Categories
1950-1999 Food & Drink

The Jon Pertwee Recipe Book, 1973

I’ve had a lot of fun since I started this blog. I’ve had the excuse to read more and also add to my old book collection. I’ve discovered the joys of the Ebay ephemera section and now have old letters, receipts from 1913, bits of Liverpool history, old pages from children’s books that I’ve framed for the baby’s room and strange old Happy Family cards. And the ephemera led me to discovering about Victorian stereoscopes and stereographic photographs, the collecting of which could very likely become a new hobby of mine. I’ve had two excellent guest blog posts (and I’m keen for more, if anyone’s got any interesting old stuff they want to write about out there).

But surely the greatest thing that’s happened so far is finding out about The Jon Pertwee Recipe Book. Not that I found it, it’s more that it found me. A blog post about a celebrity cookbook from 1986, that crucially contained some Worzel Gummidge recipes, alerted the Pertosphere to my presence – here. The Pertosphere also being known as this forum dedicated to the study of this (definitely canon) book.

And so I obviously needed my own copy. When it comes to locating specific out of print books, I’ve never been more grateful for the existence of the internet. I mean, imagine, in those mid 1990s days before I had even sent an email, I was busy doing…..er, well, all those things I used to do before the internet. Playing the card game Pit, watching Steve Coogan’s Live ‘n’ Lewd video on repeat, going out and playing pool while drinking terrible and terribly cheap drinks, all that kind of thing. Just imagine trying to locate a copy of an old book from 1973 when you aren’t really sure what it’s called anyway, just by going to charity shops and hoping.

Because that’s one of the best things about The Jon Pertwee Recipe Book. It’s not called The Jon Pertwee Recipe Book. And it doesn’t mention Jon Pertwee once within its pages, either. What it does have is this picture on the back cover, of BBC TV’s Doctor Who:

image

And it’s actually called Baking your Cake and Eating it, a budget cookbook from the Co-op, with recipes sent in by members of the public.
image

The most striking recipe is this, Banana Doolittle. Which has been attempted, impressively, by a member of the aforementioned forum, with interesting results. And this isn’t even the only 1970s recipe I have that crosses the pork/banana nexus. It was a strange decade. I like to think it’s something even too outré for Heston Blumenthal.

Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973
Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973

But there’s also such delights as the Pensioner’s Casserole (I think I can smell the cabbage all the way from 1973):

Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973
Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973

Mock Roast (basically meatloaf):

Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973
Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973

And Cheese Whispers, an impressive cocktail savoury made with instant mash. Well, it says it’s impressive. I haven’t made it.

Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973
Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973

I’ve still got all the coupons in the middle too – I could have saved 2p if they hadn’t expired in 1974.

Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973
Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973

I’ve made one of the rather more seasonal recipes. Last weekend it was Stir-Up Sunday, time to get the Christmas Pudding on the go. Here’s another, rather quicker, variation – Christmas Bunloaves by Mrs Margaret Edwards of Everton, Liverpool. Her family have been making it for at least 80 years, so that’s back to the 1890s, and it means it also fulfils my remit of making vintage recipes. I’d made a big pot of scouse for dinner, so surely this local delicacy will be perfect to follow.

image

Christmas Bunloaves
(From Mrs Margaret Edwards, Everton, Liverpool who says the recipe has been handed down in her family for over eighty years)
-—-——————————————————————————————-
2 lb plain flour
1 lb soft brown sugar
1/2 lb white sugar
2 tsp baking powder
4 tsp mixed spice
2 tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp ground ginger
1/2 lb lard
1/2 lb margarine
1/2 lb raisins (stoned and chopped)
1/2 lb sultanas
1 lb currants
2 oz chopped glacé cherries
2 oz candied peel
1/2 pint milk (or slightly more)
5 eggs
1/2 tsp almond essence
Lemon juice

1. Mix dry ingredients together, rub in fat, add fruit and candied peel.
2. Beat up eggs in milk, add essence and a few drops lemon juice.
3. Mix all together until moist but not too stiff.
4. Line two large loaf tins, pour mixture in and cover well with greaseproof paper. To give a shiny top, pat a little milk gently over the top before covering.
5. Bake at Mark 3 (325 degrees F, 160 degrees C) for 3 hours. Will make two 3 1/2 lb loaves.
——————————————————————————————–

I only made half portions – I think Mrs Edwards might have been cooking for a big old Liverpool Catholic family at Christmas and I don’t have a mixing bowl up to the job.

