People of 1925: A Year Through the Lives of Those We Never Knew ~ Kuriositas

25 July 2025

People of 1925: A Year Through the Lives of Those We Never Knew

A century ago, the world danced precariously between wars, flappers twirled to jazz, and telephones still had cords. But the people of 1925 laughed, worried, posed for photos, and waited for buses - just like us. In this snapshot of time, let’s take a look at the faces, fashions, and fragments of ordinary lives from 1925 - and where possible, what happened to them afterwards.

Note

I used Flickr’s The Commons and Wikimedia Commons for this project. The first obstacle I came across was unexpected but on reflection it shouldn’t have been – human nature! Many photos from this era were not marked with exact dates or even years and so unless they were associated with a specific event, then the curators had to be vague (between 1920 and 1925 and so on). Before I started using a phone and the date stamp that goes with digital photography, I didn't take the time to scrawl dates on the back – leaving me to guess about the exact year from my own history, let alone that of complete strangers. So, if I had not recorded dates myself, how could I expect others to do so? Yet because I wanted to try and feature people as ordinary and everyday as possible, rather than politicians and actors, this precluded so many great photographs that I soon lost count.

The second issue is the Eurocentricity of most photographs included. This was not a choice but due to the available sources. Most accessible historical photographic archives come from Europe and North America, where photography was adopted earlier and preservation institutions were established, resulting in better-documented collections.

When I have included people who were well known or even celebrated in 1925, it is in more informal settings wherever possible. A few photographs that have been recorded as circa 1925 have been included, simply because they were irresistible, so please forgive me for that. There were other issues that I came across as I went along, too (more of those later). However, the decision to select only photographs with verifiable dates was a good one.

Photography in 1925 was affordable enough for many ordinary families to participate but still a small luxury, especially when compared to how easy and cheap digital photos are today. Each shot counted, and people often took photos to capture special moments rather than daily life. So, many of these photos will seem arranged, organized and posed for a good reason: they were!

I hope you enjoy this gallery of the people of 1925.

Let’s start with something quite silly. The National Archives of the Netherlands has this great picture of a group of young swimmers with bike tyres tied around their bodies as a swimming aid. Taken in Germany, 1925. It must have seemed like a clever idea at the time, but from the look of the smirks on some of the faces we can see here, I doubt whether this idea was every taken seriously. These young people all look as fit as the veritable butcher’s dog and it’s highly unlikely that they would have needed any support to help them swim!

This is young Joe Kroeger, happily hugging the family cat while he sits in his Pioneer Coaster wooden wagon. It is taken from the collection of the Missouri State Archive and was taken by his father Otto Kroeger. They were a well-established family of German-Americans who lived in the shadow of the Supreme Court building in Jefferson City.

Joe is happily sat in his Pioneer Coaster. These were wooden-bodied toy wagons, often stencilled with “Pioneer Coaster” or “Little Tot Pioneer Coaster,” built around the 1920s to early 1930s, typically with wood or metal wheels. There is no way they would pass any kind of health and safety regulations today. These wagons were propelled by a pumping motion, feet pushing against the ground to coast downhill or cruise forward – no doubt towards bruises, cuts and the occasional broken bone. This style of play demanded a surprising level of skill and endurance, so let’s hope young Joe got through this part of his life unscathed and moved on to the A.C. Gilbert Erector Set (America’s Answer to Meccano) without too many accidents.

JANUARY

Women skated and occasionally played hockey in Minnesota from as early as 1918, especially at the University of Minnesota, where women’s teams were documented playing on outdoor rinks during the 1920s Despite the image’s origin in the National Archives of the Netherlands, there's no clear evidence these women were Dutch or part of a visiting Dutch team. There is, of course, unambiguous evidence that their outfits are not what they would have worn competitively – the photograph clearly labels them as being in “swimming suits”.

As such, one can only assume that this is highly likely is an early example of female objectification, framed within the cultural norms of the 1920s. While it might be presented as light-hearted or humorous, several factors suggest that the image was staged more for spectacle or titillation than genuine athleticism or empowerment. Primarily, January in Minnesota had average temperatures well below freezing. 1920s Women participating in sports were often trivialised or shown in ways that highlighted their bodies over their achievements.

Having said that, it's also worth pointing out that some women gained visibility through such photos, navigating limited avenues to express physical freedom or challenge norms. Even so, the way these images were consumed still often reflected objectifying intent. Your call.

As you will see throughout this collection, the young people of 1925 were not averse to revealing a little skin. Throughout the decade, there was a marked and dramatic shift in social norms, culture and attitudes, especially among the younger generation. It was time to break free from the strict, conservative Victorian and Edwardian values that had dominated life before the “Roaring Twenties”.

The photograph from January 1925 shows Australian musical comedy star Dorothy Brunton seated beside a young boy at St. Margaret’s Hospital, Sydney, reading from the children’s section of The Sun newspaper. The moment is warm and intimate, capturing a quiet act of kindness from a well-known public figure, bringing comfort and delight to a child during his hospital stay. Brunton, one of Australia’s most beloved stage performers of the 1920s, was admired not only for her theatrical talent but also for her charitable spirit.

The newspaper she reads from features “Fashion-plate Fanny,” by Syd Nicholls (a leading illustrator and cartoonist of the time). Children's sections in newspapers like The Sun were designed to entertain and educate young readers – as much as to capture the next generation of newspaper readers while they were still young. They often included illustrated stories, puzzles, jokes, riddles, and short moral tales, along with contributions from child readers themselves. Some children’s pages even operated as informal clubs, with badges or honorary titles for those who sent in letters, drawings, or poems.

They were very much in demand – learned behavior of the time would see children exposed to many people reading newspapers, books and magazine. As such they would want to “read” the papers too, even if only in an imitative act. It’s little wonder that so many of our young children today want so much screen time – they just want to do what they see all around them.

These sections were immensely popular in the 1920s and served a significant role in encouraging literacy, imagination, and a sense of connection for children, especially those in isolated or difficult circumstances like hospitals. In this way, the image not only highlights Dorothy Brunton’s popularity and compassion but also gives a glimpse into how newspapers helped bring small moments of joy and engagement into children’s lives a century ago.

Two elegant young women post for a studio portrait. The name of the woman seated has been lost to time, but the one standing is Mildred Parson Mason Larkins. She was a was a graduate of Florida Normal and Industrial College (now Florida Memorial University) and then a schoolteacher in Lincolnville, Augustine Florida. Lincolnville was settled by formerly enslaved people after the American Civil War and was known for some time as “Little Africa” – a name designated by its founders. Sadly, many of the historic buildings built by the community were demolished in the 1980s and 1990s. However, Mildred was known both for her stylishness and her work in the community.

Mildred married and had three children with her musician husband Robert Mason: Reginald (who most people know as “Cookie”, Robert and Otis. All three sons served in the US Military during World War II. Otis would later follow in his mother’s footstep, becoming first a teacher, then headmaster. He became a County Superintendent of Schools in 1984 and was the first person of African-American descent to be elected to that position in St Johns County.

The photographer was Richard Twine, born and raised in Lincolnville, St Augustine, just like Mildred. He was a few years older than Mildred, but it is quite likely that they knew each other as acquaintance or friends, rather than just subject and photographer. It is thought that he learned his photographic skills in New York. Much of his work was thought lost until 1988, when, just before the demolition of his former home, his collection of glass plate negatives was discovered in the attic. The negatives included the one of Mildred and all have been preserved by the St Augustine Historical Society.

This is one of the few photos circa 1925 rather than exactly dated that I have included in this collection.

FEBRUARY

In the cold chill of the morning of 12 February, six new officers are publicly measured in the grounds of the White House. A law had recently been passed in the previous December that any new officers of the White House Police Force (WHPF) had to be six feet tall – or more. In the picture you can see Seargent Clarence Dalrymple (known as “Dal” to friends) measuring RG Ford, who was 6 feet 2 inches. The height requirement appears to have been aimed at projecting a more imposing presence in the nation's capital and aligning with perceived standards of officer stature at the time. Seargeant Dalrymple himself does not look to be close to 6 feet and his thoughts on the matter are not recorded.

However, by 1925 his position at the White House was unassailable – he was an institution. He had been on guard since 1898, when at the age of 29 he had left service with the Metropolitan Police to start the role that would define his life. This was before the Executive Offices were separated from the President’s private rooms and he had overseen the establishment of the White House Police Force in 1922.

Dal would rise to the rank of Captain in 1930 when the WHPF was merged into the Secret Service. The Evening Star newspaper of July 29^th, 1934, wrote that he “was noted for his mild‑mannered yet effective leadership. He memorised officials’ faces and greeted them personally.”

Yet all things must end. The Evening Star reports on February 6, 1938: “Captain Clarence L. Dalrymple, popularly known as ‘Dal,’ of the White House Police, died suddenly yesterday at his home following an extended illness. For forty years he commanded his men with remarkable calmness and efficiency and had gained the respect of Presidents and their families. He was well known to officials and visitors alike and was particularly noted for his uncanny ability to spot potential troublemakers as well as his friendly habit of greeting dignitaries by name. Funeral services will be conducted tomorrow at St. Matthew’s Cathedral, with President and Mrs. Roosevelt expected to be among the mourners.” Dal was 69 years old when he died.

