As one of the “over-forties” myself, here’s a reminder that this age used to be considered as pretty much the start of your dotage. Special tablets were required to keep up your energy, and Phyllosan marketed itself directly to this demographic.
Phyllosan contained ferrous fumarate to help increase your iron intake, and vitamins B1, B2 and C. It appears to still be available (perhaps on prescription?) as I found an information leaflet for the drug online, dated 2011.
An intriguing letter from The Lanarkshire Sunday Post in 1946.
So, the Second World War is not long over, and a Kirkcaldy housewife, Mrs A. G. Forsyth, receives a letter out of the blue from an ex-Italian soldier. (At this point I’m totally imagining Mrs Forsyth looking like Terry Jones as a Monty Python “pepperpot”, unfairly.)
Never mind how the Italian ex-soldier got her address, but it was a heart-rending plea.
“After five years of war I am remained without anything but the eyes to weep, and a maiming of more than 50 per cent. as certificated by the document lieing by. Not knowing how to carry on my life and support the expenses of my family, I apply to your noble, great, and generous heart, praying for a financial help limited to your possibilities.
Or better, if you could present me with a small ice cream machine with your name cut on it, as it is very seldom to get one in Italy, and also very dear, more than 150 thousand lires and I cannot afford to buy due to my poverty…”
Because ice cream machines were plenteous and cheap in 1946 Kirkcaldy, of course.
It’s got to be a scam, hasn’t it? But a bit of an odd one. Mrs Forsyth thought so. She “wonders if other readers had got similar letters”, and dismissed the whole thing with “I know the British are considered soft by foreigners, but we’re not as soft as all that!”
It reminds me a bit of the Nigerian 419 scams of today, although, to be fair, there’s nothing promised to the recipient of the letter apart from a feeling of goodwill. Still, there’s nothing new under the sun, as the con tricks of 100 years ago detailed by Harry Houdini show – here.
The vitriol is really flowing in this opinion piece about the GI brides taking their leave of the UK for pastures new with their American husbands. I would be amazed if there wasn’t a dash of personal indignation over a potential sweetheart here, although the American GIs based in the UK were famously resented as being “over-fed, over-paid, over-sexed and over here,” wooing British women with their ready supply of nylons and cigarettes.
The writer, a serviceman recently returned from overseas, is “fizzing” about the luxuries bestowed on the travelling wives – the ships laid on for their trip containing beds, food, clothes and toys galore. Or at least “galore” from the perspective of those having suffered the deprivations of 6 years of total war. He points out that the ships also contain “Thousands of soluble nappies (whatever they may be)” – and yes, whatever were they? I can’t find any more details about them but presume they were an early form of disposable nappy.
Their food is a particular bugbear:
“Notice their breakfast the day they sailed? Tomato juice, porridge, scrambled eggs, bread, marmalade and coffee. Now, I hope America provided that for them. Because if it came off our rations, then I take more than [a] somewhat dim view of it. Particularly when I think of the mess of dried egg I went to work on this morning.”
Well, he’s got a point. But between the delights of young love and the joy of the war ending, it must have been a giddy time.
“Well, isn’t that just too, too thrilling?”
And here’s the article that has got our brilliantly sarcastic author all worked up – bananas, soluble nappies and all. It’s from the same newspaper, a week earlier. It shows that an amazing 12,000 brides were due to sail to the U.S. in February 1946.
Interestingly, I found out that “over-fed, over-paid, over-sexed, and over here” is a phrase that doesn’t seem to have featured in print during the war, despite it being extremely well-known at the time as it was popularised by comic Tommy Trinder. The earliest reference to it in print found by Phrases.org.uk is from 1958, but I’ve found this, an ex-GI mentioning the phrase, from 1948:
Here’s an advert for Burnley’s version of the World War Two National Loaf, Veget bread:
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.
Following on from yesterday’s post, in 1946 the children of Britain got their own “Thank you and well done”.
This was a printed letter from King George VI, sent to all schoolchildren at the end of the Second World War, recognising the fact that the whole of the country, children included, played their part.
“For you have shared in the hardships and dangers of a total war and you have shared no less in the triumph of the Allied Nations”.
The one I have belonged to a little girl called Diana Morcom, wherever she is now….
