Category: Pharmaceuticals

Vicarious Menstruation, 1851

Post author By Estelle
Post date April 27, 2015

“Vicarious Menstruation” – was there ever a headline that so should be the title of a Carcass song?

Here’s some Victorian cases of vicarious menstruation – that is, bleeding from other parts of the body instead of, or during, a period. I have heard of women getting nose bleeds just before their period starts so perhaps there’s something in it – the capillaries become more permeable around this time, which could explain it. There were more untreated infections around in the 19th century as well, so possibly weaker immune systems could make this more likely, however bizarre it sounds. All these cases are taken from the Dublin Medical Press.

A woman suffers bleeding on her shins during her period – it sounds like this could be leg ulcers affected by the more permeable capillaries.

This is an odd one. The patient had never menstruated, but suffered many pains and strangely, discovered small, white, gelatinous balls coming from her bladder, uterus, stomach and rectum. Then “glairy matter” came up from her stomach, she vomited blood infested with roundworms, and also found roundworms in her vagina. Poor cow.
Incidentally, this is the definition of “glairy”: having a slimy viscid consistency suggestive of an egg white, “cough productive of glairy mucoid sputum” —Journal of the American Medical Association. Glairy mucoid sputum – we’re back to Carcass again.

This woman bled from her toes. All very strange….

I can’t say I’ve ever experienced anything like this. Anyone?

Tags 1851, 1852, 1856, Carcass, medicine, Victorian

1900-1949 Pharmaceuticals

Cocaine for Asthma, 1935

Post author By Estelle
Post date April 7, 2015

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 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

Tags 1930s, 1935, Doctor, pharmaceuticals

1900-1949 Adverts Pharmaceuticals

Phosferine Tonic, 1940

Derby Evening Telegraph, February 28th, 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.

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.

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?

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

Tags 1940, advert, advertising, British Medical Journal, Cigarettes, Lancashire, pharmaceuticals, The British Newspaper Archive

Adverts Ephemera Pharmaceuticals Victorian

Freeman’s Syrup of Phosphorus, 1884

Post author By Estelle
Post date December 28, 2014

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/

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

Tags 1884, advert, Hieroglyphic Magazine, pharmaceuticals, Victorian

1900-1949 Adverts Ephemera Pharmaceuticals

Owbridge’s Lung Tonic, 1939

Post author By Estelle
Post date September 12, 2014
15 Comments on 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?

Tags 1939, ephemera, Owbridge's lung tonic, pharmaceuticals

1900-1949 Pharmaceuticals

Take the Blue Pill, 1938

Post author By Estelle
Post date July 22, 2014

“Titbits Book of Wrinkles” from 1938 is another one of my favourite type of book – the compendium of knowledge. “Wrinkles” in this book mean “tips” or, as in the (slightly annoying) word of the moment, “hacks”.

This is an oddity from the “Medicine” section – a recommendation to take the “Blue Pill”.

This inspired a bit of history-surfing. I found out that this blue pill was also called “blue mass” and was quite popular as a cure-all in the nineteenth century.

Abraham Lincoln liked them and they may have caused him to suffer the effects of mercury poisoning earlier in his life – http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2001/07/0717_lincoln.html

But doesn’t 1938 seem a bit late for recommendations to eat mercury?

Tags 1938, Abraham Lincoln, blue mass, Blue pill, Mercury, pharmaceuticals, Titbits Book of Wrinkles

1900-1949 Adverts Ephemera Pharmaceuticals

The Liverpool Virus, 1913

Post author By Estelle
Post date July 12, 2014

Pharmacist's receipt for The Liverpool Virus rat poison, 1913

I’ve recently discovered the thrills of the “ephemera” section of Ebay. Not least, the word “ephemera” itself which is now vying for the position of my favourite word, alongside “nebula”.

I was looking for old playing cards, and am now the proud owner of some gloriously grotesque Edwardian Happy Family sets. But I was enthralled by the other random and delicate stuff that has survived, almost by accident.

I now have all manner of old bits and pieces, including Liverpool pharmacy receipts from 1913 – the days when names were taken and logged on the paperwork, all the better to know who’d suspiciously been purchasing arsenic after a case of poisoning. They included this receipt for “The Liverpool Virus” rat poison:

Which feels rather like crucial evidence at the start of either an Agatha Christie, or a zombie film.