The yearly ritual of a school play meant an excuse to dress up and step briefly into other worlds - whether as kings, fairies, villains, or maidens - all under the approving eye of teachers and, in this case, the bemused gaze of classmates. Some of the fairies in this picture, taken on February 15, don’t look terribly happy with their long hair, gorgeous dresses and delicate wings. That’s probably because they are boys.

Taken by local photographer AH Poole (more about him in August), this picture shows the pupils at the all-male Waterpark School in Waterford, a seaport in southeast Ireland and the country’s oldest city, dating back to the tenth century. The Irish Civil War had ended in May 1923, and it captures a period when the new Irish Free State was still stabilising. Waterpark College was run by the Congregation of Christian Brothers, a Catholic teaching order and had done so since the school had started in 1892 serving the middle classes of the area. As life returned to normal after the civil war, plays and music resumed as part of school culture.

Ireland at the time was a deeply patriarchal society and Catholic – with strict gender roles. So, it is difficult from a modern perspective, to reconcile why the brothers insisted that half the boys dragged up, essentially, for their roles. In single-sex schools, it was entirely typical for boys to play female roles. This was a long tradition, echoing practices going back to Shakespearean times. The audience – family and clergy alike – would have understood this to have been a performance, not a reflection of identity. It was a necessary part of putting on a play and was not seen as a subversion of gender roles. Any suggestion that a boy “liked” dressing as a girl, or performed femininity willingly or joyfully, could invite mockery, bullying, or suspicion. One thing is for certain - once the curtain fell and the costumes were packed away, boys were expected to reassume their gender roles without question.

We can only guess what was going through the heads of some of the boys as this photograph was taken...

The costumes in the photo look lavish, but closer inspection suggests they may be cleverly handmade or reused from previous performances. In that era, mothers or convent seamstresses often helped create costumes from donated fabric or church stores. As for the play – it isn’t something as ambitious as A Midsummer Night’s Dream (and the donkey is missing!). Rather it is more likely to have been a revue which were popular in Irish schools of the time. They were collections of short sketches, songs, dances, and tableaux, often linked by a theme – in this case fairyland. The variety allowed more students to participate which was ideal for a school production, and especially useful when you had younger boys or limited rehearsal time.

Waterpark College is very much still in operation today, now as a co‑educational secondary school for children between the ages of 12 and 18.

Although we know the name of the basketball team here, their name remains something of a mystery. Taken it Birmingham, Alabama this team was the 1924-25 champions and their team’s name was Hang-dai “Y”. The picture is held by the American Jewish Historical Society, under the National Jewish.

The “Y” suggests that they were a chapter of the Young Men’s Hebrew Association (YMHA) in Birmingham, which was well-established by the 1920s, with a strong athletic program, including basketball teams that generated community pride. However, there is no direct meaning or usage of Hang-dai in Hebrew or Yiddish which leads us down the obvious route. It’s Cantonese. The Cantonese term for “brothers” (兄弟) is the most linguistically accurate source, and that meaning aligns well with the values a Jewish YMCA basketball team would celebrate — brotherhood, unity, loyalty. Yet why would a group of young Jewish men choose a Cantonese name for the team?

That’s a difficult one – and the answer is really guesswork. It could be a symbolic choice by these young men - drawing on an exotic-sounding term to reflect team brotherhood, like a secret society or tight-knit unit. There would have been very few Cantonese speakers in Alabama at the time and in the 1920s, Chinese culture wasn’t celebrated in the US in any meaningful way. Perhaps one of them had read a comic featuring a brotherhood called Hang-dai?

If only we could ask the young Gomez Adam (center). And the young man, right, front row, could explain another mystery. Why is he wearing one sock up and the other down?

This bunch of bruisers were the lawyers of the future in 1925. While attending Osgoode Hall Law School (part of the York University in Toronto), Known simply as Osgoode, the institution has been producing lawyers since 1888. These guys, the intercollegiate football team of 1925 look like they could take care of themselves anywhere, let alone on the football field. Pictured are Depicted are: J.P. (Pat.) O'Reilly (manager), R.S. Mills (captain), A.J. Nash, D.B. McIntyre, J.A. Bond, R.B. (Bob) Burns, W.H. (Bill) Becking, Frank L. Nash, Grant Gordon, S. McInnis, E.W. Tyrril, J.P. (Dick) Dickler, John H. Thompson, H.L. Cartwright, R.S. (Bud) Joy, G.P. Anglin, Emmette F. Sherry. Attached is an oval print depicting J.C. Sullivan.

This lineup reflects a robust student body drawn from Osgoode’s legal scholars—many of whom went on to practice law in Ontario and beyond. Osgoode Hall had a presence in university and amateur football leagues, including the Ontario Rugby Football Union and CRU competitions. Alumni like Frank Turville (‘28) went on to football careers, though none from the 1925 team are recorded as professional players.

Whether or not in a court of law, you would want these on your side!

While Osgoode no longer competes in intercollegiate football, the tradition of athletic involvement continues through broader student engagement in sports and recreation, including Law Games—a national law school sports festival featuring flag football and other sports.

MARCH

The 1920s is considered a golden age for boxing in Europe. Paris was a magnet for international fighters and promoters and for 26-year-old Jack Taylor (left) and 19-year-old Charlie Ring (right) it was a chance to make a lot of money and display their prowess. Foreign fighters frequently toured France to build their reputations and to gain experience – not to mention compete for titles. Although I cannot find an account of their match, the pair were adversaries in the ring, and this is a pre-fight photograph. Ring lost to Taylor by decision, so it was a close fought match.

The venue of their fight was the Gaumont-Palace in the heart of Paris near Montmartre. In the interwar period, combining boxing and film was part of a trend known as “sport-spectacle.” You could attend a gala evening that began with short films or newsreels, followed by live music and then actual boxing matches, often with international fighters like Jack and Charlie. It drew mostly male working-class and middle-class audiences alike and gave the sport a sense of glamour and theatre.

March 10, 1925 (the date of the Taylor–Ring match) would have been one of these mixed programmes, part cinema, part sporting event, attracting Parisians fascinated by both celebrity fighters and modern film. The fighters were usually very well paid. By the 1920s, the Gaumont-Palace was Europe's largest cinema, seating over 6,000 people, and one of the largest in the world at the time. You could call it a multimedia cultural venue!

Charlie Ring was from Australia, and this was his first time in Europe. He would travel the continent and visit the USA until at least 1930. He is credited with carrying Australian boxing onto the world stage. He retired from boxing in 1938 and was able to buy a house and a car with money to spare on his return to his home city of Melbourne. He returned to his pre-boxing job at the Melbourne docks and became a referee and boxing trainer at his gym in the Fitzroy area of the city. He died in 1976 at the age of 70.

Jack Taylor was originally from the United States and had only just arrived in France when this picture was taken. However, he had impressed boxing fans with both his technique and his athleticism, often looking as fresh after a match as he had been before it. Taylor had a hugely successful European career and made Paris his home for the best part of a decade. He even ran hugely popular public workout routines on the Champs-Élysées. He also participated in popular demonstrations merging boxing and dance and had a few minor film roles in French films, including Monte Cristo and Les nuits de Port Said (in which he performed several fight scenes). In 1930 he supported female demonstrator who were protesting social insurance reform – so he was indeed more than just a boxer.

At one match, Jack did the Charleston dance to end the show. The crowd went wild and at his next appearance, the venue hosted a Charleston dance competition after the match! Jack was still doing the Charlston after matches in 1933, when he was living and working in The Netherlands. After the German invasion of 1940, Jack was imprisoned (for being black and foreign). Unusually, he was repatriated in 1944 and set foot on US sale for the first time in almost 20 years. Having lost all his money in Europe, he never financially recovered and died in poverty in 1963 receiving an indigent burial. A sad end to a remarkable life. Read more here.

The Gaumont-Palace was demolished in 1972.

The small time of Innisfail in Queensland, Australia, was hit by a flood in March 1925 which left the town covered in a thick layer of mud. The Ford Model T seems to have escaped the worst, but its owner was no doubt not incredibly pleased with the state of their vehicle. One little boy, however, was more than happy to pose for a photograph.

According to information shared by a local Facebook group focused on historical images, the boy can be identified as Jim Sangster, who was approximately seven years old at the time. The car belonged to Max Manning, brother of Fred Manning.

The town was used to this kind of natural disaster. Only seven years previously in 1918 a huge cyclone had devastated the town and killed numerous people. When rebuilt, it was done in the popular Art Deco style of the time. As such, Innisfail is now considered one of the best Australian towns for Art Deco architecture. I find such connections fascinating - how a community’s resilience in the face of repeated hardship can shape not only its physical landscape but also its identity and heritage. Bravo, Innisfail.

A Monsieur Soreau and his dogs prepare to drive his Fiat in the Paris-Nice automobile race that started on 10 March 1925. I was attracted to this picture, frankly, because of the dogs who look like a pair of gentle ruffians! Their little outfits are also ridiculously cute. Soreau looks on with obvious fondness.

Search as I might I have not been able to find any more information about Soreau. I cannot find a race report citation for him, and I suspect that he may have been something of a “gentleman participant”. That is someone who was a non-factory racer, so not employed directly by Fiat. However, he did have the means to enter himself and his own vehicle for the race. As a minor participant he would not have expected to receive much if any attention from the press unless he did something completely surprising and won!

The 1925 Paris–Nice automobile race was won by Dominique Lamberjack (who had previously served his country as an aviator in the First World War), driving a Voisin 18 HP. While many competitors took part in the gruelling rally, it was Lamberjack’s sleek French engineering, that carried him to victory. Although Soreau had the solace and loyal support of his dogs, 1925 was not to be his year.

APRIL

April 24th was a big day for Eleanor Chiles. She had been named Princess Shenandoah of the Apple Blossom Festival at Winchester, a historic city in the northern Shenandoah Valley, near the West Virginia border. There she is, standing, with her entourage, pretending to be Native Americans.

The Washington Post, April 25, 1925 reports that: “Forty thousand persons, exultant because a million apple trees are in bloom, marched through the streets today with rejoicing for nature's promise of a rich harvest. … Just as a valley, rich and fragrant, with a myriad of blooms scenting the air, never seemed more beautiful, so the skies, glorious and blue, never seemed more far. Of the 40,000 persons, some rode in gorgeous floats and other marched; but all were attired in costumes of pink, red, green and white—the colors of the blossoms.

They marched to the fair grounds, there to crown a queen, Miss Eleanor Chiles, of Frederick County, whose radiant charm personified the unrivalled beauty of the apple blossom. She was attended by twenty princesses, the fairest of the Shenandoah.”

It was only the second time the festival had taken place, and it had already grown from its humble beginnings the year before to something much, much larger – and Eleanor was at the center of the day’s activities. But who was she?

Eleanor was the daughter of Samuel M Chiles (in 1903 he was elected county treasurer, so something of a local bigwig one imagines). The family would be hit by a double tragedy just nine years later in 1934.

The Northern Virginia Daily of 10 July 1934 gives us this, sad information. “The hand of death has been laid heavily upon the family of Samuel M. Chiles, prominent Frederick County citizen and former treasurer of the county, during the past week. Less than a week after the death of his wife, Mrs. Sallie Osburn Childs, which occurred last Tuesday evening at their home, “Plainfield,” at Kernstown, their only daughter, Mrs. Eleanor Chiles Small, 28. wife of Dr. George William Small, a member of the faculty of the University of Maine, of Bangor, passed away at Memorial Hospital in Winchester.”

Just a day later on Wednesday 11 July, The Daily News Leader gives us this additional information: “Mrs Eleanor Chiles Small, twenty eight: wife of Dr George William Small of Bangor, Main, the former Miss Elanor Chiles and second queen of the Shenandoah Apple Blossom Festival here, died in a hospital here (sic) Sunday following a brief illness.

“Her death was the first to occur in the ranks of the eleven young women who have occupied the thrown annually at the apple fete here.

“Mrs Small was taken ill the latter part of June and underwent an operation in Memorial Hospital here. Last Tuesday, Mrs Small’s mother, Mrs Osborne Chiles, wife of Samuel M Chiles, of Plainfield’s at Kernstown, died. Mrs Chiles’ funeral was held Friday.

“It was in 1925 that Mrs Small was queen of the apple blossom festival. A few years later she was married to Dr Small, a graduate of John Hopkins university, Baltimore, who is now a professor at the university of Maine.

“Surviving Mrs Small are her husband, two small children, William Chiles Small and Eleanor Stephens Small; her father, SM Chiles and one brother, John Chiles of Kernstown.”

Despite her own tragically premature death, I am sure that Eleanor would be happy to know that the festival is still thriving today. As times change, it does no longer anyone pretending to be native Americans. TheBloom, as it is referred to is now spread over ten days and hosts more than fifty events, including a Miss Apple Blossom Pageant.

Mountain Park, Alberta, Canada was a coal‑mining town founded in 1911 by the Mountain Park Coal Company. It sat at approximately 6,200 feet elevation, making it the highest year-round inhabited community in Canada. Yet even at high altitudes, most of the young boys and men would still choose baseball as their favorite game. Some of them would certainly have been born in the town, but it is most likely that none of them would die there. Regardless, what a stunning backdrop for a game.

The photo captures a community field day event, including more than just baseball - other athletic contests would be included. These were popular in remote mining towns to foster morale and leisure. In other words, there were none of the diversions that larger towns could offer and so the residents turned to organizing events themselves.

Mountain Park had been established in 1911 and was at its cola-mining peak in the 1920s. By the mid 1950s it had been abandoned. The coal mine had closed in 1950. When railroads began converting from steam to diesel locomotives after World War II, demand for steam coal plummeted. The mine had been the sole reason for the town to exist in the first place.

It is now a ghost town, serving as a historical reminder of Canada’s coal-driven industrial era and the fragile nature of single-industry towns.

MAY

The first of May is known as Vappu in Finland. The boys of Laihia are celebrating by wearing cowbells around their waists. The idea is to run down streets and roads making as much noise as is humanly possible for young boys to make (in other words, lots of it). By doing so they will frighten away evil spirits and welcome spring back into their lives with their noise and cheer. Finnish May Day is one of the biggest celebrations in Finland so this would just be part of the day’s activities.

The gloves and snow in the photo are entirely consistent with typical Finnish weather on Vappu, especially in a town like Laihia. The boys would have been used to bundling up for spring celebrations that didn’t quite feel like spring!

The municipality of Laihia has a reputation for the frugality of its inhabitants, which is a common theme in local jokes. In fact, Laihia even has a Museum of Stinginess (Nuukuuden museo) that celebrates this aspect of local culture. These boys, however, do not look like they are going to be sting when it comes to making noise!

Frank Farnum was a dance instructor and choreographer active during the 1920s, particularly known for his expertise in popular dances of the era like the Charleston. He played a key role in bringing the Charleston from dance halls to the film industry, coaching actors and actresses to perform the steps authentically on screen. Farnum’s work helped popularise the dance among wider audiences by ensuring it translated well to the new medium of silent and early sound films.

Here, he gives actress Pauline Starke some guidance for her performance in MGM’s A Little bit of Broadway, released as Bright Lights in 1925. I would love to show you the clip where she dances the Charleston, a defining dance of the Roaring Twenties, named after the city in South Carolina. However, the movie has been lost to history and no prints remain, like several of Starke’s other films. She was the star of a number of films and was popular for a few years. She would remain in the industry until 1943, when she was, unfortunately, down to uncredited roles. Her star had well and truly fallen by them, but she is remembered on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6125 Hollywood Blvd.

By 1925, the Columbia Country Club in Chevy Chase, Maryland was a centre of elite social and sporting life in the capital region. Yet although it was founded in 1898, it did not have a pool until 1925, and this photograph is from its opening on 30 May. Swimming was not yet widely taught in most US schools, but it was beginning to grow in popularity, especially in cities with access to public pools or YMCAs. Of course, when you open a pool, you need swimming instructors.

Step forward Florence Skadding (not Shadding as the Library of Congress Collection lists her name) and H.J. McMillan. Although I can’t find anything about HJ McMillan, there is some information of Florence.

Known as Washington’s unofficial “first lady of swimming,” Florence was a bold and fearless athlete who made waves, literally and figuratively, in the 1920s. From daring to swim the crawl stroke while other women stuck to the modest side stroke, to nearly being pulled from a turbulent ocean race by the Coast Guard (which she refused), Florence lived for the water.

She taught lifesaving, coached teams, and performed in exhibitions, even dabbling in early aquaplaning, being towed behind a speedboat on a board. A member of the first Red Cross Women’s Life Saving Corps, she also taught generations of Washingtonians to swim, often bringing neighborhood kids to the local pool.

Though she never made the Olympics, Florence was a pioneer in women’s competitive swimming, undeterred by social conventions. After a short-lived marriage to Army Air Corps officer Lyman Morris, she kept teaching well into her later years, still drawn to the pool deck in her 80s. She died in 1989 at age 87, having inspired countless swimmers—and refused to be sidelined by anything, not even age. Good on you, Florence! Read more about her here.

May is usually the time when Catholic children undertake their First Holy Communion. The photograph shows the meal that these Hungarian children had to celebrate this turning point in their religious lives. Here, the meal is taking place in the church – there is an altar in the background. The kids all come from on Szentháromság Street in Budapest’s first district.

I believe that the picture was taken in Matthias Church, one of Budapest’s most iconic landmarks. You can identify it by its tall Gothic spire rising prominently above the street. Its official name is the Church of the Assumption of the Buda Castle (Nagyboldogasszony-templom), commonly known as Mátyás-templom after King Matthias Corvinus and it was first built in the 13^th century, and later reconstructed in its present Neo-Gothic form in the late 19^th century.

As was traditional, the girls are in white and most of them still have their First Holy Communion veils still on their heads. They probably loved to wear them! The boys are tidily dressed in formal clothing but spare a thought for the one third left front in the sailor suit. His head is shaven, which is certainly not a tradition for boys having their First Holy Communion. It is probable that he had his hair cut short due to lice, which were a common issue in the early 20th century, especially among school-aged children in urban areas. In many European households, shaving a child’s head was a standard response to lice infestations; treatments like modern shampoos didn’t exist; so, cutting hair was practical and hygienic.

JUNE

John Grantham, the Sherriff of Newcastle (in the United Kingdom) looks at the camera sternly, perhaps regretting that he was so easily persuaded to having his photograph taken on a merry-go-round. Still his wife Violet seems incredibly happy to be astride her horse at the Town Moor Temperance Festival, taken on 26 June 1925. He looks like he needs a stiff drink, frankly, but that was not to be the case.

The primary goal of a temperance festival was to encourage teetotalism - complete abstinence from alcohol. The temperance movement in the UK was past its peak by the 1920s, having been strongest in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. However, it remained a visible and active cultural force, particularly in Nonconformist Christian communities and among working-class organizations.

Violet would herself go on to be Sherriff in 1950–51 and the first female Lord Mayor of Newcastle‑upon‑Tyne in 1952‑53. Perhaps she could already see her rosy future in 1925.

The 47th National Gymnastics Festival, held in Strasbourg on 1–2 June 1925, was organised by the Union of Gymnastics Societies of France (USGF). The human pyramid, created by the team from Luxembourg. is a visually striking feat. More than that, it carried rich symbolic and cultural meaning in the context of early 20th-century gymnastics, civic identity, and postwar Europe. Each person in the pyramid relied on others for balance, safety, and success, a clear metaphor for a society built on cooperation and mutual support. As such, it was both artistic and ideological, making it one of the most powerful and resonant displays at the festival.

Yet, the decision to hold the games in Strasbourg had been political.

After the war, the Treaty of Versailles (1919) returned Alsace-Lorraine to France after nearly 50 years of German control (1871–1918). Holding the 47th Fête Fédérale in Strasbourg, the capital of Alsace, was a deliberate act of national reaffirmation, a celebration of the region’s “re-Frenchification.” The event allowed the French state to visibly assert its cultural and political identity in a region where many residents still spoke German and retained Germanic cultural ties.

Here's a close up!

Although Germany had occasionally participated in the festival previous to World War I, it had been banned from many sporting events since 1918. Germany had not even been invited to participate in the 1924 Paris Olympics, despite the First World War having ended six years previously.

For the people of France, the scars of WWI were still visible, physically, emotionally, and politically in 1925. Massive public events like this served to boost morale, demonstrate recovery, and offer a sense of national normalcy and pride. For the people of Strasbourg, it was a chance to reconnect with France on celebratory terms - not just through military occupation or political decree.

Would they have done things differently with the benefit of a crystal ball? That’s a question worth pondering – but not here. Accentuating the positive, such festivals celebrated not only physical strength and discipline but also the ideals of cooperation, national pride, and peaceful solidarity among friendly nations. They embodied a hopeful vision of a future shaped by harmony and collective effort, even though another of history’s many catastrophes was just around the corner…

Members of the National American Ballet pose in front of a lake in June 1925. Resplendent at the center of the line-up is Vera Nemtchinova. Her presence speaks to the growing prestige of the fledgling company. Having recently dazzled audiences with the Ballets Russes, Nemtchinova brought with her the elegance and authority of Russia’s classical tradition. Her involvement was likely part of founder Mikhail Mordkin’s effort to elevate American ballet by recruiting established émigré artists, lending both credibility and star power to his productions. Though her stay may have been brief, her appearance in this 1925 ensemble symbolised the cultural migration that was transforming American dance - where European excellence found a new stage in North America.

I’m taking a gamble here, but I think this picture is a publicity photo for the company’s 1926 version of Swan Lake, in which Nemtchinova appeared. Although the costumes are almost certainly not the ones they would have appeared in, contextually it makes sense that this is a “trailer” for that production.

Miss Nemtchinova was best known for her portrayal of the androgynous "Girl in Blue" in Les Biches, Bronislava Nijinska’s 1924 ballet exploring the sexual and social codes of fashionable French society. It was through such avant-garde works - including Aubade (1930), choreographed by a young George Balanchine for her own company that the Russian-born dancer emerged as a modern ballerina with a distinctive style. At the same time, she earned acclaim for her classical technique and elegant line in traditional repertoire such as 1926’s Swan Lake.

 Nemtchinova continued to dance throughout her life. Her performances were the stuff of legend. French writer Jean Cocteau wrote, ''My heart beats faster or stops beating altogether' in reaction to one of her performances. She started her own studio in New York in 1947, after she had retired from dancing. On June 28, 1984, at the age of 84 she suffered a stroke and died in New York Hospital. She had been teaching dance at her studio that very morning.

This 1925 photograph shows a Royal Martel taxi in Central Park, New York — a rare sight, as these British-built vehicles were mostly seen in London. Whether it was part of a trial fleet or a private import, its presence hints at the transatlantic curiosity and experimentation of the time (or the photo’s curator got the vehicle type wrong). I cannot find information about any men in the photograph, apart from their names (Jules Martin, John Ullman, and Joe Murphy).

The smiling woman at the center is Lillian Boyer. She became famous as a wing-walker and performed between 1921 and 1929, so this picture was taken at the height of her success. Although this does break my “no one famous” rule, had you heard of her? Me neither. Lillian lost her money in the stock market crash and had to resort to working as a hat-check girl. However, while doing this job she reconnected with a childhood acquaintance, Ernest Werner, who she later married. She died in 1989.

June

The old saying for families in Ireland with the last name Power was “More Power said old Power when new Power was born” and Mr. Richard Power of Belvedere, said that ten times. The tall boy in the middle is Richard Junior (known as Paddy) in 2011, his grandson told the family story, as well as the connection with the bookmaking company Paddy Power. Here it is.

My quick family history goes something like this...in 1894 my great grandad, Richard Power, was working in a drapery store in Waterford (southeast Ireland). He was the junior so was the guy that was sent to the bookies to put on bets for his colleagues, he realised soon enough that they weren't the greatest punters ever and didn't send him to collect winnings that often (or ever!). So, he then started to take the bets himself and pretend he had placed them with the bookie.

In the summer of 1894, he bunked off work and went to Tramore races. He bumped into his boss who sacked him for not being at work. So, as you could do at the time, he stood up on a tea chest started shouting the odds and taking bets and thankfully the first favourite got beat.... he was now a bookie! He managed to build up a chain of Richard Power shops across the country and even went over to England for the big meetings to bet on the rails. At a time when bookmaking wasn’t as reputable as it is today, Richard built up a formidable reputation for having great staff and being a great payer. To get a job in one of the Richard Power shops you needed a letter from either your bank manager or your Archbishop (very Irish!!).

Anyway, that's the background. The family business was passed to my Grandad (Paddy) who I unfortunately never met as he died when my father was about 16, he was training at weekends to go into the family business while studying in school and then university (accountant) - my Granny held the license in the meantime and I believe she was the first woman to hold a bookmaking license."

JULY

By July, things were heating up in Dayton, Tennessee. You may have heard of the Scopes Trial. Pictured left is 24-year-old substitute teacher John T Scopes who was put on trial for allegedly breaking the state law (the Butler Act) that forbade any teaching of the Theory of Evolution. It is now in doubt whether Scopes had taught evolution in school, but he was found guilty regardless and fined $100 (that’s around $1,8000 today). Scopes didn’t have to pay the fine due to a technicality - Tennessee judges could not at that time set fines above $50, and the Butler Act specified a minimum fine of $100. Gotcha.

Scopes was harassed by the media for years after the trial and was effectively barred from employment in Tennessee. He moved back to his home state of Kentucky, married and had two sons, having enjoyed a successful career working as an oil expert for the United Gas Corporation. He died of cancer in 1970.

Pictured right is George Washington Rappleyea. A metallurgical engineer by trade, he was the chief architect of the Scopes Trial. That may make you scratch your head – why is the defendant standing with the man who brought him to trial, effectively. Well, Rappleyea had a cunning plan – he convinced Dayton’s business leaders to sponsor a test case of the Butler Act. Was this from some righteous indignation that Biblical lore had been transgressed? No, he knew that Dayton would benefit economically from hosting a big trial. He even persuaded Scopes to be the defendant!

Karma happens. In 1948 he stood trial in Biloxi, Mississippi for conspiracy to ship arms and ammunition to British Honduras. He was sent down for a year, a sentence he served in Texas. He died at the age of 72 in 1966 and was buried at Arlington National Cemetery.

Poor old Serenity. On 13 July, artist Josep Clarà lovingly adds the finishing touches to the sculpture he was commissioned to create for businessman Charles Deering. The artwork – Serenity – has now become known as the “most vandalized memorial in Washington”. It took less than a year for the Washington Post to report that the statue had been daubed in red paint and, over the following decades, it has been the target for numerous attacks in its Meridian Hill Park (aka Malcolm X Park) home. Today, it is so chipped that it looks like it has been there several thousand years rather than a century. Her nose is gone, and her facial features have been disfigured. The right hand, too, is gone – severed by what looks like a single heavy blow. If you want to see what she looks like now, go see...

