Here’s an advert from a Liverpool greengrocer publicising his recent present to Queen Victoria.
“Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased to order the acknowledgement of the box of FORBIDDEN FRUIT, &e., forwarded by MR MIDDLEWOOD, of this town, which arrived in the most perfect state, and was very much approved of at the Royal table.”
Liverpool Mercury, 12th March 1841
Well, if it’s good enough for the Queen it’s good enough for you, Mr Middlewood is telling Liverpool here. But what was forbidden fruit?
The advert says they are “selected the best in Nassau”, and forbidden fruit was actually the first name given to the natural hybrid fruit of the Bahamas, the grapefruit, first discovered in the mid-18th century. Later on it was termed “grapefruit” after the way the fruits grew in clusters on the tree, a bit like grapes. Bit of a name downgrade though.
Mr Middlewood also sells “shaddocks”, which are the citrus fruits now more commonly termed pomelos – although confusingly, both “pomelo” and “shaddock” also used to be names for the grapefruit, and pomelos are one of the ingredients of the cocktail “Forbidden Fruit”.
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ddock really doesn’t sound like the right thing to call a fruit. It just reminds me of that strange creature, the “Shadmock”, in the horror film “The Monster Club”, but then again he’s a hybrid too….
An advert from 1892 for Mellin’s Food Biscuits, biscuits that could be used for weaning babies, or given to the infirm. They were marketed as a replacement for mother’s milk, and were made from cows milk, malt flour and and wheat.
The Graphic, 6th February 1892Mellin’s Food Biscuits
I was intrigued by this testimonial, by an Alice Liddell. Surely not “Alice in Wonderland” Alice? But no, that was her maiden name, she was Alice Hargreaves by marriage, after marrying the cricketer Reginald Hargreaves.
Incidentally, I love these two pictures of “the” Alice Liddell, at the ages of 20 and 80. She looks like she was a fascinating lady. Alice aged 20
A 1941 advert from Kellogg’s Cornflakes today – literally demonstrating their blitz spirit.
It’s apologising for the shortage of Cornflakes in the shops, while giving themselves a hell of a (deserved) pat on the back for keeping the armed forces and blitzed areas supplied with breakfast.
Here’s an advert for Burnley’s version of the World War Two National Loaf, Veget bread:
Burnley Express, 1946
The National Loaf wasn’t very popular. It was the consequence of white bread flour being in short supply and was made with wholemeal flour, husks and all, and added calcium. It was a bit of a shock to the system of the British public, who had previously only been used to eating white bread, and soon started to be referred to as “Hitler’s secret weapon”, as bakers were banned from making any other type of loaf. Wikipedia describes it as “grey, mushy and unappetising” so it’s no surprise that I also found this rude local rhyme about Veget:
Don’t eat Veget bread,
It makes you shit like lead,
And fart like thunder,
And no bloody wonder,
So don’t eat Veget bread.
I love that Wikipedia says that “The loaf was abolished in October 1956.” I bet there was cheering in the streets. I was wondering if Veget had another ingredient included – the name implies there’s vegetables involved, but maybe that was just to make it sound healthier.
Here’s a recipe for a version of the National Loaf you can make now, by Hugh’s mum, Jane Fearnley Whittingstall. It’s taken from Lavender and Lovage:
The National Wheatmeal Loaf: (Makes 2 loaves) From: Ministry of Food – Jane Fearnley Whittingstall
1 ½ lb wholemeal bread flour 1 ½ tbsp salt 1 ½ tbsp dried yeast 1 dsp honey or treacle 450 ml tepid water
Mix together all the ingredients and knead for about 10 minutes until you have a soft dough. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover with a tea towel and leave until dough has doubled in size (around 2 hours).
Knock back the dough, give a short knead then cut into two equal pieces. Place in 1.5 litre loaf tins, allow to rise for a further 2 hours.
Pre-heat oven to 200°c then bake loaves for 30 min. To test the loaves turn them out of their tins and give the base a tap. if it sounds hollow they are ready. Allow to cool on a wire rack.
Velveeta isn’t a product I associate with either the UK or the 1930s, so I was surprised to see an advert for it in The Yorkshire Post from 1937. I don’t think it was sold for long in the UK though, not post-war anyway. It’s not cheese, it’s “cheese food”.
“The phosphorus in Velveeta makes it an important brain-food”, it says.
The Yorkshire Post, 1937
I first came across Velveeta processed cheese while living in Kentucky during a so-called “exchange year” in the early 1990s – I was a vegetarian at the time and I ended up eating quite a lot of it. It does make an amazing easy cheese sauce in the microwave, even though I’m not entirely sure exactly what it is, apart from being described as “American cheese”. Apparently, the official description of it now is “Pasteurized Recipe Cheese Product”. Mmmm.
