SWAIM’S PANACEA.—This Medicine has acquired a very
extensive and established celebrity in Europe and America,
and its virtues are known and acknowledged by many of the most
respectable physicians of both countries. As an alterative, and
in various diseases, particularly in cases of inveterate corruption
of the blood descending to the second generation, it stands unri-
valled. Its safety and innocence have been fully tested, so that
it may be administered to the most tender and helpless infant.
No one, however, is advised to take it without being first con-
vinced of its efficacy and of the rectitude of the proprietor’s in-
tention. He has been induced to establish agencies in England
in consequence of the repeated and large orders for the Medicine
from various parts of the kingdom. He respectfully informs the
public that they can be supplied wholesale by EVANS, SON, and
CO., 85, Lord-street, Liverpool; EVANS and LESCHER, 4 Cripple-
gate-buildings, London; and retail by most of the respectable
Druggists in England, Ireland, and Scotland.

Source: The Liverpool Mercury, Friday 7 August 1847

.

If you’re Welsh, don’t be annoyed at being left out; count yourself lucky.

Although I’ve chosen a British ad here, the medicine’s home was Philadelphia, where William Swaim settled after a career as a bookbinder in New York. A probably apocryphal tale has him finding the panacea recipe scribbled on a blank leaf of a book he was binding; another story, related in James Harvey Young’s The Toadstool Millionaires, has Swaim finding out the ingredients from a reputable physician called Dr Quackinboss. Although this sounds made up, the name (but with the spelling Quackenboss), genuinely did belong to a New York doctor in the 1820s. (And for purposes of mild amusement, here is a modern example.)

Swaim’s advertising materials included booklets endorsing his nostrum, and the following unpleasant picture appeared in these and occasionally in his ads. You might recognise it if you saw the colour version recently displayed on the Ephemera Assemblyman blog. In this one, the bottle of Panacea is more prominent, and the facial expression more grotesque, but the depiction of the legs is thankfully less gruesome for the lack of colour.

Notice that the caption says ‘The representation and her actual appearance after having been Cured by the use of Swaims Panacea.’ I think they must mean ‘The representation of…’ but anyway, AFTER is the interesting word here. This image was supposed to encourage people to buy the medicine. Just think! Take this stuff and you too could spend the rest of your life hiding in a darkened room, tragically plastering your face with yet more mercurial preparations while the looking glass mocks you with the ghostly memory of the carefree beauty you were long, long ago.

The logic behind the use of this picture is difficult to grasp – any further theories welcome in the comments, but it could be:

1. In that state, Miss Linton should actually be dead, so the very fact that she’s sitting in a chair grinning is a testament to the miraculous power of the Panacea.

2. The horror of the image would exert a strange fascination on punters and compel them to read the promotional book. This is what happened to ‘Morleigh,’ the British writer of Life in the West, (1843):

‘…fronting the title page, we have a full-length portrait of a lady, or skeleton in a ball dress, grinning horribly. If this lady is cured, thought I, it would be very advisable for her to stay at home. Faugh! the very portrait has made me ill. I threw the book aside with scorn, little thinking that in a few days hence, when the book had mysteriously disappeared, I should earnestly seek a copy, and devour the contents with as much gusto as a starving sailor would munch an old shoe.’

.

To be continued…

In the next post – what was actually in Swaim’s Panacea, the proprietor’s on-off relationship with the medical profession, and how the Panacea’s success spawned blatant imitations.

.

Picture courtesy of the US National Library of Medicine

Source: Detroit Medical Journal August 1905

As you can see, this ad is aimed at the medical profession, and the product was accepted by orthodox practitioners of the time – it was the claims made about their efficacy that pushed these items into the nether regions of quackery.

After the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act, US promoters of medicines had to be very careful what they said in their advertising and packaging, but this did not apply to non-drug medical devices. The dilators, (patented in 1892 by Frank E Young but not widely promoted until the early years of the 20th century), were touted as ‘A Radical Cure’ for piles and constipation, the idea being that well-trained muscles in the area in question would be able to cope with even the most solid of ‘solids’. The newspaper ads of 1907 and 1908 (aimed at ordinary punters rather than doctors) included assertions like: ‘cure even the worst cases’; ‘guaranteed to cure’; ‘positive and lasting cure.’ Had they been talking about a drug, the manufacturers would have been in trouble.

To take advantage of the supposed benefits, here’s what you had to do:

First warm dilator in warm water; then lubricate outside of dilator with Dr Young’s Piloment (or if it is not available, with vaseline) and while in a squatting position—or while lying on the side with knees drawn up—gently insert in the rectum as far as the flange or rim. Hold in place a minute and the anal muscles will hold and retain it. Sit or lie down and allow it to remain for half an hour or an hour to get the best results. Ten minutes will accomplish much. When ready to go on to the next larger size, it is best first to use for a few minutes the same size you have been using, inserting and withdrawing it a few times.

In case you’re wondering, the big ‘un was 4 inches long and an inch in diameter. Although at the time of this ad they were made of rubber, Bakelite was later used, and the design changed so that the flange at the bottom was flat and the dilators could stand upright, as in this photo of the exhibit at Glore’s Psychiatric Museum in St Joseph, Missouri (with thanks to cometstarmoon on flickr for the pic).

It wasn’t until 1938 that the new US Federal Food, Drugs and Cosmetics Act encompassed the sale of medical devices, and once that was in force it didn’t take long for the dilators to fall foul of the courts. In 1940, a shipment of dilators and their lubricant, Piloment, was seized at New York and the US Attorney for the Southern District of NY filed libels against them, alleging that they were misbranded.

The misbranding allegations related to the claims that the dilators would permanently cure constipation and piles, that they had many other benefits including promoting refreshing sleep, and that the instructions advised ‘you need have no fear of using them too much.’

The hearing accepted that ‘it would be dangerous to health when used with the frequency and duration prescribed, recommended, or suggested in the following labeling,’ and the consignment was condemned and destroyed.

Similar products, however, survive to this day – you can buy ones almost identical to the above on Amazon, though I’ll refrain from giving a link as I’m sure if you’re that keen you can find them for yourself.

MR. ELIAS GROVES, of Clapham, attests, that he was afflicted upwards of a Year and half with a most violent windy Disorder, to so great a Degree, that the Wind would roll about, as it were, all over his Body, and occasion him frequently to be discharging it in a surprising Manner out of his Mouth for ten Hours together. This most grievous Complaint wasted him away as if in an Atrophy, and cause a great Sinking of his Spirits: He had the Advice, and followed the Prescriptions of two eminent Physicians, (as he can make it appear) as well as others, without the least Benefit, until he took Dr. Lowther’s Powders and Drops, the joint Use of which in a short Time entirely remov’d his Complaints.
These Powders and Drops (for the great Invention of which his Majesty honoured Dr. Lowther with his Royal Letters Patent, November 1757) are sold in Six Shilling and Three Shilling Parcels, at Brooke’s Warehouse, Fleet-Street, and Dawson’s Warehouse the foot of Westminster-Bridge; at which last place the Doctor may be consulted gratis every Tuesday from Three to Five, and Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, from Ten to One, at Brooke’s.
These Powders and Drops are incontestably proved to be the greatest Specific ever invented for the Cure of every Species of Fits, Nervous and Paralytick Disorders. Sold also by Mr. Marlow, at the Angel and Crown Tavern, Tunbridge-Wells, as the Waters of that Place are known to be very powerful Deobstruents, by their Chalybeat Virtues. These Powders may be taken in them to great Advantage.

Source: The Whitehall Evening Post or London Intelligencer, 8-11 July 1758

.

This advert is quite restrained by William Lowther’s standards – he only mentions the King’s Letters Patent once. Elsewhere he drew even more attention to this supposedly great honour, and called the drops the ‘Royal Specific Anodyne Drops.’ Although references to the patent can come across as a bit pompous, Lowther wasn’t alone in using this method of convincing punters that the medicine was respectable. It was common for vendors to do so, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t, although they were perhaps disingenous in implying that the monarch was a personal fan of the product. The king didn’t need to have tried the remedy – patents were granted for all sorts of things, and although the inventor had to provide a written specification of how the medicine was produced, there was no requirement to prove that it worked or even that it was safe.

The ‘Dawson’s Warehouse’ referred to was a carpet warehouse, and in 1757 Dr Lowther’s Tuesday schedule involved hot-footing it over there from Brooke’s in Fleet Street, in time to start his consultations at 2pm. In 1758 he began giving himself an extra hour – perhaps he needed time to grab something to eat on the way.

