Bags of Mystery

BAGS OF MYSTERY

More suspicious slang from 'Passing English of the Victorian Era', a dictionary which I suspect is not entirely to be trusted. The list of different types of Victorian beard is quite good, mind you:

Bags o' Mystery. (Peoples'). A satirical term for sausages, because no man but the maker knows what is in them.
     'If they're going to keep running-in polony fencers for putting rotten gee-gee into the bags of mystery, I hope they won't leave fried-fish-pushers alone.'
     This term took its rise about 1850, long before the present system of market-inspection was organised. But this term remained long after sausages were fairly wholesome. The 'bag' refers to the gut which contained the chopped meat.

irrelevant image shamelessly snatched from folksy.com

Balaclava (1856-60). A full beard, first seen upon the faces of the English army upon their return to England from Crimea. The new departure was instantly dubbed with the name of the most popular of the three great battles (Alma, Balaclava, Inkermann), the name probably being chosen by reason of the brilliancy of the charge of the Light Brigade. French writers who had visited the Great Exhibition of 1851, and who had been struck by the absolute absence of the moustache (except in the case of some military men), and the utter absence of the beard, without exception, were astonished upon return visits half-a-dozen years afterwards, to find Englishmen were bearded like the pard. Britons upon the principle of reaction always going the whole hog, grew all the hair they could, and the mere moustache of Frenchmen was nowhere in the fight. Interestingly enough, exactly as the wild, unkempt beard of 'The Terror ' dwindled into the moustache for the young, and the cotelette (mutton-chop) for the elderly, so the Balaclava (which abated the razor, as a daily protesting sacrifice to anti-gallicanism) toned down by '70, into the various beards of to-day the Peaked, the Spade, the Square, and other varieties of Tudor beards. These remained until the Flange, or Dundreary (see 1872-73),came in and cleared the chin, to be followed by the Scraper. To-day the 'York' prevails the short, pointed beard still worn by the Prince of Wales.

Banbury (London, 1894). One of the more recent shapes of 'jam', 'biscuit', 'cake', 'confectionery', 'tart' (qq.v.) a loose woman.
     Witness took several names and addresses, and some of the females described themselves as 'Banburys'; and said they got their living as best they could. — Raid on the Gardenia Club, The People, 4th February 1894.

Some Other Ideas

SOME OTHER IDEAS

A new blog launched yesterday, containing random bits of stuff from my strangely uninteresting life ... some other ideas.

Limp

LIMP

You've got to love any dictionary of slang that includes:

Alexandra Limp* (Soc., ab. 1872). An affected manner of walking seen for several years amongst women. Said to have been imitated from the temporary mode in which the then Princess of Wales walked after some trouble with a knee. (See Buxton Limp, Grecian Bend, Roman Fall.)

It's from Passing English of the Victorian Era by J. Redding Ware which I'm thinking about digitising properly (as the pdf is fine, but the text version is a mess).

I've only done the 'A' section so far. I also like:

Academic Nudity* (Oxford). Appearance in public without cap or gown.

[*not pictured ;-) ]

Mord Em'ly

MORD EM'LY

Pardon? you may well say. Well, Mord Em'ly (Maud Emily as she is known to the authorities) is one of the great unsung heroines (anti-heroines?) of Victorian fiction [and also the answer to the question I set in the previous post]. She appears in the novel Mord Em'ly by William Pett Ridge (1901) - a writer who rather specialised in teenage slum characters at the end of the 1890s.

A street-girl from Walworth (Elephant and Castle), we first see her involved in a girl-gang fight. She is both sarcastic, resourceful, aggressive, argumentative, a victim of her upbringing and yet a marvellous product of the slums ... ok, I'll stop the list, but she's a brilliant character. If you think that snappy witty females are a modern innovation, or possibly go back to the screwball comedies of the 1930s, then think again. This one's thoroughly Victorian. In fact, I think I'm in love. Here's how she deals with a young policeman who looks like he's going to arrest her:

    "Never merried that gel, did you?" asked Mord Em'ly loudly. The young constable was new to the L Division, and she had not seen him before. "I s'pose, as a matter of fact, she couldn't stand your fice. 'Tain't what you'd call 'andsome, is it now?"
    A few people stopped and listened. One man advised Mord Em'ly, with great relish, to continue.
    "She told me," said the small girl to the now scarlet-faced young constable—"of course, I don't know—but she told me that the sight of you used to turn the milk sour. That's what she said, mind. But, as I said, we're none of us perfect, and no doubt it was all the result of an accident. I s'pose when you was a lad you fell down and trod on your fice, and--"

Or, alternatively, here's the first proper meeting with the future love of her life

    "Know this feller, don't you?" asked Miss Gilliken, jerking her head in the direction of the youth.
    "Seen his mug before," said Mord Em'ly, looking at him casually. "Can't say I know his name."
    "Name of 'Enery Barden," said the youth, in a deep, hoarse voice, stepping forward, and introducing himself awkwardly. "Got a job at the Willer Walk Station; also to be met with, Saturday evenings, at the boxing-saloon of the Green Man."
    "Where did ye find it?" asked Mord Emily of Miss Gilliken, with a satirical accent.
    "Who are you calling 'it'? " demanded Mr. Barden aggressively. "P'r'aps you'll kindly call me "im ' and not 'it' "
    "P'r'aps I shall do jest as I like," replied Mord Em'ly. She turned to Miss Gilliken. "Did you win it in a raffle? "
    "I'll tell you presently," said Miss Gilliken.
    "Sometimes they give 'em away," said Mord Em'ly thoughtfully, "with a packet of sweets. I 'ave seen 'em offered instead of a coker-nut or a cigar at one of these Aunt Sally—"
    "Look 'ere!" interrupted Mr. Barden crossly. "You think you're jolly clever, no doubt."
    "Think? " repeated Mord Em'ly. "Don't I know it?"

Her creative origins, I think, are not literary but in the strong female characters of music-hall. She has a lot to contend with - a drunken mother; a vicious father, returned from the dead, a rabble-rousing 'socialist' who wants to exploit her naivety, and her only chance of a decent life emigrates to Australia. Well, now she's finally on the internet ...

Read the full story here!

On the topic of Australia

ON THE TOPIC OF AUSTRALIA

Working on a brilliant digitisation at the moment (more to follow, in due course) but here's a teaser of the witty writing:

"Do you mind doing me a favour, miss? Do you mind—if you get a chance to-day—cracking up foreign places as much as possible? Do you mind mentioning, in a off'and way, that you've 'eard Australia spoke of as a good deal like South London, only better?"

"A good deal like South London, only better"

... it's the tourist slogan that the Antipodes have been waiting for, no?

Kudos to anyone who can name the book ... [too late - answered my own question in next post!]