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 Pharmaceuticals

Cocaine for Asthma, 1935

Cocaine used to be used for all kinds of medicinal uses. In 1935, it was given as a nasal spray to treat asthma by Dr Stanley Rowbotham, who was subsequently sued by his patient for becoming addicted to it. Here’s the article about the court case:

The Yorkshire Post, 5th March, 1935
The Yorkshire Post, 5th March, 1935

 

The court found in favour of the doctor, thinking the patient’s story unlikely. One expert said that “drug addiction is comparatively rare in this country,” which sounds like they were doubting it was possible for him to be addicted at all. With all the strong medication is was possible to get hold of at this time, I’d guess that drug addiction was commoner than they recognised.

Here’s close ups of the article to make it easier to read:

Dr Rowbotham was to become a key pioneer in the development of anaesthetics and plastic surgery, operating on facial disfigurements, and given the Bronze star for his work during World War Two.

The patient, Kenneth Rhodes, had a less happy future ahead of him. He didn’t survive the year, apparently shooting himself dead a few months later.

Western Daily Press, 23rd December, 1935
Western Daily Press, 23rd December, 1935
Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Pharmaceuticals

Phosferine Tonic, 1940

More of the old pharmaceuticals today. I find these old fashioned remedies fascinating, although it seems they were mostly snake oils to varying degrees. Anything described as a “tonic” is probably not up to much, and so it seems with this, “Phosferine Tonic”, seen here in an advert from 1940.

In line with standard “cure-all” advertising, Phosferine is claimed to help with a list of ailments as long as your arm – depression, headache, indigestion, brain fag, neuralgia, sleeplessness, influenza, rheumatism, sciatica, anaemia, debility and neurasthenia. Because all those things have the same treatment, of course. I thought “Brain fag” was one of those diagnoses that didn’t exist anymore, like hysteria and brain fever, but apparently it’s a thing in Nigeria now, suffered by overworked students.

Derby Evening Telegraph, February 28th, 1940
Derby Evening Telegraph, February 28th, 1940

Here’s an advert especially interesting to me as it includes a testimonial from a man living in Hall Carr, Rawtenstall, which is the place where my mum grew up.

Gloucester Citizen, 25th January, 1927
Gloucester Citizen, 25th January, 1927

The British Medical Journal was on the case of anything calling itself a “secret remedy”, and was looking at the composition of this and other tonics back in 1911. It analysed it and found it to be mainly water, alcohol, quinine and phosphoric acid. And a bit of sulphuric acid thrown in as well – I’m not a chemist, but that’s not good as an ingredient, is it?

The British Medical Journal, 1911
The British Medical Journal, 1911

I also like the damning nature of the rather sensible 1917 issue of the Seventh Day Adventist publication Herald of Health The Indian Health Magazine, which states that “the quantities are quite insufficient to be of any use as a tonic.”

Herald of Health, 1917
Herald of Health, 1917
Herald of Health, 1917
Herald of Health, 1917

Herald of Health also has much to say on the subject of tobacco, even in 1917 – it’s the “greatest of all curses of modern times.”

Herald of Health, 1917
Herald of Health, 1917

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Ephemera

What the Doctor ordered, 1937

Surely nothing can go wrong with cigarettes that come recommended by a doctor? I think you can be quietly reassured by Kensitas, the Mild cigarette.

The Mirror, 1937
The Mirror, 1937

Not that impressive a claim really – 84% of doctors who smoked anyway said they preferred a mild cigarette. Somehow this has been spun to be presented as the healthy option, although only against stronger cigarettes instead, of course.

That’s not a picture of a doctor, by the way. It’s the actor Mr Stanley Lupino, who, well, died of cancer aged 48.

(I mean, it might have had nothing to do with the cigs, but still.)

Categories
1900-1949 Adverts Ephemera

Skin Constipation, 1937

I have a feeling things are going to get a bit 1937-y around here for a while as my latest Ebay ephemera purchase is an edition of the Mirror from May 1937. It’s not the usual daily newspaper, though, but the overseas weekly edition compiled from a week’s worth of newspapers. The date is quite portentous as it’s the week before George VI’s coronation, and there’s a huge sense of build up and excitement, with special adverts recommending food to eat whole you’re waiting for the procession to pass, endless details about visitors from other parts of the world arriving to take part in all the pageantry, and romantic asides with pictures of the recently abdicated Edward and Wallace Simpson smiling at each other.

