The Quack Doctor

Anti-Stiff advert from The Chemist and Druggist, 7 June 1890

Anti-Stiff – a name contrary to the philosophy of today’s email spammers – appears to have been a boon to the athletes of the 1890s. It was a muscle rub intended to ward off aches and fatigue during a variety of sporting endeavours, and its promoter claimed that ‘some athletes are so fond of it that they rub it all over them.’

Unlike the messier liquid liniments that served a similar purpose, Anti-Stiff was a semi-solid substance packaged in a tin. U.S. publication the Western Druggist said that the product comprised petrolatum with some essential oils and colouring – so if you imagine a green, lavender-scented version of Vaseline, it was probably pretty much like that. Such a portable and convenient format made it particularly suitable for cyclists, who could carry it with them without the worry of dropping a glass bottle or spilling the product if they stopped to use it en route.

Adverts for Anti-Stiff regularly appeared in Cycling: An Illustrated Weekly, which began publication on 24 January 1891 and soon became a hit for its attractive layout, informative articles, humorous snippets and lively writing style. Right from the first issue, Anti-Stiff had a prominent advertising presence, asking readers:

Can you wonder that you lost that race?
Why, you did not use “Anti-Stiff!”

Testimonials abounded from the top cyclists of the day. C. A. Smith, who held the Brighton Coach Record (whereby cyclists would attempt to beat the times recorded by the old mail coaches between London and Brighton) said he was well rubbed down with Anti-Stiff before setting off on his ride. Cycling pioneer John Keen, who is mentioned in the ad above, also gave an endorsement, writing that he had used every other preparation known, but found none equal to Anti-Stiff.

John Keen, champion racer of penny-farthings in the 1870 and 80s, who went on to manufacture bicycles. Anti-Stiff advertisements refer to him as 'The Champion Bicyclist of the World.'

Although initially aimed at cyclists, Anti-Stiff was for anyone who hoped to exhibit sporting prowess, including footballers, boxers, runners and skaters. Although Victorian footballers did not enjoy the same lifestyle as their 21st-century counterparts, they were nevertheless invited to view Anti-Stiff as one of the finer things in life:

An article of this kind is a real luxury, and when once it is tried by a footballer, he will always keep a tin of Anti-Stiff handy, and carry it about with him as valued as his watch.

Notts County coach Harry Kirk reported that his players considered it ‘grand stuff’.

Detail of Anti-stiff ad, Cycling: An Illustrated Weekly 11 April 1891

Field athlete H. Griffin also recommended Anti-Stiff:

Personally, I can speak in very high terms of it. During 1890 I used it, notably for a stiffened shoulder through “putting the shot,” which it quickly put right “like a shot.”

I see what you did there, Mr Griffin.

The advert at the top is aimed at chemists. As you can see, the proprietor, Joseph Wilson, uses the incentive of free publicity for any chemist who stocks the product. He also appealed to those in the cycle sales and repair trade by offering to print their headed paper free of charge provided he could include a discreet advert. With marketing techniques so focused on what the customer could get out of the deal, it is no surprise that Anti-Stiff soon became well-known enough to get mentions in entertainment magazines such as Punch and Fun.

In May 1891, however, the latter publication didn’t give anyone much fun when it printed an Anti-Stiff joke so dire that it required a cringe-making Bruce Forsyth-style explanation of the punchline:

It should be sold in Turkey, for there there are millions of muscle men (Mussulmen.)

TO SHORT PERSONS.——Anyone (Male or Female) wishing to increase in Height and Symmetry of Figure, by means of a remarkable physiological discovery, may send a stamped directed envelope to Captain F. STAFFORD (U.S.). 1, Church-terrace, Kentish Town, London, N.W.

The Penny Illustrated Post, 15 October 1870

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Some advertisements might make wild claims, but as The Pall Mall Gazette pointed out in 1870, this one technically doesn’t offer anything at all. Short persons may send an S.A.E. if they wish – but there’s no promise that they will receive something in return.

Suspecting that Captain Stafford might be furnishing himself with a lifetime’s supply of penny reds, the P.M.G. investigated further and discovered that this was not the case. Applicants would receive a circular that hinted at a mysterious method of increasing their height. The Captain had made the discovery during his time in active service among the giant races of Patagonia, and had boosted his own stature from 5′ 8” to 6′ 1”. No wonder he wanted to share this wonderful secret with the short people of the world (all they had to do was send him another 5s. 8d.) The Gazette suggested that he would be better off continuing to use the method on himself:

Progressing at the same rate, he would soon be able to earn an honest living as a giant, instead of touting for postage stamps.

The adverts also attracted ridicule from the comic periodicals. Punch clarified that the ‘U.S.’ after the Captain’s name stood for United States, not ‘Under Size’ (and he must be from Long Island, of course). Fun magazine joined the cynicism by predicting that short people sending off their stamp would find themselves shorter – by a penny.

