Frederick M. Brown

Bill Cawley in the Leek Post & Times, on “The enigma of an eccentric artist”

“a Leek mystery … an artist named Frederick Murray von Kalkreith Brown, an eccentric artist of seascapes … I believe the artist was really named Frederich Murray von Kalckreuth Braun … He died in September 1933 attempting to rescue a painting [from a fire] but what led him to come to Leek will remain a mystery.”

Valda and others on Rootsweb kindly looked up the census material a decade ago. I summarise the long thread, in narrative form:

* A “Frederick Murray Von Kalckrieth Brown” was born 1856 in Islington.

Birth dates can be a year astray, since it was common to delay registration of male births due to the high likelihood of death for boys. The birth may have been 1855, but not registered until 1856 when the boy was thriving. I’m guessing it’s possible that “Kalckrieth Brown” was a convenient Anglicisation of his family’s German “Kalckreuth Braun”, but then why not also drop the “von”? Possibly because, to English ears, a “von” indicated the chance of some noble title?

* Married in Shoreditch in 1880. He is listed on the 1881 census as “Fredk. M. Brown”, his trade a Battersea watercolour artist.

* At 1891 he’s living at “9 Bleak Street, Burslem, Staffordshire” with his growing family. That street would today be classed as being just over the border into Cobridge rather than Burslem. He works there as an “Artist and Designer”, presumably for one of the local pottery manufacturers. He moved to Burslem around 1889 or 1890, judging by the birth date and place of his one-year old son Leo B. Brown.

* If he retired in 1920 at age 65, then he and his wife may well have chosen the nearby town of Leek as the place of his retirement.

Not to be confused with Patrick von Kalckreuth (1892–1970), the leading German maritime painter of seascapes. Or with the influential London artist and teacher Frederick Brown (1851-1941). Nor with F. M. Brown the famous Pre-Raphaelite painter.

Entering the public domain in early 2018

Some interesting authors going into the public domain in early 2018, having died in 1947:


Horror:

Arthur Machen. (The biggest name for 2018).

Emilio Carrere (The Tower of the Seven Hunchbacks, later a cult film).

Laurence D’Orsay (wrote some ghost stories, had two stories in Weird Tales in the mid 1920s).


Science fiction:

J. D. Beresford (prolific novelist, admirer and imitator of H.G. Wells — though with less ‘megaphone socialism’ and more human sympathy. Apparently an influence on Stapledon. His The Hampdenshire Wonder sounds very similar to Wells’s The Wonderful Visit and appears to anticipate The Midwich Cuckoos. Also wrote ghost/mystery stories).

M. P. Shiel (The Purple Cloud, a landmark in science fiction, and a number of fantastical stories such as “The Pale Ape”. Lovecraft thought his “The House of Sounds”… “the most haunting thing I have read in a decade.” when he read Shiel circa 1923).

John Ulrich Giesy (wrote stories for the Munsey proto-pulps and early 1920s pulps).


English rural supernatural/magic:

Forrest Reid (his finely-written Tom “trilogy partakes heavily of the marvellous, involving nature worship, guardian angels, ghosts, magic arts and the bridging of the dream and real worlds”).

Hugh John Lofting (the Doctor Dolittle series, and the historical novel The Twilight of Magic about medieval England transitioning from magic to science).

Charles Henry Cannell (wrote as Jack Mann the ‘Gees’ series of rural supernatural detective novels, in which Gees battles warlocks and werewolves. Also a classic telling of the Adventures of Robin Hood for children).

Herbert Asquith (Wind’s End was the first novel of this son of the Prime Minister, “a novel of violence, mystery and crime detection” in rural England … “also a touch of the mystical here” … “unusually good in rustic characters”).


Adventure and true-life:

Emma Orczy (series of Scarlet Pimpernel novels and stories).

E. M. Hull (desert adventure novels).

John Alden Loring (African Adventure Stories, written from first-hand experience as a field naturalist).

James Willard Schultz (sympathetic and ethnologically-accurate adventure novels of American Indian life and fur traders in the Old West).

Alan Sullivan (lost world novel, and a minor fantasy novel).

Charles Nordhoff (gritty sea adventure in the Mutiny on the Bounty trilogy of novels).

‘Captain Dingle’ (authentic sea adventure stories written for the Munsey-era proto-pulps by a veteran sailor).

John Henry Patterson (the true-life The Man-eaters of Tsavo and Other East African Adventures, filmed three times).

