Wednesday, 10 September 2014

Amusing Extracts from The Comic Bradshaw and other Peculiar Railway Stories

Amusing Extracts from The Comic Bradshaw and other Peculiar Railway Stories


While editing our title TheRailway Age by Cyril Bruyn Andrews I was rather puzzled by this illustration, taken from The Comic Bradshaw of 1848, as our author provides no context for the cartoon. I hunted down a copy of The Comic Bradshaw and discovered that the illustration relates to a section entitled ‘Remarkable Phenomenon in Second Class Carriages’. It reads as follows:

It is a curious fact in connexion with the wood used in the construction of second-class carriages, that the further you travel the harder, and tougher, the rougher, and knottier do the seats become. At first they seem smooth enough, - in fact handsome, polished planes. In about thirty miles, they get nutmeg-graterish on the surface; by fifty, lumps be­gin to grow out of them; by seventy, the lumps are sharper; and ere the hundred be completed, you would exchange your throne for an arm-chair full of broken bottles.

The following diagrams will give a notion of the odd phenomenon we have endeavoured to describe.


The portraits beneath [i.e. the ones at the start of this post] show the changes, correspond­ing to the degree of discomfort of the seat, produced on the countenance of the gentleman who sits on it.

Several illustrations in The Railway Age are taken from The Comic Bradshaw but Mr Andrews has not included some of the most peculiar sections of this very odd little publication. For instance, there is the following strange prediction of events a hundred years hence (i.e. hence from 1848!):

OUR PROPHET AGAIN.
This invaluable gentleman has again been, in Campbell's phrase, sending his spirit, like one of the new street-cleaning machines, to
"¾sweep
Adown the gulf of Time."

The following is one of the scraps which the mental broom in question has brushed up from the highway of posterity. It is an extract from the Times of the 1st of April, 1948

“RAILWAY ACCIDENT.

“Some surprise, and not a little uneasiness, was created yesterday, at the Mesopotamia Station of the United Grand Junction European, African, Asian, American, and Ponder's-end Railway, by the non-arrival of the slow train, due at twelve o’clock. Half­-a-dozen policemen were, in consequence, dispatched up the line per the new patent passenger electric telegraph, and the cause of delay was ascertained to be as follows. It appears that the train was proceeding cautiously round a rather sharp curve, at a rate of not more than three hundred miles an hour, when the breathing apparatus of the driver ¾ a steady man, who has been for some years in the Company's service ¾ gave way, and he was, of course, immediately suffocated; ¾ not, however, before he had managed to stop and reverse the engine. The injudicious effects of this last step were, however, soon apparent; for the train, as might have been expected, started backwards at rather a fast rate of 700 or 800 miles an hour ¾ the passengers being in a state of considerable alarm. Fortunately, the accident was observed from one of the new line of patent safety balloons, which, in company with a couple of ordinary hack flying machines, gave chase, and having flung their grapnels at the speeding engine, managed gradually to stop its career. The unfortunate engine man was then attended to, and being promptly conveyed to the Galvanic and Electro-magnetic Hos­pital for the cure of complaints of the respiratory organs, he was skilfully unsuffocated by the house­-surgeon; and after a short delay, was providentially enabled to resume his place upon the locomotive, and conduct the train to its destination. No blame attaches to any of the officials of the Company."

This extract is both amusing in its predictions of the world in 1948 and also interesting because it repeats (perhaps facetiously) the myth that circulated in the early days of train travel that travelling at speed would render people either unconscious or dead!

Our title The Railway Age also includes several engaging and amusing railway stories (for more details visit www.wordstothewise.co.uk. There is, for example, the story of the fire at New Cross in 1841. While the fire itself was not funny, its cause was most peculiar:

The disastrous fire was made all the more thrilling as it broke out at the exact moment when Louis Philippe’s train was announced ready to take him to Dover. The King of the French had to walk over hose pipes and through a scene of great disturbance. The flames, only 100 feet from the railway carriage window from which the King watched them, were reflected in the helmets of the soldiers drawn up as a guard of honour, and the combined noise of those who were fighting the flames and those who were cheering the King was terrific. It was difficult at a moment when the King was arriving and departing to ascertain the cause of the fire, but it was afterwards found to be the spontaneous ignition of some vegetable stowed in a paint room.