The Spectator, meanwhile, wondered whether the treatment would have the same effect on people of all sizes:

If he is able to gratify the wish of short persons to be of middle height, he must be able to gratify the wish of persons of middle height to be tall, and of tall persons to be relatively taller,—after effecting which we fear that short persons (who appear to be the particular objects of the compassion of Captain Stafford (U. S.) will be very much where they were before.

In 1874 a ‘respectably-dressed‘ young woman attended Marylebone Police Court to complain that she had sent 11 shillings to Captain Stafford for treatment. She received some pills and a pamphlet of advice, but her height had disappointingly remained at 4′ 1”. The magistrate agreed that it sounded like a swindle and granted her a summons, but she didn’t proceed – probably because of the costs involved. The quirkiness of her story, however, attracted the attention of the newspapers and Captain Stafford himself got wind of it. He appeared with his lawyer at the Police Court a few days later, keen make it known that his adverts did not actually promise to make short people tall.

His pamphlet contained some general, sensible tips for healthy living – keeping clean, abstaining from spirits and tobacco, avoiding heavy lifting, having a rest after a hearty meal, and:

In walking, the body should be held erect, the chest thrown forward, and the shoulders kept well back.

There was nothing wrong with advising people to improve their posture, but 11s. was a lot to fork out for such a pearl of wisdom.

Wishing to clear his name, Stafford even offered to pay for his own summons, but as the young woman was long gone, the non-existent case fizzled out. The Captain’s adverts stopped appearing in the newspapers and presumably he moved on to greater heights. 

From The Graphic, 15 Feb 1890

There’s often something a bit fishy about patent remedies, but this one appeared before the advent of canned tuna and, for the average non-sea-going punter, the name did not have the piscatorial associations it has now. A company called Fels and Davis began promoting it in 1879, but by the following year Davis had quietly disappeared from the adverts and the business became Fels and Co.

The remedy was promoted as ‘a strictly vegetable compound’, and its trademark suggests that the vegetable in question was a prickly pear species, which produces edible fruit known as tuna. Given that The Strand is not renowned for its supply of cacti, the product wasn’t necessarily made from real tuna fruit, but it’s odd that the advertising doesn’t go all out to create an exotic background story. Instead, the unique selling point was the free dose offered to anyone who called in person at Savoy House.

From The Graphic, 11 Jan 1890

The experiences of one such caller are set out in a testimonial on an 1879 pamphlet, which is a good example of a proprietor portraying an apparently sceptical customer whose eyes are opened to the wonders of the remedy. The customer, a neuralgia sufferer called J Flynn, starts off thinking of Tuna as ‘only another remedy cracked up by quacks’, and goes to Savoy House purely out of curiosity when he happens to be in the area. After receiving his free dose, he is not convinced, so the Tuna representative gives him another, and still nothing happens. Unable to hang about any longer, J Flynn goes on his way, when the inevitable occurs:

But mark! Before I had gone less than a mile the pain entirely left me, and I have not had the slightest symptoms since, and this was after three weeks’ incessant pain, from which I could barely sleep or eat food.

Flynn goes from writing off Tuna as just another quack potion to viewing it as ‘a godsend to mankind,’ and concludes by thanking Fels and Davis for being ‘extremely kind in curing me and not charging me one halfpenny’. The technique of showing the conversion of sceptic to believer is a common one in patent medicine advertising - here, it’s elegantly combined with a reminder to the reader that there’s absolutely nothing to lose from a visit to Savoy House.

During the next couple of weeks I’m featuring some of the ads that have slipped through the net – either I can’t find out much about them, or I’ve already written about something similar.

The brief British season of thinking it might be nice to play tennis is now coming to an end. The crumbling tarmac of the courts on the local rec succumbs once more to weeds and the old wooden-framed school racket retreats to the back of the wardrobe.

This remaining enthusiast, however, has the advantage of tip-top health thanks to Gamjee’s Oriental Salve – which, in spite of its name, was mainly advertised in the Western Mail. The ‘white swelling’ referred to in the testimonial was tuberculosis of the joints.

GAMJEE’s ORIENTAL SALVE

(As supplied to the Right Hon, W. E. GLADSTONE)

CURES Burns, Sores, Piles, Rheumatism, Paralysis, Lumbago, Stiff Joints, White Swellings, Wens, Hip Disease, Chest and Lung Complaints, &c., &c.

ELIZABETH BLOOD, 28 Newthorpe-st., Nottingham. I suffered for over three years from white swelling. The doctor’s opinion here was that it would be years of ever I was cured. Whilst on a visit to Swansea I was advised to use Gamjee’s Salve. The change for the better was rapid, and in three weeks I walked up the steps of the Midland Station without assistance, although on my arrival I had to be carried. Four boxes completely cured me.—Certified by GEO. BLOOD, M.R.S.

Hundreds of similar cases have been cured.

GAMJEE’S EAST INDIAN PILLS, or Blood Cleansers, thoroughly Purify the Foulest Blood, Cure Indigestion, Bilious or Liver Complaints, Piles, Gravel, Wind, Restore Tone and Vigour to the most weakly constitution, and are the best in the world for all Female Irregularities. Perfectly Herbal and Tasteless.