But the thing I really like about the ephemera is that they are a handy jumping off point into history. A little tangible clue to inspire a bit of history-surfing.

I’ve discovered resources I didn’t know of, like the joys of the Old Bailey’s archive of court case transcripts. I’ve found out about the ship SS Homeric from a letter written on board to a friend in 1932. Leatherhead bus routes in the 1920s from an old bus leaflet. And I’ve been perusing the British Medical Journal archives on account of an outbreak of severe enteritis caused by this “Liverpool Virus” rat poison in 1908. It turns out despite the manufacturer’s claims that it was safe for humans, it very likely contained some form of salmonella.

I’m especially fascinated by the pharmaceuticals of the Victorian and Edwardian era – the hard drugs you could buy over the counter, and the potentially dangerous snake oils that promised to fix you up and paint the garden gate while they were at it (and I’m speaking as someone who was rather severely quizzed by a doctor last week as to why I even owned a bottle of Piriton).

Some more information is on this blog (another bonus, discovering so many of the informative blogs people are writing out there): http://jsbookreader.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/the-liverpool-rat-virus-strikes.html

Tags 1913, Edwardian, ephemera, history-surfing, pharmaceuticals, rat poison, Receipt, The Liverpool Virus

Pharmaceuticals Victorian

Mappin & Company, Surgical Mechanicians of Birmingham, 1885

Post author By Estelle
Post date July 9, 2014

Mappin and Co surgical instrument catalogue, 1885

Today it’s a very special post – a guest post from Dave of the ace crime fiction blog http://whatareyoureadingfor.wordpress.com

It’s funny what you come across when you’re looking for something else. Hunting for references to an electric car company (don’t ask) in the library stacks, I came across this wonderful 1885 catalogue for Birmingham surgical instrument makers Mappin & Co. I’ve long been fascinated by surgery and pathology (my childhood hero was Jack Klugman, growling his way through Monday night episodes of Quincy M.E), so as soon as I cracked it open I was hooked.

The index at the front is enough to make even the strongest stomach flutter, with references to all manner of ‘bespoke’ items: Haemorrhoidal Clamps, Harelip Pins, Necrosis Chisels, Rectum Plugs, Gunshot Probes, Mouth Gags… You get the idea. But it’s when you get into the body (ahem) of the catalogue that the fun really starts. Many of the items are beautifully illustrated; who wouldn’t want a full dissection kit, complete with Brain Knife, Bowel Scissors and Spine Chisels, all presented in a strong mahogany case for the bargain price of £4 12s (equivalent to £300 in today’s money)?

And if that doesn’t paint a vivid enough picture, some of the products are shown in use. On one page, a sad-faced man is seen inserting one end of the nasal douche into his – well, nose, whilst a jet of unidentified liquid shoots out of the other nostril. According to the blurb, it’s good for ‘Hay Fever, Bleeding from the Nose, Offensive Discharges and Thickness of Speech’ – curing rather than causing them, I’d hope. I wouldn’t be first in the queue to try it out.

Should living patients not do it for you, how about a skeleton? £10 10s for the full body, or £1 15s for top half only. If your budget doesn’t stretch that far, maybe a skull is more tempting (£2 5s) or just a hand (linked with cat gut, a bargain at just 7 shillings). But the catalogue’s best surprise is left until the end. Mappin & Co didn’t just supply doctors – the general customer could also purchase their table cutlery from them. I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be with that – especially the ones with ‘white bone handles’. You’d always wonder who – sorry, where – they’d come from.

Mappin & Co continued to trade up until the early 1920s, at which point they drop out of the documentary record. Trade directories for the period suggest their premises at 121 New Street were subsequently taken over by a pianoforte showroom, and then a jeweller’s. The address is still there, and is currently (I swear I’m not making this up) a branch of The Body Shop. If history doesn’t repeat itself, it certainly rhymes sometimes.

Tags Birmingham, http://whatareyoureadingfor.wordpress.com, Mappin and Co, medicine, surgical instruments, Victorian