For 1970s authenticity, I used Stork.
image

Stork and lard. Look at all those lumps of fat.

Add the spices. OK, I’ve misread the instructions and added the spices too late. It’s fine, though.

Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973
Baking your Cake and Eating it, 1973

And into the Kitchen Machine it goes. Hawkwind’s Silver Machine is usually the tune in my head when I use this – not only does it scan, but….it’s also silver! BBC TV’s Doctor Who is helping out here. The spices being rubbed into the fat and flour start to smell pretty amazing now.

Being a Christmas recipe, a ton of dried fruit is in order. Currants, sultanas AND raisins are called for, of which currants are deemed most important.

Here they are in alphabetical order. Do you know the difference between a currant, a raisin and a sultana? I’m not going to go into it here, it’s far too complicated. Frankly, I’m just grateful I don’t live in a world where you have to clean currants or de-seed raisins as was the way in 1902 – https://skittishlibrary.co.uk/vintage-recipes-hydropathic-pudding/” title=”Vintage recipes – Hydropathic pudding.

The fruit, with candied peel and a meagre amount of glacé cherries.

Stir up the milk, eggs, almond essence and lemon juice, mix it in and dollop in your loaf tin. I don’t think this part is very budget-y, I had to buy a bottle of almond essence for just 1/4 teaspoons-worth. Still.

Then clumsily brush some milk on top for a shiny top, and decorate with the aforementioned currant, raisin and sultana, if you’re being fancy. Make sure to cover with the greaseproof paper because this baby is going in the oven for three whole hours and you don’t want a burnt top. This is the heaviest thing I’ve ever baked.

And here it is, a lovely shiny-topped fruity loaf.

Serving suggestion – get every Pertwee-related item in your house and arrange it around the Bunloaf. It turns out that about half my possessions are Pertwee-based.

Worzel serving suggestion – a cup o’ tea and a slice o’ cake.

Verdict – this is definitely a vintage recipe, it tastes very much like it’s from 1890. Like tea round your nan’s house. Slightly dry – better with a little slick of butter, and even better toasted first. The budget nature of the cookbook has possibly scrimped on glacé cherries, I’d add about 4 times as many next time. And a bit of booze wouldn’t go amiss. But – good! Very Christmassy and traditional.

Categories
1950-1999 Adverts

Cheesy Peas, 1996

Oh, the crazy things we ate in the 1990s! Actually, although this is obviously from The Fast Show Book, I did make some cheesy peas while the programme was on and they were pretty good. Not that I’ve made them since, mind.

I didn’t have this book at the time, which was rather an oversight to my comedy book collection, and so I was overjoyed to see it in a charity shop last week. My 1996 status meant I had no spare money for such things – I was a student, and then a shop assistant in Liverpool’s finest hippy shop, Quiggins, at £2.50 an hour with no sick pay and 12 days holiday a year (some of which you had to keep back so you still got paid if you were ill). Thank the monkey for employment laws changing considerably since then.

The Fast Show Book, 1996
The Fast Show Book, 1996

Unlucky Alf. Oh, I could hardly watch this it made me feel so stricken. One of Paul Whitehouse’s finest hours.

The Fast Show Book, 1996
The Fast Show Book, 1996
Categories
Victorian Victorian Slang

Victorian Slang of the Week – Cabbagehead

More head insults! Cabbagehead – a soft-headed person.

Also, Cabobble – an excellent word from Suffolk meaning to confuse, and it really does sound like a muddled head.