Cecil Madigan (the true-life story of exploring then-unexplored Australia, Crossing the Dead Heart).


Also of note:

Hector Munro Chadwick (his theory of The Heroic Age, in book form in 1912, was an influence on the young Tolkien and tangentially the later sword-and-sorcery genre).

Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes (sister of Hilaire Belloc who produced a popular mystery-crime novel a year, one of which became an early feature-film by Alfred Hitchcock).

Margaret Marshall Saunders (an enormously popular children’s animal-story adventure writer from Canada, now forgotten).

Henry Ford (the famous manufacturer, autobiography ‘My Life and Work’ and ‘My Friend Mr Edison’ – his ghost writer Samuel Crowther also died 1947).

Harry Gordon Selfridge (The Romance of Commerce, a popular book-length survey of ancient commerce from Greece onwards, Bodley Head. Might be suitable for adaptation as a non-fiction graphic novel?)

Angela Brazil (cult stories of English girls’ school life, the Chalet School series).

Donald Henderson (“the 1943 psychological thriller Mr. Bowling Buys a Newspaper, which got considerable critical attention in wartime Britain”).

Meredith Nicholson (the best-selling ‘haunted-house/inheritance/romance’ mystery The House of a Thousand Candles, and mystery/espionage thriller The Port of Missing Men).

C. Louis Leipoldt (a major Afrikaans poet whose poetry does not translate, but he also wrote “detective stories”. His English-language historical fiction Boer trilogy The Valley was only published posthumously and with radical surgery to the original drafts, and thus will not be public domain).

Iain MacCormaic (wrote the first novels in Scottish Gaelic).

Bert Kalmar (songwriter for Groucho Marx).

John Archibald Watt Dollar (A Handbook of Horse-Shoeing, 1898 but not likely to be out-of-date).

On H. G. Wells and the allusions made by “the Journalist”

Following my recent post here on the original of Weena, I think I can also trace the root of another couple of elements in H. G. Wells’s famous The Time Machine, these being a contemporary allusions made by the Journalist and the Newspaper Editor.

The narrator mentions a “Hettie Potter”, about whom the Journalist tells amusing “anecdotes” at dinner, just after the Time Traveller returns…

“The Journalist tried to relieve the tension by telling anecdotes of Hettie Potter.”

The Wellsian scholars and academics alike have until now failed to find this Potter, and…

“no commentator has adequately identified this person … it can be said with some certainty that there was no real celebrity of this name active in 1894” (Science-fiction Studies, 28, 3, Nov 2011).

It’s correct to say — something first noticed by John S. Partington, so far as I can tell — that there was an actress Hettie Potter, sister of the star Gertie Potter. But it’s also correct to say that she was likely not born when The Time Machine was being written (started 1888, but mostly written during 1894)…

“Gertie Potter was born in Suffolk in 1895, became one of the best loved child stars of English early pioneering comedy and trick fantasy films, pretty young dark-haired girl who starred in many Cecil Hepworth movies from 1905’s ‘Children v Earthquakes – Earthquakes Preferred’, she would be most often under the direction of Lewin Fitzhamon, probably her best known film role as the mischievous youngster in ‘The Fatal Sneeze’ in 1907, in her last film at the age of 18 she played the title role in ‘Cinderella’ a short sound version [the earliest British talkie], a Vitaphone film, synchronised to a Columbia record made at Hepworth Film Company in 1913, she was not seen on screen again. Sister of actors Hetty and Bertie Potter, whom she often appeared on film with.”

One wonders, however, if this implied a small ‘time-travelling’ jest being played on the reader by Wells. Had Gertie Potter just then been born to a family of theatre people circa 1894, to a family known to Wells, might Wells have chanced to put her name in the book? On the assumption that there was a very strong possibility she would be a child stage actress some ten years later? At which time readers would start to be be astounded that an 1895 novel had named used her name long before her fame?

But that amusing possibility seems a long stretch. Far more likely is that “Hettie Potter” was meant to be a slightly veiled allusion to the most famous Potter — indeed, the most famous actress — on the stage at that time: Cora Potter.

