Category Archives: plague

November 23, 2020 · 7:33 pm

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose

I have just been looking through a collection of extracts from newspapers and other sources for the years 1774 to 6.

Does any of this sound familiar?

The Public Advertiser, Friday, November 3rd. 1775

The present violent Cold and Cough, with which all ranks of people are more or less afflicted, is equally dangerous as general. Thousands are confined to their beds by it; many have lost their speech by it, and one Weston, a broker on Saffron hill, has totally lost his hearing by it.

There is thought not to be a single family in London of which one or more are not affected with a violent cold. The physical people attribute this disorder to a noxious quality in the air; and ’tis observed the same person does not catch it twice.

Supposing the disease was spread by bad air, experiments were made;

The Public Advertiser, Saturday, November 4th.

The malignancy of the air was tried on Thursday morning last in the Spa fields by fixing a piece of raw meat to the tail of a paper-kite, which (after being suspended about forty minutes) came down quite putrefied, and in one part nearly perforated.

The pestilence also affected the arts;

The Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser Tuesday, November 7th.

The desertion of the theatres in consequence of the disease with which so many are afflicted, has been productive of one agreeable effect, that of bringing Mr. Garrick forward in Benedict much earlier than was expected. It cannot be matter of surprise that Roscius should have escaped the infection, as his spirits and constitution seems proof against the attacks of age itself; after above thirty campaigns, his ardour and execution appears rather to increase. Last night he supported the character with undiminished excellence, and in the speech where he meditates, and then resolves on marriage, he soared beyond himself.

People seemed to have happily congregated, spreading the pestilence to the profit of the doctors. Some people thought that doctor’s treatments were very ineffective (which they probably were) and self-medicated.

V0042009 The dance of death: the apothecary. Coloured aquatint by T.

George Cumberland, letter to his brother Richard, Friday, November 10th.

At the play. Garrick acted and the house was so full you could not have thrust your little finger in, notwithstanding [the] “plague” sweeps us away by dozens…. Everybody has had cold, and many violent ones too. . . . The sons of Galen have made a harvest of it, and much human blood has been spilt every hour . . . but with the assistance of black currant jelly, warm broth for dinner, egg wine at night, joined to abstinence from malt liquor, I have as nearly got the better of as violent a cold and sore throat as most have had, – a cold . . . that would have produced an apothecary five pounds with good management ….

At least this treatment wouldn’t do any harm!

Reading on in the collection, as today, there were problems with some of the American colonies, but only one case of voter fraud.

The Annual Register, Tuesday, September 17th 1776

At this sessions a gentleman was tried for perjury, in polling twice for Mr. Wilkes at the late election; but it appearing that what he did was the effect of an habitual intoxication or rather permanent stupidity thereby produced, he was acquitted.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, as the saying goes.

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March 29, 2020 · 8:30 pm

Welcome at Last

A brick smashed through the window, glass fell on the praying sisters.
“Why do we stay, Mother?” Asked one of the newly founded Anglican Order of Sisters. “No one seems to want us.”
Then – Cholera.
No one knew how it spread, people fled and the rest died alone, no one helped – until the sisters took charge.
They cared for the dying, comforted the living, and became beloved by the people of Plymouth.
A little later a small women came and asked.
“Can you help me? I desperately need nurses.”
The Mother Superior smiled “Of course we can – Miss Nightingale.”

A terrible, wonderful and true tale.

In the 1840’s a High Anglican order of nuns faced massive abuse, encouraged by Evangelical Anglicans, when they established a house in Plymouth. Until there was an outbreak of cholera, in which hundreds died. There was little help for the poor, apart from the nursing care of the sisters. After this they were understandably regarded as heroines.

A few years after this Florence Nightingale asked the nursing sisters to join her in the Crimea, where they formed the core of the nurses in her hospital at Scutari.

This in response to this weeks Flash Fiction Challenge from the Carrot Ranch

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Filed under Historical tales, plague, Victorian

March 24, 2020 · 10:38 pm

Our Fathers of Old – An Old Poem for Our Times

One of my favourite Kipling poems, and very apt for these troubled times.

Excellent herbs had our fathers of old–
Excellent herbs to ease their pain–
Alexanders and Marigold,
Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane–
Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,
(Almost singing themselves they run)
Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you–
Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.
Anything green that grew out of the mould
Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

Wonderful tales had our fathers of old,
Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars-
The Sun was Lord of the Marigold,
Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.
Pat as a sum in division it goes–
(Every herb had a planet bespoke)–
Who but Venus should govern the Rose?
Who but Jupiter own the Oak?
Simply and gravely the facts are told
In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

Wonderful little, when all is said,
Wonderful little our fathers knew.
Half their remedies cured you dead–
Most of their teaching was quite untrue–
“Look at the stars when a patient is ill.
(Dirt has nothing to do with disease),
Bleed and blister as much as you will,
Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.”
Whence enormous and manifold
Errors were made by our fathers of old.

Yet when the sickness was sore in the land,
And neither planets nor herbs assuaged,
They took their lives in their lancet-hand
And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!
Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door-
(Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled!)
Excellent courage our fathers bore–
None too learned, but nobly bold
Into the fight went our fathers of old.

If it be certain, as Galen says–
And sage Hippocrates holds as much–
“That those afflicted by doubts and dismays
Are mightily helped by a dead man’s touch,”
Then, be good to us, stars above!
Then, be good to us, herbs below!
We are afflicted by what we can prove,
We are distracted by what we know.
So-ah, so!
Down from your heaven or up from your mould
Send us the hearts of our Fathers of old!

Our Ancestors got it right – As usual

As the pestilence sweeps the land, there are several things we have been advised to do to keep ourselves safe.

But, of course, our ancestors got there first.

Greetings

‘We shouldn’t touch each other when greeting.’

This was usually taught at an early age

But you were never too old to learn

Social distancing.

Men were taught to do this.

Whilst women’s clothes were designed to encourage this.

They could also help if a man didn’t abide by the rules.

Whilst leaving plenty of space for fresh air and exercise.

Protective clothing

But above all spend your time productively. Shakespeare once self-isolated to protect himself from the plague. He took the opportunity to write King Lear!

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Filed under Georgian, Historical Reconstructions, plague