The Slang Dictionary, 1865
The Slang Dictionary, 1865
Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Food & Drink

Mel-O-Ade Cubed Drink, 1932

Here’s a 1932 book produced by the Liverpool Daily Post, “Motor runs from Merseyside”. It’s in a fairly delicate condition and so I couldnt quite scan everything flat. I’ll post up some more of this book later. For now, here’s some of the adverts it contains.

Motor-runs-from-Merseyside-1932,-cover

My favourite bit is this advert for Mel-O-Ade, a “Summer health drink”, “in convenient cubes for motorists”. Mel-O-Ade was a locally produced drink, made in Dale Street, Liverpool.

Mel-0-Ade drink advert, 1932
Mel-0-Ade drink advert, 1932

Buy a book now and then, and refresh your mind! A great phrase from an advert from the stationer and bookseller Philip Son and Nephew, Ltd on Church Street.

Adverts for where to buy cars in Liverpool. I just love that 1930s Art Deco aesthetic.

Categories
Victorian Victorian Slang

Victorian Slang of the Week – Golopshus

Golopshus – well, this is a word that can be used to describe itself. It’s rather a golupshus word from Norwich meaning splendid, delicious and luscious.

Slang-Dictionary-golopshus

It reminds me more than anything else of the unique wordysmith talents of Professor Stanley Unwin. Here he is describing Patrick Troughton’s era of Doctor Who. Deep joy.

 

 

 

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Ephemera Food & Drink

Cookery Advert, 1910

A beautiful old advert for cookers and pans, from the very excellent Mrs Dora Rea’s Cookery Book, 1910.

Incidentally, a descendant of Mrs Rea’s has been in touch to correct my joke about Dora Rea being almost unfortunately named. Because “Rea” is pronounced “Ray”, not “Rear”. I am chastened and also honoured, thank you, Karen! Karen has kindly provided more information about Mrs Rea’s life in the comments here – https://skittishlibrary.co.uk/the-good-the-bad-and-the-calfs-head/

*Holds back from making a “Dora, Rea, Me, Fah, Soh, Lah, Tee, Doh” joke*

*Also can’t think of one*

*Stops making jokes about Dora Rea’s name. Sorry*

Mrs Rea's Cookery Book
Mrs Rea’s Cookery Book
Categories
1950-1999 Music

Freddie Mercury’s Girlfriends, 1976

These are the last bits here that I’m going to post from Radio Luxembourg’s official magazine annual, Fab 208, from 1976.

Fab208-1976-cover

Incidentally, this was a present in about 1996 from my friend Neil, as you can see below, at one of our crazy student Christmas meals. Due to timey-wimey things, the book is nearly exactly twice as old as it was when I first got it. It seemed so funny and ancient at the time, and the fact that nearly as much time again has passed just seems impossible. Horrible thought – do current teenagers see the 1990s as funny and ancient right now? I suppose they must.
Fab-annual-inside

Here they ask Freddie Mercury about what type of girlfriends he likes. He’s obviously totally messing with them with his answer of Liza Minnelli and “…I enjoy a challenge as well!” Here, though, I’m mainly looking at lovely Richard O’Sullivan’s lovely face.

Fab 208, 1976
Fab 208, 1976

I like the incredulous, “what does he look like?” tone about this 1972 picture of Eric (my fave) from the Bay City Rollers, when he looks perfectly fine. It reminds me of 1970s Bob in Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads taking the mickey out of what appears to us as Terry’s much more sensible haircut.

Fab208 Annual, 1976
Fab208 Annual, 1976

Plus, aw, Alvin Stardust. RIP, glove-meister. And thanks for this:

 

Categories
1900-1949 Space

Herschel’s Last Wish, 1940

A lovely clipping about the astronomer Herschel (most famous for his Uranus, of course). This is his supposed last wish on his death-bed, which was in Slough, 1822. All he wanted was to see the dark side of the moon.

