Some vegetable-based advice from 1929 here, but it’s a bit harsh on the poor old radish, which is declared to have no food value.
The Southern Reporter, 24th October, 1929
It’s also really wrong. The radish is a good source of vitamins and minerals, particularly vitamin C and antioxidants, especially one called sulforaphane which might help fight cancer cells. In your face, 1929!
I’m fascinated by nutrition knowledge and advice though, the way it changes, and how we’re still finding out things all the time about how the body works. Doing Weight Watchers some years ago, I saw a slimming tip from an old issue of Jackie magazine promoting cheese as a dieting snack. On the Weight Watchers points system, cheese was one of the first things to be, very sadly, ditched, as you can probably use up a days worth of points on one small block. So this seemed absolutely ridiculous to me. But then the Atkins diet came in, advocating avoiding starchy foods and promoting protein and fats, and it suddenly didn’t seem so crazy after all.
And it will all change again, I expect. Maybe like Woody Allen predicted in Sleeper:
Photo posted by Stephen Proctor in the "Liverpool Yesterday to Yesteryear" Facebook group
Once upon a time, there was a zoo in Liverpool. In fact, there were quite a few. A short history on the subject would include Liverpool’s first zoo – the Zoological Gardens on West Derby Road, Tuebrook, open from the 1830s to 1860s (and near the site of where I lived during my student years). This zoo was owned by one Thomas Atkins, a showman who claimed to be the first person in England to breed the ‘liger’, a cross between a lion and a tiger.
Then there was William Cross’s Menagerie in the 1880s, housed on tiny Earle Street in the city centre. Such a small street I’m amazed he ever fitted a zoo on it. In this case the word “zoo” was fairly interchangeable with “pet shop”, as William Cross was primarily a dealer in animals, should you fancy your own wolf, baboon or lion. Sarah Bernhardt was a regular visitor, and did in indeed purchase a lion from Mr Cross. In 1898 a major fire on the premises sadly resulted in the deaths of a number of lions and tigers within. I know Earle Street as it was just round the corner from where I used to work for the doomed Littlewoods shopping channel “Shop!” – I was the buyer for DIY and Erotica (which is a story for another day).
Another one was Liverpool Zoological Gardens at Rice Lane, Walton, from the 1880s to around 1918. The old ticket booth still survives – it’s currently a pizza takeaway shop near to where I lived when I left university.
There was a small zoo at Otterspool Hall from around 1913 to 1931. And even in the early 1970s dolphins were, strangely, housed in the public swimming baths in Norris Green – on tour from a dolphinarium in Margate during the winter season. Norris Green is my adopted home turf so this is especially interesting to me. But it doesn’t seem right…surely swimming pool water isn’t exactly right for dolphins? Anyway.
My concern today is with Liverpool Zoological Park, based on Elmswood Road, in Mossley Hill, and which is also where I first lived as a student, in Carnatic Student Halls. In fact, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from today’s blog research, it’s that in my time in Liverpool, I have unwittingly lived or worked right in the middle of defunct zoo-ville.
This zoo was a short-lived affair, only open from 1932-1938 – it was the old Otterspool Zoo moved to a new location. The star attraction was a chimpanzee called Mickey. Not just any old monkey, Mickey was billed as “The World’s Cleverest Chimpanzee”. His cleverness manifested itself in such ways as being able to light his own cigarettes, which he would also smoke. This is one of the most 1930s things of all time. Well, this and the fact that the zoo’s official leaflet said “All Living Specimens of Animals, Birds and Reptiles on Exhibition at the Liverpool Zoological Gardens Can be Purchased. Apply for Prices to the Office.” If anything shouts “I am from another age” it is precisely the fact that you can pay to walk home with your very own wild animal from the zoo. In fact, that’s a blog post of the future right there – I do have an Edwardian book on how to look after all manner of wild animals.
Here’s some adverts for it:
Lancashire Daily Post, 11th August, 1933Liverpool Zoo advert, early 1930s
Now I was first alerted to the zoo’s existence by reading my 1937 copy of The Mirror newspaper. A small article about an escaped chimpanzee in Liverpool caught my eye, “Escaped ape attacks and bites two men,” says the headline. Mickey the chimp had escaped, enjoyed “three hours of liberty” and bit Arnold Bailey, travelling circus proprietor. This wasn’t “Barnum and Bailey” Bailey, though, but some other circus proprietor.
The Mirror, overseas edition, 13th May, 1937
So, I wanted to find out more about this audacious chimp. And many stories there are too. There’s this one that I’m convinced is about Mickey before he landed in Liverpool Zoo. A monkey called Mickey escaped on arrival by train into London, and took up residence in the rafters of Liverpool St Station in 1929. If there’s one thing I know about Mickey, it’s that he liked escaping, and I think this is him making quite an entrance into the UK.
Bristol Daily Press, 23rd October, 1929
Then there’s this one, which I think is hilarious. Mickey first went to Rhyl Zoo, where he wasn’t a big hit with the other chimps. So much so, that when they were packing them all up ready to go to the Otterspool Zoo for the winter, Mickey helped the keepers to cage his monkey-enemies, trying to nail them into their cages. Mickey, as befits the World’s Cleverest Chimpanzee, was allowed to travel in the arms of his attendant rather than in a cage. I’m wondering if the fact he didn’t escape again at this point perhaps means he just didn’t like cages – and who can blame him?