“She signed a contract with a London theatre company in 1887 and moved to that city. She and her husband subsequently lived apart and divorced in 1900. As a society woman performing on the stage, Mrs. Potter received coverage in the press and gave interviews in which she spoke disparagingly of the Potter family, blaming them for attempting to stifle her artistic pursuits.” (Frederick Law Olmsted, The Papers of Frederick Law Olmsted: The Early Boston Years, 1882–1890)

“In those days the name of Cora Potter … was as familiar to the average person as are now [in 1921] the names of her daughter “Kifi” and [another then-famous actress]. [After 1887] “Potter took her fortunes at their tide and was swept along to victories of which she had not dreamed. Honored by the English queen, flattered by the Prince of Wales, she usurped Mrs. Langtry, “the Jersey Lily”, as the late Albert Edward’s [Prince of Wales] favorite” (Los Angeles Herald, 2 April 1921).

As such she appears to have been very gossip-worthy, and often bitterly so by those who resented her swift success and glamorous lifestyle. She moved easily between a well-established home in London and regular work in New York and on tour, as detailed in the recent book Cora Urquhart Potter: The Victorian Actress as Provocateur (2010)…

“On the occasion of her death in 1936, a New York newspaper wrote that actress Cora Urquhart Potter “probably accomplished more for the cause of feminism than the efforts of all the equal rights organizations of her day. … abandoning her position in New York society, undertook a professional career spanning more than two decades. Potter’s defiance of convention both mirrored and propelled the changes transforming fin de siecle theatre and society. In advancing the concept of the New Woman, both on and off stage, she became a lightning rod for criticism within a social milieu and a profession still fervidly clinging to Victorian ideals.”

As such, Wells must surely have been aware that his readers of 1895 would instantly pick up on the use of the name “Potter”, in the context of amusing “anecdotes” told by a London journalist. Wells could have relied on readers to mentally translate “Hettie” to “Cora” — one of the most famous and indeed radical stage actresses of the day. And in doing so to instantly ‘fill in’ a little of the character of the “loud” Journalist in terms of his professional interests (society news rather than hard political news) and politics (possibly somewhat casually against ‘the New Woman’) and habits (he has met her more than once in circumstances that give rise to tell-able anecdotes, presumably first-hand ones, and thus he must mix in theatrical circles).

The mention of Potter comes just a few paragraphs shortly after the mention of the equally famous Rosebery, by the Newspaper Editor, seeking “the lot” (i.e.: all the details) on the fate of the then-shaky British government…

“Tell us all about little Rosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?”

Despite being a hugely popular national celebrity, Rosebery had became a notoriously vulnerable Prime Minister from March 1894. Expected to fall at any moment, he and his government survived until June 1895. A contemporary copy of the satiric Punch magazine clearly demonstrates the popular political use of the “little” in “little Rosebery”…

Aye, little Rosebery — and well called — for you’re the roundest, the rosiest, the raciest candidate in all the City … vote for your Rosebery — good Little Rosebery …” (1)

Rosebery wanted to create a bold upright “imperial race”, inclusive of Scots and Irish, to do justice to Great Britain’s manifest destiny in ruling the world of the future. After his fall, the decline of Empire slowly but inexorably began to take hold. His grand plan has an obvious link with the key themes of the novel.

Cora Potter was equally famous among the public, her name known throughout America and the British Empire. For instance, her name had such world reach that in April 1894 Cora Potter had just… “toured Australia, India, and other parts of the British Empire in the eastern hemisphere in 1893-94” and was returning home with the well-announced (from April 1894) intention of staging the play Charlotte Corday in New York (it opened in New York in the spring of 1895). The play was about the woman who assassinated Jean-Paul Marat during the early part of the French Revolution. Marat was a major scientist “with interests in electricity and light”, but who — as a figurehead of the revolution — had shortly before his assassination come to publicly advocate the mass murder of the French aristocrats in order to ‘liberate’ the masses. It seems to me that there might be a tangential link here with some of the broad themes of The Time Machine, something that Wells may also have noticed. Certainly such a play would speak to the tensions between the Fabian and violent varieties of socialism, tensions that a decade later Wells would be deeply involved in.

I can also explain the Journalist’s slightly earlier use of the phrase “Amateur Cadger”…

“What’s the game?” said the Journalist. “Has he been doing the Amateur Cadger? I don’t follow.”