That’s a shame as the statue is a memorial to the bond between two men. Deering commissioned the piece in honor of his close friend Lieutenant Commander William Henry Schuetze (U.S. Navy, class of 1873), who died suddenly in 1902 from stomach and lung issues. The pair had met when they were classmates at the Naval Academy. Although Deering was probably informed of the vandalism, he died in 1927 so at least was spared the knowledge of the sculpture’s consistent targeting by vandals.

Whether he was aware his friend’s name had been misspelled on the inscription is a matter purely for conjecture. When it should have read Schuetze, it reads Schevtze. Sculptor Josep Clarà, may or may not be responsible for the error. A Catalan by birth, he went made his permanent home in Barcelona in 1932, where he lived till his death. As much as the placement of Serenity in Meridian Hill Park has proven to be, perhaps, a bad idea (at least in terms of the damage done to it), Clarà would find himself in the middle of a civil war a few years after returning home to Spain. He died in 1958, but his reputation endures – his work is in museums all over the world, particularly in his home of Catalonia, an autonomous community of Spain.

You may already be familiar with the bridge in the background of this picture. The Pont Alexandre III featured heavily in the Paris 2024 Summer Olympics and was the finish line of a number of events, including the individual cycling time trials, swimming marathon, triathlon and Para triathlon. Back in 1925 we have a group of gymnasts performing on a floating stage - a péniche - moored near Pont Alexandre III, offering a spectacular riverside exhibition. You can see the obvious popularity of this kind of exhibition by the throngs of people both on and above the péniche, as well as those trying to get a glimpse of the activities from the bridge itself.

The gymnasts you can see here were associated with the Normal School of Gymnastics and Fencing of Joinville-le-Pont (the word “normal” indicates that it was a teacher-training centre). The school was situated about 12 kilometers from Paris and was founded in 1852, ceasing operations in 1939 when the Germans invaded France. In 1925, during the International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts, the Seine hosted various exhibitions, including floating cafes and performance spaces on barges. It is likely that this display was part of this international exhibition.

It looks like they have been captured demonstrating the “fireman’s carry” or shoulder-carry which was standard training for evacuating wounded soldiers under fire.

In 1925, the French military and education system was highly segregated and hierarchical at higher levels. Full admission as students for these men from Madagascar would have been rare, exceptional, and highly regulated. As such, I have concluded that they were most likely guests of the school, invited to participate as part of the international exhibition. French colonial troops often trained in physical culture and drill for ceremonial display - this might have included training or performances under the guidance of the Joinville school without being enrolled as formal students.

The gymnasts may have been Malagasy (from Madagascar) recruits or trainees, possibly connected to colonial military units such as the Tirailleurs malgaches (Malagasy Riflemen). Some could have belonged to the Makoa ethnic group, which was often favoured by French authorities for such roles. However, precise identities and affiliations are not confirmed in the available documentation I have found.

In July the United States Navy visited Sydney, Australia. Never ones to do things by halves, it wasn’t just one ship that arrived in the Australian capital, there were eight in total. The arrival of an American fleet in their harbor was the source of great local interest and excitement.

Local photographer Sam Hood (1872-1953) had a lifelong passion for things maritime and took photographs of ships and their crews throughout his life. To have an entire US fleet arrive on his doorstep must have filled him with joy. He took a number of photos on 23 July 1925, including this (unidentified) US Navy sailor on board of his ship. It’s a shame that his name has been lost to time, but his casual yet confident pose allows us to imagine his character, perhaps. This photo now forms part of the Australian National Maritime Museum’s Samuel J. Hood Studio collection.

Perhaps he could have been the unfortunate sailor left behind. The Sydney Morning Herald reported on Friday 7 August: “An amusing incident of the departure of the fleet was the arrival of one lone sailor at the point of embarkation at noon yesterday. He was evidently suffering what is colloquially termed "a recovery and was amazed to find East Circular Quay deserted.… he accosted a policeman, and asked, "Has the Boat gone on?”. The policeman, after giving an affirmative answer, asked him his excuse for missing embarkation, and the Sailor, taking off his cap and holding his head ruefully, gave sufficient answer in the one expressive word, "Whiskey." As they walked together, he said, "Well, I'm sorry they didn't think to wait for me, but I suppose I'll catch them up." The Water Police informed the. American Consul, and the sailor was instructed to report this morning, He left the police station vowing that whiskey was a most untrustworthy friend."

We can only hope that when he did catch up, he wasn’t punished too severely. Even though Prohibition outlawed the distribution, transportation and production of alcohol in 1925, drinking it wasn't illegal. Plus, he wasn't even in the US. Even so, the sailor may have changed his story to something more acceptable by the time he caught up with the fleet.

Here is a picture of members of the United States Naval Patrol at the Orient Line Company's wharf in East Circular Quay, Sydney. Behind them is the Citizens' Welcome Canteen which was set up as a free service by the Citizens' Welcome Committee. 'The Sydney Morning Herald' reported on the canteen's purpose in the lead up to the visit: 'Sydney has a reputation world-wide, for hospitality. The committee for the citizens' welcome has secured the ideal accommodation at the landing stage at Circular Quay, where our guests may obtain refreshments, may rest, write letters, and play games.'

I wonder if the "refreshments" included whiskey...

While the fleet was away in Australia, theater showman Earl Caroll (slogan “Through these portals pass the most beautiful girls in the world”) opened his new Vanities revue at the… Earl Caroll Theater. Having opened just three years earlier, in 1922, it was one of the most modern and extravagant theaters on Broadway at the time, still gleaming with the glamour and novelty of a cutting-edge venue. A revue included comedy sketches, light satire, song and dance numbers and – of course – glamorous chorus girls in elaborate and often very revealing costumes. The revues were provocative, fiercely modern, and boldly unapologetic in its celebration of glamor and sensuality – and audiences loved them. In this picture, the ladies of the chorus are dressed in skimpy fur-trimmed by highly influential costumier Charles LeMaire.

The Earl Carroll Vanities ran from 1923 to 1931 at this theater and till 1940 at other Broadway venues. They would open each July, running till December.

Did that mean the young ladies pictured were unemployed for the rest of the year? While the job of a chorus girl was far from easy, several of them had appeared Tell Me More (Broadway, April–July 1925) before joining Earl Carroll’s Vanities. They are, from left to right: Marion Dowling, Polly Luce, Dorothy Arden, Rita Mayer, Esther Tanya, Trudy Lake, Gertrude Crouch, and Anita Banton. I can’t find a great deal about any of them except for Polly Luce.

Luce (real first name Pauline) who is pictured second from the left, joined the Vanities after Tell Me More had finished. She was born in Grant County, Indiana on 29 March 1905, later performing in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1927 and subsequent editions of Earl Carroll’s Vanities (notably 1928). So a country girl who ran away to make her name in the big city, perhaps?

Strangely, at some point she rocked up in the UK and appeared in two British films in 1933 (Send ’em Back Half Dead and Maid Happy). These were both what were called “Quota Quickies” – short (about 45 minutes) low budget productions made to satisfy UK film import quotas. This was due to a law - The Cinematograph Films Act 1927 - passed by the British Parliament to protect and promote the UK film industry, which was being overwhelmed by imported Hollywood films. It is easy to spot the cunning plan of British filmmakers, of course. Yes, these two 1933 films counted as British films, but they had an American starlet in the lead!

After these films, I’m afraid the trail goes cold for Polly Luce so perhaps she decided to leave showbusiness and lead a quieter life. Regardless, she had given fame a pretty good stab. The place that helped make her name – the Earl Caroll Theater – was converted into a cinema in 1931. Many live theaters converted to cinemas during the Depression to cut costs and attract audiences with the new sound films. It was used as such until the 1970s when it started to fall into decline. It was closed and eventually demolished in 1990. The site is now occupied by a modern office building (part of the Bank of America Tower complex).

As for Earl Caroll, he continued to write musical scores and expanded into the movies. He died alongside his girlfriend Beryl Wallace, in a plane crash on June 17, 1948, in Aristes, Pennsylvania.

AUGUST

This picture was taken by the Missouri Department of State Corrections. The photographs of the prisoners in this article are dated to the exact day and month – as one might expect from institutional documentation. It is the 12 August 1925, and Henry Odbur is about to start his sentence for the second-degree murder of Ernest Willett. The trial was held in Pike County and Odbur was sentenced to 35 years for his crime. Odbur, aged 21 at this point and already married three years, would never leave the penitentiary – he died in prison hospital on Boxing Day 1940.

The incident followed a dance at a friend’s house on the Mississippi River levee in Pike County. There had been no prior conflict between Odbur and Willett, but tensions arose when Odbur called out to Bertha Blansett, Willett’s girlfriend, which Willett took as an insult. An argument followed, and Willett challenged Odbur to a fair fistfight. On this occasion, Odbur had ridden away without acting.

During a second encounter that night, Odbur was seen drawing an open knife and attempting to stab Willett, who ran away unharmed. In a third and final encounter, Willett struck Odbur with a piece of timber, knocking him unconscious. Before this, Odbur had apparently stabbed Willett in the throat and shoulder. Willett’s body was found the next day; he had bled to death from his wounds.

Although Odbur later claimed he was not sure if he had hit Willett, witnesses saw blood on his knife, and he admitted to stabbing at Willett. On appeal in 1927, the court concluded that Odbur intended serious harm, if not death, and upheld his conviction. He and co-defendant Fred Shade fled the area under false names but were eventually captured. You can read the full story here.

