Categories
1950-1999 Ephemera Games

Funny Bones, 1968

For my birthday treat a few weeks ago, me and my husband went on a very rare kid-free trip to Heston Blumenthal’s Hinds Head pub to try a special menu – truffled beef stew as devised by Heston for Tim Peake on the International Space Station. The intense meaty, tarragonned stew was beautiful, of course, especially so as it was a menu only available if you wrote in to Channel 4 and were lucky enough to receive a special code after the Heston’s Dinner in Space programme a few months ago. The star of the show, however, was the Sweet Shop cocktail – a heady mix of “skittle-washed vodka”, frothed marshmallow, fruits and popping candy, with a wave of candy floss on top. It sounds far too sweet to be appealing, but it was perfect, like a kind of magical strawberry juice.

sweet shop

We stayed in Maidenhead for the night, and I fell in love with the place – not least because of the unfeasible amount of charity shops selling vintage books that we found, and the very friendly shop keepers within them. We were so keen on the fascinating stock in one shop that the lady behind the counter jokingly offered us a “lock-in”, which sounds like heaven to me. The fact that I loved Maidenhead so much funnily enough feels like a crumb of comfort to me in the current political situation – our new Prime Minister Theresa May is its MP.

We came home with heavy armfuls of new books on the train, and this game, Funny Bones, which was worth its price of £1 just to have a look inside the box at the glorious 60s graphics on the cards.

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Brought out the year after Twister, this was intended as a version of that game as played with cards and teams of two partners. The cards themselves need to be held between the two body parts shown on the cards.

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And this is how you play it:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNKqTybDCU8

I’d never heard of it, and was amused to see the none-more-60s description of where this game could be played – not only at birthday parties but also at “Adult Happenings”. “Happenings” always has an orgy vibe about it but it sounded to me like some marketing man trying to get hip with the kids.

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A few of the cards, though…..they could be interpreted with a raised eyebrow.

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And….well, it turns out that this undercurrent was actually a little more *finger bone on the nose bone* than I first thought. Marvin Glass, the creator of the game, seemed to be two parts the Willy Wonka of games, and one part Hugh Hefner. Twister was denounced by some critics of the permissive society as “sex in a box”, and it looks like Marvin Glass had at least one eye on this market too. Here an excellent blog post describes the career and inventions of the man behind an array of classic toys – including SIMON, the Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle and Mousetrap. Here’s the man himself demonstrating his new invention, the toy hypodermic needle, the Hypo-Phony:

hypo

But it was reading about his feature spread in Playboy magazine that most tickled my funny bone. Titled unambiguously “A Playboy Pad: Swinging In Suburbia”, here are the post watershed “fun and games” Marvin was working on.

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You can see why Playboy were interested, this “pad” was up to the zeitgeist in 60s party terms. He had a “walk-in wet bar”, whatever that is, hi-fi controls built into a marble table, “a grand piano and microphones….awaiting the show-business personalities that invariably attend”, Picasso and Dali pictures on the walls, and a swimming pool.

It makes me think of a Hammer Horror porn film. I have a strange feeling of unease looking at these pictures. Go up the red-lit stairs:

stairso

To the bedroom:

mastero

And then hang out in the huge jacuzzi:

bubbleso

The best thing is, it depicts people actually playing Funny Bones at this “happening”.

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I guess this was the kind of thing Monty Python was talking about – it breaks the ice at naughty parties.

In those halcyon days of early June, I suspected not that the purchase of this little game would bring me a blog post featuring the International Space Station, Theresa May, 1960s orgies and the game SIMON, but in this post-Brexit hinterland suddenly anything seems possible.

Categories
Adverts

Christmas Gift Ideas, 1791

It’s the time of year where every magazine and newspaper has its gift guides – for him, for her, for the kids, presents under £50, under £10, inexplicably expensive stocking presents, even stocking presents for adults (do grown ups really get stockings, still? If so, I want one.)

Ever wonder what kind of presents people would get in centuries past? I generally imagine a kind of Dickensian setting where the kids are getting an orange, some nuts, a hoop and stick and maybe some kind of improving book.

So I was interested to find this advert from what sounds to be a bookseller or general stationer, from the Norfolk Chroncicle in 1791, advertising potential gifts to include in “Christmas boxes”. It’s also fun to see that you can still get a lot of them now, if you wanted to recreate Christmas in 1791. Actually, I do kind of want to do that.

Norfolk Chronicle, 24th December 1791
Norfolk Chronicle, 24th December 1791

There’s card games, such as Cent Dix, there’s a book that I really want to read called “A New Moral System of Geography“, the Bible and various history books, something else called “The Royal Engagement Atlas” and almanacs for the coming year of 1792. There’s also some ideas for the ladies – thread cases, “etwees” (or “etuis”, decorative needle cases) and purses. There’s dictionaries, ink stands and paints. “Reeve’s Cake” sounds a like a historic curiosity, but you can still buy this now – it’s Reeve’s watercolour paints.

Reeve’s were a market leader in these watercolours as they had successfully found a way to prevent the paint cakes from cracking in storage by adding honey to the mixture.

