Categories
1900-1949 Food & Drink

Vintage recipes – Old Fashioned Macaroni and Cheese, 1910

Macaroni cheese is probably my ultimate in comfort food (well, second to my mum’s world-beating mashed potato). It sounds to me like a fairly modern, American invention – after all, I thought the British were introduced to proper pasta in about 1975. At least, I’ve got a promotional pasta cookery pamphlet from 1978 that talks about its chosen foodstuff as a new and original thing. (It also has a strange lasagne recipe too – no meat sauce at all, just béchamel on every layer with chopped ham. I need to try it one day.)

But no! I was as wrong in this assumption as I could be. It turns out a version of mac ‘n’ cheese is in what might be the world’s oldest cookery book, Forme of Cury, from the late fourteenth century. There, it consists of fresh dough boiled in sheets and sandwiched in layers of cheese and butter. A bit like that lasagne from 1978. Elizabeth Raffald provides the first macaroni cheese recipe we’d properly recognise, in her The Experienced English Housekeeper of 1769, and Mrs Beeton included two recipes for it in her 1861 Book of Household Management.

And my excellent copy of Mrs Rea’s Cookery Book from 1910 has its own version too, below.

Ruth Goodman’s Victorian Farm tells me that the word macaroni in 19th Century recipes was used to describe all shaped pasta and that the macaroni usually available in Victorian shops was very thick and required a long cooking time to soften. This explains the timing of an hour’s boiling in my Edwardian recipe, I expect, rather than a preference for boiling it to a mush, like their carrots. The macaroni also came in long tubes, which you had to cut into smaller lengths yourself. And apparently it also needed washing.

8Mrs-Rea-macaronicheese

I gave it a go, changing a few things for the modern world.

No boiling of the macaroni for a hour, and no browning it in front of a fire, sadly. Also, I’m not sure how many people the recipe is intended for, as the book doesn’t mention this for any of the recipes. But 3oz of pasta was not enough for two greedy 21st century portions so I upped the amount to 5oz. It’s unusual that there is more cheese by weight than macaroni in the recipe – despite adding more pasta, I kept the sauce amounts exactly the same, and it worked fine. Although the recipe seems to guide you to throw all the sauce ingredients together without cooking but maybe white sauces were too obvious to give much direction for. I like that soft cheese curds were also an option instead of the grated hard cheese.

Here it is.

Macaroni and Cheese.

3oz macaroni (I used 5oz)
4oz cheese
1oz flour
1 1/2oz butter
1/2 pint milk
Pepper, salt, cayenne, 1/2 tsp mustard powder

Wash the macaroni, drop it in short lengths into 1 pint boiling water. Add a little salt and 1/2 oz butter. Cook gently about 1 hour, then drain.

Grate the cheese or, if soft, press with a wooden spoon through a wire sieve. Put 1 oz of butter into a saucepan with the flour. Mix and add the milk and seasonings. Stir in 3oz of the cheese, add the macaroni, and mix.

Turn into a hot, greased pie dish. Sprinkle remaining cheese over. Brown in front of fire. Serve very hot.

Old fashioned macaroni and cheese, in a pie dish
Old fashioned macaroni and cheese, in a pie dish

It was definitely of the old, plain school of macaroni cheese, which would be too non-jazzed-up to be included in a recipe book these days. But that what I like about Mrs Rea – good, solid, day to day recipes that work, rather than a recipes dreamed up by a celebrity chef purely in order to have an original theme for their new cook book.  Plain it might be, but lovely, smooth and tasty nonetheless. I will be making it again. In fact, writing this post now, I wish there was some left that I could eat Nigella-style in front of the fridge, but it’s all gone.

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Women

Oxydol advert, 1937

If I was a 1937-era housewife, this advert would definitely work on me. The thought of spending one whole day a week washing all the dirty laundry in one big go, the hard way, is a tiring thought. It’s bad enough having to handwash the essentials on those occasions when my washing machine has given up the ghost, but adding towels, bedding and baby-stained clothes to the mix – well, I’d be pretty happy with someone giving me advice on how to make it all end faster so I could go to the theatre instead.

Oxydol has a bit of a history as a pioneering product – it was the first commercial washing powder produced by Proctor and Gamble, introduced in 1927. And it’s left a lasting impression as the original “soap” behind the term “soap opera” as it became the sponsor of the “Ma Perkins” radio show in 1933, considered to be the world’s first soap opera.

The Mirror, 1937
The Mirror, 1937

Maybe that’s why their adverts are little soap operas themselves. Here’s another from 1937:

Lancashire Evening Post, 25th February 1937
Lancashire Evening Post, 25th February 1937

If you want the details on what exactly “wash-day” consisted of in the 30s, see my post here of instructions on how to manage it in 1938.