Although the Powders (patented before the Drops, in June 1755) were also advertised as an anti-epileptic medicine, there was a considerable list of disorders they claimed to help, as related in the London Gazette in June 1757 (spellings and punctuation as in original):

Tremblings, Faintings, Swoonings, Sick Qualms, Reachings, Loathings, lost Appetites, bad Digestion, weak Nerves, Flutterings, Palpitations, Anxieties, confused Thoughts, Lethargies, dull melancholic Dispositions, Vapours, low Spirits, Restlessness, Weariness, Frightful Dreams, Pains in the Head and Stomach, Vertigo’s, Swimings, Giddiness, Dizziness, Dimness, Flushings, the Cramp, Contractions, sudden Catchings, Obstructions, disorders incident to the Fair Sex, and, in fine, the whole train of Fits, Nervous and Paralitic Complaints.

In 1771 Lowther published a pamphlet called A Dissertation on the Dropsy; distinguishing the different species of dropsy, the various causes of the disorder, and the most effectual method of cure. The Monthly Review’s verdict (shown here in its entirety) was rather dismissive:

This dissertation is full of hard words and cramp phrases, and is written with a view to celebrate the great and unknown virtues of Dr. Lowther’s diuretic drops.

Lowther’s medicine was still well-known enough in the 1780s to warrant it a place in a satirical poem about newspapers, published in The Town and Country Magazine:

Here puffing empirics, in a pompous style
Excite “the passing tribute of a smile”

In Lowther’s far-famed powders you will find
(Forget not those which are prepar’d by Hinde)
Virtues most potent, powerful to cure
The worst diseases men can here endure
Whoe’er on them will, confident, rely
May Death’s dragoons for numerous years defy.

RHEUMATISM
Cured
Through the Feet
Without Medicine

An external cure so sure that the
makers send it FREE ON APPROVAL.
Try it.
Send your name and address to the makers of Magic Foot Drafts, the great cure for every kind of rheumatism; Chronic or Acute, Muscular, Sciatic, Lumbago, Gout, etc., no matter where located or how severe. You’ll get a pair of the Drafts by return post—prepaid—free on approval.
Magic Foot Drafts are worn without inconvenience, and cure rheumatism in every part of the body by drawing out the poisonous acids in the blood through the great foot pores. You can see that this offer is proof of their merit, for hundreds of thousands of persons answer these advertisements, and only those who are satisfied with the benefit they receive send any money. Write to-day to the Magic Foot Draft Co., 43, Pugh’s Buildings, Pugh’s Place, Golden Square, London. W., for a trial pair, and be cured. A valuable illustrated book on rheumatism also sent free.
CAUTION. Magic Foot Drafts are prepared after the original formula only by us. Note carefully the address.

Source: The Penny Illustrated Paper and Illustrated Times Sat 7 May 1904

.

Magic Foot Drafts originated in Jackson, Michigan in 1902 and quickly became established in London too. In case it’s not clear from the ad, they were large and very sticky plasters that you were supposed to put on the sole of your foot, where they would somehow (by magic, presumably) draw out uric acid through the skin. The plaster was made of oilcloth coated with a mixture of pine tar, cornmeal and poke-root. As Samuel Hopkins Adams said in The Great American Fraud (1905/6):

Of course, they might as well be fixed to the barn door, so far as any uric acid extraction is concerned.

Adams also gave his opinion on why some nostrum vendors allowed punters to take their products on a free trial:

Other concerns send their “remedies” free on trial, among these being the ludicrous “magic foot drafts” referred to above. At first thought it would seem that only a cure would bring profit to the makers. But the fact is that most diseases tend to cure themselves by natural means, and the delighted and deluded patient, ascribing the relief to the “remedy” which really has nothing to do with it, sends on his grateful dollar. Where the money is already paid, most people are too inert to undertake the effort of getting it back.

The British version of the Foot Drafts had different ingredients – powdered white hellebore and stockholm tar.  Nostrums and Quackery (1912) pointed out that the difference ‘bears out what has been stated many times – that the composition of nostrums can never be relied on,’ but to be fair, pokeweed is indigenous to North America but not Britain, so the London branch of the company probably couldn’t get regular supplies.

Important Notice to the Afflicted
ALL Persons suffering from PARALYSIS, SPINAL
AFFECTIONS, RHEUMATISM, NEURAL-
GIA, ASTHMA, Pain in the Head, or all cases of INFLAM-
MATION or CONGESTION, should at once try Mr G. W.
Gedney’s VACUUM APPARATUS, by Dr. Junod, which has
been practised with great success for upwards of 40 years.
Testimonials of the highest character on application to
Mr. G. W. GEDNEY,
64, Victoria Street, London Road, Ipswich.

Source: The Ipswich Journal, Sat 24 June 1871

.

The apparatus referred to was developed in the 1830s by Victor Theodore Junod, and as Mr Gedney here clearly acknowledges Junod, it seems likely that he just had one in his possession rather than that he was claiming any credit for inventing it.

The device, known as the haemospasic apparatus or exhausting apparatus, was an alternative to blood-letting, producing the supposed beneficial effects without the dangers of blood loss. The picture below (taken from the London Lancet in 1853, but it was a woodcut that was also used elsewhere) shows how it worked, and this description from The Journal of Health (Grindrod, London, 1852) explains further:

…a tin boot, into which the leg of the patient is inserted, and from which the atmospheric air is gradually withdrawn, by means of a small air pump, the top of the boot being kept in air-tight apposition to the leg, by means of a broad belt of vulcanised india-rubber.

The idea was like dry cupping on a larger scale – the blood would be sucked into the limb (the device could be also be used on the arm), therefore withdrawing it from general circulation, weakening the pulse and possibly even causing the patient to faint. This, Junod believed, would reduce fever and palliate any inflammatory conditions.

The effects, while not gruesome, don’t sound very pleasant:

No pain, but only a slight uneasiness, is experienced in the limb enclosed in the boot, which is found, on being withdrawn, to be much increased in size, and the blood does not entirely return into the circulation, and the leg resumes its original size, at first for twenty-four hours. (Journal of Health).

The invention was popular in French hospitals and when it was displayed at the Great Exhibition, its potential to replace blood-letting resulted in it being tried out in British hospitals too, with mixed results. Army surgeon A. MacLean M.D. (quoted in The Medical Times, July-Dec 1853) was somewhat underwhelmed:

I have to report that this apparatus has been tried in a variety of cases in this hospital, with the view of testing its power as a therapeutic agent; and have to state that the beneficial results have been very partial, and in many instances no effect of a favourable character was obtained.

.

WINE
FOR
WOMEN!

Woman’s modesty and ignorance of danger often cause her to endure pains and suffer torture rather than consult a physician about important subjects.
Pains in the head, neck, back, hips, limbs and lower bowels at monthly intervals, indicate alarming derangements.

McELREE’S
WINE OF CARDUI

is a harmless Bitter Wine without intoxicating qualities. Taken at the proper time it relieves pain, corrects derangements, quiets nervousness and cures Whites, Falling of the Womb and Suppressed or too Frequent Menses. Price $1.
For sale by medicine dealers.

.

Source: The Emmet County Republican, (Estherville, Iowa) 1 April 1897

.

As the ad says, this had no intoxicating qualities. Honest, guv, none whatsoever. The 19% alcohol just happened to be there to stop the proper ingredients going off.

These other ingredients were Black Haw, Blessed Thistle (then classified Carduus benedictus, hence the product name) and Golden Seal. The remedy was popular in the southern US and was advertised not only in the newspapers but by means of almanacks, calendars, a pamphlet called Home Treatment for Women, and even The 20th Century Song Book, which featured popular tunes alongside glowing testimonials from women whose ‘female weaknesses’ had been cured.

Next to the music for ‘Rock me to Sleep, Mother,’ for example, was a message from Mrs C M Ladd, who wrote:

I take pleasure in telling you and afflicted women that I owe my life, my health and my happiness to Wine of Cardui. After my marriage my health broke down and after having tried several physicians and several kinds of medicines, I was given up to die.

I had heard of Wine of Cardui and decided to try it. I began to receive benefit at once, and now I am well and strong and our home has two fine little boys to make it bright and happy.

The testimonials are generally not coy about discussing symptoms. These are from Home Treatment for Women, a 64-page booklet that gave brief descriptions of common female ailments, but devoted most of the space to recommending Cardui (the ‘Wine of’ bit was dropped at some point).

“I could hardly walk from one room to the other without my womb coming down,” writes Mrs Grace Brown, of Taskee Station, Mo. “I took Cardui, and was well from it, and have never had falling of the womb since, even after childbirth.”

Mrs J W Thomas wrote:

About six years ago, as I was cooking a meal, a pain struck me in the back. One pain after another followed, and I had to be carried to the bed. I must have fainted. The doctor pronounced it falling of the womb, and he replaced it half a dozen times with instruments. I flooded dreadfully for about eight weeks. The doctor’s medicine did me no good, and he advised me to take Cardui.

And from Mrs C C Redmon:

I got very weak and I looked almost like a skeleton. I suffered extreme agony in back, stomach and head, and had burning and itching whites so bad I could hardly stand.

In 1916, The Chattanooga Medicine Company, which made the Wine of Cardui, brought a successful libel suit against the American Medical Association for its claims that the business was ‘built on deceit’ and that the product was ‘a vicious fraud.’  During an adjournment of the court in April 1916, company owner John A Patten was seized with acute intestinal pain – he was rushed to hospital and operated on, but died.

At this unexpected incident, a personal suit brought by Patten lapsed, but he and his brother had also brought a partnership suit for $100,000, and once the funeral was over, this continued. The verdict, after the jury had been out a week, was in favour of the Chattanooga Medicine Company – it was awarded damages of one cent.  Both sides could claim a victory of sorts. As the California State Journal of Medicine pointed out in Aug 1916, ‘it is permissible to suggest that the American Medical Association will hardly find its prestige diminished among good citizens by its opposition to the sale of proprietary medicines containing a marked percentage of alcohol.’

.

Just a quick post today while I languish on my sickbed without any useful remedies to console me.

Following on from a previous post about the Bile Beans for Biliousness, Jane Ellen, Senior Archivist at the University of Melbourne Archives kindly sent me this image, probably from the 1930s. It looks as though it was in-store advertising and, like other adverts for this product, shows an amusing juxtaposition of radiant beauty and, well… the name Bile Beans. The way the Beans acted to produce such a lovely figure is as unappealing as their title – they ‘ensure[d] that regular elimination so essential to your wellbeing.’

I’ve dug out the text of another advert for Bile Beans – this one (below) is from The Argus, Melbourne, 16 April 1945. (N.B. The original doesn’t have a question mark for the first sentence either.) Aimed squarely at women and pitched more as a food supplement than a medicine, this is a contrast to the product’s early advertising, which targeted both sexes and claimed that the Beans were effective against some quite serious diseases.

.

Why shouldn’t you be Radiant & Attractive

THAT inner well-being, the bright eyes, clear complexion and the sparkle that go with it are just a matter of nightly routine – the results which Bile Beans surely bring.
Purely vegetable, Bile Beans–just one or two taken regularly at bedtime, build up good health and good digestion while you sleep. They tone you up, cleanse and regulate the system. They improve your appearance and your outlook on life.
Bright eyes, cheeriness, personal fitness are grand assets these days. They can be yours all through the year if you

Start To-night with Bile Beans

.

.

Source: The Syracuse Herald (NY) 7 Sept 1919

.

Every Woman needs a Vibrator
La Vida $7.50

The Vibrator EVERY Woman Needs
There comes a new world, a generous world of abundant health, of comfort, of beauty measured by long years—when La Vida enters in.

To own La Vida is every woman’s right—it costs so little; it brings such rich results.
La Vida is essentially a woman’s vibrator; no parts to get out of order. La Vida fits into your hand snugly; it is small light, compact.
Make La Vida a part of your home, for your own health, pleasure and satisfaction—for the good of your family.
Your La Vida is waiting for you now here at our store. We want to give you the new free Health and Beauty Booklet.

La Vida Electric Vibrator

It is the rapidity of the action—not the force of the blow—that produces the most successful results from vibration.
No other vibrator is so rapid, no other gives such quick health-building action, as La Vida. This marvelous little cheery “home comfort” brings to you continuously the highest results to be gained by modern scientific vibration.

POWERS DRUG STORE
Formerly Snows, Next to Postoffice
216 SOUTH WARREN STREET
This Store Closes Monday, Syracuse Day, at 12.30 P.M.

.

There’s loads of equally snigger-worthy stuff in early 20th-century papers and magazines, often alongside ads for other useful home appliances such as sewing machines. Electric vibrators worked by plugging them into a lightbulb fitting but there were also mechanical hand-powered ones such as the ‘Veedee’; this was promoted at big faith-healer-style lectures where sufferers of a variety of ailments could go up on stage and apparently be cured at once. For photos of such gadgets, have a look at the Antique Vibrator Museum.

While some brands, like the La Vida, were presented as beauty products, using facial massage to increase circulation and improve the complexion, others were marketed as health products for all the family. They claimed to help such diverse problems as rheumatism, obesity, deafness, hay fever, lung complaints, piles and chilblains, and were very much aimed at men as well as women.

Ads like the one below, however,  (from The Rotarian, March 1914) make it pretty clear that the manufacturers were aware of vibrators’ more ‘intimate’ potential. In the 1920s they started cropping up in porn, and lost their reputation as a wholesome household appliance.