The picture above shows a group of George Wahington University students on August 17. They are the participants and organisers of a “Brain Test”. At first, I thought that was likely to be some kind of inter-university competition, like a Quiz Bowl League (or University Challenge in the UK). However, a little research soon proved me wrong.

A Brain Test was something quite different. In the 1920s, psychology was still an emerging science. Universities like George Washington University were experimenting with tests designed to measure various cognitive abilities. These "brain tests" typically involved timed problem-solving tasks, such as logic puzzles or pattern recognition. There would also be memory tests, like recalling word lists or number sequences and psychomotor coordination, for example matching or tracing tasks. So, if you have ever done a psychometric test, you can apportion at least a part of the blame on the bright young things picture here (particularly one of them!).

The brain tests were part of early psychometric research and often took place in group settings, under the supervision of professors or graduate students. These people are not named on this photograph but by sheer luck (I could call it exhaustive research) I was able to identify the young woman, second from the left in the front row.

Ready for your 2025 close-up, Thelma?

Hailing from Arkansas, her name is Thelma Hunt and in 1925 she was just 22 years old. However, by this time she had already earned from the university’s psychology department a bachelor’s degree (1924) and her Master of Arts (1925). This photograph is likely taken from the start of her research for her Ph.D which she would gain in 1927. She was the youngest person, at the time, to receive a Ph.D from GWU (George Washington University). To think that she had originally arrived at GWU to study chemistry!

For her Ph.D, she assessed no less than 10,000 participants from industry and college in order to study their “social intelligence”.

Hunt, along with her frequent collaborator Fred A. Moss, would go on to help develop several enduring psychological assessments, including the original version of the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) which is still in use today. She was, among other things, Chair of the GWU Psychology Department, a role she started in 1938 and held until 1963. She became Professor Emerita of Psychology in 1969 and continued teaching a Psychological Testing course until 1986 (when she was 83). She died in 1992 at the age of 88.

A team of arborists (sometimes referred to as tree surgeons), pictured in the Capitol grounds of Washington DC. They would make regular visits for pruning or maintenance on the grounds, which were heavily influenced at the time by Frederick Law Olmsted’s landscape design, which focused on tree plantings and a naturalistic aesthetic.

Over the years 1974-1892, Olmsted filled the grounds with over a thousand trees. By the time this picture was taken, they were mature and would demand attention in order to preserve both growth and safety. Although we haven’t an exact date, the trees look in fall leaf, so I am placing this in the “summer” part of our collection.

Most of the men have short, neatly combed hair. They would have used a grease-based pomade or brilliantine to get that slick, shiny look – which had been popularized by the likes of Rudolph Valentino and other silent film stars. Plus, only one has any facial hair – another look that Hollywood had bestowed on the masses. While some men still sported large beards and moustaches, what we can see in the picture is the norm for the well-presented young man of the era.

And no, this wasn’t Brylcream. That was introduced in the UK in 1928 and only became hugely popular in the US after World War II, brought home by servicemen returning from the European theatre of war. These young men were most likely using products like Lucky Tiger Hair Tonic or Williams' Brilliantine. If they were up to speed with their products, then it could have been Murray’s Superior Pomade, which was released on to the market the year this picture was taken.

Their clothing is durable, but incredibly neat and tidy and the boots look like army surplus. One can only hope that the ties they are wearing are clip-ons – ties like these certainly wouldn’t pass health and safety these days. They may be extra neat on this day because they were working at the White House. However, their clothing reflects both the economic reality of working-class men and the beginnings of more standardised work uniforms for municipal labor in the early 20th century. You wouldn’t catch them in bright colors, either - this is the era before hi-vis clothing. Instead, shades were likely earthy: greys, browns, and blues.

I can’t find any information about the individuals in the picture. If any reader can help with this, please contact me!

August

August in Ireland, and the locals of the seaside village of Duncannon held their yearly bazaar on Sunday August 24 – after the conclusion of mass, no doubt. There were various activities and stalls, including athletic events (a five-mile marathon race being the highlight). For those not inclined to participate or spectate sports, there was always the silly hat competition – and some of these hats are very silly. The photograph was taken by local photographer AH Poole.

If you look closely the placard at the front says, “Help the Star of the Sea”, - and the sashes worn by the contestants says the same thing. This led me to think, first, that this was a fund-raiser for the crew of a sunken ship. I did some further research as it struck me as a little odd (not to mention insensitive) that people might try to raise money for the families of those lost at sea by holding a silly hat competition.

Will you put your sash on properly, for goodness sake, Bridget!

Sure enough, this was not anything to do with a maritime disaster, even though Duncannon was no stranger to those. The placard “Star of the Sea” (and sashes) refer to a common title used for the Virgin Mary in the coastal parishes of Ireland. Churches in seaside towns like Duncannon often organized events (know as bazaars) with sports, processions, and feast day celebrations. The local priest would typically be the chief organizer with a local committee and the aim was to raise funds for church improvements, community services or overseas missions.

There is an interesting tale around the photographer, Arthur Henri Poole. An Englishman by birth he moved to Waterford, Ireland and eventually opened his photographic business. He married and had four children. Together, they were one of the most successful and high-profile couples in the city. Then, in November 1928, Poole simply disappeared. Poole, then aged 73, left a note at home saying that he was going to Tramore (a town about eight miles from Waterford) – and he was never seen again. The case has never been solved. If you would like to hear the whole story, listen to this fascinating podcast.

On the 27th of August, the Rockville Fair in Maryland, USA, was in full swing. The atmosphere buzzed with the energy of crowds gathered to enjoy a day of fun and community spirit. Rather than focusing on any single individual, the scene captures the joyous collective experience - families, friends, and neighbors mingling among rides, games, and lively entertainment. It was a celebration of local culture and togetherness, where the shared laughter and excitement of the fairgoers brought the day to life.

As for the Rockville Fair, it began in 1846 when the Montgomery County Agricultural Society was organized. The first fairgrounds opened in 1848 along the Rockville Pike, near what is now Richard Montgomery High School. By 1925 it was large, showcasing local agriculture, livestock, and community events. However, in 1933, the fairgrounds were auctioned off due to financial difficulties. The Montgomery County Agricultural Society ceased operations, and the fair was discontinued.

Yet a phoenix arose from the ashes, as it were. In 1949, the fair was revived in Gaithersburg, Maryland, at a new location purchased by the Montgomery County Agricultural Center. This new fairground, known as the Montgomery County Agricultural Center, continues to host the annual Montgomery County Agricultural Fair, which is one of the largest county fairs in Maryland.

If you don't stop dawdling, I will not be responsible for my actions...

At the center of the picture, a teenage boy walks through the crowds, very fashionable in his plus fours and white cotton shirt. A girl just ahead of him (his sister?) seems to be staring at him rather dourly – perhaps encouraging him to put on a faster pace and catch up with her? Whether this was an intentional framing by the photographer or a candid moment, it perfectly captures a slice of youthful interaction amidst the bustling fair. The contrast between his relaxed saunter and her steely gaze adds a subtle narrative to the lively scene, making the photograph not just a record of a community event but a glimpse into personal stories unfolding within it.

Children at the Park Royal Hospital in London are seen here taking a jaunt in their 19-seater pram. They are all in-patients, as can be seen by the uniform way they are dressed. In 1925, tuberculosis was a major public health crisis, and many infants and toddler were exposed to infected adults, especially those living in poverty or urban areas, where housing conditions were poor, and ventilation was limited. Some of the children pictured are likely to have been born to mothers with TB. Of course, we do not know how many of these children had TB, but some at least would have and all would have been seen as benefitting from outdoor exposure.

Antibiotics for TB were not available until the 1940s and “open-air therapy” was the standard treatment for TB. Although this might sound primitive in some ways, doctors believed that fresh air, rest, and good nutrition could prevent or even cure TB. In fact, about one hundred schools in England were “open air” in the 1920s and 30s, the first having started in 1907.

Just wake me up when we get there, OK?

This was part of a much broader trend. TB sanatoria, school clinics, and convalescent homes all adopted this practice. As such this 18-seater donkey card served multiple purposes. The exposure to fresh air was considered good for general health (the science of which is still a complex and evolving field) and would have been part of their convalescent routine as they recovered. Sunlight triggers vitamin D production, essential for immunity and bone health. It was also, of course, a major source of recreation and stimulation for long-stay children. They would have experienced the outside world and all its goings on from the safety of one enormous pram. It also helped nurses to manage multiple convalescent children at once.

September

The contestants for the 1925 Miss America contest, all smiles for the camera, line up for the press. Yet one person wasn’t smiling. That was Ruth Malcomson, 1924’s Miss Philadelphia and the winner of that year’s Miss America title. Her she is below, with her mum, Augusta.

1925 saw only the fifth Miss America competition and the rules, as they stood, were that the previous year’s winner could come back to defend her title. Ruth had spent most of the year since her 1924 win around the Philadelphia area where she visited schools, senior centers and hospitals. She was something of a home body and had decided not to pursue a film career (which was the aim of many of the contestants).

