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.
All the old school “Family Fun” games that I post from time to time remind me of just one thing – old fashioned cherry cake. Especially Up Jenkyns and Ghosts because those were the games we played with Grandad and Nan, and Nan generally provided the aforementioned cherry cake for tea. Proust had his madeleines, I have cherry cake.
Funny really, I’m not generally a fan of the glacé cherry, despite fresh cherries being maybe my favourite food ever – they’re what summer tastes like. But you need glacé cherries for this kind of cake. I had a hankering for one and searched through my old cookbooks for a suitably non-tarted-up recipe. I decided on one from The Radiation Cookery Book – originally published in the 1920s but updated and reissued for decades. I have the 1948 edition.
Radiation Cookery Book, 1948 edition
It’s the rich Madeira cake recipe, which has various alterations to make different cakes.
Radiation Cookery Book, 1948 edition
Radiation Cookery Book, 1948 edition
Radiation Cookery Book, 1948 edition
Cherry Cake
4oz/115g butter or margarine 4oz/115g caster sugar 4oz/115g glace cherries 2 eggs 6oz/170g plain flour 1/2 teaspoon baking powder Grated rind of a lemon Milk as needed
Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, add the eggs one at a time, and beat until the mixture is stiff and uniform.
Stir in the sifted flour and baking powder, adding milk if necessary to form a soft mixture which will shake easily from the wooden spoon.
Transfer to a tin lined with greased paper and bake in the middle of the oven for 1 hour and 5 minutes with the Regulo at Mark 4 (but I baked it at 180C for around 45 minutes).
This was how it turned out. It’s an art ensuring the cherries don’t sink to the bottom – an art I have not mastered, although it doesn’t really look that way from the picture. Tasted nice though, although I’d used fancy morello glacé cherries, which new-fangled it up a bit too much. Plus, the ones I used to have were round cakes, but there wasn’t enough batter for my cake tin and so it became a cherry loaf. To be fair, the recipe does say to double the quantities for a larger cake, which you would need to do for a 20cm cake tin.
Cheery cherry cake
Next time I’m trying the reliable Mrs Rea’s 1910 version, below.
Mrs Rea’s Cookery Book, 1910
The Radiation Cookery Book contains hidden treasure in the form of this scribbled recipe by the original owner for coconut ice, a none-more-Blyton kids treat, that I am planning to make soon:
Mercer's Meat Stout, The Lancashire Daily Post, 1940
Here’s a curious advert I stumbled across in The British Newspaper Archive – it’s for Mercer’s Meat Stout. “Tastes good, does you good.” Now, I’ve heard of milk stout (Ena Sharples springs to mind), but…..meat stout?
Mercer’s Meat Stout, The Lancashire Daily Post, 1940
Is it me, or does this look exactly like a mock advert from Viz? Meat and beer, together at last.
This wasn’t just a quirky name, it was stout that actually included meat extract in some form. It was sold (as every food-and-drink-stuff was, even chocolate) as being good for you. It was also advertised as a nourishing drink for invalids. Invalid cookery and care was a big deal pre-NHS and a special invalid recipe section was in nearly every cookbook up until around 1950. I’ve got some recipes here if you’re feeling a bit peaky.
The Zythophile blog has more information on Meat Stout. It turns out it might have had some offal chucked in during the brewing process. Mmmm. Well, one of the aforementioned invalid recipes was raw beef tea – raw mince steeped in lukewarm water – so I guess it might not have seemed so strange at the time.
It’s Shrove Tuesday so, of course, it’s a vintage pancake recipe today. The recipe is from a delightful 1930s Co-operative booklet called 32 Entirely New and Original Lutona Cocoa Recipes. The name “Lutona” refers to the Co-op’s exotic cocoa processing plant…in Luton. Lutona cocoa booklet, 1930s
Lutona cocoa booklet, 1930s
Here’s the chocolate pancakes recipe: Lutona cocoa booklet, 1930s
What’s lovely about this book is the specially painted illustrations of all the recipes. This one for chocolate custard is very tempting… Lutona cocoa booklet, 1930s
Does anyone else feel compelled to enter long since defunct competitions? There’s one small bit of my brain that thinks it might open up some kind of time portal to the past. Lutona cocoa booklet, 1930s
Me, I’ll be experimenting this year with egg and dairy-free pancakes for my little allergy-ridden daughter. I have my eye on some banana ones, so I’ll be seeing if it’s possible to make pancakes without most of the things that make a pancake a pancake…
A proper Victorian Christmas Pudding recipe, from Hieroglyphic, a tiny little magazine-style pamphlet from 1884. It’s not so much a magazine though, as an extended promotional piece for a company called Goodall’s, and its various wares. Note their custard is sold by “…all grocers and oilmen throughout the United Kingdom.” Oilmen?
Materials –
One pound of raisins;
One pound of currants;
One pound of beef suet;
Half a pound of moist sugar;
Half a pound of flour;
One pound of breadcrumbs;
Four eggs;
One gill of rum, brandy or whisky;
Half a pint of milk;
Quarter of a pound of citron;
Quarter of a pound of candied lemon-peel.
Process –
Stone the raisins, wash the currants thoroughly, chop the beef suet as fine as possible, cut the peel into small strips, and place these ingredients, with the sugar, flour, breadcrumbs and eggs, in a large bowl, pour the milk over them, and mix until the whole is well incorporated. Lastly, add the spirit; stir the mass again for a few minutes, tie it up in well-floured pudding-cloth, plunge it into boiling water, and boil for four or five hours. This should be done the day before the pudding is wanted, on the following day, boil for two or three hours more. A rich plum-pudding of this kind cannot be boiled too long, the longer it is boiled, the more wholesome it is.
The 1970s are strangely tainted at the minute, as you don’t need me to tell you. “The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there,” said L. P. Hartley in The Go-Between (note, this is not J. R. Hartley of Fly Fishing fame). This seems fairly self evident of a century ago, but quite odd to think of the decade of my birth as belonging to such a different social landscape to now.
Oh, that’s wonderful!
Not that today’s book is the greatest example of such a gulf in attitudes, but still, things would be done differently today.
The Art of Drinksmanship is a book from 1975 that I refuse to believe is not in the personal library of Steph and Dom, the posh ones from Gogglebox. If you want to party 1970s style (er…) then this is the manual for you. I feel well disposed to this book largely because it sounds like an off-shoot of Stephen Potter’s Gamesmanship. The 1940s and 50s Gamesmanship, Oneupmanship, Lifemanship and Supermanship books are a must for the comedy lover, some of the funniest books I have read. In them, there are many forms of getting one over on someone else – gambits on how doctors can maintain superiority over their patients, how babies can employ “Babymanship” by wobbling their head alarmingly and worrying their parents, and how you can stay one up on your friends and colleagues in general. The proponent of these gambits is called the “Lifeman” and, therefore the reader of this book could be called the “Drinksman”. I do know one or two people who could genuinely hold that title – Simon Lawson, I’m looking at you.
The Art of Drinksmanship, 1975
There’s lots of colourful pictures of the many boozes of the world. What immediately struck me, though, was the answer to a perennial problem of mine – how to serve a lovely old bottle of Burgundy? I mean, now I see it, it’s obvious. A nice cut glass decanter and glasses, some rather indulgent pate….and a dead duck, artfully draped. It’s touching the decanter! It’s eyes are still weeping! Who came up with that idea?
1970s barmaid. There was a good reason for this picture, it was illustrating a very salient point that I seem to have forgotten.
The 1970s, there
Instructions on how to have a party, 1975-style. Can’t help thinking that jumpers-on-shoulders guy is feeling slightly awkward at this party. He’s come smart casual, everyone else is at a Moroccan orgy.
Party, 1975-style
Hangover cures. Basically – if you can hold of an oxygen canister, you’re laughing. I agree with it though, speaking as someone who is completely rubbish at drinking – loads of water is the key. When the party’s over
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:
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.
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
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
Mock Roast (basically meatloaf):
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
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
Unlucky Alf. Oh, I could hardly watch this it made me feel so stricken. One of Paul Whitehouse’s finest hours.
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*