My favourite item is the “La Partie Quarree” (which means “foursome”) conversation cards for ladies. Conversation cards were cards with pictures and vague suggestions to be used to break the ice and start conversations. I love the idea of it, it’s like a parlour game without the actual game, like feeling you’re playing “Just a Minute” while having a chat.

I found some 18th century conversation cards, from this antique dealer also in Norfolk, appropriately enough. Small talk begone, let’s talk about some meatier subjects – death, crimes and punishments, the passing of time and the wheel of fortune.

Conversation cards, 18th century
Conversation cards, 18th century
Conversation cards, 18th century
Conversation cards, 18th century

Beautiful pictures in that 18th century satirical style. Not sure why the fop is what seems to be some kind of goat-man, but he looks a bit like an enlightenment-era hipster. The doctor has a huge wig, which I presume is a comment on his wealth. “Hymen or Marriage” – well, there’s a topic and a half.

The idea is still very much out there – this link will give you some ideas for the conversation round a family dinner table, but there’s loads of variations out there. And, strangely enough, as often happens when I find something for this blog, I happen to come across other relevant bits of information from completely unrelated sources. The Pool have just advertised some absolutely lovely conversation mugs, with exactly the same idea, except for a chat over a cup of tea. They’re from the brilliantly-named shop Dept. Store for the Mind
Conversation mugs

My first thought on conversation cards, though, was this, from Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, which was possibly the first thing of theirs I ever saw. A rather unsuccessful conversation on philosophers (which is also very 18th century).

 

 

Categories
1950-1999 Victorian

Words of Love, and Love of Words

Words, words, glorious words;
Nothing quite like them for polishing turds….

I’ve always loved words, I even used to collect them when I was younger. Interesting words I found I would write down in a little book, ready to spring into use when I inevitably wrote my Gilbert and Sullivan-style operetta. Just the usual kid stuff.

My first favourite words were Sweet Lemons. Nice and simple and lots of E’s, which I felt a special affinity with, being the first letter of “Estelle”. Plus, it’s a nice oxymoron.

The name Estelle itself was interesting as well. I didn’t know anyone else called it, and I was quite taken with the idea that I was named after a character in a book – Estella from Great Expectations. Mum loved the book, and as soon as I read it (although that wasn’t until I was an adult for some reason – I rather felt like it was waiting for the right time) it became my favourite book straightaway. It’s perfect – no one writes people like Dickens, the scenes are vivid sketches in their own right, and it’s still funny (Pip’s real name being Philip Pirrip made me laugh on page one and I knew then that we would get on). And for a lover of words, the names of Dickens’ characters are an untrammelled delight. Jaggers, Magwitch, Wemmick and his Aged P….

The fact that my husband’s middle name is Phillip is a good sign, I think. And thanks Mum, I can’t think of a better name for me – a name meaning star for someone who loves Dickens, anything Victorian and space.

As a teenager I loved Jewel and Jeepster, especially as both were dead cool T. Rex songs as well as being pleasing to my eye. And I had a “thing” about the letter J for a while.

Now my favourite words would have to be Nebula, Ephemera and Interstellar. Although the first two are gloriously woody, I’m troubled slightly by the fact that Interstellar is a bit tinny. But it’s a bit like my name, so I like it nonetheless. This Monty Python sketch had a big effect on me.

Tell me yours!

(The strange featured image for this post is the Engraved Hourglass Nebula, if you were wondering.)

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Ephemera War

Remembrance Week – The Radio Times, 1940

There’ll be more on Sunday from my Grandad’s copy of The Radio Times from 1940, but for now I can’t resist posting this, THE GREATEST ADVERT OF ALL TIME.

The Radio Times, 1940
The Radio Times, 1940

Notice that the Laxative company is called Kruschen? That’s a bit German-sounding isn’t it? Well, on the previous page a rival laxative company makes a suspiciously big deal out of their Britishness (and deliciousness too, notice how Kruschen made “tasting nice” sound like something for namby-pambies and not for real medicines?)

The Radio Times, 1940
The Radio Times, 1940

Incidentally, look at this Kruschen advert from 1933 and the difference in gender-specific advertising. For women, it’s all about weight loss:
kruschen salts

I can’t help but be reminded of Monty Python’s Most Awful Family in Britain Award:

“The stuff I liked was that stuff they gave us before the war, what was it – Wilkinson’s Number 8 Laxative Cereal. Phew. That one went through you like a bloody Ferrari.”

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Pharmaceuticals

Gland Therapy, 1940

I love an old advert. The pictures, the phrasings, the products….you can often deduce a lot about the time period from very little information. Which is why www.gypsycreams.org is one of my favourite corners of the web – its interesting magazine adverts and articles from the 50s to the 70s were a big influence on me doing a similar thing with my old books.

Having said that, I’m not quite sure what to make of this advert for “Gland therapy” from the February 1940 issue of PTO Magazine.

But I am reminded of the euphemisms in Monty Python’s Tobacconists sketch: