Easters Ago

As the Northern Hemisphere explodes with green life, let’s take a look back at rebirth celebrations of yesteryear.

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A beautiful early Easter image, probably 1890s.
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The 1898 5th Avenue Easter Parade, New York City, New York. Courtesy Wikimedia Commons.
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Children at the 1898 White House Easter Egg Roll. Courtesy Library of Congress.
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An early 1930s Norwegian Easter postcard. Courtesy National Library of Norway.
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All dressed up as rabbits, circa 1935. Photo courtesy simpleinsomnia.
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Two happy boys, one sketchy Rabbit, circa 1940.
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An eggsplosive early 1950s Easter bonnet.
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A happy Easter morn in the mid-1950s.
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The Easter Bunny has struck and these kids couldn’t be more pleased. Circa 1960.
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The Kennedy family celebrates Easter at the Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., Residence in Palm Beach, 14 April, 1963. Courtesy Library of Congress.
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A Polaroid of Easter finery, 1967.
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My sister and I in our Easter best, Annandale, Virginia, circa 1968.
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Children meet the Easter Bunny at the White House, 1975. Courtesy National Archives.

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The First Photographed Frostie

Last week, a storm brought 10 inches of snow to Western Maryland and turned my mind to snowmen of old.

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A woman builds a snowman whilst a man shovels snow. Courtesy National Museum of Wales.

In all probabilty, humans have sculpted snowmen for millenia. In 2007, Bob Eckstein, the author of The History of the Snowman: From the Ice Age to the Flea Market, told NPR that in writing his book, “I wanted to make it clear that snowman-making actually was a form of folk art. Man was making folk art like this for ages, and…maybe it’s one of man’s oldest forms of art…. [T]he further back you go, you find that people were really fascinated with snowmen.”

Eckstein says that building snowmen was “a very popular activity in the Middle Ages…after a snow came down and dumped all these free-art supplies in front of everyone’s house.” The earliest known representation of a snowman dates to that era, drawn in a 1380 A.D. Book of Hours. A century later, in 1494, Michelangelo was commissioned by Piero di Lorenzo de’ Medici, the Gran Maestro of Florence, to practice his art with snow. According to art historian Giorgio Vasari, “de’ Medici had him make in his courtyard a statue of snow, which was very beautiful.” Sadly, no one drew it for posterity.

In 1510, a Florentine apothecary, Lucas Landucci confided in his diary that he had seen “a number of the most beautiful snow-lions, as well as many nude figures…made also by good masters.” Another notable snowmen outbreak occurred just a year later, when folk in Brussels built more than 100 of them “in a public art installation known as the Miracle of 1511,” notes Atlas Obscura. “Their snowmen embodied a dissatisfaction with the political climate, not to mention the six weeks of below-freezing weather. The Belgians rendered their anxieties into tangible, life-like models: a defecating demon, a humiliated king, and womenfolk getting buggered six ways to Sunday. Besides your typical sexually graphic and politically riled caricatures, the Belgian snowmen, Eckstein discovered, were often parodies of folklore figures, such as mermaids, unicorns, and village idiots.”

On a sunny day in the winter of 1853/1854, early female photographer Mary Dillman Welby, then aged 37 and sister of the better-known photographer John Llewelyn Dillwyn of Penlle’r-gaer, Swansea, Wales, United Kingdom, captured the collodion glass-plate image seen at the top of this page. Hidden away in the National Museum of Wales, it was rediscovered by an historian researching extreme weather images who recognized it for what it was—the first photographed Frostie. Ω

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In 1913, Dutch Queen Wilhemina and her heir, Princess Juliana, were sculpted from snow by a band of her subjects. Courtesy Nationaal Archief Nederlands.
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Three British children and their snowman in the early years of the 20th Century. Courtesy Beamish Living Museum of the North.
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Children gaze at their snow creation.
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A patriotic snowman on an American Street, probably New York City.
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One half of a stereoview card “Delights of Childhood Days–our pets and the snowman.” Underwood & Underwood, 1902.
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Edwardians in a winter wonderland with their top-hatted snow fellow.
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Sometime in the 1940s, Reggie Babbage, Denys Bryant, and Jean Babbage built a wee snowman at Shute Hill, Breage, Helston, Cornwall.
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British kids caught in mid-creation sometime in the 1940s.

Beautiful, Bountiful Buttons

Gentle Readers, your Humble Proprietress is recovering from surgery and so shall share photographic images of antique and vintage buttons in lieu of a lengthy article.

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Metal and glass buttons from the Victorian and Edwardian eras.

Of buttons, Collector’s Weekly writes, “As long as human beings have needed to keep their clothing fastened, buttons have been there to do the work.” Buttons may be utilitarian, however, even well into the era of mass production, they were made to be reused on the garments of succeeding generations, resulting in little works of art that please collectors’s eyes today.

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A small Victorian carved Mother of Pearl button featuring a steel-cut lizard, probably dating to the mid-1800s.

Many still recall our grandmothers’ button jars or boxes filled with delightful miniature wonders of carved shell, shiny metal augmented with brilliant cut-steel embellishments, luminous glass, light and fancifully shaped celluloid, and bakelite of eye-watering colors. I was born in 1963, my father in 1928, and my father’s mother in 1891. Some of my earliest memories are of Nanny, as I called her, sewing on a black Singer treadle machine richly decorated with Victorian gothic revival red and gold designs. As Nanny pumped the ornate foot panel in a soothing rhythm, I played in a pool of buttons scooped from the sewing machine’s cabinet drawers. I remember, especially, bakelite raspberries, as tart red as the real fruits, and a large navy blue button shaped like a bundle of roses. I have recently obtained a white version, seen below.

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An unusual celluloid button, probably from the mid-1930s.

I’m especially fond of celluloid, a composition plastic made of cellulose dinitrate blended with pigments, fillers, camphor, and alcohol, that was invented in the mid-1800s and meant to mimic ivory. In some colors, it produces a soft, comforting glow when illuminated, rather like a glass of apple juice or beer.

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These luminous celluloid buttons tentatively date to the 1910s.
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Celluloid wafer buttons with complex Art Deco designs, circa late 1920s.
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Air-puffed and other celluloid buttons from the 1920s and 1930s.

And then there are the metal picture buttons. Oh my.

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A tiny steam train passes under a castle-bearing bridge. Tinned brass, mid-1800s.
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A trippy owl in a starry sky. Tinned brass and with cut-steel embellishments, late 1800s.
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An Italian villa, probably mid-1800s.

I’ll close with a few more interesting examples.

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A domed brass chatelaine button, 1890s.
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Carved shell and Mother of Pearl buttons, all 19th century.
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A Victorian perfume button. Ladies applied their favorite scents to these cloth-backed buttons, rather than chance marring their clothing with perfume stains.

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All buttons from my modest collection.

Funeral Fragments

“When old Francis died in 1913, Dad sent him off in a hearse pulled by four black horses followed by mutes carrying ostrich feather wands and a procession of friends and family in the deepest mourning possible.”—Barbara Nadel

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An invitation to the funeral of Ruth Evelyn Cooper, who died of pneumonia in the aftermath of influenza. She was one of upwards of 50 million people whose deaths were associated with the 1918 influenza pandemic. Ruth was born 21 June, 1898; she was the daughter of mail carrier George F. and Clara Good Cooper of Murrell, Ephrata Township, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
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This glass slide captures one moment in the lengthy funeral proceedings of Queen Victoria, as her coffin wended its way through London, 2 February, 1901. The slide is unmarked save for the handwritten inscription, “The Queen’s Coffin.” It does not appear to be part of a commercial set and may be a personal remembrance of the day taken by someone in the crowd. (Note the two boys looking down on the passing procession from the high wall on the right.)
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This photo shows ephemera from the funeral of Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (1 May 1769–14 Sept., 1852). It resides in the museum of Carisbrooke Castle, Isle of Wight, England. The duke was beloved for leading the defeat of Napoleon’s forces at Waterloo, 18 June, 1818. He went on to become a prime minister and is still considered to be one of Great Britain’s chiefest politicians. The handwritten note reads: “Relics of the Funeral of the late Duke of Wellington. No.1 Silver lace from the car. 2. Cloth from the Hall. 3. Silver Tissue from the Canopy. 4. Tape from the Canopy, Chelsea Hospital. 5. Autograph of the late Duke, Nov. 1852.”
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This circa-1905 albumen print captures a wintertime military funeral procession in Newport News, Virginia. It’s possible that it was headed to Hampton National Cemetery for a veteran’s burial. Behind the hearse bearing an American flag-draped casket are mourners on foot, as well as a long procession of carriages and early automobiles.
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On 11 October, 1918, a public funeral was held in Belfast, Ireland, for twelve American soldiers, victims of the Otranto disaster, and men who died from pneumonia after being landed in Ireland from a troop ship. During the march through the city from the Victoria Barracks to the City Cemetery, the coffins rode on open hearses, with a guard of honor composed of British soldiers. Glass plate image courtesy Library of Congress.
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This is one-half of a stereoview card labeled, “The cortage leaving the White House, President McKinley’s funeral, Sept. 17, 1901, Washington, DC. Underwood & Underwood, Publisher, New York, London, Toronto, Canada, Ottawa, Kansas.” William McKinley was the 25th president of the United States, serving from 4 March, 1897, until his assassination on 14 September, 1901, six months into his second term.
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Even when I was a child in the 1960s, it was still considered important to photograph the funeral floral arrangements sent by loved ones. In this albumen cabinet card, circa 1885, we see flowers and a sheaf of wheat in tribute to “Our Friend” Celia. The sheaf indicates that Celia died in old age.
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My father, James Arthur Longmore, took this black-and-white photograph at Arlington National Cemetery in the aftermath of the funeral of John F. Kennedy, 25 November, 1963. My parents were among the thousands who lined the procession’s route. I was with them in my pram, aged five months. My father held me up as the caisson carrying the president’s coffin passed so that I “could see history occurring,” he said. This picture is from later in day, after the grave had been covered and the site was open to grieving citizens.
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The bill for the 1949 funeral and burial of Mrs. Roush. The total fee was $234.75, including $150 for embalming, $12.95 for a burial dress, and $12 for an ambulance that presumably transported the body from the family home to the embalmer.
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In the wake of the funeral, this memorial shadow box may have been filled with cloth flowers to symbolize the floral tributes at this unknown decedent’s grave, as well as the hope of her eternal youth in Heaven. Courtesy Jack and Beverly Wilgus Collection.

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Unless otherwise noted, all images from the Ann Longmore-Etheridge Collection.

New Year’s Eve: Roaring End, Rowdy Beginning

New Year’s Eve was celebrated on 31 December for the first time in 45 B.C. when the Julian calendar came into effect.

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New Year’s Eve in the 19th Century was as jolly and booze-fueled as it is in the 21st. Here, Baby New Year 1838, the first born of the reign of young Queen Victoria, enters stage right as the black-draped old woman of 1837 departs stage left, taking with her the Georgian Era.
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This New Year’s Eve party had it goin’ on. Conga lines—usually drunken Conga lines—became popular in the 1930s and remained so right through the 1950s. The Conga was originally a Cuban Carnival dance.
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Nothing says Swinging ’60s New Year’s Eve like bullet-bra and hot-pants-wearing  go-go dancers workin’ it in a giant glass of champagne.
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And nothing says white middle-class respectability like a well-coiffed matron swilling champagne from a bottle whilst standing under a crucifix. Kodachrome, circa 1958.
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No one did parties like Edwardians did parties and Edwardians did party hardy.  This photo preserves one New Year’s Eve during the Gilded Age, circa 1905.
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A high-frolic and uber-booze New Year’s Eve sometime in the late 1940s.
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Meanwhile, in New York’s Time Square, cone-hat wearing paper-horn blowers signaled midnight.
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The origins of Baby New Year go back as far as the ancient Greeks, but the rather unfortunate personifications at parties began when the Saturday Evening Post published Baby New Year covers. This diapered gentlemen attempted to be the life of the party on New Year’s Eve 1954.
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Some sincerely spooky Mummers paraded through Philadelphia on a cold New Year’s Day, 1909. Real photo postcard.
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Times Square packed with crowds in 1954. Celebrations had occurred there as early as 1904. The ball dropping tradition began two years later, in 1906.
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These swingers celebrated New Year’s Eve in a hot tub during the mid 1970s.
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No one did parties like Edwardians did parties and Edwardians did party hardy, redux. This jovial crowd assembled at Restaurant Martin on New Year’s Eve 1906.
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This woman poured champagne for her besties whilst standing on the dining room table. As one does. Circa 1930.
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Whoopin’ it up with the grandparents. Kodachrome slide, circa 1960.
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Dude in the front row was cut off immediately after this picture was taken. Kodchrome slide, mid-1950s.

