Horror of Horrors

It started so well. Rumaging through a box of children's adventures stories and encyclopaedias, I found this:

Ah yes, the good old days. Before mass-produced artificial fibres, sweatshops and corporate franchises, when people still knew how to make things. A time when quality was valued over quatity.

But then I opened the sheet and it revealed this:

On reflection, I think I'll stick to Playmobil.

Circle of Friends

Last week I came across one of my best finds yet: a Victorian photograph album from the 1870s, featuring a group of actors and their families. Beneath its tatty exterior, the album is a treasure trove of fascinating photos, many of which are surrounded by beautiful embellishments, hand-painted in watercolour:

For many of us, the word Victorian is synonymous with respectability, discipline, temperance and piety. Photographs from the period seem to ratify this view, from the portraits of dour-faced, black-clad families to the arch-miserabalist herself, Queen Victoria.

However, the unsmiling faces were often the result of the ridiculously long exposure times, which required fixed expressions. The beauty of this album is that whilst it contains many conventional portraits, there are also quite a few snapshots of people smiling and having fun.

Unlike many of the albums I've come across, there are names, places and dates. For example, the two photos below have the caption "Characters Represented in a Charade at 'The Bank'. Jan 17th 1873."

The gentleman in the Widow Twankey outfit is called Charlie Wright.

On the opposite page, there is a scene from another production called "The Proposal":

But it isn't just the theatrical productions that appeal. I also like scenes from family life, some of which are surprisingly relaxed and informal, by Victorian standards:




You might argue that whoever complied this collection had too much time on their hands, but compare this to the nadir of photo albums: the 1970s Selfix variety, with adhesive pages and Kodak Instamatic pictures. Not only were they hideously ugly, but they didn't even work. My parents' albums started to disintegrate in 1982.

Those were the days. Perhaps this genetleman would have eyed my car with envy, but I'd happily swap my boring, dependable Citroën Xsara Picasso for a horse (top hat included, of course).

Was he a cad and a bounder? Did he get one of the maidservants up the duff?

What I like about this photo is that we may be looking at the face of a man who was born in the 18th century. He would certainly have been alive when the Battle of Waterloo took place.

There are many people in the album, but this page apears to include the major figures in the circle of friends and family.

This young man, adopting a "So we meet again, Mr Bond" pose, is the centrepiece of the page. Who is he?

I've Googled the names - John Alfred Gotch, Rose H Marriott, Lionel L Powell, E Kate Hickson, Robert S Hawks and Charlie Wright. They have all drawn blanks apart from John Alfred Gotch, but I think it may be a false lead.

The album doesn't mention where these people lived, but most of the place names mentioned are in Cheshire and Lancashire: Rock Ferry, Whitefield, Manchester and Southport. There also seems to be a connection with Melton Mowbray.

I shall have to do some more research. There is a story to be told, although I think it's unlikely that I have a bestselling non-fiction title in the making. Kate Sumerscale can sleep safely in her bed.

What strikes me most of all is what an interesting, likeable, rather Bohemian crowd of people they must have been (a stark contrast to the rather austere folk of Grimsby in the photos I published ten days ago). They appear to have led a rich life and come across as the antithesis of the stereotypical image of the Victorians.

How sad that this beautiful album almost ended up on a landfill site.

Horray for Bollywood

If only life was like this:

Ten Tips for Young Ladies

I found a wonderful book today called "Confidential Chats with Girls", written a century ago by a doctor called William Lee Howard.

The book is mainly preoccupied with the physical changes that take place during puberty, but Doctor Howard decided to go beyond his original remit and share the following pearls of wisdom.

Young ladies, take note:

• Don't dress in a loud and gaudy maner unless you wish to attract men of loud and loose principles

• Don't have any pity for flies and insects - kill them

• Don't be a giggling girl. The practice of giggling will certainly develop those tiny skin muscles in a way to make your face show some kind of distortion

• If you have flushed your intestines with water and fruit, you may eat all the cakes and sugar you wish

• Avoid all thoughts, reading or association which will affect the nervous system, if you wish to have a beautiful complexion

• The dressing of the feet is, perhaps, the first thing a refined and cultivated man looks at. The girl who displays high-heeled shoes and thin silk stockings on a winter's day, may attract attention, but not respect

• Woolen undergarments are a most prolific source of mischief

• Don't use arsenic in any form for your complexion or to give your face a plump appearance

• Don't swagger around in public nor attempt to thrust yourself forward. A modest girl will not let herself become prominent in public places

• You are safer in kissing a person with consumption than you are in wetting your finger to turn over the pages of a book

So there you have it. In short: stay in the background, eat cakes and kill flies. But don't wear woolen undies. As far as feet are concerned, I think that Dr Howard has his own agenda.

A Postcard to Airstrip One...

'Newspeak is a fictional language in George Orwell's novel "Nineteen Eighty-Four". In the novel, it is described as being "the only language in the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every year".' - Wikipedia.

I found this today:


I wonder if Kayleigh likes listening to Big Brovaz?

Candy and Andy

In 1966, at the height of his powers, "supermarionation" creator Gerry Anderson came up with a bold concept for a new television series. He had already designed the puppets and with the recent success of Thunderbirds behind him, it looked certain that the new project would be given the green light.

But there was one problem: Anderson's idea was utterly mad.