1931
Mickey ended up staying in Liverpool for good, becoming the star attraction in the new Mossley Hill zoo. Here’s his aforementioned smoking party trick, posted on the brilliant Facebook photo group “Liverpool Yesterday to Yesteryear”:
Photo posted by Stephen Proctor in the “Liverpool Yesterday to Yesteryear” Facebook group
But it wasn’t long before Mickey was up to his old tricks. The newspaper article I read in The Mirror was just one of four occasions when Mickey escaped. One that occasion in 1937 he snapped his chain like some kind of King Kong, shook hands with some clowns, kissed a woman in the street, bit some men and then submitted to being taken back after three hours of mayhem. My copy of The Mirror is the overseas edition, and so it’s a week behind these other newspaper reports.
Dundee Evening Telegraph, 6th May, 1937Gloucester Citizen, 6th May, 1937
As the first article states, Mickey broke into some offices and threw papers around. That wasn’t quite all he did, as legendary jazz-man George Melly revealed in his rollicking memoir of his Liverpool childhood, Scouse Mouse. George lived just down the road from the Liverpool Zoo and recounted how the roars of the lions kept the residents of Mossley Hill awake at night. Those offices, in fact, were something to do with his grandfather, and Mickey not only messed the papers up, he also left a “dirty protest” on the desk and in the drawers. I just love the line “My grandfather was not lucky with monkeys.” George seems to have misremembered the ultimate fate of Mickey though, which is odd as it was rather dramatic. Mickey wasn’t “transferred to [another] prison”, his end was rather more of a sad spectacle.
George Melly’s Scouse Mouse
George Melly’s Scouse Mouse
George Melly’s Scouse Mouse
There was another incident a month later:
The Yorkshire Post, 28th June, 1937
And then in 1938, Mickey escaped for the fourth, and last, time. This time he escaped into a schoolyard, mauled some of the children and was eventually shot dead by a Major Bailey – a different Bailey to the bitten man of the year before.
1938
One of the children eventually received damages for his injuries:
Damages, 1938
Poor Mickey was stuffed after he was shot, still on display even after death. He ended up exhibited in Lewis’s Department Store in Liverpool. That is, until the shop was badly bombed in the 1941 blitz and Mickey really was no more.
Micky, stuffed
It’s a sad story, but I think it would make a cracking film. More information about Mickey and his escapes are in these excellent posts on the Stuff and Nonsense blog here and here
I enjoy the bold use of space and sense of minimalism in this advert for Spratt’s “Meat Fibrine” Dog Cakes. Founder James Spratt invented the idea of dog biscuits, inspired by seeing dogs on Liverpool docks scoffing down hardtack – the sailors weevil-busting biscuit. (Well, that’s if the “Dicky Sams” weren’t using the hardtack to make scouse.)
The Lancashire Daily Post, 1895
The name lives on in the Spratt’s Complex of Tower Hamlets, London, which was one of the first warehouse conversions in the 1980s. It used to be the old Victorian dog food factory, which at one point was the biggest in the world. They also had a dog show department, which must have had something to do with the fact that James Spratt’s assistant, a 14 year old Charles Cruft, later founded Crufts Dog Show.
Spratt’s Complex
Spratt’s produced over a billion dog biscuits for the army dogs of the First World War, and food for the dogs of the polar expeditions too. Here’s Ernest Shackleton’s snow dogs promoting Spratt’s dog cakes with a bit of frolicking in front of their posters:
Here’s an advert from a Liverpool greengrocer publicising his recent present to Queen Victoria.
“Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased to order the acknowledgement of the box of FORBIDDEN FRUIT, &e., forwarded by MR MIDDLEWOOD, of this town, which arrived in the most perfect state, and was very much approved of at the Royal table.”
Liverpool Mercury, 12th March 1841
Well, if it’s good enough for the Queen it’s good enough for you, Mr Middlewood is telling Liverpool here. But what was forbidden fruit?
The advert says they are “selected the best in Nassau”, and forbidden fruit was actually the first name given to the natural hybrid fruit of the Bahamas, the grapefruit, first discovered in the mid-18th century. Later on it was termed “grapefruit” after the way the fruits grew in clusters on the tree, a bit like grapes. Bit of a name downgrade though.
Mr Middlewood also sells “shaddocks”, which are the citrus fruits now more commonly termed pomelos – although confusingly, both “pomelo” and “shaddock” also used to be names for the grapefruit, and pomelos are one of the ingredients of the cocktail “Forbidden Fruit”.
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ddock really doesn’t sound like the right thing to call a fruit. It just reminds me of that strange creature, the “Shadmock”, in the horror film “The Monster Club”, but then again he’s a hybrid too….
“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. Dublin Medical Press, 2nd April, 1851
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. Dublin Medical Press, 4th February 1852
This woman bled from her toes. All very strange…. Dublin Medical Press, 1st October 1856
I can’t say I’ve ever experienced anything like this. Anyone?
