The Quack Doctor

In honour of the birth of The Quack Doctor’s new baby niece, who arrived early Saturday morning in the car park of Harlow Hospital, this post looks at a liniment that claimed to make labour a doddle.

The Daily Times, Portsmouth, Ohio 4 May 1899

Mother’s Friend was on sale in the US and Canada by the mid-1880s, though some adverts said it had been around for longer. During the last couple of decades of the 19^th century and into the 20^th, the advertising made some far-fetched claims.

The packaging stated that the liniment would ‘cause an unusually easy and quick delivery’ and that it would ‘alleviate in a most magical way the pains, horrors and risks of labor’. Used early in pregnancy, it would also cure morning sickness.

Some of the advertising went further and suggested that the use of Mother’s Friend would make the resulting baby clever and good-looking. In this 1901 ad, for example, an anonymous father sets up a potential fratricide situation by describing the youngest of his three children as the ‘healthiest, prettiest and finest-looking of them all’.

The Alamance Gleaner, 13 June 1901

The advert below  rings a few alarm bells by insisting that there is no opium, morphine or strychnine – but in fact this was true. Twice in 1909, consignments of Mother’s Friend were seized under the Food and Drugs Act (1906) and deemed misbranded because of the claims made. Analysis showed them to be a mixture of oil and soap (the type of oil is not specified in the misbranding reports but presumably it was a vegetable oil).

The Rock Hill Herald 19 April 1902

The Bradfield Regulator Company was allowed to continuing selling the product provided it did not make unrealistic claims, so from then on Mother’s Friend was marketed as a massage oil to help with dry skin and the aches and pains of pregnancy. Later, under ownership of the S.S.S. Company, it became a body lotion, firmly in the category of toiletries rather than medicines.

The Reading Eagle 11 March 1941

The bolder claims of the early advertising, however, were not without some merit – for pregnant women, accustomed to having to listen to everyone else’s birth horror stories, the positive outlook of Mother’s Friend must have been a welcome change.

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Source: The Graphic, 19 Feb 1881

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This is a product I really don’t know much about, but I just had to feature it on the site because I love the chap’s cheerfully unsympathetic response to his friend’s agony. And the agony of corns is not to be underestimated, judging by a case study from Thomas J Ashton in 1853. He reports on a maid-servant, aged 20, who had such a painful corn on her little toe that she cut it off.

Not the corn, the whole toe. Her method was to put a knife against the toe, like a chisel, and strike it hard with a mallet. The resulting haemorrhage occasioned some alarm to her mistress, who had her taken to hospital. She eventually recovered, but the healing was complicated by the fact that there was bone sticking out and, unlike with a normal amputation, no flap of skin left to cover the wound.

Bond’s Corn Cure was only advertised for a brief period in 1881, but was part of a long tradition of salves, plasters and unspecified wonder-cures that had appeared in the papers for more than 100 years. There was also a plethora of home remedies, but the usual advice from medical writers was to wear well-fitting shoes and use pads of linen or soft leather with a hole in them – much like the modern corn plasters.

Those crippled by pain, however, could get pretty desperate, and one option was to pay an itinerant corn-cutter to treat the offending area. Some of these practitioners were more skilled than others, and some were more honest than others. From the late 18th century, they were increasingly referred to as chiropodists, but the term met with a sneering response from the faculty, who saw it as a ludicrous attempt to make the occupation sound more scientific.

The paring of corns by a family member or by the patient themself carried a risk of drawing blood and causing septicaemia, but an additional risk with corn-cutters was that of being bled of large sums of cash.

An 1846 correspondent to the Lancet described how an earl of his acquaintance was fleeced by a chiropodist known to be preying on elderly wealthy customers. The earl, aged 78, had two troublesome corns and was willing to do anything to get rid of them – including agreeing to the corn-cutter’s demand of 10s. per corn.

The operation commenced; when it was over, the corn-cutter presented my friend with a paper on which were arranged 116 corns, or dark somethings which he designated such, and smilingly announced his claim of £58!