Another example is the description of a terrified vicar:

One dark night in the year 1784, the venerable Vicar of Redruth, in Cornwall, was taking a quiet walk in a lonely lane leading to his church. Suddenly he heard an unearthly noise, and to his horror, he saw approaching him an indescribable creature of legs, arms, and wheels, whose body appeared to be glowing with internal fire, and whose rapid gasps for breath seemed to denote a fierce struggle for existence. The vicar’s cries for help brought to his assistance a gentleman of the name of Murdoch, who was able to assure him that this terrible apparition was not an incarnation, or a messenger of the Evil One, but only a runaway engine that had escaped from control.

The Railway Age is full of similar accounts of events, personal reactions, poetry, songs and other reflections on the early days of the railway. As such it provides a fascinating window on how everyday life and ordinary people were affected by the dramatic changes that came with the advent of rail travel.

The Comic Bradshaw includes a list of railway jokes that were venerable in 1848 and are therefore so old now that they have whiskers! Unlike rail travel itself, rail humour has not travelled well down the decades. Thus, I began with a joke about a sore behind and I end on some more sore points that will surely elicit a groan:

LIST OF THE PROCLAIMED JOKES.
Nobody is henceforth permitted to say­
1. That an elderly gentleman connected with rail­roads is a Railway Buffer.
2. Nor, that a locomotive is like a policeman ­because it takes people up to the Station.
3. Nor, that a slow train followed by a quick one is like the letter W - because the X presses on behind.
4. Nor, that a partizan of the Great Western line is like a stout exciseman - because he is a broad-gauger.
5. Nor, that a man with a levelling instrument must be a great wag - for he can take a rise out of anything.
6. *Nor, that the wheels upon railways are lubricated with train oil.
*To encourage merit, anyone who laughs at this joke may apply for half-a-crown to the Publisher.
7. Nor, that railroads intended for the conveyance of luggage are therefore to be caned trunk lines.
8. Nor, that the boilers of express engines are supplied with brandy and water.

My favourite railway story comes from the days of the old ‘slam-door’ carriages and before carriage doors were centrally-locked. A bowler-hatted business man was fast asleep in a compartment filled with other passengers. The train stopped unexpectedly between stations. The business man woke up suddenly and, thinking the train was at his station, he leapt up, opened the door and fell on to the track. Obviously a bit disoriented he wandered up and down for a bit (just his bowler hat was visible to the other passengers through the window) and then, realising his supposed mistake, he scrambled back into the carriage, said ‘Silly Me!’, crossed the carriage, opened the opposite door and fell onto the track on the other side of the train.

What is your favourite railway joke or funny story? Do let us know (clean jokes and stories only please!).


Our second-class passenger – clearly at the start of his journey on his hard wooden seat!

