Hare, Patrick Meagher and John Garland, T. Mason and A. Routledge so that his influence propagated through their later firms.

 In design terms, he showed innovation with the double-folding field camera and Captain Francis Fowke’s bellows camera marked a key transition from sliding boxes to bellows.  By the mid-1860s his workshop helped popularise Kinnear’s tapered-bellows idea with “Improved Kinnear” models, while continuing to supply leading optics houses.  His equipment was praised by Charles Dodson (Lewis Carroll) and reached royal hands. The Royal Archives preserve bills from Ottewill & Morgan and Ottewill & Co. 

Ottewill’s legacy is one of refined, durable cameras that helped define British field and studio work, and a training pipeline that seeded excellence across the London trade.