The earl paid up and, hugely embarrassed, didn’t admit the episode to his family for several weeks – whereupon they found it hilarious and told everyone, including the doctor who wrote in to the Lancet. His opinion on what he would have done in the same situation was: “I would have made the fellow eat up his corns, and then kicked him down stairs.”

But how was it physically possible for the chiropodist to extract 116 corns from the earl’s foot? Well, it was all part of a lucrative scam carried out by more than one disreputable corn-cutter of the time. At the beginning of the procedure, the chiropodist would smear a thick ointment over the foot. Within this were shavings from horses’ hooves, which could then be plucked out and displayed to the horrified patient. Some quacks used pieces of porcupine quill, according to the Lancet, but that seems to me a lot of trouble to go to when hoof-clippings were readily available.

With such dodgy practices going on, it’s no surprise that chiropody had a bad reputation, but there were ethical practitioners too, and by this time they were beginning to recognise the need for regulation. Lewis Durlacher, Surgeon-Chiropodist to the Queen, said of corn-cutters in the preface to his 1850 work, The Foot, its Pain and Penalties:

From such men the public, being unable of themselves to distinguish between the competent practitioner and the empiric, ought to be protected either by legislative enactments, or by medical bodies licensing those who make chiropody a part of their regular medical education.

In spite of Durlacher’s attempts, however, a professional body – The Society of Chiropodists – was not established in Britain until as late as 1912.

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.

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

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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.’

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I’m attempting to use the long ‘s’ for this transcript – I hope Wordpreſs doesn’t do anything weird with it:

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HYſtericon, or Antidote againſt Fits, Vapours,
Hypochondriack Melancholy, Vertigoe, Gid-
dineſs or Swimming in the Head, Phrenzy, or
Deprivation of Senſes, Suffocations, or Riſings in
the Throat, Faintings, Swoonings, &c. (common-
ly called Fits of the Mother) for all which, it’s a
moſt admirable thing for Prevention as well as
Cure, whether the Cauſe be Suppreſſion, or Stop-
page of the Spleen, &c. or Hypochondriack, in
admirably prevailing againſt, and taking away
the very Cauſe of ſuch Diſtempers, that they ſel-
dom return again; wonderfully comforts, relieves
and cheriſhes Languiſhing Nature, reſtores and
corroborates the weaken’d Faculties, revives the
Spirits, and enlivens the whole Body, with ſo
much Celerity, Eaſe, Safety, and Pleaſure, that
it has ſcarcely its Equal. Sold at Mr Stephens’s
in Broadſtreet, near the Royal-Exchange, at
1s. 6d. a Bottle, with Directions.

Source: A Review of the Affairs of France, 12 April 1705

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Ancient Greco-Roman theories of gynaecology presented the womb as a roving organ that could end up out of place within the body, even interfering with the brain or causing choking sensations in the throat. Independent and troublesome, it was attracted to pleasant smells and repulsed by foul ones. If a woman showed hysterical symptoms, this must be due to the womb rising, and it made sense to waft a variety of unpleasant substances in front of her face in order to deter the rogue womb from travelling any further.

By the 18th century the structure – and stationary nature – of the womb had been determined, but the traditional remedies persisted and a woman suffering from ‘fits of the mother’ might be assailed with any number of strong smells – for example sal ammoniac, asa foetida, garlic, bitumen or burnt feathers. Some doctors thought blowing tobacco fumes directly into the woman’s mouth would do the trick. Thomas Otway joked about this in his comedy A Soldier’s Fortune (1681), where Clarinda describes her decrepit husband Sir Davy thus:

“Then for his Person ’tis incomparably odious; he has such a breath, one kiss of him were enough to cure the fits of the mother, ’tis worse than assa foetida”

I don’t know whether the Hystericon (which I haven’t been able to find advertised anywhere except as above in Defoe’s Review) was supposed to be smelled or ingested, but there were certainly medicines to be taken inwardly – though not necessarily from the head end of the alimentary canal. Camomile clysters were one option, while oral medicines might contain amber (in salt or oil form) or herbs such as mugwort and valerian. Should convulsions occur, the Peruvian bark was recommended, and of course the ubiquitous blood-letting was always worth a try.