PTO Magazine, 1940
PTO Magazine, 1940
Categories
Victorian Victorian Slang

Victorian Slang of the Week – Funking the Cobbler

Funking the cobbler – a kid’s trick involving the pungent spice asafoetida, also known as Devil’s Dung (nice). The spice was stuffed with cotton into a cow’s horn (everyone had a cow’s horn to hand in the nineteenth century), set alight, and the smoke blown through a keyhole or into the aforementioned cobbler’s stall.

In short, it’s an early kind of stinkbomb, perenially popular with schoolboys. I feel safe in this gender assumption having sat on a fair number of buses that have fallen victim to a gang of lads chucking a stinkbomb on just before the doors close, while we poor saps sit there choking for the rest of the journey. This is especially great if you’re pregnant and your sense of smell has basically become a superpower.

Grrrr! *shakes fist in the manner of an annoyed cobbler*

Slang-Dictionary-funking-the-cobbler

Categories
1900-1949 Ephemera War

Remembrance Week – Grandad, Richard Dimbleby and an Unknown German Soldier

This is the post I’ve been wanting to put up since I started this blog. It’s my treasure trove – my Grandad’s archive of his wartime activities, stuffed inside a book that both fascinates me and creeps me out in equal measure.

Firstly, a note – my scans are often a bit wonky on this blog, I’m afraid. This is usually due to the delicate nature of my old books, which means that they don’t take kindly to being pressed open (and, admittedly, sometimes it’s just because I’m still trying to improve at the scanning and photo editing involved). But this post is full of some of the most delicate things I have, and some of them have almost disintegrated. So wonkiness is rather unavoidable.

My Grandad was Allan Pickup, a lovely man from Rossendale, in Lancashire (and apparently one of his much younger cousins was Ronald Pickup, the actor). He’d been a bus driver before the Second World War, and after signing up he landed quite a brilliant job – he served with the Motor Transport Corps and became one of the official drivers for the brilliant Richard Dimbleby, the BBC’s first and most prominent war correspondent.

This was pretty exciting stuff, at least at this point – to start with he was in France with the British Expeditionary Force, on the Maginot Line. This was during the so-called “phoney war” period, before things really kicked off properly. I do imagine him on the Maginot Line, as the George Formby song goes. Being a big Formby fan, I just have to include the clip below, where he’s singing his song to the soldiers on the Maginot Line itself. I really love this footage – it gives me such a sense of a moment just hanging in time.

Grandad’s proximity to the press meant he was in sight of many luminaries of the period – which I know because he kept his clippings from the Rossendale Free Press in this book. It sounded like he was a slight celebrity to his local newspaper because of his job – the clippings show he handed Gracie Fields a bouquet, met the actor Sir Seymour Hicks, and was “in reaching distance” of King George VI when he visited the front. He was on the BBC giving his impressions from The Maginot Line, and also on a BBC spelling bee quiz for soldiers and their relatives – he and my Grandma, Bessie, being on opposing teams. As far as anyone was having a good time in the war at this point, it sounds like he was finding it all pretty thrilling, and I don’t blame him. He says,

“I myself have been on the air, on the screen (on the news reels) and also been mentioned in The Daily Mail, so that is not a bad show for just a common bus driver.”

(I’ve looked for the newsreels and although the British Pathe archives are incredible, and one of my favourite places on the internet, I sadly can’t find anything.)

He told my mum that Richard Dimbleby was a lovely man – in fact, once they were in Arras, in northern France, when Dimbleby wanted to stop at a jeweller to buy his wife a present. Grandad was looking at the rings, but couldn’t afford to buy one. So Dimbleby bought one for him, to give to Grandma. We still have it, in its box, on the bottom of which Grandad wrote “To Bessie, with love from France” (and then, possibly as an afterthought, thinking “France” was too vague, he wrote “Allan” up the side).