Source: The Penny Illustrated Paper and Illustrated Times, Sat 26 January 1895. To view this rather fine-looking gentleman in full technicolour glory, click this ad from the National Archives.

Allcock’s Plasters had their origins in an invention patented in the US in 1845 by Horace Day and William Shecut. (Day was a wealthy manufacturer of rubber goods but in 1846 was sued by one Mr Goodyear for an infringement of a patent and lost $500,000.) The porous plaster patent described the ingredients and method thus:

We first cut five pounds of India-rubber into fine shreds and boil it an hour in common soft water to soften it. We then drain off the water and put the rubber into a tin or copper vessel which will hold at least sixty gallons, and pour into it a sufficient quantity of spirits of turpentine to cover the gum completely, adding from time to time more spirits of turpentine as the gum soaks it up. This process may be hastened by placing the vessel over a water-bath. When the rubber is sufficiently dissolved to admit of its being pressed through a fine wire seive [sic] is may be set aside for use. We next simmer four ounces of Capsicum annuum or cayenne pepper in a quart of spirits of turpentine about one hour and strain it with a portion of this tincture. We grind a pound of litharge on a slab or in a paint mill, mix it with the remainder of the tincture of cayenne, and add to it six ounces of balsam of Peru. Then we melt a pound of pine-gum and add spirits of turpentine until it is thin enough to strain when nearly cool, and, lastly, mix the whole of the preceding preparations together until the mixture is of uniform color, without specks or lumps. It is then ready for spreading on any suitable material. Cotton cambric or muslin will answer the purpose very well.

Holes were punched in the product – the colour image in the National Archives link gives some idea of what it looked like. Thomas Allcock, a British-born druggist living in New York,  appears to have acquired the rights almost immediately, and a few years later the company went into association with Benjamin Brandreth (great-great-grandfather of Gyles), whose Brandreth’s Pills were already famous.

The plasters were not only supposed to to help lumbago – other adverts suggested using them for such varied disorders as quinsy (you had to put a strip of plaster under your chin, stretching from ear to ear), diabetes, St Vitus’s Dance, epilepsy, dyspepsia, diarrhoea, coughs and colds, asthma, pleurisy, whooping cough, consumption, ruptures, sciatica, paralysis, rheumatism, tic douloureux and kidney problems.

The ads boasted that it only took 2 seconds to apply the plaster. Getting it off, however, was another matter. Dick’s Encyclopaedia noted in 1872 that:

These plasters adhere very firmly, frequently requiring the application of heat (by means of a hot towel or warm flat-iron), for their removal.

One 1876 ad advised customers to ‘Beware of piratical imitations.’ Presumably these were called Arrrrlcock’s.

Source: The Graphic (London) 13 October 1894

I haven’t tried to transcribe this for obvious reasons, but I think it should be clear enough, and you can click to make it bigger. Some of the assertions on the sleeves of those elegant arms sound better than others; ‘touches the spot for hemorrhoids’ doesn’t conjure up a particularly attractive image, but an accurate one nonetheless. For stubborn cases, suppositories were available, and one advert cheerfully announced to the world that Lord Carrick was indebted to Homocea for the cure of his piles.

Homocea and its tagline ‘touches the spot’ became a household name in the last years of the 19th century and it was certainly still around during World War II, if not later. As well as the original ointment, there was a strong form called Exaino or Homocea Fort, and a Homocea Soap. In 1897 the Soap and its related product, the Hair Wash, were highly recommended in The Nursing Record and Hospital World, which said that the soap was ‘very soothing and softening in its action, and is very fragrant and pleasant, moreover, to use.’

The BMA’s More Secret Remedies reported in 1912 that the ointment comprised a large proportion of eucalyptus oil, small amounts of lemon oil and ammonia, beeswax, lard and coconut oil. The 2s. 9d. tin contained 2 ½oz, the cost of ingredients being about 2 ½d.

Homocea Ltd certainly went in for eye-catching advertisements. The one below is from The Graphic in 1895. The lifeless body of the poor faithful little dog, who only moments ago was trotting happily along the path day-dreaming of chasing rabbits, adds a certain level of drama that we could probably have done without.

P.S. I’m scheduling this post to appear on Monday 12 Oct. I’m not actually here as I’m speaking at Chester Literature Festival, so if the post doesn’t come out right, I’ll fix it when I get home on Tuesday.