After writing my recent post about The Edge of the Universe, I was thinking about one of my heroes, Edwin Hubble. He’s (kind of) responsible for two of my all-time favourite photographs.
Firstly, the lad himself. Hubble, looking every inch the gentleman scientist, pipe in mouth, looking through the 48″ Schmidt Telescope at Palomar Observatory, 1949. This photo feels to me like the past and the future colliding.
Edwin Hubble
And then there’s this, the Hubble Ultra-Deep Field image, produced by the Hubble Space Telescope. It’s not exactly a photo, but an image put together from a lot of pieces of information. It was created from data gathered in 2003-04, but was released most recently in June 2014 – the new image including the full range of ultraviolet to near-infrared light for the first time. It’s as mind-bending as it’s possible for a picture to be. This is only a small area of space, and yet it contains about 10,000 galaxies. And the light from the galaxies stretches all the way back 13 billion years – some of these came into existence not that long after the Big Bang. The telescope was named after Hubble, and this image is an incredibly appropriate tribute to him, as the first man to realise that there were galaxies separate to our own and that what we thought was the whole universe was just our little Milky Way.
Hubble Ultra-Deep Field
On a completely different vibe, here’s my favourite photo from my blog so far. A woman letting the darning fend for itself while she loses herself in a book – from The Mother’s Companion, 1891.
What is there to prevent a woman from enjoying a good book? The Mother’s Companion, 1891
And finally there’s this photo of Buster Keaton’s beautiful face, taken from Go West in 1925. What a unique talent this man had. If you haven’t seen his film Sherlock, Jnr, I would recommend it very highly. It’s hilarious, astounding and a beautiful piece of work, and it’s also my joint favourite film ever, along with 2001: A Space Odyssey. Back to the photo – his eyeliner, dark silent-film lips, the unsettlingly sinister look giving a slightly different take on his usual stone-face expression….it’s just perfect. We did have this picture up in the kitchen until my small son complained that it “freaked him out”.
Buster Keaton, Go West, 1925
History, comedy, space and reading – I think these pics pretty much sum me up.
Tell me or show me yours! Or send me a link and I’ll put them in a new post for you.
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)
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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.
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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.
The Victorians attitude to children could be pretty strict, as seen in a rather heart-breaking little section of The Mother’s Companion of 1891. It’s written with a loving tone – these parents adored their kids. And yet how far removed from today is the idea that a parent should withhold all praise from their children, for fear of making them conceited?
The heart-breaking bit isn’t really the piece itself, which is pretty cuddly. But it’s the fact that it actually needs to tell parents to admire their children’s achievements that is shocking to a twenty-first century parent – “Of course, I do not mean too much praise, but a little now and then is good for everyone.”
And I do like this sentimental childhood bit – “Flood them with sunshine from your own hearts, and they will give it back to you with interest.”
Laziness isn’t exactly a trait we associate with the Victorians. The work ethic was lauded, days off were few and sloth was, after all, one of the seven deadly sins.
Poor sloth. Nooo! I iz not a deadly sin!
On the other hand, I’m a big fan of laziness. I remember, in a life I had pre-kids, that I used to be a very big fan of sleeping. I wish I could do more of it now. And people banging on about how very busy they are just makes me tired on their behalf. So I rather enjoy children’s author Isabel Suart Robson’s paean to laziness in The Mother’s Companion, 1891. It’s also interesting to see that workers never fully detaching from work isn’t just a modern problem caused by email and mobile phones. In 1891, there were still those businessmen who couldn’t go on holiday without being a slave to their letters and telegraphs too.
A subject close to home for me right now – childcare and nurseries. Today it’s my first day back at work as the beautiful dream that is maternity leave has come to an end. My baby daughter and I are beginning the wrenching apart process as she starts nursery for the first time and I inevitably spend the morning phoning up to check she’s ok.
But reading this 1891 account in The Mother’s Companion by children’s author Jennie Chappell about Mrs Hilton’s crèche, a day nursery that had been running in the East End of London since 1871, rather puts things in perspective. The highly emotive descriptions of poor, neglected babies is very Victorian in its sentimentality, but I’m sure also contains a good deal of truth. The crèche was catering for infants who would otherwise be left alone in the house while their mothers had to go to work, or were unfit in some way, or else perhaps left in the care of their only slightly older siblings.
A beautiful picture of the day nursery is included, which must have seemed a wonderfully warm and safe alternative to the overcrowded living spaces a lot of working class people lived in in the East End (apart from the one kid who’s alarmingly looking half throttled by a loop of material).
Mrs Hilton inspired people in other big towns across the country to start their own day nurseries and “public cradles”. And on her top floor she kept a kind of sanitarium for sick and dying children, where their parents could visit by night. I think she deserves to be better known than she is. We’ve heard of the big shot Victorian male philanthropists but some people like Mrs Hilton were also doing work than must have added immeasurably to peoples lives. I’m all emotional right now anyway, but I think I have something in my eye…..
A quick aside. If you’re a fan of Doctor Who (like what I am), old books have recently become a bit more exciting, thanks to Madame Vastra, Jenny and Strax – aka the Paternoster Gang.
This is because a lot of Victorian (and later) publications were printed in Paternoster Row, which was a centre of publishing up until the Second World War, when it was destroyed in the Blitz.
The Paternoster Gang lived at No. 13 so (in a very real sense) the publishers of the Mother’s Companion were next-door-but one at No. 9.
Mothers Companion, 1891
The Mother’s Companion knew what it was doing with this article – “Hints to Wives” by an anonymous husband. This is a “helpful critique” of wives and their activities, and reminds me rather of the famous Victorian phrase “Children should be seen and not heard”, except applied to women. In short, this is Victorian clickbait that probably inspired a fury of correspondence.
I’m imagining the lady readership of this magazine having a little water cooler moment with this article (equivalent – teapot moment?). Perhaps trying to guess the identity of the author, who vowed never to tell anyone that he had written it. I find this quite cheering – at least he knows he’ll be for it if his wife finds out.
Reading this with slightly amused scorn as I was, I became uncomfortably aware of how little some things have changed though. Basically – men don’t want to go shopping and aren’t too interested in domestic minutiae? Well, plus ca change….
(Please excuse the n-word here, it’s rather an occupational hazard with some of these publications)
Hints to Wives, Mothers Companion, 1891
A gently elegant riposte came in a later issue. Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, it’s game, set and match to her as soon as she makes the point that women’s lives were “imperilled” by having children. So stop moaning and bloody well hold the baby for a bit, eh?