I didn’t know it was as old as all that though, I thought of it as one of the convenience foods that sprung up in the 1950s. It always reminded me of Willy Loman complaining about American cheese in Death of a Salesman – “How can they whip cheese?” – and it being an indication of the zeitgeist, moving away from the traditional ways of life after the end of the War.
As every foodstuff apparently was, it’s presented here as being not only nourishing and good for you, but also suitable for invalids – very well catered for, the invalid demographic was.
Hooray Hooray, it’s a happy holiday! It’s a 20-hour joy-day! To be more precise, it’s May 1937, the week before George VI’s coronation, and The Mirror couldn’t be more excited. I have the overseas edition of The Mirror, which was a week’s worth of newspapers bundled up into one edition (the overseas edition was out a week later, so the dates are actually those of Coronation Week itself). We moaned about the coverage of the last Royal Wedding, but this was something else. Nearly everyone was trying to get in on the act. (By the way, I’ve not been able to scan everything in the paper, it’s quite delicate in places, so the not so good bits are photos that might not be quite as clear.)
Firstly, the reason for George being King at all – Edward and Mrs Simpson. 12th May 1937 was originally Edward’s coronation date and, when he officially abdicated, the same date was kept for his brother. There’s lots of sweet, romantic pictures of the couple, and seemingly no disapproval at all, in this paper at least.
The Mirror, 1937
Here’s the schedule:
The Mirror, 1937
There are many ways to celebrate the day, as the Very Reverend Edgar Rogers rather tolerantly points out. He might be singing hymns, but he doesn’t mind if you’re getting completely blotto instead. In fact, is it just me, or is there a bit of a homoerotic vibe going on here? I’m imagining he has a secret passion for a “bit of rough” neighbour of his who likes a drink – all that talk of “he-manness” and everything.
The Mirror, 1937
And, along those lines….
The Mirror, 1937
It seemed like all the nations of the world wanted part of it. Nazi Germany was no exception, with Hitler giving George a special honour and sending a present.
The Mirror, 1937The Mirror, 1937
Generous Ovaltine gave its workers an extra week’s wages to celebrate the occasion:
The Mirror, 1937
The Mirror had a special song commissioned, with a tune by Ivor Novello, no less.
The Mirror, 1937
Planning to get a good spot for the procession? Hyde Park was specially open all night on 11th May for overnight sleepers – here’s some tips:
The Mirror, 1937
But don’t bring your car: The Mirror, 1937
Working underground? There’s still no excuse to miss the event!
The Mirror, 1937
You’re not patriotic enough unless you’re eating the correct food for the occasion.
Eat Nestle’s chocolate (in the days when everyone called it “Nessles”):
The Mirror, 1937
Or perhaps you fancy a Rowntree’s Chocolate Crisp? I know I do. It’s a Kit Kat now, by the way. The Mirror, 1937
Drink beer! I love how this isn’t an advert for a particular company, it’s just that YOU’RE BRITISH SO DRINK BEER. From 1429 (that was Henry VI’s coronation) to 1937, beer has been going strong. I don’t know what they had before 1429, though.
The Mirror, 1937
Stuck in a crowd waiting for the King to go past? Eat some specially shaped cheese triangles:
The Mirror, 1937
And smoke some special coronation fags while you’re at it:
The Mirror, 1937
And here’s the film to use to take your pictures:
And finally, the new King pardons a murderer to mark the occasion, for some reason (welease Woderick). Well, he only stabbed his 20 year old fiancee to death, poor lamb. At least his “grey-haired” mother gets to see him again:
Some possibly useful information on how to cook vegetables from The Essex Cookery Book, 1930.
I’ve never heard of the dark/light theory of cooking vegetables. Vegetables grown in the dark should be cooked in the dark (i.e. covered with a lid) and vice versa, or so it says.
The Essex Cookery Book, 1930
More carrot destruction here with the timings. Not quite as bad as the advice to cook them for two and a half hours from 1910 (see below) but people apparently really liked carrot mush back then. Also – in what universe does it take 15 minutes to cook spinach? You can see why we got our reputation for soggy veg.
This week – a term for ancient or sick animals used for rather unwholesome food purposes. What with all the food scandals and randomly-named meat products of late, perhaps we are unknowingly eating rather more Staggering-Bob than we would like.
“Staggering-Bob, An animal to whom the knife only just anticipates death from natural disease or accident,-said of meat on that account unfit for human food.”