Dr Denis of Brittany is reported in the 1863 Birmingham Journal as having been working on discovering “the secret of the component atoms of the human frame” for fourteen years and was on the brink of success – “Nothing is wanting but the breath of life to animate the statue“.
The breath of life was to be supplied by an electric battery and, once animated, the “homunculus” (love that word) was to be available to answer questions about itself, “whether concerning his health or the state of its poor feet.” I’d like to think Dr Denis had basically invented a Victorian Teddy Ruxpin. Except he evidently didn’t do too good a job on his feet.
Sceptical? Well, “Many wise men who deem that the sight of an example is necessary before denial or irony should be permitted, have been induced to visit the doctor in his retreat, in order to behold with their own eyes what they were called upon to combat with their tongues. All have returned fully convinced of the good faith under which the doctor has been acting; many with awe-stricken wonder at what has already been accomplished…”
Over studying had driven him to a “state of lunacy”, so he was the archetypal mad scientist. And I’m guessing he didn’t succeed as I can’t find any other reference to this Dr Denis anywhere else. Plus there’s the fact the animated homunculuses didn’t play much part in 19th century history. It’s crying out to be a Doctor Who episode though….
An advert from 1892 for Mellin’s Food Biscuits, biscuits that could be used for weaning babies, or given to the infirm. They were marketed as a replacement for mother’s milk, and were made from cows milk, malt flour and and wheat.
The Graphic, 6th February 1892Mellin’s Food Biscuits
I was intrigued by this testimonial, by an Alice Liddell. Surely not “Alice in Wonderland” Alice? But no, that was her maiden name, she was Alice Hargreaves by marriage, after marrying the cricketer Reginald Hargreaves.
Incidentally, I love these two pictures of “the” Alice Liddell, at the ages of 20 and 80. She looks like she was a fascinating lady. Alice aged 20
I recently stumbled across a wonderful website for lovers of old books – Forgotten Books. You can look at a huge selection of ancient books for free, although there are some pages removed unless you pay for a subscription. But if you sign up to their mailing list, every day they will send you a link to one of their books that is entirely accessible for free for that day. It’s like having a little lucky dip every day.
A few days ago it was this, “The Right Way To Do Wrong” by legendary escapologist Harry Houdini. It’s an exposé of a range of scams used by confidence tricksters of the time – and it’s interesting how many of these are still current, just repackaged a bit.
The Right Way to do Wrong, 1906
Preface
It reminds of the kind of thing Derren Brown might write, but 100 years earlier. Incidentally, if you’ve never read Derren Brown’s books, I really can’t recommend them enough – they are an absolute joy to read. The man is a great writer, and he also seems to be a completely lovely chap. And you’ll never look at Monster Munch the same way again.
But back to Houdini. It’s really a corker of a book, and very easy to dash through. These are the chapters he covers, I’ll post up a few excerpts from them.
Contents
An intriguing chapter about Burglar’s Superstitions:
Begging letter swindles, including chain letters, which I still remember being a thing when I was a kid. Email chain letters – that happened for a while too, didn’t it?
Tricks of Bunco Men – or con men who convince poor saps that they’re about to get a big something for nothing. Much like the Nigerian 419 scams today. This explains the bit in The Paul Daniels Magic Show with the “Bunco Booth” – never knew what that meant.
Tales of quack doctors and psychics – both still very much with us now:
Lady criminals:
And a bit of autobiog from Houdini at the end. He had one of those old-school interesting lives alright.
Here’s a striking little article in the Children’s Newspaper from May 1922. This is it in its entirety:
The Children’s Newspaper, 13th May 1922
“Eleven dynamite cartridges were exploded in the South American lake where the plesiosaurus was said to have been seen. It did not appear.”
Well, you can’t blame it, but there’s obviously a back story that was so well known at the time that further elaboration was unnecessary. I looked it up as I hadn’t heard of Nahuelito, the South American version of Nessie before. A supposed sighting of a lake monster in Nahuel Huapi Lake in Patagonia, Argentina was hot news in 1922. There’s some “photographic evidence” such as the picture below (taken later than 1922) – and they look pretty much the same as the ones of Nessie. But Nahuelito remains unfound just the same.
Nahuelito
This was a big time for monsters of lake and sea, apparently. In another article a year later, a Mr Mitchell-Hedges “described his extraordinary battles with the giant fish of the ocean,” and “began by stating his belief that in the depths of the Pacific terrible monsters, survivors of the Mesozoic age, still exist.”
The Western Morning News, 25th October, 1923
A bit of investigation about Mr Mitchell-Hedges reveals him to have been the owner of the strange crystal skull which featured on the cover on one of my favourite childhood books, Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World. He led quite the Boys Own-style life – his job description was pretty much just “adventurer”. Some say he was the inspiration for the character of Indiana Jones, too, although not George Lucas or Steven Spielberg, to be fair, who you would expect to know such things. I’ve been tracking him in The British Newspaper Archive, and it’s quite a wild ride. But that’s another adventure for another post….