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Happy New Year, Gentle Readers. Thank you for following me on this journey this far. Leave a comment, if you can. It is always deeply appreciated. And heed Benjamin Franklin, who advised, “Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man.”

LOL Cats of Yore

Long before Internet memes, the obsession with yowling, murderous, disdainful, aloof, and weirdly adorable felines produced trade cards that are still collected today.

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Adored today, cats were just as freakishly lovable to Victorians, as is proven by this circa-1890 blank advertising trade card.
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“Ha! Tis He. The Maltese. Me rival.” Remember the old saying, “Don’t forget to put the cat out”? There were once many more domestic felines who roamed the night, yodeling for love, murdering small animals, and creating loud mayhem when territorially challenged. This circa 1881 trade card was for Allen’s Lung Balsam, “For the cure of all affections of the lungs, throat and chest, such as consumption, colds, coughs, asthma, bronchitis, croup, whooping cough, pain or oppression of the chest, hoarseness, spitting of blood and all pulmonary diseases.” Drawn by A. B. Seeley. William H. Helfand Trade Card Collection.
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“Fair moon to thee I sing, Prithee all good fortune bring.” Here, the family cat was indeed put out for the night, with the implication that the sleepless family wished they’d done otherwise. Circa 1910.
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“Did you see me get the best of him?” Meeting the Maltese mentioned above inevitably led to this at the door come morning, waiting to be let in for a saucer of milk. Circa-1881 trade card for Gray Brothers Boots and Shoes, 56 Main Street, Galesburg, Illinois.
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Because it’s all fun and games until Fluffy, Jr., takes out the floral trumpet epergne. “Compliments of Beard & Allen, choice Family Groceries, 5 Arsenal Street.” There are multiple variations of this trading card, all showing cats engaged in acrobatics dangerous to the Victorian horror vacui . Illustration by Helena McGuire, circa 1880.
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“Tommy Dodd, Awarded 1st Prize at International Cat Show for Sweet Childlike Expression.” I have no clue what “H. R. Knight, dealer of stoves, new and second hand furniture, also furniture repaired, sign and banner painting” of Grand Rapids, Michigan, thought this would do for his business, but I did suss out some the card’s possible meanings from an internet researcher: “[T]he slang phrase Tommy Dodd turned up many meanings, some related and some clearly not: … odd or peculiar; a cemetery may be known as Tommy Dodd’s garden; thank Tommy Dodd for this or that; a phrase related to coin tossing (mid 19th century) as in tossing odds; penis; sodomite; a style of hat; a glass of beer or a walking stick. The coin-tossing allusion is the one most frequently sited and referred to. It appears that there were numerous beer hall songs devoted to Tommy Dodd and below is the chorus to one I was able to find … : ‘I’m always safe when I begin. Tommy Dodd, Tommy Dodd Glasses round, cigars as well, Tommy Dodd. Tommy Dodd, Now, my boys, let’s all go in, Tommy Dodd, Tommy Dodd, Head or tail, I’m safe to win, Hurrah for Tommy Dodd!'”
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And finally, a cat praised as the all-powerful being it was. French, circa-1915 trade card for the soap Le Chat Savon Extra. Hail, kitteh overlords, and yes, you can haz cheeseburger.

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