Wednesday, 3 September 2014

Five Cider-making Facts You May Not Know and a Recipe for Dorset Apple Cake

For me there is little better for wellbeing than an apple orchard. The Dorset village in which I grew up was surrounded by cider apple orchards in the 1860s. Cider instead of beer was the staple drink, though this was probably a thin cider, a bit like the small beer that was drunk elsewhere in the country. In the 1800s village labourers were paid 2/6d a day and given 12 pints of cider (yes, really, 12 pints a day!). Our village had its own special cider apple variety – the Golden Ball – which was a dual purpose apple (for cider and for cooking). Other local varieties with lovely old names included the Tom Putt, Buttery Door, Fillbarrel, Kings Favourite and Symes Seedling. I think it may have been the Golden Ball variety of apple tree that grew in our back garden – the tree with the treehouse in it where I used to lie in spring looking up through the apple blossom at the blue sky, while being gently rocked by a breeze through the branches.
When I was a child we used to buy cider from the cider farm just down the road. The press was in the barn behind the orchard and we had to dodge the scary geese when we went looking for the farmer who made the cider. The cider was drawn off from large wooden barrels. Our family liked two parts bitter to one part sweet cider mixed together in a large plastic container. I loved visiting the cider press – mysterious in the gloomy barn, it was redolent of acidic apple pulp and cider-making alchemy. The cider was strong stuff – very alcoholic, still rather than fizzy, not quite clear but not cloudy either, and almost chewy it was so full of flavour. Perfect with cheese, I think it is the only thing to drink with a ploughman’s lunch.
In fact, I was more likely to drink it with a haymaker’s lunch when I helped out with the haymaking on the local farms. The flagon of cider was placed on a hay bale in the centre of the field and we used to work our way round and round, loading hay bales on to the trailer (sadly pulled by a tractor rather than horses – I’m not that old!), until we finished up in the middle and were allowed to drink the cider as a reward. We then scrambled up the side of the bales to the top of the stack on the trailer and rode back to the farm on top of the hay, quite drunk from the cider, sleepy and sunburnt from a day hauling bales.
Cider supports wellbeing in other ways. Devon and Dorset sailors fared far better on long sea voyages in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries because they took cider with them rather than beer. The cider contained Vitamin C, which protected them against the ravages of scurvy. This is probably why ships manned by Devon men made it across the Atlantic to colonise America. Captain Cook also carried cider on his ships to treat his crew for scurvy.
As well as cider, sour apples were used to make verjuice. Before lemons were widely used in cooking, verjuice provided a subtle acidity in many recipes (it is about half as acidic as lemon juice) and it was probably the predecessor of apple cider vinegar. It differs from vinegar in that it doesn’t need fermentation or barrel ageing, so it is quick to make and ready to use straight away. However, it can’t be stored for as long as vinegar.
As far as cider vinegar is concerned, the health benefits claimed for it these days are many and various. Combined with honey it helps with arthritis, taken regularly it soothes acid reflux and the acetic acid it contains acts as an antimicrobial and a preservative.
However, regular cider drinking in the eighteenth century was not without its dangers. In addition to cider-drinker’s nose, there was the risk of Devon Colic. This painful condition was originally thought to have been caused by drinking too much new cider. However, in the nineteenth century, research demonstrated that Devon Colic was actually lead poisoning. Cider makers sometimes lined their presses with lead, the pipes used to move the cider from press to containers were often made of lead and some cider makers even put lead shot into their cider as a preservative. Once lead was removed from the cider-making equipment and processes, Devon Colic almost disappeared. However, there was a surprising return of the colic in the 1970s (as reported in the New Scientist) when cider-making became trendy again and some people made cider using the old lead-lined presses.
And the story that Dorset cider makers put a rat in the cider barrels to add ‘body’ or to speed up the fermentation? Well, that is probably a myth – but there were lots of rats in cider barns and they loved eating the apples, so perhaps a few did end up in the cider - but only by accident!
Our Mrs Beeton’s Jam-making and Preserves title includes information on making cider in the chapter on home-made wines and fruit syrups. There is also a recipe for apple wine, made by adding sugar to cider, as well as a recipe for raisin wine that is also based on cider, and 12 other recipes for apple-based preserves.
Here is my recipe for Dorset Apple Cake. This recipe gives a stodgy result – don’t expect a light and fluffy sponge. This is a filling cake to be eaten by, say, apple pickers after working hard in the orchard. It is lovely eaten warm with some cream as a dessert.
Ingredients:
Plain flour – 8 oz. / 227 gms
Baking powder – 2 teaspoons / 10 gms
Butter (I use ordinary salted butter) – 4 oz. / 114 gms
Caster sugar – 4 oz. / 114 gms
Currants – 2 oz. / 56 gms
Medium-sharp apples (Bramley is fine but other cooking apples are good too) – 3 or ¾ lb / 340 gms (when cut up but not cored)
Milk – 5-6 tablespoons / 70-80 ml to mix.

Method:
Sieve the flour and baking powder together into a mixing bowl. Rub in the butter and stir in the sugar and the currants. Peel, quarter, core and chop the apples fairly finely and add to the mixture. Using a fork, stir in enough milk to make a stiff dough. Grease and line an 8-inch / 20 cm round and deep cake tin. Spoon the mixture into the tin and spread evenly. I sprinkle some granulated sugar on top of the mixture to create a crunchy crust. Bake in a moderately hot oven (375° F / 190° C / gas mark 5 for about 30 minutes. Then turn the oven down to 300° F / 150° C / gas mark 2 for a further hour. Remove from the oven when done and allow to cool. Have a cup of tea!