Note the capitalisation, suggesting the title of a book or play rather than a common phrase. “The Amateur Cadger: or, Twelve Hours in a Common Lodging House” was a popular pamphlet by a reporter who… “dressed in rags in order to give a true unvarnished account of a Common Lodging House — the Vagabond’s Home — a place that abounds in character and crime”. The Journalist thus implies that the Time Traveller’s rags may indicate he had returned from covert slumming among the London low-life, as part of some research project (Richmond was well connected to London by cab and train). (2)

These three allusions — Potter, Rosebery and the Amateur Cadger — each helps subtly foreshadow the themes of the novel, at least in the mind of the contemporary politically-aware reader of 1895. Rosebery evoked the idea of the creation of a perfect ruling race. Potter evoked ‘free love’ and free expression, and the coming ‘New Woman’. The Amateur Cadger evoked the danger inherent in a sudden inversion between the master and the underclass, as well as visually evoking the fetid underground lodgings of that underclass. All are dislocated from their social position, in some way.


(1) This quote must disprove the rather casual earlier theories that the Editor’s reference is somehow about a racehorse owned by Rosebery. Rosebery’s horses were called Ladas and Sir Vistor, and with them he had a string of big race wins in 1894 and 1895. But no high-standing gentleman of the time would be so crass as to name a racehorse after himself. The Editor’s “What will you take for the lot?” should have long since persuaded any scholar to disregard any theory about a racehorse, since a common racing tip on a winner would not be referred to as “the lot”.

(2) So far as I can find, there had been no 1890s stage play adaptation of this earlier pamphlet, though it seems a likely candidate for a play.

“Cadger” appears to have been a word most in common use in print in the 1860s and 70s…

“The [kidnapped] boy is in the Cadger’s Cavern, hidden a thousand feet below the Thames; there is to be a grand jollification among the rogues that night, a dance and a feast. … Here they [the cadgers, roguish beggars] come trooping in by scores, the halt and the lame, black sweepers, one-legged fiddlers, the climber mots, the fly-fakers, the kedgoree coves…” — Thackery, “Dickens in France” (being a recounting of his circa 1860s viewing of a French stage adaptation of Nicholas Nickelby (1838)).

In America the term seems to have been later briefly used in place of “hawker”, a travelling pedlar who carries a basket of small goods or birds for sale. In the UK it may have shifted over time to become to the later “codger”, being a disgruntled and seedy old man who has little or no money. It is still somewhat in use as “can I cadge a lift”, meaning “can I have a free ride in your car” or “can I cadge a fag” meaning “can I have free cigarette”.

Some characters from The Land of Pots

Some early Etruria characters, extracted from the reminiscence “The Land of Pots” in TITAN: A Monthly Magazine, 1859.


William Theed, another gifted artist and most amiable man, for a long time devoted all his talents to the improvements at Etruria. He lived rent-free in one of the cottages on the Basford bank, and was married to a charming little French woman, whose foreign manners and broken English seemed out of place in that dull smoky land.

Among the chemists [in the early days at Etruria] were Leslie, long professor in the University of Edinburgh, who is described as fat and ugly, yet, like many a hideous mortal, intensely vain of his person; and Chisholm, a worthy old bachelor, who worked out the ideas and suggestions of others.

In fact, Etruria soon became the resort of scientific men, among whom was Sir James Hall, the father of Basil Ball, and a great oddity.

For a long time there was no church or chapel at Etruria, and those who could not or would not go to Stoke or Hanley to hear the gospel, were addressed by a working potter, a Wesleyan who roamed from place to place carrying a lantern under his coat to light him home at night.

Canals were the railroads of those days, and a person who lived for many years in Etruria remember seeing the red jackets [soldiers], and hearing the shrill note of the bagpipes of the Highlanders, passing down on barges during the long war.

Walking by the sea at Penzance one day, Thomas Wedgwood [of Etruria] saw a boy picking up seaweed and rock plants. He spoke to him, and was so pleased with his answers, that he undertook to secure for him an education which should develop his latent capacities. He wrote in his behalf to Dr. Beddoes … The Doctor received [Humphry] Davy as assistant at Clifton, and Mr Wedgwood supplied the necessary funds.1

(No Davy Lamp would have meant no deep coal mining, thus no industrial revolution that lasted, and thus no modern world… )


(1) This is corrected a little by the book A Group of Englishmen (1795 to 1815) Being Records of the Younger Wedgwoods

“What were the benefits conferred on Davy by the Wedgwoods [in Cornwall in winter 1797, for their health] is not stated; but he certainly did not owe to them his [initial] introduction to Beddoes. That was due to Davies Giddy…”

However I would suggest that an introduction by letter, by a rather limited local antiquarian, of a promising local lad is one thing. An introduction by Thomas Wedgwood, with a donation of £1,000 attached, is quite another.