The new series was given a unanimous thumbs down by television executives, but undeterred, Anderson turned his idea into a franchise, spawning 154 issues of a comic and several books. The whole sorry episode lasted less than three years but it was long enough to screw-up a generation of under 5s.

Welcome to the world of "Candy and Andy":

Candy and Andy are just like any other children, except that they are plastic and live with two panda bears called Mr and Mrs Bearanda. They drive around in a Mini called Stripey.

The Candy and Andy books fail to explain the children's relationship with the Bearandas. It is clearly not a genetic bond, so were Candy and her brother adopted? Is Andy even Candy's brother? We are never told.

With their panda parents, Candy and Andy live in a world of humans (and a talking hedgehog). It should be enchanting, but the reality is deeply disturbing.

A slightly coquettish pose from Candy.

In Candy and Andy's world, you do talk to strangers. Oddly enough, these strangers are never alarmed by the presence of two sinister dolls.

A moment of reflection.

This photo is the stuff of nightmares, with Candy and Andy sitting on the lap of an evil-looking Father Christmas. This was the era before CRB checks, when perverts and sex offenders were able to find work as store Santas. This one looks as if he's just been released from Parkhurst.

I inherited a Candy and Andy book when I was three and forgot all about it until this year, when I started suffering from flashbacks. Perhaps it was my new job. If Proust was inspired to write a mammoth novel from the whiff of a few cakes, what hope did I have with thousands of books at my disposal?

There is another disturbing aspect to this story. I am a hardcore rationalist, but one day I saw a box of books and the words "Candy and Andy" came into my head. I started to unpack the contents and there, lying at the bottom, was the first Candy and Andy book I had seen since I was three. I now know the meaning of the phrase "sent a shiver down my spine".

Candy and Andy has been conveniently airbrushed out of Gerry Anderson's career history. There is no mention of them on Wikipedia and apart from one dedicated 1960s website, I can only find a few cursory references.

There are probably thousands of people in Britain who shudder at the sight of dolls without knowing why and find themselves suffering from recurring nightmares about talking pandas and psychedelic Minis. Like most traumas from early childhood, these memories are deeply repressed.

Perhaps it is time to form a support group for victims of Candy and Andy. We may have had our childhoods stolen by the weird, perverted fantasies of Gerry Anderson, but at least we can work together to end the nightmares.

NB - If you're wondering what happened to Candy and Andy, I'm told that Candy made a few soft porn films in the 1970s, before marrying a millionaire property speculator. She now manages a chain of high class hotels. Andy never managed to cope with the transition from child star to adult and his last acting role was in 1987, at a pantomime in Swindon. He was arrested last year for stealing a Breville Sandwich Maker from a branch of John Lewis. He still lives with Mrs Bearanda.

Northern Lights

I have just had a long, hot bath in an attempt to remove a thick layer of dust and grime from a day in a warehouse. My days as a foppish aesthete are long gone; I could go to a working men's club and look them all squarely in the eye.

Most baths seemed to be designed for midgets, so two years ago I bought the largest one I could find and I can now enjoy the bliss of being fully immersed in water. As an added bonus, the tap sometimes drips a syncopated, atonal tune that sounds like the theme tune of The Time Tunel. All I need is a Saul Bass intro sequence.

I've spent most of this week in the warehouse, throwing books away. It feels counter-intuitive to consign books to oblivion, but the alternative is a building that is mostly full of crap. By throwing the MS-Dos manual from 1992 or the collections of Reader's Digest condensed books, I can make more room for the titles that deserve to survive.

As expected, I found a few gems, including these photos from the album of a Lincolnshire family:

The first thing that came into my mind was "How Northern." It's not just the flat cap, but also the faces, particularly the man's.

I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of this couple.

A suitably bleak, wintry background for this couple. The man is clearly a master of Ecky Thump (Wikipedia link added for the 90% of readers who will be baffled by this).

One word: conditioner.

Here is clear evidence that, contrary to popular myth, Moslems successfully integrated into British society long before the 1950s.

Lincolnshire clearly enjoyed a vibrant gay scene, even 90 years ago.

Ditto

This soldier is taking five cameras to the Front. I suppose it's hard to get film out there.

A traditional childhood scene, apart from the cool, time-travelling boy with the polo-neck sweater.

This woman is oblivious to the fact that a small UFO is hovering above her head.

This hussy is brazenly revealing her right hand. Whatever next?

Children's fashions were clearly far superior to contemporary styles.

95 years on, there is still a school in Edward Street.

Unlike the other photo albums I've come across, there are two clues to its origin: the surname Ladley and the town of Grimsby. I know next to nothing about Grimsby, except that it is an important port. I doubt I'll ever go there.

A quick check on Wikipedia reveals that Grimsby features in the PlayStation 3 game "Resistance: Fall of Man". Wikipedia also mentions the fact that a Grimsby sex shop owner was fined £5,800 because customers successfully complained to Trading Standards that his films weren't pornographic enough.

But to return to the album, it is sad that these photos have ended up in the hands of strangers. The album was carefully compiled and although it may not have been done for posterity, I think that most of us hope that future generations, whether they are direct descendants or nieces and nephews, will act as custodians of what we were.

This album reached the end of the line and was destined to be thrown in a skip.I like the idea that these photos will probably now been seen by more people than ever. I hope the Ladleys would approve.