And then there’s this rather lovely little film also from 1938, produced by the American HQ of Oxydol, with the “Scientific Tintometer” mentioned in the advert above, shown in action. I’m rather fascinated by the washtub set up with the electric mangle.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wPpCJ1l2Zvs

Categories
1900-1949 War Women

Thank Goodness They’re Going – GI Brides, 1946

The vitriol is really flowing in this opinion piece about the GI brides taking their leave of the UK for pastures new with their American husbands. I would be amazed if there wasn’t a dash of personal indignation over a potential sweetheart here, although the American GIs based in the UK were famously resented as being “over-fed, over-paid, over-sexed and over here,” wooing British women with their ready supply of nylons and cigarettes.

The writer, a serviceman recently returned from overseas, is “fizzing” about the luxuries bestowed on the travelling wives – the ships laid on for their trip containing beds, food, clothes and toys galore. Or at least “galore” from the perspective of those having suffered the deprivations of 6 years of total war. He points out that the ships also contain “Thousands of soluble nappies (whatever they may be)” – and yes, whatever were they? I can’t find any more details about them but presume they were an early form of disposable nappy.

Their food is a particular bugbear:

“Notice their breakfast the day they sailed? Tomato juice, porridge, scrambled eggs, bread, marmalade and coffee. Now, I hope America provided that for them. Because if it came off our rations, then I take more than [a] somewhat dim view of it. Particularly when I think of the mess of dried egg I went to work on this morning.”

Well, he’s got a point. But between the delights of young love and the joy of the war ending, it must have been a giddy time.

“Well, isn’t that just too, too thrilling?”

Lanarkshire Sunday Post, 3rd February, 1946
Lanarkshire Sunday Post, 3rd February, 1946

And here’s the article that has got our brilliantly sarcastic author all worked up – bananas, soluble nappies and all. It’s from the same newspaper, a week earlier. It shows that an amazing 12,000 brides were due to sail to the U.S. in February 1946.

Lanarkshire Sunday Post, 27th January 1946
Lanarkshire Sunday Post, 27th January 1946

Interestingly, I found out that “over-fed, over-paid, over-sexed, and over here” is a phrase that doesn’t seem to have featured in print during the war, despite it being extremely well-known at the time as it was popularised by comic Tommy Trinder. The earliest reference to it in print found by Phrases.org.uk is from 1958, but I’ve found this, an ex-GI mentioning the phrase, from 1948:

Lichfield Mercury, 30th July 1948
Lichfield Mercury, 30th July 1948

 

Categories
1900-1949 Women

Jean Harlow’s Black Thoughts, 1935

Jean Harlow, tragic blonde bombshell, died only 2 years after this article was printed. In 1937, kidney failure took her at the ridiculously young age of 26. “Jean” was actually her mother’s name, she was born with the very original name of “Harlean”.

Jean Harlow, 1930
Jean Harlow, 1930

This woman knew a strong look when she saw one, and here she is discussing something close to my heart, the joy of wearing black, which looked exceptionally striking against her platinum blonde hair. The intricately-described outfits sound like the most dizzyingly perfect of 1930s creations. This is from The Gloucester Citizen, which also published Katharine Hepburn’s Beauty Tips.

The Gloucester Citizen, 7th May, 1935
The Gloucester Citizen, 7th May, 1935

“Newer and more original colours may come and go, as fashion predicts, but black, in so far as I am concerned, is always first favourite. There was a time, of course, when blonde-haired girls carefully avoided black for summer and springtime wear. But clever draperies, cool accessories, and diaphanous materials have succeeded in making black look as cool, if not cooler, than its pastel and white competitors.

In fact, cooler – because nothing looks more ungainly to the eye on a hot day or evening than a rumpled, soiled gown that started to a social function or on a shopping jaunt, as fresh as a flower, and will inevitably return “dashed” looking, and with its owner in a “dashed” temper because she knows she is not looking her best.

Here are descriptions of three of my favourite additions to a Springtime wardrobe. The first is that enviable possession – an evening gown. Of sleek, heavyweight crepe de chine, the long, slim skirt flares out at the hem, which is only half an inch from the ground, and ends in a tiny train. The “top” or jacket, which is waist-length and is attached to a stitched belt of its own material, is covered with gleaming paillettes, which look like jet “bugles”, but are actually manufactured from cellophane and are much more durable than bead trimming.
Sleeves are elbow-length and again trimmed with the paillettes. A long, turn-back collar has a daringly low V-shaped décolletage. This creation can be worn with an evening hat, a toque of dull crepe with a design of the paillettes sewn on at one side and decorated with tiny wisps of paradise.