Everyone who has tried them says they are the

BEST REMEDIES IN THE WORLD

In Boxes at 7½s., 1s 1½d., 2s.3d., 4s. 6d. From ALL CHEMISTS, or Free for the amount (with special instructions, if required) from the Manufacturer, CHAS. MAGGS, 13, Wind-street, Swansea.

Source: The Western Mail, 27 November 1885

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W. E. Gladstone’s patronage of the product might or might not be true, but it foreshadows his portrayal as a political quack in this 1889 cartoon by Tom Merry. Gladstone as the charlatan is promoting the ‘Infallible Home Rule Ointment.’

Courtesy of Wellcome Images

BARRETT’S Mandrake EMBROCATION
CURES {HEADACHE! EARACHE! TOOTHACHE!} INSTANTLY.
Unequalled for Sprains, Bruises, Overstraining of the Muscles, Cramp, Rheumatism, Sciatica, Lumbago, Gout, Neuralgia, Chilblains, Bronchitis. To be had retail of all Chemists, 1s. 1½d., 2s. 9d., and 4s. 6d., postage 3d. extra ; or direct from the Sole Proprietor, JOSHUA BARRETT, 21, Beresford Road, Highbury New Park, London, N. London Wholesale Agents—Messrs. Newberry and Sons, Barclay and Sons, Limited, and all wholesale houses. SPECIAL NOTICE.—For the convenience of those at a distance from Chemists, J.B. Will send Three Bottles, post free, on receipt of 8s. 4½d., stamps or P.O.
To Mr. Joshua Barrett.—Dear Sir,—About twelve months ago, I, in playing football, had the misfortune to break a large muscle of my leg, which prevented my being able to walk, much more to play again. I may say that I have been under no less than three doctors, all of whom have failed to cure me. I was recommended by a fellow athlete to try your MANDRAKE EMBROCATION, and, I am pleased to say, with good result. I am now playing and running again as if nothing had happened. I shall have exceedingly great pleasure in recommending same to my numerous friends. If you like to make use of this, by all means do so.—Yours faithfully, H. G. THOMPSON, Captain, Kent Rovers Football Club, Kent County, and Sydenham Athletic Association.

Source: The Sportsman, 30 March 1889

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Go to a country show, craft fair or exhibition, and chances are you’ll see at least one stall flogging health products that ‘can help with’ whatever happens to be wrong with you.

In the 1880s and 90s, Joshua Barrett used the same method to sell his Mandrake Embrocation and subsidiary products such as Mandrake Liver Powders and Mandrake Tonic. He also seems to have entered the Embrocation for the competitions prevalent at such shows, winning medals and diplomas of honour.

Barrett didn’t advertise much in newspapers, preferring to meet punters in person and give out handbills and free samples. This independence from the press meant that he didn’t need to be based in London, and in the 1890s he relocated to Snaith in Yorkshire – a sensible move bearing in mind he had previously travelled as far afield as Edinburgh to exhibit his product.

The advert above pre-dates the 1889-1890 Russian flu pandemic, and as you can see it makes no mention of influenza. Once outbreaks reached the UK, however, the Embrocation suddenly became ‘Scientifically Proved and Practically Demonstrated’ as a cure. The handbills explained why flu had never been mentioned before:

This remedy has only just been discovered, and the following directions are not with the Thousands of Bottles now in the hands of the appreciative public.

To ward off the early symptoms of flu, one had to

…take a piece of sponge the size of an egg, damp with the Embrocation, and hold it to the open mouth, inhale steadily, then close the mouth, swallow the fumes, and return them through the nostrils: repeat often.

Although an egg-sized piece of sponge was adequate, there was also a special inhaler available – a simple glass tube to hold an embrocation-soaked piece of wadding, and it was cheap at only a shilling. In the more advanced stages of influenza, Barrett also advised rubbing the oil on all achey parts of the body.

The most unusual thing about the Mandrake Embrocation is the absolutely terrifying trademarked logo. This grotesque coalition of man and anatid does not inspire much confidence in the product, but it is certainly eye-catching – and rather appropriate too, as the Russian flu pandemic was an avian strain originating in ducks. The man’s head is supposed to be a likeness of Joshua Barrett himself.

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 Era (London)  Sunday 23 October 1853

Bailey was a respectable supplier of  ”every description of Anatomical, Dissecting, Amputating and Post-Mortem instruments” as well as trusses, support stockings, ear trumpets, railway conveniences (male and female), water beds and chest expanders. His adverts appeared in distinguished publications such as the Lancet as well as in the popular press.

Mr Bailey also made artificial arms, which could be useful for the Venus de Milo here if she should suddenly notice the fact that curvature of the spine is the least of her worries.

Invisible crutches were intended to the keep the shoulders up – the top part fitted under the arms and there was a steel attachment that fixed into the stays. The pictures below show the difference made to the posture by such contraptions i.e. not enough to be worth the effort.

Source: Health and beauty : or, woman and her clothing considered in relation to the physiological laws of the human body, Caplin 1864