John K’eogh, in Zoologia Medicinalis Hibernica, (Dublin, 1739) a book about the medicinal properties of animals, described the following strange remedy:

A girdle made of the skin of a buck killed in coition with a doe, squeezed about the belly in the paroxysm or fit, is said to cure the suffocation of the Womb, or fits of the Mother.

But however peculiar the 18th-century remedies, the Victorian fascination with hysteria produced some far more discomfiting treatments. Thankfully this post is long enough without describing them!

Nothing very funny about today’s remedy, I’m afraid.

Adverts for abortifacients appeared in many 18th- and 19th-century newspapers, but they had to be discreet, as is the case with this one, which focuses on the pamphlet before mentioning the availability of the pills.

The pamphlet was most likely an advertisement for Mr and Mrs White’s other services - they also offered lying-in accomodation, where women who would otherwise give birth alone could “depend on being treated with honour, attention and secrecy.” Their babies would also be put out to nurse and be “humanely taken care of.” The reassuring tone of the couple’s adverts might have given hope to isolated women faced with unwanted pregnancies, and Mr and Mrs White initially come across as kindly souls who just want to help people.

But then they hit the reader with the price of the pills. At 1l. 2s. per box, these are only for the rich or the desperate, and the Whites’ intentions become more ambiguous.

 Image above: Detail from Côt ou tard la vérité se découvre by J. Arago (1790-1855). Courtesy of the US National Library of Medicine.

              This Day is Published, Price 1s.
By J. WHITE, Surgeon and Man Midwife, and Mrs.
WHITE, Midwife, at No. 2, London House Yard, the
North Side of St. Paul’s Church Yard.
AN Address to the Community on concealed
PREGNANCY, worthy the perusal of Ladies, whose
situation requires a temporary retirement, as therein is set
forth the expence of the months Lying-in.
Where may be had, Mr. White’s Restorative Salo Pills,
(stamped according to Act of Parliament) at 1l. 2s. per
box, which is an effectual remedy to remove all obstruc-
tions or irregularities, and as Ladies are subject to many
complaints, which through delicacy they often conceal to
the prejudice of their healths, Mrs. White may be consulted
with on any ailment or disorder incident to her own sex.
All letters, post paid, attended to, and medicines sent
into the country if required.

Source: The Daily Universal Register (London) Thursday 2nd February 1786

Note: “expence” is as shown.

I like this one because there’s a real sense of feminine solidarity. Mrs Smithers, possessor of knowledge passed down through the generations, sounds like a better bet than the mortifying prospect of consulting a male doctor.

TO LADIES.—THE ONLY GENUINE

WIDOW WELCH’S PILLS are those prepared by

MRS SMITHERS (Granddaughter to the WIDOW WELCH), from

the real Family Recipe, without the least variation what-

ever.

The Medicine is justly celebrated for all Female Com-

plaints, Nervous Disorders, Weakness of the Solids, Loss of

Appetite, Sick Headache, Lowness of Spirits, and particu-

larly for irregularities in the Female System. MRS SMITHERS

recommends Mothers, Guardians, Managers of Schools, and

all those who have the care of Females at an early age,

never to be without this useful Medicine.

IMPORTANT CAUTION.—The ONLY REAL PROPRIE-

TOR and Possessor of the Recipe, Granddaughter of the

late Widow Welch, feels it her duty, not only in defence of

her own and SOLE RIGHT, but as a protection to the public,

to declare HERSELF the ONLY PERSON entitled to the

Original Recipe, or at all authorised to make or prepare the

said medicine.

Observe that the genuine are wrapped in blue paper and

signed on the label by Mrs Smithers.

Sold in boxes at 2s 9d each, by Duncan, Flockhart, and

Co.; Robertson; Baildon; Lindsay & Shaw; Gardner and

Ainslie—Edinburgh. Dandie & Newby—Perth. And by

most respectable Chemists throughout the United Kingdom.

Source:  The Caledonian Mercury and Daily Express, (Edinburgh) Monday 2nd January 1860.