Then for the “little occasion”, there is long, sleek gown on crepe romaine or heavy georgette, over a white satin slip. A bloused effect, rather high-waisted, and with plenty of fullness, has tiny pleats each side. The sleeves are composed of sets of minute pleats drawn into a tight cuff at the elbow, finished with a turn-back fold of white silk pique. A high-cowl collar, with a fold of the white silk pique next to the face (for a youthful look), dwindles away into nothing at the back but a set of crossed-over “braces” of the silk pique. The skirt is long and narrow and affects no fullness until it gets to below the knees, when it frivolously flares out round the feet.

For afternoon wear or a game of bridge comes a gown as austere as a man’s. Fashioned from very fine wool crepe de chine, the whole garment is simply a series of cartridge pleats. A long finely pleated gown from shoulder to bottom hem line, drawn in at the neck line with a silver cord, and at the waist line by a beaten silver belt of Russian design. Voluminous sleeves, cut high on the shoulder line and drawn in at the wrists with tiny silver cords. No jewellery or embellishments but one thin strand of seed pearls around the neck.

Three black thoughts, but elegant ones, I can assure you.”

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Food & Drink

You Need Biscuits to Keep You Going, 1948

Right, so this is the new Keep Calm and Carry On, as far as I’m concerned.

For the good of your health, have a biscuit! Well, so said the “Cake and Biscuits Manufacturers War Time Alliance Ltd” in 1948. I love the way the fact that a pound of sweet biscuits is proudly presented as containing (a strangely specific) 2,204 calories, which would be cause for shame now.

Western Daily Press, 5th July 1948
Western Daily Press, 5th July 1948

This also happened to be the first day the National Health Service came into being.

I don’t know about you, but this is an extremely apt motto for my office at around 3pm. In fact, I’m off to print a copy of this to place over the special “biscuit desk” we have (and which is just one reason I love my new job).

Categories
Victorian Women

The Black Beetle Pie Case, 1863

“Disgusting charge against a lady” runs one of the headlines regarding “The Black Beetle Pie case” of 1863, and that just about sums it up.

Whilst fruitlessly looking for more information about the real Dr Frankenstein of 1863, I came across this riotous story. Dashingly-dressed Mrs Elizabeth Wilton of Brixton was charged with making a pie filled with black beetles and then giving it to her servant to feed to next-door’s coachman, for some reason. The unfortunate recipient of the pie, Edward Gardiner, “swallowed six or seven mouthfuls, but finding the taste exceedingly unpleasant, he looked and saw that the pie was filled with black beetles.” A mere six or seven mouthfuls to find that out?

Mrs Wilton said she’d made it “for a lark” but was charged with “intent to aggrieve and annoy” Mr Gardiner. She claimed she never thought he’d actually eat the thing and he would realise immediately it was a joke – but hang on, she’d not only filled the pie with beetles, she also put 30 grains of gamboge in it too. Gamboge being a yellow tree sap used as a laxative, the addition of which would seem to be unnecessary if it wasn’t intended to be eaten. Mr Gardiner said “…it was nasty stuff resembling mustard, but it was not mustard.” He took the uneaten pie to the police station, where the sergeant on duty said “…anything more filthy and disgusting he had never seen. The stench was so intolerable that he had to open all the Station-house windows to get rid of it.”

Her pie-madness didn’t stop there however. The article goes on to say that she voluntarily brought a new pie to the police station, “intended for sale at a bazaar, but which she wished to leave for approval.” I think we can guess what was in it, but it was even stranger than the first one. Inspector Smith decided to investigate and found inside “a painted toy pear quite full of black beetles.” Where was she getting all these beetles from?

Newcastle Daily Journal, 22nd June 1863
Newcastle Daily Journal, 22nd June 1863

The case was briefly notorious, with crowds outside the court shouting “Who made the black beetle pie?” and inside “the court was crowded to suffocation”.

Somerset Western Gazette, 4th July 1863
Somerset Western Gazette, 4th July 1863

The court heard that Mrs Wilton had had a dispute with this neighbour, on account of the bands she engaged to play loud music at her house two or three times a week until the early hours. She had also been spotted throwing bricks at the neighbour’s windows. One of the articles mentions that she also baked a pie for one of these bands, but this time instead of beetles it contained ladies knickers, which the performer put on and then proceeded to dance in front of her door for a bit.

Somehow she got off the charge, her practical joke defence having worked.

Cheshire Observer, 11th July, 1863
Cheshire Observer, 11th July, 1863

However, “the crowd in front of the court was so immense, and the feeling against her so strong, that it was not considered safe for her to leave. She in consequence felt it prudent to send home her carriage and take her station in the gaoler’s room, where she remained with her friends, and having been supplied with some creature comforts, departed in an hour in a street-cab, accompanied by a stylish young man, and thus ended the black beetle pie case.”

And yet it wasn’t the end, quite. She got into trouble again a month later, for getting drunk and knocking off a policeman’s hat. Which ranked extremely highly on the shocking crime scale in 1863. Asbo-material, she was.

Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper, 23rd August, 1863
Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, 23rd August, 1863

One thing continually mentioned in the reports is that she was Mrs Elizabeth Wilton, “alias Hyde”. Well, if you’re going to have an alias, isn’t Hyde the best one to have? However, this was 20 years before “The Curious Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde” was written. In my imagination, a 13-year-old Robert Louis Stephenson read the widely circulated reports of this case, and the alias of a madwoman stuck in his subconscious mind.

I was delighted to find out after reading all this that there was a folk song written about Elizabeth Wilton. Of course there was. And even more delighted that a version of it, Black Beetle Pies, was recorded very recently by Bellowhead – see below. It reminds me of brilliantly strange circus music, and that’s just about one of my favourite things.

Bellowhead’s John Spiers said of the song “It’s about this woman who set herself up as an altruistic helper of the poor. So she started her own soup kitchen and boarding house, but despite appearances to the contrary she had complete contempt for the people she was purporting to help and would put all sorts of horrible things like black beetles into their food to see how hungry they were.” I’m guessing this was a fictionalised version of the truth, or at least I can find no mention of this particular angle on The British Newspaper Archive. But then again, I wouldn’t put it past her, quite frankly.

 

Categories
1900-1949 Women

Corset Deformity, 1910

An article on “Chest Development” from Herald of Health magazine, 1910. It includes quite an alarming depiction of exactly what happens to those poor internal organs when subjected to the tight lacing of regular corseting.

“The conventional mode of dress in women, with constriction of the waist, is one of the greatest of all factors in the general decadence in physical vigour so apparent in women of the present day.”

Spinal curvature, liver deformities, weak back and stomach muscles, pelvic congestion, the internal organs being unable to fulfil their functions and blood not circulating properly…..Just some of the agonising-sounding effects of the fashion for tight corsets.

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Food & Drink

Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, 1937

The 1930s and 40s with their stiff upper lips, blitz spirit and derring-do remind me a bit of the quote from Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, doctored a bit by me:

“In those days spirits were brave, the stakes were high, men were real men, women were real women and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. And Cadbury’s chocolate wasn’t buggered up by Kraft Foods.”

Cadbury’s Dairy Milk – eat it, just like some of the “wisest people you ever saw” do.

The Children's Newspaper, 17th April 1937
The Children’s Newspaper, 17th April 1937
Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Pharmaceuticals Victorian

Pink Pills for Pale People, 1917

“Dr Williams’ pink pills for pale people” – a gloriously named pharmaceutical that sounds to me equally likely to have come from the past or some kind of Philip K Dick-style future.

The Lancashire Daily Post, 16th November, 1917
The Lancashire Daily Post, 16th November, 1917

The pink pills were, however, quite a big deal around the late 19th and early 20th century. George Taylor Fulford bought the rights to the pills in 1890 and launched a huge marketing campaign for them, covering 87 countries and spending a dazzling £200,000 a year on advertising in 1900 – in Britain alone.

As the “pale people” description indicates, these were iron supplements for anaemic people. And unlike the wild claims of various cure-alls, these were genuinely medically helpful to many people, as anaemia was a common condition of the time.

A strange little postscript to the story is that George Fulford died from a car accident in 1905 – he, his chauffeur and his business partner Willis Hanson were ejected from their car as it collided with a streetcar in New York. This was not a common cause of death at this point in time, and indeed Fulford is reported by Wikipedia to be the first Canadian on record to die by automobile accident.

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Food & Drink

Eat More Fat, 1937

“Atora puddings solve the difficult problem of children who dislike fat.”

Not a sentence I can imagine would be used in today’s advertising. These adverts are from The Children’s Newspaper, and it is true that children do need fat – apart from other things, fat helps in the development of brain cells. Did you know that the brain can contain up to 60% fat? (More in some people’s cases….) Fat is of course one of those food groups that was celebrated, then demonised, and recently started to be rehabilitated as a useful part of your diet. My grandma could eat a mound of fat – she preferred the fat to the meat – and she was slim all her life and lived to a good old age too.

“Medical testimony proves that the children – and adults – with weakly and “chesty” tendencies, who most need nourishing fat, are the ones who don’t like it.”

Oh, I do like the idea of eating suet puddings for the good of your health. I’m sure the 1930s style diet is worth a try. I’m quite tempted to try something along the lines of this blog, The 1940s Experiment, where a woman lost weight by following Second World War rationing recipes. I could try the 1920s-30s version, the typical diet from just before rationing came in (well, it sounds more fun anyway – apart from the Mice in Honey). Nourishing Rowntree’s Chocolate Crisps all round!

The Children's Newspaper, 8th May 1937
The Children’s Newspaper, 8th May 1937
The Children's Newspaper, 8th May 1937
The Children’s Newspaper, 8th May 1937