In Memoriam - Denis Alsford 1929-2004

International Match Safe

Association and Museum

IN MEMORIAM

DENIS ALSFORD, 1929-2004

by Stephen Alsford

Denis Alsford was born in 1929 at Hackney, just outside the City of London. He claimed that this was within the sound of Bow bells and that he therefore qualified as a cockney (scientific research has confirmed that Hackney is within the soundscape), although he only ever used cockney slang to amuse or confound others. But most of his childhood years were spent a little further north within Greater London, in Enfield, where he attended the grammar school and later a technical college. Denis also claimed that it was an unfortunate childhood encounter with a broom-handle, and not genetics, that gave his nose the distinctive shape it had throughout his life!

His father was a railway signalman on a line leading into Liverpool Street station who brought home tearful tales of the devastating effects of the Blitz on the City. However, the family was spared sacrificing its sons to war: the elder joined the RAF but was stationed in Rhodesia, and the conflict never reached him; while Denis was too young to be called up until after the war was over, when he served for two years as a member of a ground crew in the RAF, clearing the countryside of downed planes. This experience did much to endear to him, later in life, comedian Spike Milligan's irreverent war memoirs. Denis enjoyed a good laugh and was not inclined to take anything too seriously outside his professional life.

Barely a teenager during the war years, his memories of that time were coloured by the fascination of youth with new and worry-free experiences, few of them clouded with the sorrow of loss. Since the frequent and disruptive air-raids over Greater London made schooling difficult, Denis exchanged it for his first experience of the working world; his stint in a local foundry was brief but was to leave him with some knowledge and skills that would serve him well later in life. After being demobbed, he found employment at the British Museum, taken under the wing of an uncle who was a locksmith there; this career avenue also would not last but gave him an insight into mechanical devices. Each day he would cycle the ten miles into central London and back again in the evening, and with the bravado of youth, occasionally pick up speed by hanging on to the back of a bus. At a church-hall dance in 1950 he met Joyce Paine. He married her the following year; she would give him three children and lifelong dedication. When an opportunity arose, Denis moved into the museum's Ethnography department, where he learned the care of collections and over time became something of an expert in the ethnic art of Africa and South America.

In 1968 the family made the difficult decision to emigrate, when Denis was headhunted for the Vancouver Museum after it received a new building and underwent an expansion that made it Canada's largest civic museum. Trained museum professionals were hard to come by in Canada at that time, and the move presented Denis with an avenue for professional fulfillment and advancement that he might not have found in England, with his lower-class origins and modest educational attainment. Less than a year later, his expertise was sought by the National Museum of Man, and the five members of the family, along with the family dog, piled into a sub-compact Datsun with an overloaded roof rack, to relocate to Ottawa. The cross-Canada trek stimulated an appetite for travel that his work with the National Museum was able to whet somewhat; he had many colourful tales of trips taken in the company of the museum's director, Bill Taylor, himself something of a legend in the museum community.

Denis spent the rest of his career at the Museum of Man. At first he served as Curator of Collections for the Ethnology Division. In his final years he planned and designed the collections storage facilities for the new building of the museum, now renamed the Canadian Museum of Civilization. Several published articles and booklets preserve some of his knowledge on collections management issues. Denis was respected by his colleagues as someone with inventive yet down-to-earth solutions for problems, a straight-speaker who valued integrity over political agenda, and a friendly, easy-going man with a strong sense of humour. Few knew that his extroverted character actually hid a shyness he had to fight all his life. The respect of his peers was manifested in his elevation, within the Canadian Museums Association, of which he was a long-time member, to the status of Fellow, a lifetime honour given only to 30 museum professionals at any time. He was closely involved in repatriating important Canadian ethnological collections, mainly from Europe, and these were some of the achievements of which he was most proud; it was also in that context that he experienced the thrill of buying at auctions, if only as a representative of the Museum. His interest in museum artifacts was not from the perspective of art appreciation, but from what they revealed about the cultures that produced them. When queried about which artifacts he would give priority in saving, should the Museum catch fire, he replied that he would ignore the artifacts and save the files containing the photos, cataloguing data, and research notes. All these things helped shape his later involvement in collecting and studying match safes.

Soon after the new Canadian Museum of Civilization opened to the public in 1989, Denis retired. Although he enjoyed the relaxation opportunities this brought, he also threw himself more heavily into existing interests: researching family history, and collecting antiques. In the latter field, his attention focused on match safes, or match holders as he preferred to call them, thinking of the broad spectrum of types; this interest was prompted by the fact that he was a heavy smoker. Again, it was not the aesthetic aspects that appealed to him but a fascination with the variety and ingenuity of forms, the development of the technologies, and the ways that the holders were designed and constructed. He was a strong proponent of research in this field, and conducted considerable research himself, particularly on design patents. For him, the satisfaction of acquiring a new piece was overshadowed by the investigative opportunities the piece opened up; his museum training made him more interested in documenting his collection than in collecting itself. He enjoyed making contacts around the world and exchanging information with dealers, companies, and fellow collectors.

While at the Museum he had progressed through the use of mechanical and electric typewriters; at home he set himself up with a dedicated word processor. After being introduced to computers and the Internet, he quickly warmed to their potential for helping him pursue his contacts, his research, and writing, although he remained -- proudly -- a two-fingered typist for his remaining years. The publication in 1994 of his book, Match Holders: 100 Years of Ingenuity, was for him one of the highlights of his life. Assisted by his elder son, who had followed his footsteps into the museum world, he later worked to capture some of his knowledge on two CD-ROMs published through the International Match Safe Association. The creation of the Association had been an initiative about which he was enthusiastic; he played an active role in IMSA affairs as long as his health allowed.

A number of health problems, however, combined to weigh him down as the new millennium dawned. He was well enough in 2001 to enjoy celebrating with family and friends his golden wedding anniversary, but by 2003 he had become a virtual invalid and was eventually unable to continue his collecting and his research or to use his computer. This progressive decline led to his death in hospital on March 3, 2004. He leaves behind his wife, Joy, two sons and a daughter, and two grandchildren.

Denis Alsford's Match Holders