And when Richard Dimbleby was on the cover of The Radio Times in January 1940, there was Grandad, in his driver’s cap, standing next to the car. Thanks to the brilliant and recently launched BBC Genome project, I see the reason Dimbleby was on the cover that week was because his programme “Despatch from the Front”, was launching in a new weekly format. Grandad saved the cover and back pages, and they’re wonderful. I did post up my favourite advert of all time earlier this week, but here it is again (any excuse):

Here are the other things Grandad kept in the book:

An authorisation chit for a press visit to a site in France –
visit-authorisation

A photo of a friend of his –
friend

A tourist guide to the First World War trenches of Vimy –

A newspaper page showing a bombed site, with a cross drawn on it. Not sure what this is, but presumably one of them is Grandad or one of his friends.
clipping-with-cross1

A morale-boosting piece about a soldier missing his home and family –

Which was obviously especially poignant as his daughter, my mum, was born in 1942. He posted a happy birthday message in the paper for her in 1945 and kept the clipping here –
mum-birthday

I posted this earlier this week too – the fabulously British certificate he was given at the end of the war:
Thank-you-and-well-done

This is what really chokes me up, though. It’s a couple of pages torn from The Journal of the Royal Army Service Corps, and an article by Major C. R. Thompson called “The Horror of Belsen”. I don’t know what date this journal was from, but the letters mention a previous edition of March 1945, and as Belsen was liberated by the British Army in April 1945, this must have been one of the very first impressions of the concentration camps. Perhaps Grandad had been there – Richard Dimbleby famously filed the first report from Belsen, breaking down as he described what he’d seen. The BBC didn’t believe that what he was saying could be true and decided not to run the report. Dimbleby threatened to resign if it wasn’t broadcast, and so four days later it was. At this point the world began to find out about what had really been happening in those camps.

Grandad had torn the pages out in order to post them to Grandma, and he wrote at the top, “Read this darling, and think what may have happened in England x”

But this is all only half the story. The thing is, before my Grandad kept his clippings and reminders of home in this book, someone else did too. And they’re still there. Because this book belonged to a German soldier first; it’s called Fahrten und Flüge gegen England (“Trips and Flights from England” is the translation, I think) published in 1941 by the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, the Supreme Command of the Armed Forces.

Fahrten und Flüge gegen England, 1941

What it is, is a book celebrating the victorious strikes by both the Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine against England in 1941, entirely written in headache-inducing gothic font. Here’s some pages detailing the attacks on Coventry, Manchester and Liverpool. Google Translate tells me these chapters are called “The attack on Coventry”, “Twice the big attack on Manchester” and “The Port of Liverpool, a single Inferno”:

I have no idea where or how Grandad got this book. But inside it were similar mementoes of the German soldier it once belonged to, which Grandad kept along with his own.

This might have been him:

There’s a postcard of soldiers –
german-postcard-soldiers

Plus some postcards apparently dated 1915 and addressed to somewhere in Holland. Perhaps a family heirloom from the First World War?

And I don’t know if Grandad even knew about this. All the other memorabilia was mixed together with Grandad’s own, but I found this thin letter from 1944, unobtrusively slipped between two different pages. It’s written to “lieber Heini” so presumably this soldier was called Heinrich. I’d love to translate this as far as possible one day –

The book is incredible and quite sobering. At this point in 1941, things were looking pretty good for Germany. I get the sense this book is a very confident expression of the expectation of ultimate victory. There are a lot of pictures – here are some of them. They show bombs over London, Maidstone, Swansea, ships exploding, mines erupting, attacks at Scapa Flow, Tower Bridge as seen from a bomber plane, shark-painted Messerschmitts, and the Nazi High Command meeting the troops. Strange to think it was someone’s job to take these action shots as they happened –

In the end, at this distance, it’s hard to know what to feel, exactly. I have a great sense of melancholy for “Heini”, who I presume didn’t live to see the end of the war. I have a huge admiration for Grandad, who saw quite some sights and then quietly went back to his life in Lancashire. And I’d love to have one last conversation with him now, about all this.