And that’s apart from the amazing news stories and general adverts, which are reliably fascinating. One thing I have learned from the adverts I have from the 1930s and 40s – you’re never far away from a laxative ad. Not sure why this was such a huge deal at this time – I imagined everyone was eating quite a lot of vegetable matter at this point. In fact, I’ve previously written about my favourite advert ever, a laxative advert in my Grandad’s 1940 copy of the Radio Times (he was on the cover) – https://skittishlibrary.co.uk/remembrance-week-the-radio-times-1940/

So, how to capitalise on this apparent fear of constipation if you didn’t actually manufacture laxatives? Wright’s Coal Tar Soap decided to basically invent a new problem -“Skin constipation”, a kind of poisoning from your blocked pores. Luckily, this terrible affliction could be avoided with their soap, of course.

Wright's Coal Tar soap advert, 1937
Wright’s Coal Tar soap advert, 1937
Categories
1950-1999 Women

Barbara Cartland’s Powdered Brain, 1974

The late, great Russell Harty. I love him as an interviewer – he’s funny yet gently probing. This 1974 book, Russell Harty Plus, is a transcript of a number of his interviews. I can’t quite imagine transcripts of chat shows being published now. But then, celebrities wouldn’t always be plugging things in those days, it really could be all about the chat.

Here’s Barbara Cartland, talking about her love of glamour, vitamin pills and eating powdered brain (what?). She got her Damehood in the end.

Russell Harty Plus, 1974
Russell Harty Plus, 1974
Categories
Adverts Ephemera Pharmaceuticals Victorian

Freeman’s Syrup of Phosphorus, 1884

J. T. Hensing discovered phosphorus in the brain in 1719, and opened the way to a later slew of phosphorus-based medical compounds claiming to be good for the brain. Of course, in the grand tradition of Victorian cure-all pharmaceuticals, they were also claimed to be good for a big long list of other ailments too. One of these was Freeman’s Syrup of Phosphorus as seen below in an advert from 1884. It’s from Hieroglyphic magazine – although it’s not really a magazine, it’s a promotional material for a company called Goodall’s, who sold this syrup, along with a lot of foodstuffs,like custard and baking ingredients. And it’s where I got my Victorian plum pudding recipe, here – https://skittishlibrary.co.uk/vintage-recipes-christmas-pudding-1884/

Hieroglyphic, 1884
Hieroglyphic, 1884

A “syrup of phosphorus”, which could have been this one, was described in the British Pharmacopea in 1885 as being a compound of phosphoric acid, sodium phosphate and iron sulphate. Some phosphorus-based medicine caused more damage than good – I’m not sure if this was one of them. In any case, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the miracle worker it claims, which even by Victorian standards, strikes me as almost sarcastically outrageous. A brain and nerve tonic; supplier of new and fresh blood; curer of depression, indigestion, constipation and the previously considered incurable diseases of consumption and wasting disease; useful for those involved in brain-work; even fine for delicate women and babies; and, most incredibly, will add twenty years to your life – “None now need despair of life.”

Looking for a bit more information about this brought me to the always brilliant Old Bailey archives, whose Victorian transcripts often read like crime novels in themselves. Here, a case was brought against Sarah Ann Louis and Walter Stafford for “…feloniously having in their possession 41 threepenny stamps which had been mutilated.” It seems these two were responsible for distributing Freeman’s Syrup, as well as the more popular Jenner’s Syrup of Phosphorus too – maybe they were the same thing. What I love is the discussion around naming medications after fictional doctors – “…it is not unusual for a patent medicine to have a doctor’s name to it, like Dr Townsend’s Sarsparilla, Dr Buchan’s pills, and Dr Coffin’s.” Ah, Dr Coffin’s medicine, the obvious choice for a fictional, yet reassuring, name.

http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?div=t18811121-15

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 Ephemera Pharmaceuticals

Owbridge’s Lung Tonic, 1939

Owbridge’s Lung Tonic was a cure-all preparation invented in 1874 by Hull pharmacist Walter Owbridge. It was advertised as a cough medicine, a remedy for bronchitis, asthma, consumption (tuberculosis) and all manner of other throat, chest and lung afflictions – “It never fails”, or so it claimed.

It had a secret formula, but an archive analysis shows it to have consisted of chloroform, along with honey and alcohol in the form of ipecacuanha wine. Not recommended for babies under 6 months old, but fine after that, apparently.

(This archive text from 1909 is an interesting read on the subject of this and many other ancient pharmaceuticals – Secret Remedies – What they cost and what they contain)

They were also keen users of promotional merchandise. This small booklet, Owbridge’s Table Companion, is from 1939 and is designed to help schoolchildren with facts and figures, while advertising their wares.

The section on measurements of all manner of things interests me the most. All the befuddling names for specific amounts used just for that one item. I wonder if the schoolchildren were actually expected to know and remember all this information?

Categories
1900-1949

On Becoming Indifferent to the Fate of your Ship, 1938

What a fantastic phrase to describe sea-sickness.

I love boats myself, but I do have a tendency to become indifferent to their fate quite badly. Unfortunately, not having a 1930s pharmacy available to me, I can’t try out their cure: