A letter from The Liverpool Echo, 1918, deploring the racism evident in pubs, preventing black customers from getting served. However, it wasn’t until the Race Relations Act of 1965 that it became illegal to refuse to serve someone on the basis of their skin colour.
Liverpool Echo, 3rd September 1918
“Coloured Men and Drink
In many public houses in Liverpool if a coloured man asks for a drink, he is told “I am sorry, I am not allowed to serve coloured men!” In the name of justice and right, why? Can the Liverpool authorities say that the percentage of convictions for offences through drink of black men exceeds that of white men? If not, why is he denied a drink? – G.C.”
At the bottom of the clipping are some more of my favourite “problem page” correspondances – the ones where the question asked is never revealed, only the answer printed.
I had to double-check the date of this newspaper because 1912 seemed very early to be giving advice to women on what to wear in the workplace.
But then again, the invention of the typewriter had opened up a new field of jobs for women, and I found out that in 1901, 25% of office workers were women. And that meant there was a new market for appropriate women’s work-wear. It’s interesting reading this, as the proscribed new “uniform” for women in business is still relevant today – white shirts, black skirts, simple hairstyles…not much has changed in office-wear in 100 years.
Sheffield Evening Telegraph, 17th September 1912
A Dress Revolution
The Business Girl to Wear a Uniform
There are indications that a revolution in dress is imminent in the world of business women. The “gaudy typist” whose large hat, coloured stockings, suede shoes, jewellery and scent, have been the subject of adverse comment, will shortly be seen no more. Her place will be taken by the girl robed in black, dark blue, grey, or some other quiet colour, with skirt of decorous length, says the “Standard”. In short, the idea of office uniform for women is becoming increasingly popular amongst the heads of business houses where women typists and secretaries are extensively employed. Quite recently a large City firm drew up a code of dress regulations, to which every employee is expected to conform, and from which every dress accessory generally supposed to be dear to the heart of a typist is rigorously excluded.
Blouses of the “Peek-a-boo” type, against which American business men lately waged ruthless war to the disgust of the wearers, are strictly forbidden. These garments are to be of the shirt order and make of white silk.
A profusion of stray locks and curls not being considered conducive to concentrated thought, any attempt to dress the hair outside the plainest and simplest fashion is sternly repressed.
At first it seemed as if the new order of things would lead to open rebellion amongst those concerned, but the tact of the superintendent and the good sense of the girls themselves prevailed and the scheme is working quite well.
“Every office that employs women typists to any extent should insist on a uniform style of dress,” said the head of a large business establishment yesterday; “it looks more businesslike, and in my opinion, tend towards the increase of efficiency amongst the workers themselves. The girl who knows that her neighbour’s dress is precisely similar to her own is spared the temptation of studying its possible points of superiority, and my experience is that office dress helps to inculcate a businesslike frame of mind.”
An aside – these aren’t examples of work-wear as these ladies are at the races, but I do think these are absolutely beautiful examples of fashion from 1910. I would definitely wear the black and white fringed one (and her fabulous boots) right now.
Most of my assumptions about what visiting time at hospitals used to be like I’ve gleaned from the Carry On films. That, and the 1959 episode of Hancock’s Half Hour I was listening to on the bus earlier, “Hancock in Hospital”, where the lad is kept in for weeks with a broken leg and visiting time lasted for a mere two hours, once a week.
The most I’ve been in hospital was for 3 nights after a cesarean section and that felt like plenty long enough, quite apart from the insane situation of having major surgery, which you recover from by immediately having to look after and feed a newborn all through the night. And in fact I first listened to that Hancock episode while I was in hospital for another operation three years ago, but it turns out morphine injections rather hamper your concentration and I couldn’t remember any of it, so it was nice to listen to it again while I was in sound mind.
Anyway, in short, I don’t really know how visiting time worked for sure. But I have become fascinated by the infectious patient reports in old newspapers. Local newspapers used to print information about such patients, who presumably weren’t allowed visitors at all as a general rule – each patient had a number and their friends and family could consult the paper to check their progress.
So many stories there, reduced to the bare bones of information. I find myself worrying about the dangerously ill patients. Considering the information needed to be with the paper to be printed the day before, did the friends and family find out and get to the hospital in time?
When Mrs Quan of St Louis put in a divorce petition against her husband in 1912, the Judge made a rather unusual decision. In what sounds like an idea for a reality show, he appointed a policeman, Patrick J. Egan, “to supervise the domestic affairs of the couple, and to visit their home daily for thirty days.” Mr Egan’s qualifications in this regard apparently being that “I have had a long talk with my wife. She and I have been married sixteen years, and we have never had a quarrel. This one qualification I have brought to this job of peacemaker.”
Sheffield Evening Telegraph, 17th September 1912
Mr Egan visited, he supervised and he talked with Mrs Quan “on her attitude towards her husband and his treatment of her”. He then came up with a list of precepts, and it didn’t take him long to do it – at the time of this article, he’d only completed 15 of the designated 30 visits.
This was his advice. Don’t remonstrate with your husband when he has been drinking. Wait until next morning. Then give him a cup of coffee for his headache. Afterwards lead him into the parlour, put your arms about him and give him a lecture. It will have more weight with him than any number of quarrels.
If he has to drink, let him have it at home.
Avoid mothers-in-law. Don’t let them live with you or interfere in your affairs.
If you must have your own way, do not let your husband know you are trying to boss him. Have your own way by letting him think he is having his.
Dress to suit your husband’s taste and income. Husbands usually don’t like their wives to wear tight dresses. Consult him on these matters.
Don’t be jealous or give your husband cause for jealousy.
When your husband is in a bad humour be in a good humour. It may be difficult but it will pay.
Sheffield Evening Telegraph, 17th September 1912
What did the Quans do with this advice? They had it printed, framed and placed in the sitting room. They were reportedly delighted with the “policeman-philosopher” and “presented the saviour of their marital bliss with a handsome token of their gratitude in the form of a gold watch.”
Now. I don’t want to be the pourer of cold water all over this marital bliss, but come on.
For one thing, Mrs Quan was the instigator of the divorce, which rather implies some kind of unreasonable conduct on the part of her husband. And yet, she’s the only one to be talked to, and the only one given advice on how to alter her behaviour. Plus, Mr Egan has only visited 15 times so far and so he came up with his advice pretty quickly. Assuming the list was drawn up after the first week, then this has given the Quans eight whole days to put this advice into action, including alerting the media on their state of bliss, commissioning a printer and framer to display the advice, and going gold watch shopping to boot. Well, I hope it worked out for them, but it seems a bit too soon to declare everything was fixed, don’t you think?
I love it when I can link something from one of my old books or pieces of ephemera to some current story. This one is all about Dad’s Army, new and old. You might have seen the trailer for the new film recently. Here it is.
Despite being a history buff, I never much liked Dad’s Army when I first saw it on TV as a teenager. It wasn’t my sort of humour, I thought, although then as now I still had a massive affection for Clive Dunn – or “Grandad” as I always thought of him. Here he is, singing his famous song – and I really can’t believe that at this point, he was a mere 51 years of age:
Watching the series later on though, I appreciated it a lot more. The writing, the performances – it was a class act. My first thought when hearing about the new film was a big “Why?” and it still is, really. But….what a cast! Toby Young, Bill Nighy and Michael Gambon are enough to make me put the film on my must-see list, when it comes out next February.
And this is where my (real) Grandad comes in. I’ve blogged quite a bit about his wartime experiences and ephemera but I haven’t posted this piece up before. It’s the menu and programme for the British Army Public Relations Christmas Party, 1939. As my Grandad was an official driver for Richard Dimbleby, he came into contact with such journalistic-type events. There is no information on where this meal was actually held, and I haven’t been able to find out more online, but I presume it was somewhere near the Maginot Line as that was where Grandad and the British Expeditionary Force were at that time.
The menu is rather impressive, or at least maybe it sounds more impressive than it is, as it’s written in French. I have to say that Pommes Vapeur sounds rather grander than what I believe is actually “Boiled potatoes”. Plum Pudding aux Feux Follets is intriguing. As far as I can tell “feux follets” is French for “Will-o’-the Wisp” or fireflies. So maybe this means plum pudding set alight in the traditional (English) way.
However, the most interesting part to me is the entertainment. “The Crimson Cocoanut” was a little play dramatized for the occasion, and was particularly notable for two facts – firstly, that it was rather appropriately written by the Director of Public Relations at the War Office. This was John Hay Beith, but his pen name was Ian Hay – as well as a soldier, he was a novelist, playwright, essayist and historian, and adapted The 39 Steps, among other things. He wrote the play in 1913 though, not especially for this event.
Secondly, the play was produced by Arnold Ridley, Officier de Champ at this time, and later to be Dad’s Army’s Private Godfrey. His Army post translates as “Conducting Officer”, and it was his job to supervise the journalists visiting the front line in France. He had a hell of a time on the battlefield. He was in the First World War, and sustained dreadful injuries – his left hand was badly damaged in the Battle of the Somme and left virtually useless, he was hit on the head by the butt of a German soldier’s rifle which led to him suffering blackouts over the rest of his life, and he was bayonetted in the groin. Bayonetted in the groin. It wasn’t enough to put him off signing up for the army as the Second World War began, but he was discharged in health grounds in 1940. Pleasingly, he joined the Home Guard for real for the rest of the war.
I found out that the University of Bristol has his showbusiness ephemera collection – the Arnold Ridley archive, although it is not especially accessible at the moment. I found a copy of this menu and programme on there too.
My mum tells me that Grandad used to love watching Dad’s Army. But when she gave me this programme she didn’t realise that a cast member was mentioned on it. She doesn’t remember him mentioning Arnold Ridley as someone he was ever acquainted with, so I wonder if he even knew of this connection.
(As an aside, I have to say that the purveyor of the comic song has an excellently suitable name – Bugler Dipple.)
I’ve posted before about the frisson of anger-enjoyment, perversely getting a bit of a kick out of things that wind you up. I had it in abundance in this curmudgeonly-in-the-extreme Advice for Wives article from 1895.
But here my feminist hackles are raised, good and proper. It’s a report from “The National Association of Schoolmasters” 1939 conference, where “a resolution opposing the principle of equality of salaries between men and women teachers was passed.” Well, they might have had to even go so far as to change the name of the association.
“It declared the application of equal pay must compel schoolmasters to accept a lower standard.”
The kicker is from Mr H. Meigh, mover of the proposition, who stated that “the feminist movement was a case of the tail wagging the dog. A small politically-minded section of advanced feminists in the teaching profession, who cursed their Maker because He did not allow them to enter the world wearing trousers, were prepared to cast aside the superiority which all true men automatically accorded them in favour of mere equality.”
Isn’t that annoying? All true men apparently consider women to be superior, in an undefined and unapparent way, and so why should women “settle” for equality?
I can’t help but be reminded of Bic’s recent woefully backwards-looking advert released for Women’s Day in South Africa – here. It’s a similarly irritating attempt to maintain the sexist status quo while cack-handedly pretending to compliment or inspire women. If Bic really thought that any one of their shameful statements was in any way progressive I’d be amazed. And never mind “Work like a boss”, how about “Get paid like a boss?”
In the era of corporal punishment and children’s sore bottoms, the search was on for the invention of an effective spanking machine.
American Professor of theoretical mechanics, Duff Andrew, invented one in 1912. The aim was not only to “save time and labour”, but was also an attempt to ensure the punishment fitted the crime. The pain levels could therefore be adjusted in order “to apportion scientifically the proportion of chastisement to the severity of the offence.” It was made of bamboo and aluminium, delivered 35 spanks per minute, and I imagine it looked like something seen in the pages of The Beano.
His wife and kids weren’t so keen on his invention, though. After he tried it out on one of his children, his wife objected and got put in the spanking machine as well for her trouble. Brilliantly, she took him to court for this, where he pleaded guilty. He sounded like a nightmare to live with – his wife complained that “He is always making something new, and will not let me and the children alone.”
Nottingham Evening Post, 19th August 1912
But this wasn’t the first spanking machine invention. There were extra-helpings of sadism in this invention from 1903. Not only is it intended that an older boy could be used to inflict the punishment on a younger boy (a REEEEALLY bad idea), but there is phonographic recording equipment attached to it “to take down the solo executed by the small boy during the entertainment.”
Sunderland Daily Echo, 16th October 1903
Another 1903 version. The “humiliation” of being placed in the machine was said to be a more effective deterrent to the kids than actually being spanked – a modern version of the village stocks, I suppose.
Edinburgh Evening News, 17th September 1903
A 1905 electronic version here. Nothing could go wrong with this – “…the flow of electricity starts a series of paddles in operation which play upon the anatomy of the victim.”
Yorkshire Post, 23rd November 1905
“One of the dreams of harassed parents has come true” in 1922. Interestingly, it states that as the spanking can now be administered by the turning of a wheel rather than by hand, that the old line traditionally uttered by parents “This hurts me more than it hurts you”, can’t be used anymore. That line wasn’t based on actual hand-hurt, though, was it?
Falkirk Herald, 17th May 1922
It was also thought to be a useful punishment for prisoners, as seen in the following 1899 article, the earliest I found. And not only prisoners – a lodge (Masonic?) used one as an initiation ritual for a new recruit, making it extra terrifying by adding blank cartridges to the paddles so it exploded as it spanked. His subsequent death is evidently not the main story here – it’s reported almost as an aside at the end of the piece.
A 1903 advert for Fels-Naptha, a laundry soap. This is a nicely poetic demonstration of how text-based graphic design could be used to grab attention in a newspaper advert.
I think my favourite post so far on my blog is this one – my bit of history detective work on Josephine Joseph, the Half-Man Half-Woman from the 1932 horror film, Freaks, and which gave me my first presence on Wikipedia to boot.
There was almost no information available on Josephine, including what her name really was. Josephine Joseph was her stage name and is absolutely in line with other Half-Man, Half-Women acts (and, oh yes, there were a number of these). But not only that, it wasn’t even clear whether Josephine was really a woman or a man, although it was thought by many that it was likely that he/she was a man, as such acts usually were. It’s easier for a man to develop muscles on one side, leaving the other side flabby, than it is for a woman to disguise her figure. Finally, one piece of information that Wikipedia did have, was that Josephine was aged 19 in Freaks, which I did find hard to believe.
I made a lucky find though – newspaper reports from 1930 on the appearance of Josephine and her husband George Waas before Blackpool Magistrates on the charge of fraud, relating to their Half-Man Half-Woman stage act in the town. This has proved to be the key to unlocking at least part of the mystery. Ray Mullins has done sterling work on digging up more in his excellent post on Finding Josephine, that I am happy to spread far and wide. He’s cleverly identified Josephine and her husband from ship passenger lists, and found out that the “George Waas” of the newspaper reports is actually “George Wass”, for one thing. Click the link to read more on his amazing detective work.
Incidentally, in my original post, the newspaper article I found says this is “Another Half Man-Half Woman Case”. And I’ve found out why this was. Another similar act was summonsed in Blackpool, just two weeks earlier, with the same policemen investigating. This chap (and it sounds like it was a man this time) was an act called Phil-Phyllis. I think we’re done on the half-man half-woman detective work for now though….