However, Ruth had begun to suspect the pageant was not being run completely fairly or honestly, perhaps due to the influence of Hollywood professionals or other behind-the-scenes manipulation. As such, she declined to participate, and the press quickly got hold of this potential scandal in the making. A raft of false speculation started to appear in the press, much to the horror of the event’s organisers.

Their solution was simple. They quickly instituted a new rule – no former Miss America could return to the competition – a rule that is still in place today. That meant that Philadelphia would not have a representative in 1925 (but Anna Mae Reefer placed in the top fifteen in 1926). Ruth would be missing from the line-up photograph above, as well as the competition itself.

The winner of 1925, Fay Lanphier and the runner-up, Adrienne Dore, both went on to have minor careers in… Hollywood. As for Ruth Malcomson, she returned to Philadelphia with the words “the simple life for me”. Any rift between her and the Miss America event was not long-lived – Ruth was a supporter throughout her life, until her death in 1988.

In fact, beauty pageantry continued to run in her family for several generations. Her niece held the title of Miss Pennsylvania in 1956 and received recognition in the talent portion of that year's Miss America pageant. Years later, her grand niece represented Delaware in the 1981 Miss America competition in Atlantic City but did not place.

After 1925, the event itself eventually experienced an extended hiatus. Following newspaper reports that young women were being misled into entering the competition with promises of screen tests and potential film careers, public outcry led to the 1927 event becoming the final pageant of the decade. The Miss America competition would not return until 1933, amid the Great Depression.

While Prohibition (a complete ban on the production, transportation, and sale of alcohol) was being enforced in the USA, over in Hungary the beer and wine continued to flow, sometimes to excess. This group of seven young men – likely students at one of Budapest’s universities – playfully lounge on a bed while enjoying a good tipple. They have piled up cushions to make the entire process of lazily getting drunk more comfortable. Four of them have already removed their ties and detachable stiff white collars.

These were stiff, often starched collars that could be buttoned or clipped onto a shirt, allowing the shirt itself to be washed less frequently while keeping the collar looking crisp and clean.

They are wearing Plus fours, a type of baggy knickerbocker trousers that extend 4 inches below the knee, though some variations might end right at or slightly above the knee. They were popular especially for sporting and casual wear, often associated with golf or shooting. So, the message that these young men were giving was one of sporty sophistication, and modernity.

Perhaps these young men are celebrating their reunion after their summer break from studies. We may not know, but the slight blurring of the image indicates that the photographer may also have joined in the fun! Then, what about a rendition of the classic folk song "Tavaszi szél vizet áraszt" ("Spring Wind Brings Floodwaters"), that was widely known and sung socially in the 1925 Hungary? Time to leave the boys to their party…

OCTOBER

In October, John Grantham, Sheriff of Newcastle in the UK, went to have a look at slum clearances in his city during a visit by the Minister for Health, As any politician worth his or her salt, he wasted no time in arranging a photo opportunity with some local urchins (who I hope were thoroughly bribed with sweet things in order to pose). The Minister for Health is not in this picture. That was a certain Neville Chamberlain, who, 14 years later as Prime Minister, would declare war on Germany after the invasion of Poland, marking the start of the UK’s involvement in World War II.

Of interest, as much if not more than the man himself, are the people around him – so by virtue of knowing a good photo opportunity when he saw one, he makes it in twice.

October 10^th was a chilly day but that didn’t deter these baseball fans from turning up early to Griffiths Stadium in Washington DC. You can see the woman in the center has slipped her hands up the sleeves of her coat to stay warm. Who she is we do not know, but she looks like she has something of an entourage – and most of these spectators seem well turned-out. There are no bare heads, and everyone is wearing their winter coats – and even though the winter wasn’t anything unusual that year this day made several of the people in this picture scrunch up!

The event? It was the very first game of the 1925 World Series, played between the Washington Senators and the Pittsburgh Pirates. On that same day, President Calvin Coolidge famously threw out the ceremonial first pitch, further enhancing the significance of the event. Coolidge was an avid supporter of the Senators and he and First Lady Grace Coolidge frequently attended games. However, he wasn’t the first President to throw the first pitch – that had been William Howard Taft in 1910. Although Donald Trump has thrown first pitches as a private citizen, as POTUS he effectively put an end to the tradition in his first term.

As we have seen earlier with the men, short hair was in fashion – and this was the case, too, with women. The short-brimmed cloche hats that they are wearing, was particularly suited to short hairstyles. It was also very comfortable, apparently. They were bell-shaped (the name comes from the French for “bell”) and were close fitting and snug, so great on a chilly day like this. The cloche hat was immensely popular in 1925.

Cloche hats, with their bell-shaped, close-fitting design, were hugely popular among American women during the 1920s. The name "cloche" comes from the French word for "bell," and this reflects its distinctive shape. The cloche hat fell out of favor as hairstyles grew longer and fuller again, and more varied hat styles like wide-brimmed hats and berets became popular. However, it had a good run for its money, having been popular for over a decade.

Talking of good runs, the Senators won this game, no doubt to President Coolidge’s delight – they were his team, after all. However, the joy was to be short-lived. Despite the Senators' strong start, the Pittsburgh Pirates won the series in 7 games, taking the championship.

Another pre-match shot of the game. It's not hard to see him, but I’m particularly drawn to the stadium vendor, front row, left of center. Zoom-in time...

He owns this place and he knows it. While that may be metaphorical, look at how he sits. In 1925, especially at ballparks like Griffith Stadium, the system was still semi-informal, and many vendors supplied their own goods and kept the earnings. You can easily imagine that this man, whose name is not recorded, was a particularly popular vendor as he has been placed at the forefront of the picture - or perhaps he muscled his way in. Many vendors would sell from the same section of the stadium for decades. We don't know how long this gentleman had worked there by 1925, but it looks he has no intention of leaving any time soon.

In his flat, handled basket, we can see his wares, wrapped up in paper. These are most likely to have been roasted peanuts, cracker jack (caramel-coated popcorn and peanut mix which was hugely popular), popcorn, chewing gum and candy sticks. He may even have added a few packets of cigarettes for the spectators who might run out during the match. Griffith Stadium, located in a majority-Black neighborhood of D.C., employed many African Americans in roles such as ushers, janitors, ticket-takers, and vendors. They would also come to spectate.

And looking around the pre-match photo, there are some Black spectators. As such, it would be easy to imagine that baseball was already desegregated but that was far from the truth. It does reflect a more inclusive attendance policy at places like Griffith Stadium than might be expected for the time. However, it does not mean that Major League Baseball (MLB) or the stadium experience was free of segregation or racism.

Black fans in Washington DC were allowed to attend games but were often restricted to certain sections, typically in the outfield bleachers or other designated areas – in some areas of the south, they were prohibited from attending, period. The Black players of 1925 were also barred from MLB and its affiliated leagues. Black athletes played in the so-called “Negro Leagues” which were formed due to that exclusion. MLB would not be integrated until 1947, when Jackie Robinson broke the colour barrier with the Brooklyn Dodgers.

So, the picture shows the complexity of race and public life in 1920s America: segregated but not entirely separated.

In 1888, the first Reunion of United Confederate Veterans took place, 23 years after the American Civil War. By 1925 the reunions we still going strong and pictured here are the delegates for the 37^th reunion, 60 years after the cessation of hostilities between north and south. As such, many of the veterans (and their wives) in the pictures would have been in their 70s, 80s or even 90s.

By 1925, the number of surviving Confederate veterans was rapidly dwindling. This reunion captured a rare moment when these veterans, many of whom had been young soldiers during the war, gathered to commemorate their shared history. The photograph, taken in Meridian, Mississippi, a city with deep ties to the Confederacy) serves as a poignant reminder of the individual experiences and sacrifices of those who lived through the Civil War.

Despite their age, many faces show a sense of pride and dignity, reflecting their lasting bond as veterans and their commitment to preserving their history and legacy. Other expressions appear tired or contemplative, hinting at the long lives they have led and the memories of conflict and loss they carry. Notice too how many of these older gentlemen sport full beards – unlike the photos of younger men in this collection. In 1925, this would have been a visual signature of the 19th century, reinforced by Southern cultural norms and practical grooming habits of the time. In 1925, it would almost certainly have made these men stand out as representatives of a bygone era.

Yet if you thought that this would be the last time these veterans got together, you would be wrong.

Will the real Grandpa Walton please stand up?

The final annual reunion of the United Confederate Veterans (UCV) was held in 1951 in Norfolk, Virginia, from May 30 to June 3 – 86 years after the end of the war. This marked the 61st gathering of the organization. Only three surviving Confederate veterans attended: William Townsend, John B. Salling, and William Bush. In the same year, the U.S. Postal Service issued a 3-cent stamp commemorating the final reunion, featuring a Confederate veteran wearing a kepi and the inscription “United Confederate Veterans Final Reunion”. Perhaps Townsend, Salling and Bush are somewhere in the 1925 picture, not knowing that they would become the end of the living memory of Confederate soldiers.

Salling would be the last to go in 1959 (aged about 103, based on his recorded 1856 birth year which would have made him to young to meaningfully serve, although Salling himself always insisted he had been born in 1850).

NOVEMBER

Alpine was a small rural community in Washington State during the early 20th century, and it was typical of many logging or farming communities in Washington at the time. Rural schools like this one (picture taken on 1 November) were often one-room schoolhouses, serving multiple grades with one teacher. If you have ever seen “Little House on the Prairie” you will know what one looks like inside, effectively. Such schools were focal points of community life, providing basic education but often with limited resources. There are a lot of smiles in this photographic, so it looks like it was a fairly relaxed setup.

Yet, what the children pictured did not know was that in a few years, their home would be gone. Alpine was called Alpine because it owned by a company called (you’ve guessed it) the Alpine Lumber Company. Although the town had first been called Nippon, the town was originally established to house Japanese railway workers. In 1903, the name was changed to Alpine and at its peak, the population ranged from 200 to 300 residents. The town was accessible only by rail and was situated about 8 miles west of Stevens Pass.

The Alpine Lumber Company operated a sawmill in the area, and the town served as a company town for the mill. Though structured as a traditional corporation, the owner Carl Clemans infused elements of cooperation and community care rarely seen in logging camps of the time.

However, by 1929, just four years after this photograph was taken, the nearby forests were judged to have been logged out, leading to the closure of the mill. Consequently, the town was abandoned, and the remaining structures were intentionally burned down.

Today, Alpine is considered a ghost town. The site is now overgrown with vegetation, and only remnants of foundations and scattered artifacts remain. In recent years, interest in Alpine has been revived, with efforts to preserve the site and its history. Some of the remaining structures include the foundations of the mill, social hall, boarding house, and yes, the school that you can see in the background of this picture.

On 11 November 1925, Chester Nelson pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and was sentenced to natural life imprisonment. The trial took place in Franklin County, Missouri. However, the sentence was later commuted, and Nelson was discharged on 23 September 1938 under parole granted by Governor Stark. He had served 12 years.

What stands out (or doesn’t) from this photograph is Nelson’s nose. It is badly flattened. We do not know how this happened to him but if the nose was broken and never properly set, it would have healed in this flattened and misshapen state. Given that Nelson was imprisoned for murder, it may be that he was used to violence and could have received his injury in a fist fight or a brawl in the street. It may be that he engaged in bare-knuckle fighting or informal boxing matches. These often led to repeated facial injuries. Or, if Chester had worked in manual labour (like mining, construction, railroads, or logging), a fall, tool impact, or machinery accident could have crushed his nose. Whatever cause, a lack of proper medical care is probably what left it permanently deformed.

After his discharge, the trail goes cold for Chester Nelson. Although he had “only” served 12 years, he would have noticed many changes on his release in 1938. The silent movie era was over, and talkies were the norm. He had missed the stock market crash of 1929, but the economy was still fragile, and he might have found it difficult to find work. Then, of course, there was the looming shadow of global war. At least by his release, Prohibition was over, and he would have been able to go into a bar and buy a drink – legally – again.

You might count Chester lucky for at least being released into a changed world when you read about Will Murry (above). On 14 December 1925, Murry, like Chester, pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and was sentenced to twenty years in prison following a trial held in St. Louis City, Missouri. He remained incarcerated at the state penitentiary in Jefferson City, where he died in the prison hospital on 19 November 1939. He died just 25 days short of completing 14 years of his 20-year sentence.

So, why did Murry die in prison, while Chester was released? The obvious answer is the different color of their skins. While the exact reasons for their different outcomes would depend on case details, it is likely that racial discrimination played a significant role in the different treatment and outcomes of these two prisoners. The justice system of that era was profoundly unequal, and race was a major factor affecting sentencing, parole, and prison conditions. Parole decisions could also depend on behavior, rehabilitation, political connections, or public pressure, which often worked against Black inmates.

December

Czechoslovakia was one of the most stable and democratic countries in Central and Eastern Europe after WWI. This picture, taken on Friday 11 December reflects that. There are obvious signs of wealth and plenty of smiles. We have lost the names of those pictured to history, but I was particularly drawn to the smaller of the two boys at the center of the photo.

He stands, confidently, with a hand on a hip, as if moving forward towards the photographer. It also seems like he is wearing a ribbon around his neck. This suggests to me that he was a prize winner at his school, and this was taken to celebrate his achievements – he certainly seems very full of himself! His mother has a gently restraining hand on his shoulder – as if to say, “calm down a little”. There is a lady to his right carrying books. Maybe she was one of his schoolteachers?

Another clue is the net bags that some of the women are carrying. However, it’s a clue that I haven’t been able to use to shed any light on this picture.

It is unlikely we will ever know who these people were and what the event was. Yet the photograph remains a striking glimpse into everyday life in 1920s Czechoslovakia—a moment frozen in time that invites us to imagine the stories, traditions, and histories behind each face and detail.

When December comes, it’s time to start letting one’s hair down before Christmas. It was certainly the case for these young ladies, preparing for Uncle Sam’s Follies, a revue put on by federal workers, clerks, typists, and other civil servants in Washington DC. So, these were not professional artists, they were “have a go” volunteers, with work patterns shifted to allow for rehearsals. While it may have fallen just short of being a temporary secondment, this kind of review was increasingly popular by 1925. This seems to have been very much a rehearsal, with no performance costumes yet on display. One or two of the ladies seem to have overdone it on the makeup front.

The name “follies” comes from French theatre, especially the Folies Bergère in Paris. These shows were lavish, extravagant, and somewhat frivolous - not meant to be serious drama, but glitzy entertainment, often with chorus girls (of course), satire, and spectacle. Interestingly enough, the root of the word is related to Latin follis, meaning "a bag of wind" – it used metaphorically to describe foolish or empty-headed behaviour.

So that’s exactly what these chorus girls are preparing for, a light-hearted (but no doubt thoroughly modern) few hours of entertainment for their colleagues.

If I had to guess where this was taken, I would certainly not have put Australia in my list of countries. However, this photo was taken in the state of New South Wales. The British immigrants to Australia will have had no recreational experience of skiing but around 1861 Australia saw an influx of Norwegian miners. This laid the foundation for ski culture in the Snowy Mountains.

Skilled skiers were still experimenting with technique at this time - turning properly was rare until the 1930s. The image captures both the pioneering spirit of early Australian skiing and its early embrace by women in what was then a very novel winter sport.

The women in the picture are very likely members of the Kosciuszko Alpine Club (KAC) which had been founded in 1909, making it the second-oldest ski club in Australia after Kiandra’s club (in a nearby gold-mining town, now a ghost town like a number of other places featured in this article). The Hotel Kosciusko - opened the same year - became the winter base for KAC members until the Chalet was built in 1930.

The woman pictured are dressed in period winter attire, woollen clothing and leather boots, typical of early recreational skiing. Too many tumbles in the snow and that woollen clothing must have started to weigh them down, surely? However, the joyful postures suggest a relaxed cross‑country outing rather than any formal competition – this may well have been a group of skiing “first-timers” experiencing something novel.

Back in August, we saw the young male arborists at work on the White House grounds. While they had clearly made an effort with their appearance for the camera, young working women, when photographed, were often posed in more casual - and sometimes deliberately flirtatious - ways that reflected gendered expectations of the time. Is that a roundabout way of saying sexism was alive and well in 1925? Yes.

These young women worked as telegraph messengers for Western Union, responsible for delivering telegrams within downtown Washington, D.C., including parliamentary offices and government buildings near the Capitol. Messenger girls became more common in the 1920s, particularly in urban centers, supplementing the formerly male-dominated bicycle courier workforce.

They don’t appear to be wearing a full Western Union uniform. I cannot discover the exact reason why. The company had started hiring female messenger staff in the late 1910s and early 1920s, so this wasn’t exactly a novelty. Male messengers, however, often wore full Western Union jackets; the women’s mixed dress suggests institutional transition toward female staff without immediately standardized uniforms.

Or, of course, it could be that the photographer asked them to come into work that day prepared to show a bit of leg. It was 1925, after all…

What better way to finish off the year with a picture of Santa Claus? Here he is, in Toronto, with three children on and around him, showing various amounts of bemusement. Santa was part of the Shriners Santa Claus at Toronto’s Empire Theatre, The Shriners are still very much around – and whatever you think of secret masonic organisations, the charity work that they did then and now was and remains outstanding.

The staged composition suggests that this was both a documentary and promotional photograph, intended to record or advertise the Shriners’ holiday activities. It reflects the theatrical and philanthropic identity of the Shriners during the 1920s. As for the children, what might they have expected for Christmas that year?

Probably not a lot – the emphasis was on the festival rather than the gifts. Children from poorer families might expect something exotic like an orange, carved wooden toys like horses and dolls, clothing, peppermints – sensible and frugal gifts were the order of the day, rather than anything lavish. French Canadian children sometimes received gifts on New Year's Day instead, in line with older traditions.

If you enjoyed this, here are some of our other vintage posts.

A look at people simply enjoying the summer throughout the years

The Century Old Color Photographs of Russian photographer SergeyProkudin-Gorsky

The Depression Era Photographs of Dorothea Lange

Adolfo Farsari – The Man Who Shot Old Japan

Jack Delano – the Man who Colored the Forties

1910s America in Color

Labels: Black and White , Events of 1925 , History , People of 1925 , Photography

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